(no subject)
This is not the porn I promised yesterday. But still. Porn. \o/
[Edit] The fuck? Word took out all of my quotation marks. *grumbles, wanders off to fix*
Title: Alternate Ending
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Pairing: Gamma/Gokudera
Rating: NC-17 [language, sex]
Warnings: AU-ish because it takes place after current arc. Let's assume the good guys win. Thus, obviously, there are also spoilers.
Word Count: 4500
Notes: As a matter of fact, I don't have an excuse for this. Why do you ask?
Notes v2.0: I'm taking some liberties with Gamma's character here, going on the very brief glimpse we had of him pre-Millefiore. I apologize for the n00b-ness I bring to this character.
In a different world, one with its axis first wrenched out by savage cosmic teeth and crimped around like a grenade pin, in a different world, Gokudera would meet him at a diplomatic meeting.
Of course, meet isn't quite right. Gokudera's met him before--bloody, beaten, revenge crackling between them like ball lightning. Gokudera's met him. And-- met --that isn't right either, because what had happened was ten years in the future, hasn't happened yet, will never happen now. So, past tense, present tense--all of that bullshit was relative and nonexistent. This time travel business screwed with Gokudera's sense of language as much as it screwed with everything else in his world.
The diplomatic meeting would be something mundane--a cut of the Giglio Nero's vineyard profits, provided the Vongola aids in distribution of the finished product to Asia, a relatively new but swiftly expanding wine market. And while Gokudera usually finds himself enthralled with every beneficent plan masterfully constructed by the Tenth, he finds himself embarrassingly wishing that this one was maybe just a little more interesting because it would keep his mind off this guy sitting across the table.
Because it's Gamma. He is dressed in a simple black suit, cut just like Gokudera's. He looks younger than the Gamma whom Gokudera had taken down with the newly cracked Sistema C.A.I..
The previous Giglio Nero boss is dead, the pretty woman, and everyone knew just how she had cradled Gamma's heart against her soft palm--she's already dead because that's just the way things go sometimes no matter how many ways you think you changed the future. She's dead, so Gamma sits to the right of Uni, the new boss, this tiny thing with wide, bright eyes like the Tenth had once, long ago when they were all just boys. Gamma sits beside her looking alternately bored and full of effortful attention.
And Gokudera tries not to stare; he does. His heart beats, angry in his chest because no matter what sort of fucked-up alternate ending this is, what sort of director's cut, Gamma is still Gamma is still the guy who fucking tried to kill him and his friends and his Boss. And Gamma can sit there looking benign as much as he pleases and it won't change that hard, black thing in his chest that passed for a heart once upon a time which will never come now.
But Gokudera can't really help himself. Beneath the table his hands are trembling. To his right, Yamamoto is a warm presence and it's a good thing, because that slight reminder that they are in the present, that everyone is alive and well--that's the only thing currently stopping Gokudera from pulling out the handgun slid into the space between his back and his belt and putting a bullet right in the middle of Gamma's handsome, smug face. When Yamamoto glances over at him, concerned and fucking intuitive for such an idiot, Gokudera scowls and returns his attention to Tsuna.
"...and the research shows that your Sangiovese grape did especially well last year..."
Gokudera's line of vision slides from the Tenth's face, down to the table, and over to where Gamma's long fingers are flipping a pen from knuckle to knuckle, under his palm, and back over the top again. When Gamma glances at him, catches him staring, he winks. Then he raises his free hand to his mouth to mime a yawn at him. Boring, is the message. Gokudera's face screws up in offense at this insult to his boss and at Gamma's unprofessional behavior and at the way that monster thinks he can just fucking joke with Gokudera after all they have been through--
Except they haven't. Not this Gamma. They haven't been through anything. This is their first meeting. The thought makes Gokudera's head hurt.
Gamma smirks at him; then he turns to Uni, nods and smiles as if he's been listening the whole time.
Yamamoto turns to him. "You okay," he whispers in Gokudera's ear.
"Fuck off," he whispers in return.
***
The next time is a funeral. Some old allied boss, finally gripped by a heart attack or a stroke or he fell and broke his hip or something. He was old. Gokudera didn't know him. All he knows is this old guy's kid is taking over--not a kid anymore, actually, twice as old as Tsuna was when this world was dropped into his lap like a bomb and he was left waving away the mushroom cloud, trying to see the future amid the destruction. But the new boss is an okay guy and Gokudera wants to go pay his respects.
The Giglio Nero was there too. But so were a lot of Families. Gokudera ignores them all as best he can, sitting beside the Tenth, beside Yamamoto, quietly telling Ryohei to calm down when he is overcome with extreme emotion. A funeral is never a good time for a confrontation, for wallowing in ancient grudges, in grudges with such illusory origins, so he doesn't scan the room for Gamma. He doesn't. Still, he can feel Gamma back there, watching him a little uneasily, as if he's seen a ghost or something. He doesn't dwell on it.
Instead, he watches the man of God in the front speak of a plan, of a good life lived, of an afterlife. Father, he thinks to himself, I could tell you a thing or two about the afterlife. He watches the censer sway, breathes in the scent of the church, of all churches: polished wood, incense, sometimes a touch of red wine, always that faint ghost of old-lady perfume. He disappears into the world around him, the present, this moment, and does not think about standing silently beside his mother's coffin, or what it must have been like to kneel beside the Tenth's, once long ago. He doesn't know.
And after the funeral, there is the bar. The Tenth and Yamamoto consoling the widow, others grouped with their own Families talking softly over glasses of wine, scotch, whiskey. Gokudera orders himself a shot of vodka, downs it as soon as it's handed to him, orders another. He is not in mourning for the passing of the boss, but he's never quite been able to shake the brooding which funerals pull over his mind. He takes his second shot and finds a seat at the end of the bar.
"Ciao," says the man beside him, and when he looks down he sees that it is Gamma.
Gokudera frowns at him, doesn't say anything. He tosses back his shot and clicks the glass back down on the counter. He cups his hands around it.
"You know what I heard," Gamma mutters in Italian and Gokudera is almost grateful to hear his old language again in intimate conversation, Gamma's voice just rough around the edges with whatever he has been drinking. Gokudera glances down. Scotch. "I heard that it wasn't a heart attack at all. I heard he was poisoned by a rival Family."
Gokudera rolled his eyes. "And you're shocked?"
"To think," Gamma said, pausing to take another sip from his glass, the caramel-colored liquor shimmering and translucent in the warm bar lighting, "that such violence exists, even in this day and age. You'd think we'd gotten most of that sentiment out of the Mafia by now, you know? What with Sawada and Uni heading their Families..."
Gokudera flagged down the bartender for another shot. "What the fuck do you know," he asked, "the Tenth is changing things."
He took his shot from the bartender and wandered over to join his Family in the far corner.
***
The time after that is Uni's eighteenth birthday. The Tenth chipped in for a party--a gift from an ally, a token of appreciation for years of business and friendship.
So the Vongola gathered at the Giglio Nero estate in Tuscany with other allied Families. Uni, Gokudera notices, has grown into a lovely young woman; he hasn't seen her in a few years, not since those awkward adolescent days made more awkward by her responsibility for running an entire empire. All things considered, she handled it with grace and competency.
The party is a lavish one, fancy clothes and good food and important people, though the Tenth had made an express effort to make this as little like a business meeting as possible. Still, a room full of suited Mafia men and women, all undoubtedly with guns and other weapons hidden about their person--it makes for an intimidating sight. This pleases Gokudera. Still, the drinking, the laughter, the loud loud loud is too much after a while, and Gokudera excuses himself out onto the balcony. It doesn't help, of course, to see Yamamoto sneak out the front door with some pretty Giglio Nero girl, her long pretty fingers hooked over the belt snugged around his waist.
"Nice night," a voice greets him as he steps out into the cool night air.
Goddamn it.
"What do you do," Gokudera asks, walking up to the balcony, "stalk me?"
Gamma laughs lightly. He sips his wine. "We must both like our peace and quiet, I guess."
"Yeah, well, you're in mine."
"It's a shame," Gamma said, running a hand through his hair and resting it on the back of his neck. Damn him for always managing to look so cool. "Shame we don't get along better.I think we have a lot in common."
"Fuck you," Gokudera says, teeth clenched around the barrel of his cigarette. He sighs and leans against the balcony railing, surveys the view of Tuscany below. Gamma chuckles and leans back against the railing, too, but facing in the opposite direction, his eyes trained on the door to the party, still a guardian of sorts for this young woman laughing and flirting with the Cavallone heir.
The Cavallone boy has his father's good looks. He must also have his mother's good coordination, because he leans over chivalrously, bowing deep and kisses Uni's hand and winks at her. Gamma makes a grumbling noise in the back of his throat. Something like "Too young," or "How bold," but he settles himself and Gokudera glances over his shoulder at him. Then he lets his own eyes wander inside. The Tenth is sitting in a corner. His son sits on his lap bored with the proceedings, half asleep. Kyoko is beside them, her hand curved around the back of his neck.
"Hey," Gokudera says, plucking the cigarette from between his lips and ashing over the balcony, "don't you want to know why I don't like you?"
Gamma looks at him out of the corner of his eye. He shrugs. "You're the Vongola Storm Guardian. Local lore has it that you don't like anyone."
Gokudera frowns and contemplates for a moment. "Very true," he says slowly. He coughs. "But I especially don't like you."
Gamma watches him, and Gokudera can't help but shiver once under the calm gaze. The last time those eyes had held him like this, he'd been bloody and half-dead on the ground.
Finally, "Fair enough," Gamma says. He tips back the last swallow of his champagne and walks back into the party, no hint of rejection in his gait.
***
The time after that:
"You two are always talking when our Families are together," Tsuna said, giving Gokudera that knowing look, the one that said, We both know this is a lie. "I want you two on this together." So Gokudera goes.
(Once, he'd overheard the Tenth and Yamamoto speaking in the den.
"It was a scary time, Tsuna."
"It was. But we've moved on. Gokudera has to do the same.")
They sit in a car together, situated down a dirt path, outside the moutainside home of a Giglio Nero member suspected of treason. Gamma looks hurt to be here, hurt to be suspecting a brother of anything, but still he sits there. Family, unlike other fictional brotherhoods, are not all for one and one for all. If a member is harming the rest of the Family, then he needs to go. I-pin, inside, the strongest diplomat the Vongola has to offer, will make sure that he does.
Gokudera holds onto his paper cup filled with cold coffee. He doesn't need it to stay awake. But, for a while, it had been warming his hands since, on a stake-out, it's not exactly a good idea to keep the car running. Every now and then, he misses the Box weapons just a little bit, just for how much cooler they made everything.
"Okay, I'll bite," Gamma says finally, after two hours of stony silence, his voice all wrapped in the darkness of the night and the car and its tinted windows; his eyes, too. "Why don't you like me?"
It's years after the fact. Doesn't matter. Gokudera has a long memory.
He opens his mouth, ready to let it all run out like flash flood. You're a killer. You tried to kill me. And my Family. You were angry, broken, bent on revenge and--
How do you say something like that? How do you tell a man his future, one that is at once both false and true, one that is actually his past?
He's sitting there, dark suit crisp and clean, a paper cup of coffee in his hand and they are two million light years away from where they had been back then.
Gokudera tries again. You hate me. You hate the Vongola. You are sadistic. Lawn Head, Yamamoto...
Again, he chokes on the words.
Gamma watches him patiently, mouth pulled down into an anticipatory frown, as if he's soon going to receive the final piece to some long-pondered puzzle.
Finally, "I forget," Gokudera says quietly and takes a drink of his coffee. It's still cold. He doesn't care.
Beside him, Gamma scoffs and it is a noise Gokudera himself makes from time to time. "Silly kid," he says, even though they are two middle-aged men sitting on a stake-out in a Mafia boss's car.
"I can't believe we're on a fucking stake-out. This is like a bad cop movie," Gokudera answers, for what it's worth.
Through the large windows of the den, Gokudera can see I-pin: slick black suit like the rest of them, her hands folded in her lap. She has always been the image of courtesy and calm.
The radio transmitter on the dashboard crackles. "Genkishi-san." I-pin's voice is steady and assured. "I hear you have some information for me and I understand it comes with a price."
When Genkishi informs I-pin of the price, Gamma winces. As if, even with all of the evidence to the contrary, he had wanted to believe in the innocence of his brother.
"What an asshole," Gokudera says, always the sensitive one.
And then he sees it. Even over the distance, even through the panes of glass, he sees it. The flash of recognition in Genkishi's eyes. He remembers it. He'll never be able to forget it. And, by the way Gamma's hand clamps down over his wrist, Gokudera knows that Gamma knows the look, too. Gamma's fingers are shaking.
Gokudera lunges for the radio. "I-pin I-pin--watch ou--"
And Gamma is already out of the car. His gun is already out of its hip holster. He is already kicking open the door to the house.
"Shit," Gokudera hisses, and pushes out of the car as well.
And he sees it in slow motion. Gamma drawing his gun on Genkishi. Genkishi drawing his sword. I-pin's perfectly executed martial arts manuever, but it's too late. Genkishi's sword slices into the meat of her thigh, across Gamma's abdomen. Even from outside, he can hear I-pin's cry, Gamma's groan of pain and betrayal.
But their swift, combined efforts are enough. I-pin kicks loose the sword. And Gamma buries a bullet in Genkishi's chest.
And then, in the middle of the night at the base of a small mountain range, the night falls quiet and still.
***
Gokudera doesn't like that it goes this way but it does.
It is six months later, after Uni's wedding with the Cavallone boy. A Family merger, a shifting about of rank and loyalties is inevitable in the coming weeks, but for now there is nothing but celebration--music, dancing, drinking. Gokudera hasn't been to an old-fashioned Italian wedding in two decades. Dino's was the last. It is only appropriate that his son's would be the next. Both Tsuna and Yamamoto had married in quiet, traditional Japanese ceremonies. Lambo is making plans to ask I-pin, gone hastily from shy admirer to devoted boyfriend in a matter of days after the incident with Genkishi. Ryohei is still working up the nerve to pop such an extreme question to Hana. Hana, meanwhile, has already selected a dress, a location for the reception, and a less-than-tentative date.
Between songs, between shots with Yamamoto, Gokudera finds himself out in the garden like he usually does. He's not one for crowds, not one for festivity. And somehow he's not surprised to find Gamma there as well. An empty wine glass is cupped in his palm, the stem hanging down between his fingers right about where a Ring would have sat in another lifetime, another truthlieillusion.
He doesn't turn to see Gokudera. He says, I'd do anything for that kid. He says, Sometimes, I wake up from dreaming and my heart is pounding. Sometimes, I dream that she's disappeared and I know how to find her, I know how to get her back, but I can't do anything about it.
The words freeze Gokudera to his spot on the pavement.
"Last night, I walked the perimeter of the house and thought about this wedding. What if this is a trick? What if the Cavallone are using this? What if--"
Gokudera forces himself to laugh. Gamma is obviously intoxicated. "The Cavallone? They don't want any trouble with you. They don't want any trouble with anybody."
Gamma spins around. "How do you know that?" He is unsteady on his feet. "Men lie."
The way Gamma stares down into his empty glass, thick lips set in a forlorn line, it is clear to Gokudera that each swallow of wine down his throat is a rabid dog tearing after unsavory memories, after emotions which intrude like thieves. Rumor has always had it that the only person able to drink Gamma under the table had been the former Giglio Nero boss.
"They do." He stares at Gamma.
"If they hurt her, I swear I will make this a war."
Gokudera's guts make a fist. No. No. Not again. He swallows and forces himself to approach Gamma. The soles of his shoes scrape against the pebble walkway. What has happened to the cheerful man who had, over the years, finally come to replace the image of the cold, hard killer in Gokudera's mind? "Pull yourself together, Gamma. Your boss is in there," he says quietly.
Gamma sways slightly away from him, then back. "I can't let her be hurt." His voice drops to a whisper. "She is just a child."
"And you sound like a suspicious old man." Gokudera sinks down on a garden bench. When Gamma drops beside him, he can't tell if Gamma's face is flushed with drink or crying.
"I'll let her down."
Gokudera turns to him. In the moonlight, he looks pathetic. He looks nothing like a killer. He looks scared.
"Hey, hey, come on. You--you'd be able to do it. You'd save her. No matter what. Trust me."
Why does he feel this urge to rewrite a future that would never happen, one that Gamma doesn't even know about? Fuck it. "Really," he continues, "she's safe with you."
Gamma looks at him, holds his eyes, and cups a hand to his face. Gokudera fights the urge to twitch away.
"You and me--we know how to protect our bosses, right?" He draws his eyebrows together. Shit, he's terrible at comforting people.
But Gamma looks relieved.
And, ultimately, it goes like this. A deserted bedroom upstairs at the Giglio Nero estate--not Gamma's, not anyone's as far they're concerned, doesn't matter, doesn't matter. Gamma is close to frantic, this sharp edge to the way he sweeps his eyes over Gokudera.
Gokudera doesn't know why he needs this, what this doppleganger has to offer him, but he doesn't protest when Gamma slams their mouths together, when his fingers fumble hastily with the knot in Gokudera's tie, when he's shrugging off his own coat even as he kisses Gokudera, walking him backward toward the bed.
Gokudera could blame the wine in their bellies, could blame a lot of things, a lot of unrequited loves gone unspoken for both of them, a lifetime of tension and giving even though such generosity was something they'd never admit to, a lifetime of never allowing themselves to take. Gokudera could blame these things, but he won't. He won't even entertain such thoughts.
Because, as Gamma finally has them undressed enough, both with their pants off, their suit jackets, Gokudera's shirt, once Gamma is finally kneeling between Gokudera's knees, once he is moving his lips over words in their shared native tongue, the ramblings of a broken man ("In my dreams, you're there too. You're--" Lips to Gokudera's clavicle, his rib cage, his hip bones. "--You're there and I'm. I'm killing you."). Gokudera drags in a ragged breath as Gamma takes him into his mouth, as he lets Gamma's dreamworld adventures envelope him. "You know too," he wants to say, "you know."
But so what? So what, as Gamma's tongue slides up his length, as Gokudera's hips jerk from the mattress, as Gamma's large hands close on his waist. So what, as Gamma moans around him, this drunken, keening noise, and Gokudera grabs a fierce handful of Gamma's hair. So what, so what that he knows about it too?
"I dreamed about you before I knew you," Gamma mutters against his sharp hip bones, dragging his nose through the patch of coarse hair. "I didn't recognize you at first." And he goes back to work, his mouth back to making Gokudera gasp into the dark, back to holding his hips down with one hand, back to sliding two fingers of his other hand into Gokudera's mouth.
"For years I've felt like I should want to kill you, like I should want to put a bullet into the back of your head," he says, lips brushing against the tip of Gokudera's cock, "but I don't want to."
And Gokudera can't say anything. He slides his tongue around the fingers in his mouth, scrapes his teeth over them, sucks on them, and all he can think is, "You're not him. You're not who you used to be. But you understand.
You won't tell me to forget it and move on.
So come on--suffer with me."
And he bites down hard.
Gamma groans around him, and raises his eyes to Gokudera's face, hot and sharp like lightning.
"You wouldn't use a gun," Gokudera mutters, tearing his mouth away from Gamma's fingers.
"No?"
"No." And Gokudera twists his fingers around Gamma's loosened tie, twists his fingers around it and tugs Gamma up over his body. "You would be crueler than that."
And Gamma is trembling a little. His hands shaking on Gokudera's shoulders, his thighs shaking between Gokudera's thighs. His lips shaking in the dark, the faint streetlight from outside illuminating them just enough. "I'm not cruel," he whispers, his voice frightened, "I wouldn't be cruel."
"We're all cruel," Gokudera hisses, and he reaches down to prepare himself with his own fingers. Because, for all of Gamma's urgency, for all of his sudden desire, Gokudera's pretty sure he's never fucked a man before. He's probably barely jacked himself off since the death of his boss so many years ago.
"And you're cruel in your dream, aren't you?" Gokudera wants to tell himself to shut up, but he can't. Above him Gamma has stilled. "Why wouldn't you be any crueler in real life?" He works his fingers, guides Gamma's hand to his cock.
"Aren't you afraid of becoming that person?" I am. "It's just a tragedy away, isn't it?"
And Gokudera removes his fingers and moves his hips up against Gamma. "Play billiards much, Gamma?" And he doesn't know if he's making a sexual pun which is so un-fucking-like him, or if he's trying to make Gamma think about the man he is in his nightmares.
"I am afraid," Gamma says, and, guiding himself with his hand, he pushes inside Gokudera, a little at a time.
Gokudera groans. It has been ages. He feels Gamma's hands on his shoulders, so chaste for the way he's moving his hips, ragged and arrythmic and drunk and mourning. He hears Gamma's rasping breath next to his ear, swears he can feel his heartbeat, erratic and fast, and this is where he starts to drift.
Back a million years ago, a baby again, a million wrong choices never made, a million things he never said, he'll say because they need to be said.
Daddy, why are you bleeding?
Where's Mom?
Tenth Please forgive me.
Yamamoto...
Bianchi, let's start over.
A million fuck-ups, a million crossroads and deals made and deals not made and here he is, tangled up in memory and sorrow and masochism and for once, it feels good to be understood, in whatever abstract way Gamma understands him. It feels good to let someone in, even if they don't know he's letting them in.
In the dark, he moves his hips to meet Gamma's, twines one arm around his neck. His free hand, he drags over Gamma's still-clothed chest, down the thick line of scar over his abdomen which he cannot see, but can feel easily through the cotton of his white shirt. If he could speak, he would whisper, We're not so bad, you and me. Are we? He'd assure Gamma, assure himself. But for now, this is enough. It is enough to wallow in this with someone.
And, when Gamma tenses, shouts the name of a woman long dead, Gokudera comes, hot and fast over his belly, over Gamma's, and together they collapse onto the bed.
[Edit] The fuck? Word took out all of my quotation marks. *grumbles, wanders off to fix*
Title: Alternate Ending
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Pairing: Gamma/Gokudera
Rating: NC-17 [language, sex]
Warnings: AU-ish because it takes place after current arc. Let's assume the good guys win. Thus, obviously, there are also spoilers.
Word Count: 4500
Notes: As a matter of fact, I don't have an excuse for this. Why do you ask?
Notes v2.0: I'm taking some liberties with Gamma's character here, going on the very brief glimpse we had of him pre-Millefiore. I apologize for the n00b-ness I bring to this character.
In a different world, one with its axis first wrenched out by savage cosmic teeth and crimped around like a grenade pin, in a different world, Gokudera would meet him at a diplomatic meeting.
Of course, meet isn't quite right. Gokudera's met him before--bloody, beaten, revenge crackling between them like ball lightning. Gokudera's met him. And-- met --that isn't right either, because what had happened was ten years in the future, hasn't happened yet, will never happen now. So, past tense, present tense--all of that bullshit was relative and nonexistent. This time travel business screwed with Gokudera's sense of language as much as it screwed with everything else in his world.
The diplomatic meeting would be something mundane--a cut of the Giglio Nero's vineyard profits, provided the Vongola aids in distribution of the finished product to Asia, a relatively new but swiftly expanding wine market. And while Gokudera usually finds himself enthralled with every beneficent plan masterfully constructed by the Tenth, he finds himself embarrassingly wishing that this one was maybe just a little more interesting because it would keep his mind off this guy sitting across the table.
Because it's Gamma. He is dressed in a simple black suit, cut just like Gokudera's. He looks younger than the Gamma whom Gokudera had taken down with the newly cracked Sistema C.A.I..
The previous Giglio Nero boss is dead, the pretty woman, and everyone knew just how she had cradled Gamma's heart against her soft palm--she's already dead because that's just the way things go sometimes no matter how many ways you think you changed the future. She's dead, so Gamma sits to the right of Uni, the new boss, this tiny thing with wide, bright eyes like the Tenth had once, long ago when they were all just boys. Gamma sits beside her looking alternately bored and full of effortful attention.
And Gokudera tries not to stare; he does. His heart beats, angry in his chest because no matter what sort of fucked-up alternate ending this is, what sort of director's cut, Gamma is still Gamma is still the guy who fucking tried to kill him and his friends and his Boss. And Gamma can sit there looking benign as much as he pleases and it won't change that hard, black thing in his chest that passed for a heart once upon a time which will never come now.
But Gokudera can't really help himself. Beneath the table his hands are trembling. To his right, Yamamoto is a warm presence and it's a good thing, because that slight reminder that they are in the present, that everyone is alive and well--that's the only thing currently stopping Gokudera from pulling out the handgun slid into the space between his back and his belt and putting a bullet right in the middle of Gamma's handsome, smug face. When Yamamoto glances over at him, concerned and fucking intuitive for such an idiot, Gokudera scowls and returns his attention to Tsuna.
"...and the research shows that your Sangiovese grape did especially well last year..."
Gokudera's line of vision slides from the Tenth's face, down to the table, and over to where Gamma's long fingers are flipping a pen from knuckle to knuckle, under his palm, and back over the top again. When Gamma glances at him, catches him staring, he winks. Then he raises his free hand to his mouth to mime a yawn at him. Boring, is the message. Gokudera's face screws up in offense at this insult to his boss and at Gamma's unprofessional behavior and at the way that monster thinks he can just fucking joke with Gokudera after all they have been through--
Except they haven't. Not this Gamma. They haven't been through anything. This is their first meeting. The thought makes Gokudera's head hurt.
Gamma smirks at him; then he turns to Uni, nods and smiles as if he's been listening the whole time.
Yamamoto turns to him. "You okay," he whispers in Gokudera's ear.
"Fuck off," he whispers in return.
***
The next time is a funeral. Some old allied boss, finally gripped by a heart attack or a stroke or he fell and broke his hip or something. He was old. Gokudera didn't know him. All he knows is this old guy's kid is taking over--not a kid anymore, actually, twice as old as Tsuna was when this world was dropped into his lap like a bomb and he was left waving away the mushroom cloud, trying to see the future amid the destruction. But the new boss is an okay guy and Gokudera wants to go pay his respects.
The Giglio Nero was there too. But so were a lot of Families. Gokudera ignores them all as best he can, sitting beside the Tenth, beside Yamamoto, quietly telling Ryohei to calm down when he is overcome with extreme emotion. A funeral is never a good time for a confrontation, for wallowing in ancient grudges, in grudges with such illusory origins, so he doesn't scan the room for Gamma. He doesn't. Still, he can feel Gamma back there, watching him a little uneasily, as if he's seen a ghost or something. He doesn't dwell on it.
Instead, he watches the man of God in the front speak of a plan, of a good life lived, of an afterlife. Father, he thinks to himself, I could tell you a thing or two about the afterlife. He watches the censer sway, breathes in the scent of the church, of all churches: polished wood, incense, sometimes a touch of red wine, always that faint ghost of old-lady perfume. He disappears into the world around him, the present, this moment, and does not think about standing silently beside his mother's coffin, or what it must have been like to kneel beside the Tenth's, once long ago. He doesn't know.
And after the funeral, there is the bar. The Tenth and Yamamoto consoling the widow, others grouped with their own Families talking softly over glasses of wine, scotch, whiskey. Gokudera orders himself a shot of vodka, downs it as soon as it's handed to him, orders another. He is not in mourning for the passing of the boss, but he's never quite been able to shake the brooding which funerals pull over his mind. He takes his second shot and finds a seat at the end of the bar.
"Ciao," says the man beside him, and when he looks down he sees that it is Gamma.
Gokudera frowns at him, doesn't say anything. He tosses back his shot and clicks the glass back down on the counter. He cups his hands around it.
"You know what I heard," Gamma mutters in Italian and Gokudera is almost grateful to hear his old language again in intimate conversation, Gamma's voice just rough around the edges with whatever he has been drinking. Gokudera glances down. Scotch. "I heard that it wasn't a heart attack at all. I heard he was poisoned by a rival Family."
Gokudera rolled his eyes. "And you're shocked?"
"To think," Gamma said, pausing to take another sip from his glass, the caramel-colored liquor shimmering and translucent in the warm bar lighting, "that such violence exists, even in this day and age. You'd think we'd gotten most of that sentiment out of the Mafia by now, you know? What with Sawada and Uni heading their Families..."
Gokudera flagged down the bartender for another shot. "What the fuck do you know," he asked, "the Tenth is changing things."
He took his shot from the bartender and wandered over to join his Family in the far corner.
***
The time after that is Uni's eighteenth birthday. The Tenth chipped in for a party--a gift from an ally, a token of appreciation for years of business and friendship.
So the Vongola gathered at the Giglio Nero estate in Tuscany with other allied Families. Uni, Gokudera notices, has grown into a lovely young woman; he hasn't seen her in a few years, not since those awkward adolescent days made more awkward by her responsibility for running an entire empire. All things considered, she handled it with grace and competency.
The party is a lavish one, fancy clothes and good food and important people, though the Tenth had made an express effort to make this as little like a business meeting as possible. Still, a room full of suited Mafia men and women, all undoubtedly with guns and other weapons hidden about their person--it makes for an intimidating sight. This pleases Gokudera. Still, the drinking, the laughter, the loud loud loud is too much after a while, and Gokudera excuses himself out onto the balcony. It doesn't help, of course, to see Yamamoto sneak out the front door with some pretty Giglio Nero girl, her long pretty fingers hooked over the belt snugged around his waist.
"Nice night," a voice greets him as he steps out into the cool night air.
Goddamn it.
"What do you do," Gokudera asks, walking up to the balcony, "stalk me?"
Gamma laughs lightly. He sips his wine. "We must both like our peace and quiet, I guess."
"Yeah, well, you're in mine."
"It's a shame," Gamma said, running a hand through his hair and resting it on the back of his neck. Damn him for always managing to look so cool. "Shame we don't get along better.I think we have a lot in common."
"Fuck you," Gokudera says, teeth clenched around the barrel of his cigarette. He sighs and leans against the balcony railing, surveys the view of Tuscany below. Gamma chuckles and leans back against the railing, too, but facing in the opposite direction, his eyes trained on the door to the party, still a guardian of sorts for this young woman laughing and flirting with the Cavallone heir.
The Cavallone boy has his father's good looks. He must also have his mother's good coordination, because he leans over chivalrously, bowing deep and kisses Uni's hand and winks at her. Gamma makes a grumbling noise in the back of his throat. Something like "Too young," or "How bold," but he settles himself and Gokudera glances over his shoulder at him. Then he lets his own eyes wander inside. The Tenth is sitting in a corner. His son sits on his lap bored with the proceedings, half asleep. Kyoko is beside them, her hand curved around the back of his neck.
"Hey," Gokudera says, plucking the cigarette from between his lips and ashing over the balcony, "don't you want to know why I don't like you?"
Gamma looks at him out of the corner of his eye. He shrugs. "You're the Vongola Storm Guardian. Local lore has it that you don't like anyone."
Gokudera frowns and contemplates for a moment. "Very true," he says slowly. He coughs. "But I especially don't like you."
Gamma watches him, and Gokudera can't help but shiver once under the calm gaze. The last time those eyes had held him like this, he'd been bloody and half-dead on the ground.
Finally, "Fair enough," Gamma says. He tips back the last swallow of his champagne and walks back into the party, no hint of rejection in his gait.
***
The time after that:
"You two are always talking when our Families are together," Tsuna said, giving Gokudera that knowing look, the one that said, We both know this is a lie. "I want you two on this together." So Gokudera goes.
(Once, he'd overheard the Tenth and Yamamoto speaking in the den.
"It was a scary time, Tsuna."
"It was. But we've moved on. Gokudera has to do the same.")
They sit in a car together, situated down a dirt path, outside the moutainside home of a Giglio Nero member suspected of treason. Gamma looks hurt to be here, hurt to be suspecting a brother of anything, but still he sits there. Family, unlike other fictional brotherhoods, are not all for one and one for all. If a member is harming the rest of the Family, then he needs to go. I-pin, inside, the strongest diplomat the Vongola has to offer, will make sure that he does.
Gokudera holds onto his paper cup filled with cold coffee. He doesn't need it to stay awake. But, for a while, it had been warming his hands since, on a stake-out, it's not exactly a good idea to keep the car running. Every now and then, he misses the Box weapons just a little bit, just for how much cooler they made everything.
"Okay, I'll bite," Gamma says finally, after two hours of stony silence, his voice all wrapped in the darkness of the night and the car and its tinted windows; his eyes, too. "Why don't you like me?"
It's years after the fact. Doesn't matter. Gokudera has a long memory.
He opens his mouth, ready to let it all run out like flash flood. You're a killer. You tried to kill me. And my Family. You were angry, broken, bent on revenge and--
How do you say something like that? How do you tell a man his future, one that is at once both false and true, one that is actually his past?
He's sitting there, dark suit crisp and clean, a paper cup of coffee in his hand and they are two million light years away from where they had been back then.
Gokudera tries again. You hate me. You hate the Vongola. You are sadistic. Lawn Head, Yamamoto...
Again, he chokes on the words.
Gamma watches him patiently, mouth pulled down into an anticipatory frown, as if he's soon going to receive the final piece to some long-pondered puzzle.
Finally, "I forget," Gokudera says quietly and takes a drink of his coffee. It's still cold. He doesn't care.
Beside him, Gamma scoffs and it is a noise Gokudera himself makes from time to time. "Silly kid," he says, even though they are two middle-aged men sitting on a stake-out in a Mafia boss's car.
"I can't believe we're on a fucking stake-out. This is like a bad cop movie," Gokudera answers, for what it's worth.
Through the large windows of the den, Gokudera can see I-pin: slick black suit like the rest of them, her hands folded in her lap. She has always been the image of courtesy and calm.
The radio transmitter on the dashboard crackles. "Genkishi-san." I-pin's voice is steady and assured. "I hear you have some information for me and I understand it comes with a price."
When Genkishi informs I-pin of the price, Gamma winces. As if, even with all of the evidence to the contrary, he had wanted to believe in the innocence of his brother.
"What an asshole," Gokudera says, always the sensitive one.
And then he sees it. Even over the distance, even through the panes of glass, he sees it. The flash of recognition in Genkishi's eyes. He remembers it. He'll never be able to forget it. And, by the way Gamma's hand clamps down over his wrist, Gokudera knows that Gamma knows the look, too. Gamma's fingers are shaking.
Gokudera lunges for the radio. "I-pin I-pin--watch ou--"
And Gamma is already out of the car. His gun is already out of its hip holster. He is already kicking open the door to the house.
"Shit," Gokudera hisses, and pushes out of the car as well.
And he sees it in slow motion. Gamma drawing his gun on Genkishi. Genkishi drawing his sword. I-pin's perfectly executed martial arts manuever, but it's too late. Genkishi's sword slices into the meat of her thigh, across Gamma's abdomen. Even from outside, he can hear I-pin's cry, Gamma's groan of pain and betrayal.
But their swift, combined efforts are enough. I-pin kicks loose the sword. And Gamma buries a bullet in Genkishi's chest.
And then, in the middle of the night at the base of a small mountain range, the night falls quiet and still.
***
Gokudera doesn't like that it goes this way but it does.
It is six months later, after Uni's wedding with the Cavallone boy. A Family merger, a shifting about of rank and loyalties is inevitable in the coming weeks, but for now there is nothing but celebration--music, dancing, drinking. Gokudera hasn't been to an old-fashioned Italian wedding in two decades. Dino's was the last. It is only appropriate that his son's would be the next. Both Tsuna and Yamamoto had married in quiet, traditional Japanese ceremonies. Lambo is making plans to ask I-pin, gone hastily from shy admirer to devoted boyfriend in a matter of days after the incident with Genkishi. Ryohei is still working up the nerve to pop such an extreme question to Hana. Hana, meanwhile, has already selected a dress, a location for the reception, and a less-than-tentative date.
Between songs, between shots with Yamamoto, Gokudera finds himself out in the garden like he usually does. He's not one for crowds, not one for festivity. And somehow he's not surprised to find Gamma there as well. An empty wine glass is cupped in his palm, the stem hanging down between his fingers right about where a Ring would have sat in another lifetime, another truthlieillusion.
He doesn't turn to see Gokudera. He says, I'd do anything for that kid. He says, Sometimes, I wake up from dreaming and my heart is pounding. Sometimes, I dream that she's disappeared and I know how to find her, I know how to get her back, but I can't do anything about it.
The words freeze Gokudera to his spot on the pavement.
"Last night, I walked the perimeter of the house and thought about this wedding. What if this is a trick? What if the Cavallone are using this? What if--"
Gokudera forces himself to laugh. Gamma is obviously intoxicated. "The Cavallone? They don't want any trouble with you. They don't want any trouble with anybody."
Gamma spins around. "How do you know that?" He is unsteady on his feet. "Men lie."
The way Gamma stares down into his empty glass, thick lips set in a forlorn line, it is clear to Gokudera that each swallow of wine down his throat is a rabid dog tearing after unsavory memories, after emotions which intrude like thieves. Rumor has always had it that the only person able to drink Gamma under the table had been the former Giglio Nero boss.
"They do." He stares at Gamma.
"If they hurt her, I swear I will make this a war."
Gokudera's guts make a fist. No. No. Not again. He swallows and forces himself to approach Gamma. The soles of his shoes scrape against the pebble walkway. What has happened to the cheerful man who had, over the years, finally come to replace the image of the cold, hard killer in Gokudera's mind? "Pull yourself together, Gamma. Your boss is in there," he says quietly.
Gamma sways slightly away from him, then back. "I can't let her be hurt." His voice drops to a whisper. "She is just a child."
"And you sound like a suspicious old man." Gokudera sinks down on a garden bench. When Gamma drops beside him, he can't tell if Gamma's face is flushed with drink or crying.
"I'll let her down."
Gokudera turns to him. In the moonlight, he looks pathetic. He looks nothing like a killer. He looks scared.
"Hey, hey, come on. You--you'd be able to do it. You'd save her. No matter what. Trust me."
Why does he feel this urge to rewrite a future that would never happen, one that Gamma doesn't even know about? Fuck it. "Really," he continues, "she's safe with you."
Gamma looks at him, holds his eyes, and cups a hand to his face. Gokudera fights the urge to twitch away.
"You and me--we know how to protect our bosses, right?" He draws his eyebrows together. Shit, he's terrible at comforting people.
But Gamma looks relieved.
And, ultimately, it goes like this. A deserted bedroom upstairs at the Giglio Nero estate--not Gamma's, not anyone's as far they're concerned, doesn't matter, doesn't matter. Gamma is close to frantic, this sharp edge to the way he sweeps his eyes over Gokudera.
Gokudera doesn't know why he needs this, what this doppleganger has to offer him, but he doesn't protest when Gamma slams their mouths together, when his fingers fumble hastily with the knot in Gokudera's tie, when he's shrugging off his own coat even as he kisses Gokudera, walking him backward toward the bed.
Gokudera could blame the wine in their bellies, could blame a lot of things, a lot of unrequited loves gone unspoken for both of them, a lifetime of tension and giving even though such generosity was something they'd never admit to, a lifetime of never allowing themselves to take. Gokudera could blame these things, but he won't. He won't even entertain such thoughts.
Because, as Gamma finally has them undressed enough, both with their pants off, their suit jackets, Gokudera's shirt, once Gamma is finally kneeling between Gokudera's knees, once he is moving his lips over words in their shared native tongue, the ramblings of a broken man ("In my dreams, you're there too. You're--" Lips to Gokudera's clavicle, his rib cage, his hip bones. "--You're there and I'm. I'm killing you."). Gokudera drags in a ragged breath as Gamma takes him into his mouth, as he lets Gamma's dreamworld adventures envelope him. "You know too," he wants to say, "you know."
But so what? So what, as Gamma's tongue slides up his length, as Gokudera's hips jerk from the mattress, as Gamma's large hands close on his waist. So what, as Gamma moans around him, this drunken, keening noise, and Gokudera grabs a fierce handful of Gamma's hair. So what, so what that he knows about it too?
"I dreamed about you before I knew you," Gamma mutters against his sharp hip bones, dragging his nose through the patch of coarse hair. "I didn't recognize you at first." And he goes back to work, his mouth back to making Gokudera gasp into the dark, back to holding his hips down with one hand, back to sliding two fingers of his other hand into Gokudera's mouth.
"For years I've felt like I should want to kill you, like I should want to put a bullet into the back of your head," he says, lips brushing against the tip of Gokudera's cock, "but I don't want to."
And Gokudera can't say anything. He slides his tongue around the fingers in his mouth, scrapes his teeth over them, sucks on them, and all he can think is, "You're not him. You're not who you used to be. But you understand.
You won't tell me to forget it and move on.
So come on--suffer with me."
And he bites down hard.
Gamma groans around him, and raises his eyes to Gokudera's face, hot and sharp like lightning.
"You wouldn't use a gun," Gokudera mutters, tearing his mouth away from Gamma's fingers.
"No?"
"No." And Gokudera twists his fingers around Gamma's loosened tie, twists his fingers around it and tugs Gamma up over his body. "You would be crueler than that."
And Gamma is trembling a little. His hands shaking on Gokudera's shoulders, his thighs shaking between Gokudera's thighs. His lips shaking in the dark, the faint streetlight from outside illuminating them just enough. "I'm not cruel," he whispers, his voice frightened, "I wouldn't be cruel."
"We're all cruel," Gokudera hisses, and he reaches down to prepare himself with his own fingers. Because, for all of Gamma's urgency, for all of his sudden desire, Gokudera's pretty sure he's never fucked a man before. He's probably barely jacked himself off since the death of his boss so many years ago.
"And you're cruel in your dream, aren't you?" Gokudera wants to tell himself to shut up, but he can't. Above him Gamma has stilled. "Why wouldn't you be any crueler in real life?" He works his fingers, guides Gamma's hand to his cock.
"Aren't you afraid of becoming that person?" I am. "It's just a tragedy away, isn't it?"
And Gokudera removes his fingers and moves his hips up against Gamma. "Play billiards much, Gamma?" And he doesn't know if he's making a sexual pun which is so un-fucking-like him, or if he's trying to make Gamma think about the man he is in his nightmares.
"I am afraid," Gamma says, and, guiding himself with his hand, he pushes inside Gokudera, a little at a time.
Gokudera groans. It has been ages. He feels Gamma's hands on his shoulders, so chaste for the way he's moving his hips, ragged and arrythmic and drunk and mourning. He hears Gamma's rasping breath next to his ear, swears he can feel his heartbeat, erratic and fast, and this is where he starts to drift.
Back a million years ago, a baby again, a million wrong choices never made, a million things he never said, he'll say because they need to be said.
Daddy, why are you bleeding?
Where's Mom?
Tenth Please forgive me.
Yamamoto...
Bianchi, let's start over.
A million fuck-ups, a million crossroads and deals made and deals not made and here he is, tangled up in memory and sorrow and masochism and for once, it feels good to be understood, in whatever abstract way Gamma understands him. It feels good to let someone in, even if they don't know he's letting them in.
In the dark, he moves his hips to meet Gamma's, twines one arm around his neck. His free hand, he drags over Gamma's still-clothed chest, down the thick line of scar over his abdomen which he cannot see, but can feel easily through the cotton of his white shirt. If he could speak, he would whisper, We're not so bad, you and me. Are we? He'd assure Gamma, assure himself. But for now, this is enough. It is enough to wallow in this with someone.
And, when Gamma tenses, shouts the name of a woman long dead, Gokudera comes, hot and fast over his belly, over Gamma's, and together they collapse onto the bed.