80 and Agent 18
Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Enjoy!
Chapter Three
Acrobaleno is a high-class, five-star restaurant that has received raves and faves from every critic around the world. Even the Prince of Madagascar had come to try out the food before (though Yamamoto swears he's seen four mysterious penguins-like creatures hovering in the background of the footage). Therefore, it's only reasonable that it takes about a year and a half to make a reservation at the place.
Hibari makes one in fourteen minutes.
"How'd you manage that?" Yamamoto asks as he does up the buttons of his suit, feeling a bit stifled.
"I asked politely," he replies. Yamamoto raises an eyebrow.
"After I threatened bodily harm to the manager and his entire family," Hibari admits, smoothing his bangs back with a bit of hair gel. "And called in a favour from the time I rescued the Queen."
"You rescued the Queen?" Yamamoto asks, other eyebrow going up.
"And had a pint with James Bond afterwards, now hurry up, herbivore, we're going to be late. I didn't use this favour only to waste it because we were behind schedule."
"Aye, aye," Yamamoto replies mildly before tucking his gun into its holster by his side and sliding a short knife into his belt. They drive the Porsche downtown, because it's much more inconspicuous than a personal jet.
They're greeted by a twirly-moustached waiter who leads them to their seat on the indoor balcony of the two-story restaurant, where it gives the two of them a great bird's-eye view of the entire place. The Acrobaleno reeks of modern architecture, contemporary art, delicate glass statues and a winding glass staircase. There's an elaborate waterfall and a pond with an actual crocodile in it. Exotic plants are placed around every corner and Mozart's Minuet in G is playing in the background. Yamamoto shifts. His suit is awkwardly tight and uncomfortable around the crotch area. He knew he should've gone out to get a new ensemble or borrow one of Signore Nine's. It's been a while since he wore his best outfit and apparently he's taller now then, say, 'noob spy Yamamoto' four years ago.
"Stop fidgeting," Hibari hisses, kicking him in the shin under the table. "You look suspicious."
"I'm sorry, man, my junk is getting crushed in my pants," Yamamoto shoots back in a low voice. Hibari snorts into his drink and promptly ends up spitting the gulp back out unattractively because he'd inhaled water up his nose by accident.
"Who's looking suspicious now?" Yamamoto smirks, and Hibari just glares at him as he dabs daintily at the front of his suit, which is cut in such ways that it should be illegal. They'd barely been in the restaurant for ten minutes and Hibari is already getting longing sideways stares from males and females alike.
"Will you please stop glaring at every diner like they're hostiles?" Hibari snaps, folding his hands on the table. His face is neutral but his eyes are doing the laser beam thing again.
"They're staring at you," Yamamoto points out, taking a drink too for a lack of action.
"So?" Hibari asks, glancing down the balcony.
"I'm just playing the role of the jealous husband, don't mind me," Yamamoto shrugs nonchalantly. Hibari looks back at him, eyebrow raised.
"You're jealous? I thought you said you didn't love me." There's a note of smugness in there that chews on Yamamoto's nerve.
"I said I'm playing the part, you fool," he snaps under his breath, face threatening to turn red, but before Hibari could reply their waiter has arrived and handed them their menus. Yamamoto skimmed through the page and ordered the first thing he saw, which turned out to be some salmon dish. Hibari carefully ordered a steak and a bottle of wine before their waiter was off again, promising to be back soon.
"For somebody who's playing you're certainly being serious about it," Hibari mutters, gaze fixed on the entrance.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Yamamoto asks, frowning deeply.
"That means," Hibari sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns to face the spy. In the dim light of the restaurant, his high cheekbones are thrown into sharp relief and the way his smoothed-back hair makes him look twice as intelligent. The suit curves smoothly around Hibari's shoulder and the plum-coloured tie adds a sophisticated touch to the whole ensemble that's making Yamamoto's pants tighten in a way that's wholly not related to his shrunken suit. He shifts uncomfortably again and barely catches the last of what Hibari is saying. When had he zoned out?
"…actually in love with me, I think."
"What, sorry?" Yamamoto splutters, blinking. Hibari bristles irritably.
"I said, I'm pretty sure you're actually in love with me, are you not?"
"I am not in love with you," Yamamoto says at once, even as his voice falters slightly at the end. "I said so this afternoon. This isn't love. This was an accident."
Hibari's eyes narrow minutely. "Really," he says.
"Really," Yamamoto hisses, and damn the way he stutters again on the last syllable. He isn't in love with Hibari. He isn't. There is no possible way he, 80, could ever love—
"Alright then," Hibari says, and then he dumps his napkin onto the table, stands up, and drags Yamamoto upright by his navy blue tie before promptly mashing their mouths together, leaving Yamamoto to let out a very undignified "mrufufuwah?"
This kiss though. This kiss isn't like the one they shared at the registry building. There's no violent biting or excessive drooling; Hibari's tongue slides smoothly into Yamamoto's mouth without him even noticing, that damn agent. The raven's lips are slightly chapped on the bottom lip but nonetheless soft, much softer than any woman Yamamoto's ever kissed before, and there's a kind of pepperminty taste along with a sharp lemon tang from the restaurant's water. The edge of the table is digging right into Yamamoto's hipbone and his hands unconsciously come up to grab onto Hibari's wrist, as if unsure of what to do. Good God, Yamamoto has never been this unsure with a kiss before. It doesn't even make sense.
He also doesn't realize he is actively leaning into the liplock until Hibari pulls back with a slight popping noise, which would be awfully lewd if Yamamoto isn't lost in the blown, ink-black pupils that are Hibari's eyes. The raven smirks and sits back down, leaving Yamamoto standing like an idiot.
"You're in denial," he says smoothly, and takes a drink.
"You little shit," Yamamoto splutters, dropping abruptly down into his chair. "You did that on purpose."
"Of course I did," Hibari snorts. "You need to learn to come into terms with yourself. Do you really hate me that much?"
"I— let me ask you something then," Yamamoto nearly shouts (but he doesn't, of course, he's a spy, discreet, hello). "You keep messing with me and asking me these kinds of questions and you kiss me. Are you in love with me then?"
Hibari stares at him, exasperated. "You absolute idiotic herbivore, do you really think I'd kiss you if I wasn't attracted to you on some level?"
Well.
That was unexpected.
Yamamoto opens his mouth, and then closes it. He opens his mouth again, only to manage out a garbled, "Eh?"
Hibari's eye roll is the most dramatic one yet as he groans, "Christ alive, thank God I didn't go for an actual love confession, I think I might've broken you just by mentioning feelings or something."
"Gapblrhsitngh," Yamamoto splutters, and then the waiter arrives with their food.
Hibari coughs and places the napkin back down on his lap. "Look," he says shortly, but not angrily, "We'll talk later, herbivore. You're hopeless."
Yamamoto finally pulls himself together, heat rising in his cheeks, his mouth lingering with Hibari's taste, and is about to say exactly what he thought of the term 'hopeless' when he sees someone enter the restaurant.
It's Genkishi.
Instantly, Yamamoto is in spy mode. "Look," he says softly, picking up his fork. Hibari stiffens and gives a subtle sidelong glance down the balcony. His black eyes narrow slightly and the corner of his mouth lifts a little, giving him a predatory look, like a carnivorous animal who's just spotted a particularly juicy prey. Yamamoto tries to cross his legs, but his pants are too tight for that.
It's been about a year since Yamamoto last ran into Genkishi 'the Swordsman' of the Millefiore Mob, but his enemy hasn't changed much. His hair is still cut in that ridiculous shell-shape, his eyebrows are still weirdly plucked into clumps, and his mouth is still turned down into that permanent scowl. He's dressed in a slightly bulky suit, probably to compensate for all the knives and daggers hidden on his body. Yamamoto leans in, unconsciously twitching his fingers towards his gun.
"Easy," Hibari murmurs as he pours himself a glass of wine. "Let's see what he's up to first."
Genkishi is led into the restaurant by twirly-moustache, and they lose sight of him momentarily as he walks around a large potted plant. A moment later, he sits down at a table where an attractive, curvy young woman is eating a shrimp plate and a young child— twelve at the oldest— is seated next to her. The woman looks up and starts to say something; Genkishi silences her with a glare. She pouts, muttering something and stabs at a shrimp while the kid plays with a doll. Yamamoto exhales slowly.
"That looks like his contact. What's with the child?"
"She's Iris Hepburn," Hibari mutters, scrolling through something on his phone. He takes a distracted bite of his steak and Yamamoto remembers not to stare too intently. "She's in charge of the Death Stalk Unit. They're mostly drug smugglers and my file says something about mass steroid production."
"The Muscle Scrum Operation that Tsuna took over," Yamamoto says softly. "He ruined them."
"I don't know the kid, but we're not here to focus on him," Hibari hums, tucking his device away. "Let's keep an eye out."
As they watch, Genkishi speaks with Iris while the child ignores them. They talk for several more moments before Iris, quicker than a cat, slips Genkishi a folded envelope, tosses a couple of bills down on the table, and gestures to the child. The kid stands up and grasps her hand before they exit; Iris slinking out in a tight, sparkling pink dress and the kid in some kind of poufy costume. Weirdoes.
Genkishi turns the envelope over, almost inspecting it, and then gets up from his seat. He walks around the corner and vanishes into—
"Bathroom," Yamamoto mutters, standing up instinctively. "Stay here."
"Thought I was supposed to be the one eliminating threats?" Hibari asks, leaning leisurely back in his seat. He's not going to stop Yamamoto.
"Yeah, well, I'll call if I need backup, okay?" Yamamoto grins, buttoning his jacket. His pants hitch uncomfortably around the seams.
"Come back in one piece, herbivore," Hibari drawls, swirling his wine. "We still have to talk."
"That we'll do," Yamamoto grumbles before hurrying along his way. He glides smoothly down the stairs and walks silently into the hallway where the bathrooms are located. After taking a cautionary look around, he ducks into the men's room.
The lights are low and there's soft piano music is playing somewhere. A fountain with a prancing horse lets loose a small stream of water that trickles down a slide and into a extensive waterfall sink that runs right along the wall. The urinals line up against the wall and the stalls have doors that run top to bottom. Yamamoto narrows his eyes and pulls his knife out soundlessly. As efficient as a gun would be, it would make too much noise. He backs up against the stall, taking slow steps, listening carefully for any signs of life. There's nothing but the sound of the fountain and the ambient music, which puts his nerves on end.
Something's not right.
A soft whiff of air by the back of his neck is the only warning Yamamoto has before he reflexively ducks, and a short sword swishes over his head. Yamamoto tucks and rolls, leaping back onto his feet to avoid another violent strike from Genkishi, who'd dropped right out of the ceiling in an attempt to ambush him.
"80," Genkishi growls, straightening up. He huffs distastefully.
"Genkishi," Yamamoto replies, expression cold.
"You've got some nerve coming here alone," Genkishi smirks, slowly stalking up. Yamamoto refuses to back down. "What happened to that agent that was following me?"
"I'm your target," Yamamoto snaps. "Don't you worry about anyone else."
"But I beg to differ," Genkishi grins, and he pulls out the envelope while his sword remains level with Yamamoto. The assassin tears it open with his teeth and waves several rectangular pieces at Yamamoto; a second later he realizes that they were photos of him and Hibari, at home, talking, eating dinner, and apparently physically wrestling over the television remote. Yamamoto remembers that incident, and he still maintains that if Hibari watches another freaking bird documentary again he is going to go batshit insane.
"Quite domestic, don't you think?" Genkishi drawls, tossing the photos aside. They flutter onto the floor, and Yamamoto resists the urge to pick them up and shred them. "It just so happens that the agent who's tracking me shares a home with you."
"You fucking voyeur," Yamamoto sneers. "Get off on it, don't you?"
Genkishi sniffs indignantly. "Your cold dead body is much more appealing to me, I assure you."
"I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to think about that in hell," Yamamoto snarls. "After I'm done with you, of course."
His enemy sighs and twitches his sword a little. "Well, here's the thing," Genkishi begins, and Yamamoto lunges. He's had enough of this useless banter, and the longer he stands talking the more dangerous the situation becomes; he will not have this freak anywhere near Hibari.
His own knife clashes with a blade and Genkishi gets a lucky punch in. It snaps Yamamoto's nose in a clean break and the spy retaliates with a well-placed side kick to the torso, which sends Genkishi stumbling backwards into the stall. Yamamoto rushes in for another kick, but this time Genkishi leaps up and Yamamoto ends up smashing the tank. Cold water gushes everywhere.
"Dear god," Yamamoto grunts, detangling his foot as Genkishi climbs up over the stall and lands like a cat on the other side. They leap for each other again and grapple madly, weapons kicked aside as they engage in a rather messy fistfight. It's sloppy and not exactly Yamamoto's style, but hey, jabbing Genkishi in both eyes is hugely satisfying.
The raw, violent brawl goes back and forth like a tug of rope for a short while; Yamamoto's sure he managed to fracture several ribs on his enemy while Genkishi's regretfully sharp punches will surely result in painful bruises and probably some internal bleeding afterwards. His gun had been thrown across the restroom and is now resting by the doorway, completely useless. Yamamoto drags himself up onto the sinks to avoid a swipe, and Genkishi follows. The two of them shuffle back and forth, kicking water everywhere while exchanging fast, livid strikes. For about two seconds, Genkishi gains the upper hand and manages to yank Yamamoto down in a tight chokehold, which he wouldn't let go for love or fuck.
"You ass," Yamamoto splutters, kicking Genkishi's knee out, and just as he finds the leverage to break free of the hold and hoist Genkishi up for a throw, the bathroom door opens.
The next few seconds happen in multiple stages. A young, dashing man dressed to the nines enters, fiddling with his cufflinks and looks down to see the gun. Startled, the man glances up just in time to see Yamamoto, who is already lost in the momentum, throw Genkishi, who sails six feet across the bathroom and crashes into the man at the doorway just as Yamamoto slips on the wet sink and barely saves himself by doing the splits right along the edge.
Unfortunately, there is also an ominous sound of fabric tearing and seams splitting, and an unnatural breeze between his legs tells Yamamoto that his pants probably aren't doing their job of covering him up at the moment.
"Jesus fuck," Yamamoto spits, staggering onto the ground. There is a tear right through the inseam of his pants from front to back and even down the left leg, which pretty much leaves the colours of his boxers to zero imagination. It's blue and yellow polka-dotted with baseballs, for the record.
The poor bystander's yells and a scramble of footsteps alerts Yamamoto of Genkishi's escape; the assassin gives a furtive glance back before sprinting out of the bathroom, leaving Yamamoto to groan about the state of his pants for 0.00001 of a second before sprinting after his nemesis, scooping up the gun along the way.
He sees Genkishi running through the restaurant, shoving waiters and diners roughly out of the way as he heads up towards the balcony. Up above, Hibari is already on his feet, eyes narrowed as he picks up the steak knife on the table.
Yamamoto skids to a stop and ignores several shocked gasps from diners behind him who are obviously shocked by his bloody nose or enjoying the sight of his underwear. He doesn't even think as he raises the gun in his hand and shoots two rounds into the ceiling.
Screams and yells of terror erupt from the patrons. Within seconds people were dashing for the doorways, food is tossed everywhere, and Genkishi is hopelessly mobbed by hundreds of desperate diners scrambling for the doorways, effectively preventing him from heading up the stairs for Hibari. Yamamoto brutally shoves his way forward, and he's given a wide berth, mainly because he's still got the gun in the air. Above them, Hibari rolls his eyes dramatically, but Yamamoto thinks he sees a hint of a smirk on the raven's face.
Yamamoto reaches Genkishi first, and he grabs the assassin. The two of them fall, nearly trampled by the people running around them, and wrestle madly onto the ground. Genkishi, the bastard, is slick as an eel and manages to break the gun and wiggle out of Yamamoto's grasp before running— albeit with an awful limp— halfway up the stairs only to receive a powerful blow to the face from a descending Hibari. Genkishi staggers back and Hibari glides down the stairs before he strikes again, calm as you please, with a look of bored distaste on his face. Genkishi spits blood out and lunges for Hibari, who promptly flips the steak knife out from the confines of his sleeve and stabs the assassin straight in the chest. Genkishi roars and stumbles, barely managing to catch Hibari around the knee. The assassin knocks the raven right through the decorative glass safeguards of the stairs, which completely shatters as Hibari falls backwards off the side of the stairs.
Scrambling to his feet, Yamamoto kicks an empty table to break Hibari's fall as the raven twists in mid-air and manages to land on his side. The table splinters with a heavy crunch and more dishware crashes onto the ground.
"Are you alright?" Yamamoto pants, grabbing Hibari's arm. The agent stands upright smoothly and grunts, "Of course I am, asshole, keep your eye on Genkishi!"
The said man, however, is already slipping out of the front door, and sirens could be heard in the distance. Rolling his eyes, Hibari grabs Yamamoto's hand and snaps, "Move out."
The two of them dash out a back exit and stumble into the Porsche. A BMW is fishtailing around the corner, no doubt stolen by Genkishi. Swearing, Yamamoto shoves the keys into the ignition and peels out of the parking lot, ramming a car out of his way as he drives down the street.
"He'll be headed to our apartment," Hibari huffs as he takes out a spare gun in the glove compartment and tosses it to Yamamoto. "He wants to finish the job, that fucking herbivore."
"I love how you said 'our' apartment," Yamamoto replies, the tiniest of smirks tugging at his face. Hibari flashes him a dull look.
"Stop talking and drive, fool," the raven growls. "If you don't hurry you won't have an apartment to go up to."
"Why's that?" Yamamoto asks, momentarily thrown off.
Hibari raises an eyebrow. "Didn't you install a ton of security equipment with Tsuna yesterday? With an exploding umbrella stand that needed to be decoded and all?"
Yamamoto pauses. "Well, shit," he says, and then purposefully runs a red light.
They pull up with a high pitched squeal of tires at the parking lot of Yamamoto's building ten minutes later, and seat belts are flying off and safeties are being pulled off their guns. But before Hibari could open the car door, Yamamoto reaches across and grabs the raven's arm, heart pounding heavily in his chest.
"What?!" Hibari snaps, glaring, and Yamamoto leans right in and kisses him.
It is, needless to say, the most inappropriate time for a kiss, but Yamamoto couldn't stop himself. There were few people in the world he would honestly risk his life for, and tonight he'd fought Genkishi, completely given up his dignity (thanks, pants) and is now ready to run straight into an assassin. The Yamamoto two weeks ago certainly wouldn't have done all that.
He breaks the kiss, and Hibari opens his eyes, dark irises quietly searching Yamamoto's. "I figured," Yamamoto says softly, closing his free hand over Hibari's, "That actions are probably louder than words. I hope I answered the question you asked earlier this evening."
Hibari smiles at that, really smiles; it's a slight lift of the corner of his mouth and his eyes soften minutely. It makes him look stunning.
"I think you have, herbivore," the raven says smartly. "Now get out and kick some ass or you're sleeping on the couch, 80."
"You wish, Agent 18," Yamamoto grins, and he leaps out of the Porsche just as the building behind them explodes.
It's not an especially big combustion, but it's enough to break an entire row of windows on one floor and send Yamamoto and Hibari sprawling onto the ground. Car alarms go off everywhere and screams erupt from around them. Yamamoto slowly draws himself upright, Hibari mimicking his movements on his left. There is no doubt about who'd set off the explosion, and though they would have to do a routine check later, Genkishi is, for the most part, pretty much dead.
And Yamamoto figures it'll probably be smart to ring Reborn up now, to let him know what's happened and get a V team in place before the police arrive, but at the moment his apartment is going up in flames, smoke is pouring out of the building, and what sounds like a ginormous part of his ceiling has broken off and is caving in. "Well," Yamamoto says, feeling a breeze drift through his torn trousers, somewhat at loss for words. "That's that, I guess."
There's a moment of silence.
"I have a place in Japan," Hibari suggests, tucking his gun back into his holster, and Yamamoto can't help it. Despite everything that's happened and all the paperwork and shouting from Reborn he'll most certainly have to go through later on, he bursts into laughter.
Two weeks later
"How am I supposed to assign you two missions now?" Reborn demands over the speakerphone, irritated but not particularly angry. "There's a reason why we base our agents in Italy, you know, not some-the-fuck-where halfway across the world."
"We're in Japan, idiot, not Atlantis," Hibari snaps, carefully rearranging his now slightly singed Bonsai tree next to the window. Yamamoto snorts, carefully lining up the books in alphabetical order on the bookshelf.
"The question remains: how am I supposed to assign you two missions now?" Reborn repeats, shuffling some papers in the background. "You're lucky Hibari managed to negotiate his way back into Japan with the Yakuza, and by that I mean he basically wiped them all out. Do you know how much of a wasted resource that is? Honestly, if you two weren't V's best agents—"
"Yeah, yeah, you'd have us purged from this earth as the bane of your existence," Yamamoto says, rolling his eyes.
"At least my apartment's not burnt to crisp," Reborn retorts, and Yamamoto can almost hear the smirk over the phone.
"Har har har, very funny," Yamamoto grumbles. "If you've got nothing nice to say then say nothing at all. Buh-bye, Reborn!"
"Whatever," Reborn snorts. "Just keep the kinky sex to yourselves." And then he hung up, leaving Hibari to grumble and toss his phone back onto the sofa.
"Busybody," the raven mumbles as he rummages through yet another box. Yamamoto chuckles and dusts his hands off, glancing around his husband's modern, tidy penthouse. It is full of earth colours and very traditional. Hibari's things are scattered around, neat and tidy, but now Yamamoto's belongings are mixed into the equation. Well, what is left of his things, anyway. How the stupid Bonsai tree survived is beyond both of them.
"Lovely place," Yamamoto grins, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Hibari smirks as he stands up with yet another pile of books.
"Better than yours ever was."
"You wish. My apartment was amazing. You loved the place."
"Stop dreaming," Hibari snorts. "There's nothing you have that I could possibly want, blown-up apartment included."
Yamamoto takes a deep breath, and slowly lowers himself onto one knee. "What about this, then?" he asks quietly, and pulls a velvet square box out of his pocket.
Hibari turns, and his face is momentarily blank. It's the old agent fallback, and Yamamoto can tell that the poker face is only used to blanket emotions that would give one away. In the face of the telltale meaning behind the little box, Hibari's awfully good at it, though. Time to change that.
"Hibari Kyoya, will you marry me?" Yamamoto asks softly, opening the lid of the box. Tucked neatly inside isn't a ring, though, but something slivery and long. Yamamoto knows the raven doesn't wear jewelry, and Hibari's eyebrows furrow and he leans down to carefully pull the mystery object out.
The long and silvery thing is a chain. Hanging from the chain, however, is—
"These are your dog tags," Hibari says, turning each of the flat pieces of metal over with care.
"From when I served in the army," Yamamoto nods, closing the box. "I figured I'd give you a proper proposal with them." Hibari looks sharply down at him.
"You're giving them to me?" he asks, a bit of confusion evident in his voice. Yamamoto grins wryly, running a hand through his hair.
"They're important to me," he replies simply. "Just like you."
Hibari turns the dog tags over, and the metal glitters in the afternoon sun streaming in through the open curtains. The same small smile curves over the raven's mouth momentarily before he looks down at Yamamoto and says, "You are hopeless, tacky, and an absolute fool, Yamamoto Takeshi. I swear to God if you hadn't proved yourself to be an omnivore I'd bite you to death."
"Is that a yes?" Yamamoto grins, heart skipping a beat.
Hibari rolls his eyes, smacking him lightly on the side of the head. "Of course that's a yes, idiot, and for heaven's sake it's unsightly to play coy. Also, it's about fucking time you asked me to marry you properly."
Yamamoto laughs, his chest warming in a rather embarrassing way, but he tugs the tags free from Hibari's hand and stands so that he can slide it over his husband's head. It rests neatly on Hibari's chest and Yamamoto thinks it's perfect.
"You can stop staring now," Hibari snickers, nudging him with his toe.
"I can't help it," Yamamoto smiles. "You look beautiful from this angle, like an angel. The sun coming in the window's like a glowing halo around your head, and it makes your eyes sparkle like rainbows, and—"
"Alright, that's enough," Hibari snorts, rolling his eyes. "Shut up so I can kiss you, stupid. Your cheesiness is making me ill."
"You know you love it," Yamamoto says brightly, winding his arms around his husband's waist as he did.
"Whatever," Hibari smirks as he grabs the front of Yamamoto's button-up shirt, which is definitely going to end up an unsalvageable mess on the ground. "I'm going to make you scream for it."
"Oh, it's on," Yamamoto grins back, just as feral. "You are going down, Agent 18."
"We'll see, 80. We'll see."
They stagger backwards into the bedroom; all inhibitions throw aside because who would've thought? One infamously single spy and another ludicrously violent agent tying the knot out of pure accident, and then actually ending up in— dare it be said? — love. Even the apocalypse won't be able to stop them in the field or in bed now.
In the hallway of their new home, the moving boxes piled ceiling-high on top of one another sure won't be unpacked for a very long time. However, the picture of Starry Night, the stupid, wonderful painting that started it all, hangs neatly on its peg on the wall. It's a reminder of the beginning of their brilliantly dangerous love story and the rest of their lives waiting to be written.
…
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"What the hell?" Hibari mutters, breaking their sloppy kiss to reach into his pocket. His phone is buzzing, and Yamamoto raises his eyebrow. Hibari puts it on speakerphone once more.
"This had better be good, Reborn," he growls.
"Are you and Yamamoto having kinky sex right now?" Reborn says, his voice tinny. "Because if you are I sorely regret calling back."
"Just about to," Yamamoto interrupts, and from the background it sounds like Tsuna's started choking on his tea.
"Well, you'll have to put that on hold for now," Reborn said in his I'm-the-Boss-of-V-do-what-I-say voice. "We've received a credible threat about a shady character named Checkerface. I need you two to fly straight to Berlin to take a look into it."
Yamamoto's eyebrow goes up and Hibari presses his lips together. It could be a dangerous job. It could be highly life-threatening. One of them may go down or they could both perish in the field.
But, that's what made being a superspy so damningly awesome. It's an occupational hazard.
"Sounds like we don't have much of a choice," Yamamoto says lightly, a wide grin already cutting across his face. "Agent 18 and 80, reporting for duty."
End
Wow, that was long! Like, really, really long. Whoops.
Also, the ending was a slight rip-off of the ending of Skyfall, which I adore at unhealthy levels. Daniel Craig, Ben Whishaw and Javier Bardem in one movie basically ruined my feels.
Thank you for reading this insane piece! Happy Singles' Awareness Day. –Sprinkles pixie dust and hearts everywhere-
-BlackStar