Chapter Text
“… You’re a troublemaker.”
The man flashes a crooked smile, tilts his head, wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh?” He leans his chin on his hand, bites his lower lip, licks his upper lip, smacks them together.
Shouta swallows, then drinks down his fourth shot. “Go away.”
“Now that things are getting fun?” The brunet makes his hand crawl over the table, all the way to Shouta’s hand, and softly brushes his knuckles, smile never falling. “That’s not what you want,” he whispers, teeth nipping at his lower lip again.
He pours his fifth and swallows it, using only his free hand. “It is.” He knows he can’t stand anymore, trapped in his own kitchen, where memories are overlapping the present.
Rough fingers touch him more firmly, sticking those images in the front of his mind, making him want–
This man’s no good, no good, a troublemaker ready to ruin him at any given chance–
Why does it feel so good, but hurt so bad?
He should run, stand and run far, stand and forget, run and not look back–
“I’m done.”
His wrist is tugged, he resists the pull, but his mind is pulled back nonetheless, eyes drawn to the smiling, taunting lips. He is going to have a damn good heart attack.
“Troublemaker,” Shouta gasps.
Tsuna laughs, light, enthusiastic, excited. The laughter that makes him close his eyes, that makes him almost cave, that draws a silhouette of the enticing brunet right in his retinas and erases the reasons why he shouldn’t– they shouldn’t–
The fingertips keep tracing his bones and skin, searing into him like made of sweet poison. And he keeps yearning for more. He wants. He wants and lusts and seethes that he wants this troublemaker–
His heart is about to stop and yet it beats so fast.
–this troublemaker that is stuck in his brain.
Why does it feel so good, but hurt so bad?
He should stand (I can’t), run (I can’t), refuse (I can’t), restate his firm decision that he’s done (I can’t– because Tsuna is there, pulling both his wrists, keeping Shouta in place with whispered breaths ghosting on his cheeks–
The moody villain moves from his seat and places his thighs on either side of Shouta, who doesn’t even notice how his chair’s legs scrape the floor. Arms envelope his neck, loose but trapping, and his own hands finds purchase on Tsuna’s hips in a dance they shouldn’t have ever started.
He fists the flesh through the black suit of the criminal sitting in his lap as if it were a throne and whispers, “troublemaker.”
Why does it feel so good, but hurt so bad?
It hurts so bad, and the slow, purposeful movements were making his head spin and lose all logical thoughts–
Shouta snaps.
He flicks his hand up and grabs the other by the hair, exposing his neck and drawing a gasp that makes him growl.
“I know you’re no good,” he breathes against the flexed skin, breathes in the smell of gunpowder and blood and sweat and cigarette, breathes out the desire to lap and nip and bruise surging through his blood. “I’m insane,” he concludes.
Tsuna laughs, breathy, slightly trembling, not even trying to fight because he likes–
“Yeah,” he confirms.
Because Shotua keeps doing the same forsaken mistake. He gives in. He hopes. He forgets. He loses himself in the embrace of someone that should be locked in the darkest and most unreachable prison.
And Tsuna would be able to be irresistible even in there, wearing his black suit, his orange tie, strapped with his weapons and armed with his wit, head tilted, eyes shining, mouth crooked in a blood-thirsty smirk, legs illegally clad in black, hands–
Leading Yakuza fits him like a glove.
He’s so much trouble, so much hassle, so much danger… and Shouta loves it.
Why does it feel so good, but hurt so bad?
His mind keeps saying he should run, and Shouta bites the poison-sweet neck in his reach.
Troublemaker.
He is done with this, and Shouta is pulled back with arms and thighs.
He is going to have a stroke, and Shouta stands to push Tsuna on the table.
Troublemaker.
Why does it feel so good, but hurt so bad?
His mind keeps saying he should run, and Shouta grounds his hips.
Troublemaker.
He is done with this, and Shouta’s clothes are clawed off his body and burned.
He is going to have a stroke, and Shouta whispers.
“Troublemaker.”