dance macabre
Title: Dance Macabre
Series: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Characters/Pairings: Squalo, Yamamoto
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Squalo's language, fighting.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Their work is like a dance. A side-drabble to seven steps away from death, but understandable on its own.
Dance Macabre
Yamamoto is so lost in thought (an elementary mistake, something that should never have happened, not even when his boss was in the hospital) that he fails to pay attention to his backside - a moment too late he senses movement and turns, but realizes that well, shit, that’s a gun barrel, aimed straight at him, and he has no time to run or block or avoid it.
He squeezes his eyes shut as the gun sounds. There is an impact, but it’s different from what he expected- he’s thrown to the floor (and that right there should have been enough of a clue, because there was no piercing pain, no blood, just warmth and a weight pinning him to the ground) and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring straight at Squalo’s grey eyes, which are blazing in anger.
“Brat, keep your head in the game! Have you learned fucking nothing?” Squalo demands, pulling him up. Yamamoto smiles and breathes out a laugh.
“Sorry, Squalo. I won’t distract you anymore. Let’s get this done.”
Squalo looks at him appraisingly before nodding and turning back to their enemies - or those still left standing after the explosives Squalo had fired a moment earlier.
“You trash are going down!” He shouts, almost gleeful, and springs back into action.
Yamamoto smiles. They’re opposites in almost everything, but the curious thing is their synchronization: when one moves, the other stops, and vice versa. It’s like an elaborate dance only they know the steps to, a dance performed by two killers working in complete harmony, the drops of blood their steps and the metal clashing against their swords their music.
One, two, three - evade, slash, cut. It’s that simple.
fin
Series: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Characters/Pairings: Squalo, Yamamoto
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Squalo's language, fighting.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Their work is like a dance. A side-drabble to seven steps away from death, but understandable on its own.
Dance Macabre
Yamamoto is so lost in thought (an elementary mistake, something that should never have happened, not even when his boss was in the hospital) that he fails to pay attention to his backside - a moment too late he senses movement and turns, but realizes that well, shit, that’s a gun barrel, aimed straight at him, and he has no time to run or block or avoid it.
He squeezes his eyes shut as the gun sounds. There is an impact, but it’s different from what he expected- he’s thrown to the floor (and that right there should have been enough of a clue, because there was no piercing pain, no blood, just warmth and a weight pinning him to the ground) and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring straight at Squalo’s grey eyes, which are blazing in anger.
“Brat, keep your head in the game! Have you learned fucking nothing?” Squalo demands, pulling him up. Yamamoto smiles and breathes out a laugh.
“Sorry, Squalo. I won’t distract you anymore. Let’s get this done.”
Squalo looks at him appraisingly before nodding and turning back to their enemies - or those still left standing after the explosives Squalo had fired a moment earlier.
“You trash are going down!” He shouts, almost gleeful, and springs back into action.
Yamamoto smiles. They’re opposites in almost everything, but the curious thing is their synchronization: when one moves, the other stops, and vice versa. It’s like an elaborate dance only they know the steps to, a dance performed by two killers working in complete harmony, the drops of blood their steps and the metal clashing against their swords their music.
One, two, three - evade, slash, cut. It’s that simple.
fin