Title: Antics of a Crazy Man

Pairing: Yullen

Rating: T

Theme: Off the Maps

Day: 1

Warning: Shounen-ai; colorful vocabulary of angry swordsman with very sharp katana

Words: 5,495

Allen fidgeted uneasily, a knot forming in his stomach. "Well crap," the white-haired exorcist muttered quietly.

Needless to say, being bound to a chair, gagged, blindfolded, and transported to god-knows-where was not Allen's idea of a good day.

You see, a certain beret-loving, Chinese, sister-complex, caffeine addict firmly believed in all of his irrational, convoluted schemes. Chanced by divine inspiration, Komui decided that sending Allen and Kanda on a mission together was an inspired idea…

But allow me to back up and explain exactly how it was that poor, cursed Allen Walker came to be stranded in a tiny, off-the-maps village in southern Italy, tied to a crudely crafted, wooden chair (splinters jabbed into the back of Allen's hands), and blindfolded with a strip of black cotton.

Exactly five minutes before four-thirty in the morning, Allen Walker's faithful golem Timcampy roused the boy from his sleep with a not-so-playful nip at the boy's right hand.

Allen jerked awake, hissing in pain, and examined the slightly inflamed injury his golem had so nonchalantly dealt him.

"What was that for, Tim?" The white-haired boy whined, leaping out of bed to pursue the golden orb that darted around the room, evading all attempts of capture. "Come back here!"

Agitated, Allen scrambled back onto the unmade tangle of sheets and pillows and launched himself at the golem, just in time for a flame-haired, hammer wielding, junior Bookman to burst in enthusiastically and collide with the younger boy head on, sending them both to the floor with an audible thud.

"Ouch," Allen grumbled, trying to pick himself back up. "You could have knocked, Lavi."

"What were you doing in here anyways?" The red-head almost laughed, pushing himself into a sitting position as he ran an elegant hand through his fiery, red locks.

In response, the white haired boy produced a sour, pouting face. "Tim bit me, and I was trying to catch him," Allen explained, with a disgruntled sigh.

"Sounds like you're having a good morning," Lavi hummed cheerfully.

"Good is not the word I would use to describe it," the parasitic exorcist mumbled as he got back to his feet, massaging a very painful bruise flowering on his left shoulder. "I think I pulled something…"

"Lemme see," the rabbit offered quickly. "Shirt off," the redhead ordered, a smirk creeping to his lips.

"Pardon?"

The older sighed, stepping over to 'assist' the white-haired boy. "How am I supposed to help you if I can't see your shoulder, Moyashi-chan?" Practiced fingers slid the nightshirt effortlessly from the boy's small frame and, in one swift, fluid motion, collapsed the oxford cotton garment into a perfect square and placed it on the corner of the small bed.

A light dusting of pink flitted across the silver-eyed boy's perfect, pale cheeks. Hesitantly, Allen opened his mouth to voice something but, feeling rather awkward, closed it again.

"Hmm." A pair of hands traced over Allen's shoulder blade gently. "It hurts here, right?" The older applied light pressure to indicate where he was referring to, causing the younger exorcist to grunt in pain.

"Yeah."

"Alright. This'll hurt for a second, 'kay?" Without giving the boy time to respond, Lavi jerked the silverettes's shoulder back and pressed down.

"Ah!" Bones gave a snap as they settled back into proper alignment, and the sharp pain faded, leaving only mild soreness in its wake.

"Better?" The silver-eyed exorcist rolled his shoulder a few times to test it out, smiling happily.

"Mhm."

"Anywhere else sore?" The rabbit grinned deviously, hands returning to wash over Allen's chest and abdomen, massaging nameless shapes into the boy's milky–white skin.

"L-Lavi?" Allen stuttered, flushing a deep red as the junior Bookman's lips made contact with the back of his neck.

"Oi, you could at least shut the damned door, Usagi," a cold, disgusted voice growled. No, not just any clearly repulsed voice, Kanda Yuu's voice.

"K-Kanda—" Allen's cheeks welcomed a furious blush, glimpsing the gorgeous—attractive. Anyone would say he's attractive, right? So I just find him…attractive…That is a lie—swordsman standing in his doorway. Without a thought, Allen adjusted his facial expression into a silent plea, answered—wait, really?—by a streak of silver metal and an: "Out. Now, Rabbit."

Nervous laughter accompanied the redhead back through vacant door frame.

"Moyashi…" The swordsman's lips collided with Allen's, pressing firmly and moving with a sureness that better suited the womanizing General Cross than a moody swordsman with no experience. Allen's eyes slipped closed, a healthy rose claiming his cheeks as he began to kiss back.

And then Kanda pulled away abruptly and disappeared out the door before the boy's eyelids could slide open again.

At first, the Japanese man's behavior seemed fairly normal; however, after five minutes elapsed without a single insult passing between samurai and Moyashi, it became strikingly apparent to Lenalee that something was seriously off.

"Did something happen between you two?" The Chinese girl inquired, eyes meeting the swordsman's. He ignored her question, bringing another mouthful of noodles to his lips. Sighing, the dark boots' accommodator turned to Allen, who offered no more assistance than Kanda.

"Tell me!" She commanded. Reluctantly, the white haired boy opened his mouth to speak, but, intercepted by a murderous glare, promptly pressed his lips shut again. "Brother! Allen touched my—"

The blood drained from Allen's face.

"I'll tell!" He hissed, cursing Komui silently. "Just not here," the boy added with a tentative glance towards a furious looking Kanda.

Lenalee smiled, quite pleased with herself, and returned to her pile of strawberry covered waffles.

Five minutes later, Allen finished his mountain of food, despite having lost his appetite due to the unsettlingly fierce gaze that logged every tiny movement the boy made.

Uneasiness clearly visible on his face, the white-haired exorcist climbed out of his seat, cleared his dishes, and—reluctantly—followed a smirking, Chinese exorcist out of the dining hall, a pair of cobalt eyes tracking the boy's every step.

"So what's wrong," the Chinese girl inquired, closing her door behind them.

"Why do you want to know?" Allen asked with a sigh, sinking down onto the small bed.

"Because something obviously happened between you two!" She exclaimed.

Allen flopped down onto his back, covering his eyes with a sleeved arm. "What difference does it make," the boy muttered, miserably, causing the small girl to wince.

"Hey Kanda?" No answer. Allen sat down across from the raven-haired man, unceremoniously.
"BaKanda, it's rude to ignore people."

"Che." Allen paused a moment, hesitant to continue.

Curiosity got the last word. "Why did you kiss me?" The response came much faster than the silverette had anticipated.

"I don't have to explain myself to a brat like you."

"Whatever it is," Lenalee began, gently, "you can tell me. I don't know if I can help, but I'll try." The boy took another deep breath before propping himself back up, eyes turned towards the floor.

"Well…" Lying was not an option; Allen was a terrible liar, and he desperately wanted to leave out the first part of the story, but without it, the situation took on an entirely different meaning. Damn the sister-complex supervisor, Allen thought bitterly. "It's kind of a long story." Nothing indicated that this statement had dissuaded her. It probably hadn't been worth the effort. Allen sighed again. "Tim bit me this morning, so I ran after him and ended up jumping off the bed and Lavi walked in out of nowhere and crashed into me and we both ended up on the floor and my shoulder really hurt, so Lavi said he'd fix it for me—he did...and then he…" Allen's face went tomato-red.

"He what?" The girl followed. The white-haired boy drew in a nervous breath, eyes darting towards the door as he weighed the odds of escaping without getting caught by either Lenalee or a Kamlin. They were slim. Very slim.

"He t-touched me and k-kissed my neck," Allen murmured almost inaudibly. "And then Kanda walked in and yelled at Lavi to get out—well, it was more like a growl—but he didn't use any filthy words! And then he kissed me! But it wasn't rough or angry—I can't use the word gentle to describe it because Kanda isn't gentle—but it felt good! And then he left and at breakfast I asked him why he kissed me and he wouldn't answer and then I bothered him and he told me that he didn't have to explain himself to a brat like me!" By the end of his story, Allen had leapt from the bed and begun pacing back and forth hysterically and with the last word, he collapsed back on to the edge of the bed, confused and exhausted. It doesn't make any sense!

Lenalee remained silent as she processed all of what the boy had just confessed, a smile spreading across her angelic lips.

Plagued by the lack of response, Allen turned his eyes to meet the girl's face with wide eyes.
"You have nothing to worry about," she reassured the boy, pulling him into a tight hug. "Kanda just isn't very good at expressing himself."

And then Allen shot her the fateful, disbelieving look that had set the entire thing into motion. Gears cranked into action. "I promise," the Chinese girl smiled. "You'll see." Her questions for Lavi could wait until later.

A grand total of twelve and a half minutes later, Komui sent Allen notice of summoning via snarling-bastard-samurai.

"Oi, Moyahsi!" As if I can't hear him pounding the bloody door down. Arse.

"I'm coming, BaKanda, so bloody calm down already!" Rolling his eyes, Allen pulled the door open. "What?" Kanda glared down at the younger, clicked his tongue, and continued down the hall, leaving Allen in the door-frame.
Kanda allowed a few moments of his own footsteps to pass before calling out: "Mission briefing, idiot," not bothering see if the boy had heard him as he proceeded into the stairwell. Arse!

It was a simple mission. One that Allen would have been able to take care of on his own, really. Just a typical, everyday 'retrieve-the-Innocence-and-protect-the-civilians' deal.

Except that a particularly stubborn magpie had taken a liking to the luminescent, green cube…

Twelve hours' worth of meticulous tracking went to waste when Allen's stomach finally protested the serious lack of food received over the past half-a-day.

Alarmed, the enormous raven leapt into the sky, soaring far out of reach of the two exhausted exorcists.

"You and your fucking stomach, Moyashi!" The samurai roared. "Damn Komui for sending such a useless brat along!"

"You're the one who said we should skip lunch because you scared it away the first time!"

Kanda growled furiously. "I fell out of the tree because you fell on me, idiot!"

"I wouldn't have fallen if you hadn't attempted to slice my head off!"

"I wouldn't have sliced you if I had wanted to! The mission comes first! It's not my fault you act like a five year old girl!"

"Says the one who has long hair and an obsession with lotus flowers!" Kanda winced slightly at the last part, but quickly regained his composure.

"At least I don't have old-man hair!"

"Fine! If you don't want my help, then finish the mission by yourself!" Allen fumed, vanishing into the twilit trees.

Unfortunately, dusky forests were not optimal environments for the directionally challenged.

More than an hour had passed since Allen had left Kanda, and the boy now found himself hopelessly lost, hunger stealing away what was left of his energy.

Gnarled branches latched onto the silver-haired exorcist's coat, dragging him to the ground with a painful crunch as he landed in a tangle of dead thistle.

Tears escaped the boy's eyes as he pried himself free of the spiny foliage and collapsed at the foot of a rotting oak tree, blood oozing from hundreds of tiny scratches all over his face and body. The cuts throbbed terribly. Ironic how the most superficial scrapes always hurt the worst, the parasitic-exorcist mused, slipping from consciousness.

From the shadows, three glimmering pairs of eyes waited for the last of the boy's strength to drain from his face.

Their wait proved its worth when the boy's body went limp.

"I feel really bad for doing this," the first finder complained. She was a young woman with soft, auburn curls, green eyes, and motherly charm.

"It's for Allen and Kanda's good; Komui said so himself," Johnny reasoned, producing a length of rope from the bag slung over his shoulder.

"I still don't get it," the second finder grumbled. He was extremely tall and thickly built, with dark, deep-set eyes and a sharp tongue. "Those two are hell-bent on hating each other. How is capturing Walker going to change anything?"

"Well," The scientist began, handing the rope off to the female finder, who started binding the boy's wrists and ankles with the upmost care. "According to Komui, Allen and Kanda don't really hate each other. Komui theorizes that Kanda is actually very protective of Allen but denies it because of his pride. Kanda also won't admit to caring for Allen at all, so when the two come into contact or when Allen gets himself hurt, Kanda's immediate response is to insult him. Allen hates losing to Kanda and doesn't like to be protected anyways, so when they get into fights, he matches Kanda's aggression," Johnny prattled off.

"And this is going to help how," the other finder muttered agitatedly, effortlessly lifting Allen over his shoulder.

"Allen is a gentleman, so, though he doesn't want to be protected, he most definitely will feel indebted to Kanda for 'saving' him," Johnny smiled. "And though Kanda doesn't like for people to feel indebted to him, he'll be satisfied by the fact that he's 'won.'

"The hope is that their mindsets will produce an argument that will end because Allen feels guilty and Kanda uninterested. Allen will, of course, attempt to apologize, which might possibly entertain Kanda. And well… Lenalee seems to think that will bring them closer somehow."

The male finder stared incredulously at Johnny for a moment. "Well that's the most brilliant scheme I have ever heard. I commend the supervisor for his excellence," the first finder groaned.

"It's Komui," Johnny noted. "He's already involved pretty much every contact he has in Italy and ensured that the train they take back to the Order gets delayed in Rome."

"Poor Allen," the woman mumbled under her breath, still feeling immensely guilty.

And this was precisely how our dear, beloved Allen Walker ended up in southern Italy, bound and blindfolded.

Morning, much to the swordsman's dismay, did not bring with it the insults of a certain white-haired, parasitic type Moyashi—no, Kanda was not worried about the boy. Kanda did not care about the Moyashi's well-being (he could delude himself into believing this for now).

Komui did, however, and would have the Japanese man's head under a large knife if the sprout was not brought back in one piece… or brought back at all for that matter.

With a roll of his eyes and a lengthy string of profanities in his native tongue, Kanda Yuu departed the modest inn, making his way out into the sticky, Naples morning, cursing the humidity, the Black Order, and every living being he encountered in his search.

Hours passed without a single lead on the other exorcist.

By afternoon, Kanda's irritation had only worsened, inflating to dangerous levels.

Wood splintered as the swordsman's wrath fell upon the unsuspecting door to a humble bakery, pushing past a number of timid customers to the front counter.

"This idiot," Kanda growled, slamming a wrinkled photograph down onto the wood. "Have you seen him?"

The woman behind the counter examined the photograph for a moment before shaking her head apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I haven't seen this face, but I know someone who may be able to help you find your friend," the stout woman replied in a thick, Italian accent, tucking a lock of grey hair back behind her ear.

"Gaetan," the woman summoned. A young boy who couldn't have been older than Allen appeared beside her. "Prenditi cura del negozio per un attimo, bambino."* He nodded as she removed her apron and ducked around the counter to meet Kanda.

Curious, the boy lifted his eyes to the samurai's face, immediately looking away when a murderous glare met his inquisitive gaze.

"There is shop in the neighboring town," the woman began, pulling a stick of charcoal and a slip of paper from her pocket. She began drawing a map as she spoke. "Near the town center. It's small and easy to miss." Darkly, she circled a small square on the piece of paper, just off what Kanda assumed to be the main street in the town. "My brother Santino owns it." Her loopy handwriting tracked across the paper. "Tell him Maria sent you, and ask for Gentilo," she instructed. "He is old and wise." She met Kanda's eyes as she said this, her own coffee orbs gleaming with certainty. "He will be able to help you."

The swordsman thanked her, and, because he had skipped breakfast, purchased a savory pastry and headed back into the late afternoon sun. It wasn't soba, but it was food, and it certainly wasn't terrible.

Locals sent analytical glances his way, which the Japanese man remedied with fiercer and fiercer glares, all but daring them to ask if he was indeed a foreigner.

Thankfully, Kanda's expression proved dissuasive enough to ward off most of them.

The sun had begun to set and the shop was closing down for the day when Kanda reached his destination.

The swordsman marched haughtily up to who he presumed to be Santino, a middle-aged man of short, rounded stature, whose long, straight nose perfectly matched his sister's. "Maria sent me here. I need to speak with Gentilo," Kanda's announced, voice firm, low, and controlled. Tentatively, the man's eyes scanned over Kanda's attire, coming to rest on the silver exorcist pin.

"You are with the Black Order?" Kanda nodded to confirm.

"Follow me, please," Santino replied, making his way towards the back of the shop. The pair came to a stop before a narrow door in the corner, and Santino produced a worn, brass key from the leather, drawstring pouch on his belt. Knobby fingers trembled as he inserted the key, turning it all the way to the left and pushing in with his shoulder. The door creaked open into a tight hallway.

More doors lined both sides, and dust motes circulated under the thick orange light that dripped in from the fogged window at the end of the passage.

Santino proceeded into the cramped walkway, making towards the end and coming to a stop in front of the last door. He gave three short knocks, which were answered by a low, raspy voice. Kanda could not make out the man's words.

"Un apostolo di Dio vuole parlare con te,"* Santino said. A few more phrases in Italian and Santino pulled the door open, motioning the Japanese man in.

Little if any light filtered in through the heavy drapes. In the worn cot across the room rested a man who, by the looks of him, had seen better days. His cheeks, dark and hallow stretched thinly over the bone beneath. His skin looked transparent and powdery, and deep wrinkles had set in beneath his eyes, which Kanda discovered to be an unnerving shade of red. An albino.

"I hear you are an apostle of God," Gentilo mouthed, words barely escaping his age-thinned lips. Internally, Kanda rolled his eyes.

"I am." The swordsman heard himself answer, tone level and phlegmatic.

The albino, Gentilo, lifted one hand, beckoning for the exorcist to come closer. Impatient though he was growing, Kanda remained stoic and polite. If the man could help, Kanda Yuu certainly was not going to make an ass of himself. Taking a few collected steps forward, the swordsman reached the side of the cot.

"Kneel so I may see your eyes, boy." It was a command, not a request, but nothing in Gentilo's tone indicated disdain or hauteur. No demeaning nature was intended and none was conveyed, so the Japanese man complied, balancing on his knees at the man's side.

Crimson locked on cobalt for a long moment, and Kanda could see his own face in the man's dilated pupils. This man had not seen the light in a very long time.

"You cannot find her." Kanda's eyes shot open wide. "But she is not the one you are missing now." The swordsman remained silent. "He is close to you." Through the heavy Italian accent, extra emphasis had been placed on 'you'—extra care had been taken to give that particular word two meanings. In fact, all of Gentilo's words carried two meanings, and, in Kanda's opinion, it was a particularly loathsome talent to have.

The Japanese man's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean when you say I can't find her?"

"I choose my words deliberately, boy, so that I will not have to say many."

"Do you mean to say that I haven't yet found her or that I won't?" Kanda hissed, knuckles whitening from holding Mugen's hilt in a death grip.

"Cannot both be true?" Blunt. Blunt and brief. The swordsman let out a slow, labored breath.

Samurai did not show emotion. "The Moyashi is near here?"

Closing his eyes, Gentilo sighed and sunk back down. "Allen Walker is within one hundred feet of this room." Taken aback, Kanda finally nodded, rising back to his feet.

A whisper, almost inaudible, caught the swordsman in the doorway. "She would be happier if you were, Kanda Yuu."

Kanda almost tripped over his own feet. "I'll keep that in mind," the equipment-type exorcist replied, closing the door softly behind him to discover a pitch black hallway. The sun had already sunken below the horizon. Kanda had lingered far too long.

Being so close to the ocean kept most of Italy fairly warm all hours of the day. This Kanda came to be grateful for as he wandered down the darkened streets searching for his white-haired partner. Luck did not seem to be on the swordsman's side, however.

Another hour elapsed with no sign of the beansprout.

"God damn confusing bastard albino," the Japanese man swore under his breath.

Kanda wouldn't admit it, but disquiet was slowly consuming his mind. Doubt? No, that could not be the cause of this feeling. Allen was most certainly within one-hundred feet; Kanda's 'Moyashi Ticker' was in the red. Where the damned brat was remained a mystery.

Currently, Kanda wandered through an abandoned barn. "Moyashi!"

No response. Beyond angry by then, the samurai slammed his foot down on the next step. The sound echoed.

No. That couldn't be right; barns didn't echo.

Realization hit him like a brick wall. Hollow. The space below was most certainly hollow.

Exited hands quickly cleared away the rotting straw, pushing it aside as fingernails tracked down the surface, probing it for the telltale sleekness of metal. Fingertips encountered freezing iron. Success.

One stroke of Mugen rendered the lock thoroughly mutilated, and the Kanda yanked open the trapdoor, almost unhinging it with adrenaline induced brutality.

Foul, stinking air met the swordsman's nose, almost causing the man to gag. It smelled like death. Death and decay.

Exorcist boots stepped gingerly on the uneven, grime-slickened stairs, traveling ever deeper into the underground chamber, and shadow's clung to every available inch of stone and dirt. Eventually, the samurai drew his katana, invocating his Innocence, which glowed with blue light as he continued deeper into the ground. Further down the steps, the stench grew increasingly fetid, prompting the swordsman to release his two-handed hold in order to cover his nose and mouth with one sleeve. At last, the swordsman reached level floor, drawing upon a door, left slightly ajar. Rank air enveloped the samurai as he pushed inside. Much to the swordsman's disgust, several dead, putrefying pigs lay, heaped in one corner, blood and entrails spattering the floor.

Not finding any sign of the younger exorcist, Kanda hurried out of the room, venturing farther down the corridor. Another door appeared on the man's right, this one locked. Kanda made quick work of the metal, which screamed in protest as the samurai's sword cut through it like butter.

A terrible, nauseating scene met him on the other side.

Allen. Bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Behind him, an enormous, hooded figure, clad in all black and equipped with a tantou, pressed the weapon against the boy's exposed throat.

"Finally come, have you, Exorcist?" Kanda's pressed his lips into a tight line, narrowing his cold eyes and gripping Mugen with both hands.

"Release him." The Japanese man ordered furiously.

"And if I don't?" The other voice returned.

Kanda's stance shifted dangerously. "Che. Then you die, obviously."

"I would put that sword away if I were you," the figure suggested, pressing the Japanese dagger's dull side slightly harder against the teen's neck. It had to be convincing.

Fighting back the nausea growing in his gut, Kanda snarled back an "or what?"

"Your friend dies, obviously," the figure chuckled back, merrily.

"I think not." Speed would forever be Kanda's favorite part of being a second exorcist. Mugen's tip collided with the end of the dagger, narrowly avoiding Allen's throat as it sent the smaller weapon flying across the room. The tantou landed with a metallic clink and skidded several feet across the floor.

Kanda then returned to attack the white-haired boy's captor, startled when he looked up to find that the figure had vanished. Its voice resonated from the walls themselves; one of Johnny's less useful inventions had actually come in handy this time.

"Next time then, Exorcist."

"Come back here and fight, bastard!" The swordsman growled, only to be cut off by a small whimper which immediately drew the man's attention back to the present.

Strong hands freed the boy of his gag, blindfold, bindings.

Thirty seconds later, a slightly shaken Moyashi stared up at the swordsman with large, platinum eyes and attempted to stand, but, finding his limbs weak from hunger, collapsed. Kanda caught the boy's figure, lifting the form effortlessly into his arms.

By some miracle from God, Kanda never complained about having to carry the boy back to the train station, nor did he once set the boy down before the two finally arrived at the door of a vacant compartment. Even then, he had only shifted the boy so that one of Allen's arms rested over his shoulder, supporting most of the parasitic-type's weight as he slid the door open.

Deftly, Kanda flipped the lock switch with his elbow and dropped down onto the cushioned bench.

Neither spoke until Allen let out a tiny groan of discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Kanda's voice held no anger, no frustration, no venom, malice, sarcasm—is he really even capable of that? It couldn't be. No… I must be dreaming.

Frowning, Allen picked at a sliver of wood protruding from one of his palms. "Splinters," the boy muttered agitatedly.

Kanda took one pale hand lightly into his and began pulling the splinters out mercilessly, disregarding any hiss the boy let passed his lips.

"BaKanda," the boy grumbled after Kanda had finished. "That hurt."

"Che. At least I got it done quickly," the older snapped back.

"Yeah…Thank you, Kanda." Couldn't hurt, could it? I'll only have Mugen shoved down my throat if I'm wrong. The boy smiled, quickly placing a tiny kiss on the swordsman's cheek. Despite the Japanese man's best efforts, blood still rushed to his cheeks as he grunted a reply, trying his very damndest to avoid eye contact with the smaller exorcist and further the reddening of his face.

But this strategy did not work exceptionally well when said person was seated on his lap, one cursed arm draped over the man's shoulder, the other hand pressed to Kanda's chest…and pouting. Adorably.

Allowing his eyes to slip closed, the smaller inched his beautiful face ever closer to the impassive swordsman's until, finally, their lips met in a soft, chaste kiss.

Allen pulled back hesitantly. Silver eyes locked on Kanda's. "Kanda," the younger started, "what am I to you?"

"Idiot. Do I need to think aloud?" The insult didn't contain the slightest acidity, but Allen was still reluctant to accept such an empty statement.

"Well, your expression doesn't tell me anything and last time this happened you just ignored me and went on with your merry life! What am I supposed to think?"

Silence came on the part of the older, followed by a "damn it all," and a pair of warm lips pressed to Allen's, rough and passionate this time.

The parasitic exorcist adjusted to better accommodate such treatment, straddling Kanda's hips and pulling loose the swordsman's hair-tie. Inky black hair spilled down over the man's shoulders, and a pale, silken hand wove itself into the smooth tresses, using this hold to draw them even closer. Tentatively, the swordsman ran his tongue over Allen's bottom lip, asking for entrance, which was immediately granted.

Kanda explored the younger's mouth, caressing the other's tongue with his. After the initial shock, Cross's apprentice joined in, transforming the casual expedition into a heated battle. Allen had spent enough years living with that perverted womanizer to pick up a few tricks here and there.

Most of them, the white-haired exorcist did not care to recount on a regular basis, but he deemed a few of them innocent—and useful. They are certainly useful—enough to be employed.

At last, both parted for air, breaths shallow, hearts racing almost painfully.

"You never did say." Allen's breath ghosted over the swordsman's ear as he spoke. "What I was to you."

"Moyashi," the man growled, irritated.

Allen's tone became suddenly serious. "It's an honest question, Kanda, and I want an answer."

"Che. You're not getting one," the Japanese man grumbled. This, Allen answered promptly with a hard slap across the man's cheek.

"You bastard! Why won't you just answer the damn question! Is it really that hard to do, or do you really just hate me?"

Realizing his actions, the boy instantly flinched, waiting for reprisal that never came.

Instead, Kanda wound his arms tightly around the boy's waist, drawing the smaller against himself.

"I do not hate you, Allen." That was enough. It wasn't 'I love you' or even 'I like you,' but the swordsman had actually called Allen by name, and that was about commensurate, considering it was Kanda.

"BaKanda," the white-haired boy yawned, nuzzling his head into the swordsman's shoulder.

"Oi," the Japanese man grumbled. "It's my turn, damn Moyashi."

"Mmmm. Too tired," came a lazy, contented reply.

"Oh no you don't." Kanda gave the boy's sides a hard squeeze, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from the other. "You're not getting a confession without giving one, yourself."

Allen glared. "You arse! That wasn't a confession—"

A sharp nip at the younger's earlobe silenced him and rendered the boy's thoughts incoherent. "Not so loud, Moyashi; you'll wake up the entire train."

"B-BaKanda..." Gone. All knowledge regarding how to properly insult the bastard had been rendered a puddle of useless goo. So warm. "I love you." The boy gasped at his slip up, blushing profusely.

"Do you now, Moyashi." A fat smirk settled itself on the samurai's lips.

"Y-yes," Allen replied. "You're a bastard and a narcissist and you glare at me and call me rude names and demean me, but I love you anyway." Those same, smirking lips pressed lightly to Allen's.

"Che. I know that, idiot."

Furious, Allen broke the kiss, smacking Kanda roughly upside the head. "You are an absolute bloody wanker, Kanda Yuu!" The younger hollered, beating on the man's chest with his fists. This seemed to only further amuse Kanda, whose figure now shook with silent laughter—wait, really? Impossible.

And then something very curious indeed occurred; Kanda Yuu actually laughed. And it was so foreign, yet gorgeous and sonorous and baritone and downright sexy, and Allen loved every second of it.

Allen wasted no time, making a beeline straight for the dining hall, one growling, grumbling, glaring samurai in tow.

Breakfast conversations consisted of scurrilous remarks and insults and a good deal of awkward acknowledgements on the parts of both Allen and Kanda.

And somewhere, most likely seven floors beneath the Black Order in a room, all by himself, constructing the skeleton of his newest Kamlin model, stood a proud Komui, half working, half watching the relationship of a certain pair exorcists play out via golden golem recordings.

If by some miracle the war came to an end and the exorcists out alive, Komui decided he would rather like to begin his own industry, producing screens which could display images, and then perhaps on to reality filming and screening.

Golden Golem Recordings…

Yes, that would be an excellent name indeed.

Alright, so I wrote that sometime in October and I was all like "dude, I've got this. One down, six to go! Bring it on!" and now I'm sitting here like "kami, save me. Three down, four remaining. Where's the time turner when you need one!?"

Anyways, reviews are always appreciated and hope you guys enjoyed it. For some reason, I really love Komui, so he'll probably show up a lot in the next submissions.

Later, bunnies~

Sophia