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KHR RArepair Week Cloud: Different Age AU
The woman is Japanese, with long light brown hair, long lashes, and the kind of muscular legs that only a dancer could possess. She's not what he thought his type would ever be, but, you know, hey - she's also not the kind of lady that he'd ever kick out of bed.
And she doesn't try to kick him out of bed either, so, well, that's just good for both of them, isn't it?
"Oh!" she exclaims, but with a pretty mild tone for someone who just got a guy appearing in her bed in a puff of smoke. "I guess that kind of thing happens too, sometimes, doesn't it?" Just like that, she hops out of her bed, stretching her arms up over her head. "Well, it was probably going to happen sooner or later, I suppose. So what do you want for breakfast?"
Whether it's because she's hot or how calmly she's taking the situation, even Xanxus's own notoriously boiling temper doesn't rise to the surface just yet. Instead, he pushes himself up in the bed, taking in the rest of the room with a lazy sweeping gaze. "Just coffee," he orders, without thinking twice about it. If he's in her bed, then, clearly, at some point, they fucked, right? So she's his woman. Doing that much is just to be expected. "Figured you would have known that."
A lot of women he's fucked, they do things one of two ways, he's noticed. Either they skitter around quick as can be, all nerves that get on his, because that's just what you do around a mafioso. The other women, they try to dial it up all in the other direction, slinky and sexual like that can do much. He's heard other kind of women exist, but he's never really run into them much. Not with his line of... work.
His line of existence.
He sure gets it now, however, because there's not an inch of worry in this woman's body as she just makes her way through the pretty little apartment they're in with all the grace and elegance of someone who was born for it. His exact opposite in a whole lot of ways, when he's the kind of guy who tears and burns his way through all that might try to stand in his way. He'd say it's a "feminine vs masculine" sort of thing, but he realizes that doesn't really sound quite right seconds within watching the woman. She's too much, and it's too purposeful. He'd almost call it the kind of weightless and silent walk of an assassin, honestly. Unfortunately, that's not quite right either.
It hits him just seconds after the differentiation in his head, however. An old memory from what feels like a million years ago, another life, caught on the fuzzy screen of a television in a store window he'd never be allowed into until he became someone different.
How she moves is like that ballet-type shit.
How she talks, well, he doesn't know how ballerinas talk or anything like that, so he can't say if it's right or not when she says over her shoulder casual as anything, "Oh, so you thought you wouldn't change even a little bit in ten years or so?"
What a smart mouth. He should kick her ass for that, make her remember just who is in charge here. But she's got a coffee pot already set up right in the bedroom (which, he's gotta say, is probably the smartest thing anyone has ever done in the entire god damn mafia, and he knows a lotta wiseguys) and it's right to brewing, so, you know what? He'll save the bullshit for at least five more minutes. However long it takes for her to get a mug filled and handed over to him. "What, shit like coffee tastes change that much?" he asks with a scoff.
"Yup," she says without even an ounce of hesitation, sitting back down onto the end of the bed with a little bounce. For all her grace, she doesn't look like she'd weigh fuck or all. He could probably pick her up with his pinky finger. "I mean, mine sure did! I thought I only really like the super sweet stuff, back in Japan, but then I got here, and Italian coffee feels soooo different." She presses a finger to her cheek, a cute little gesture that he doesn't think most Italian women do. Probably. "A cultural differences kind of thing, maybe?"
"Wouldn't know." For all that he knows Japanese - already got it down in no time flat, like so many other languages, demands that he'd take inbetween his teeth and chew through - it's not like he's ever been to the country. Funny, honestly. Every reason people would shit talk him to his face as the heir to the Vongola, he'd crush through, and it'd never be enough. What kinda guy ends up learning the language to a country he's never been to?
But he guesses that changes, in the future, apparently. He goes to Japan and picks up this pretty thing with those warm eyes that don't look like they've even seen a drop of bloodshed and walks like she can ignore gravity.
His answer doesn't seem to bother her too much, which, good. He doesn't need some chick getting on his case about minor shit like that. "Well, I guess I'll ask you later," she says instead with a shrug, like that's just a given. Which he guesses it is? He's never dealt with this kind of stupid weapon shit before. "Anyway, you're acting pretty calm about this! I thought you'd definitely have more questions for me, considering things."
Xanxus pulls his gaze away following the curve of her neck down to the way her loose stringy lingerie shirt sits on her torso. Not as big boobed as he honestly thought his woman would be in the future. Fuck, is this what some of those old bastards meant when they said their taste got more refined with age? He always figured that was some bullshit, considering he's definitely seen them feeling up women with big tits, but not all of them did. Apparently they weren't just lying for show, if this is his future. "Don't think there's much to question," he sneers. "Weird shit is happening. What else is new? Anyone in the underworld would tell you weird shit is happening all the damn time anyway. Time travel isn't nothing new."
And honestly, time travel is almost simple. He knows how those stupid cows do their weapons, and he knows that he won't stick around too long in this future.
You know what's actually weirder? The mundane stuff. Yeah, from a young age, he could make a fire more destructive than live ammunition flare up from around his hand. Sure. Why the hell not. But that was just the way his body worked, the way a lot of people could surprisingly work, if only they knew those little secrets. Apparently there's some folks in international law who can fuck with it too, and ain't that a bitch and a half.
Far weirder is the kind of shit people get up to. The lines in the sand that they decide to draw for absolutely bullshit reasons. Yeah we'll fuck with human trafficking but we don't peddle drugs. Yeah we'll peddle drugs but we won't mess with sex work. Shit that's hardly any worse, if the bastards were all honest at all, but that they won't touch for whatever weird reason.
Pretending they still all got an ounce of morality in them. That's the real bullshit, he's gotta say. In comparison to that, fire is simple. Fire burns bright and hard and eats up everything stupid enough to get in its way. That it comes from flint or gasoline or his own fury doesn't really matter in the end.
That's not really the kind of talk you give beautiful women, however. Really, that's especially not the kind of talk you give beautiful women if you want them to live, because those kinds of too-beautiful women are usually using that beauty for a reason.
At least this beautiful woman doesn't press on the matter. All she does is nod, as though that's the most obvious thing in the world - and he always figured it was, which is why it's driven him up the wall that so many people don't get it. "I guess you're not wrong. It's just a matter of getting into that kind of life where it's weirder, huh?" And she beams brightly at him. Maybe a little too brightly, actually, like the sun returning to the desert.
Nevermind the shit he said before, honestly. She's definitely seen shit go down and blood be spilled. Maybe there's a reason she can still sit so sunny right next to him.
For as much as it's not been a long conversation, that coffee pot seems to get heated pretty damn quick, and she's up and at 'em as quickly as she'd fallen back onto the bed. All black, no sugar or cream or anything, just as he likes it. Frankly, just as he's used to more than anything else, when sometimes it was almost more available than good clean water. It's even steaming still when she hands over to him a plain black mug, no fancy embellishments on it. That's fine too.
"Eiyaaaaah, so you can do that at this age too!" she exclaims, delighted, when he downs near half the mug immediately, no matter how much it burns all along his tongue and right down the entirety of his throat.
Well, at least this is far from her first time serving him coffee in the future. So there's that. "It's not that big a deal," he says, although maybe a stupid part of him is a little pleased to see the way her eyes sparkle and her hands clasp together. As though he's just some young kid on the streets again, performing a dumb trick and seeing other dumb kids getting excited about it. That sorta thing would never have satisfied him for long, but, hey. When you're stupid and your age hasn't even hit double digits yet, sometimes it's the little shit. The first beginnings of reputation before you find the serious stuff.
Funny how the serious stuff ends up looking so much like the kid stuff sometimes, or maybe just when he's time traveled and there's a pretty girl in lingerie smiling at him.
While he's finishing some of his coffee a little slower - he's already got the bulk down so nothing is really going to waste - she goes to fetch a mug for herself. This one is a little nicer, even if she pulls it from what he suspects to be a sock drawer - and she waits for her own cup to start filling up. "You know, in the few minutes that you've been here, I think I've got you narrowed down pretty well on when you're from," she tells him, casual as anything. "Pretty sure, anyway."
Well when she says it like that, he almost wants to ask. Definitely wants to cheat. It's not that he's thinking about if they'll be victorious in the coup; he knows they will. He's positive that they will be. Asking otherwise would be as good as admitting defeat, wouldn't it? Because him asking would say he isn't sure.
But all the other shit should be fair game, he figures. No, no, he's not going to get into detailed economics with some random dancer who shares his bed, just, things like what Families become big deals. Technology he should keep a look out for. Things even a common dipshit off the street could probably name if they had a second to talk about it, and they've got at least a minute, maybe more.
There's no time for it. Not before she's stepping forward and leaning down, petite fingers tapping underneath his chin so that she can press a flickering kiss right there against his mouth.
"Something to help keep you warm, from me," she tells him, before she leans in again for another kiss, this one a little deeper and a little feistier and definitely a little longer. "And something else from him, too, since he can't be here to do the same."
"Wait, hold the fuck on, him-" is all Xanxus can get out of his mouth, flames not even having a chance to sputter to life at his fingernails, and then that's it.
There's that stupid fucking smoke explosion.
And she doesn't try to kick him out of bed either, so, well, that's just good for both of them, isn't it?
"Oh!" she exclaims, but with a pretty mild tone for someone who just got a guy appearing in her bed in a puff of smoke. "I guess that kind of thing happens too, sometimes, doesn't it?" Just like that, she hops out of her bed, stretching her arms up over her head. "Well, it was probably going to happen sooner or later, I suppose. So what do you want for breakfast?"
Whether it's because she's hot or how calmly she's taking the situation, even Xanxus's own notoriously boiling temper doesn't rise to the surface just yet. Instead, he pushes himself up in the bed, taking in the rest of the room with a lazy sweeping gaze. "Just coffee," he orders, without thinking twice about it. If he's in her bed, then, clearly, at some point, they fucked, right? So she's his woman. Doing that much is just to be expected. "Figured you would have known that."
A lot of women he's fucked, they do things one of two ways, he's noticed. Either they skitter around quick as can be, all nerves that get on his, because that's just what you do around a mafioso. The other women, they try to dial it up all in the other direction, slinky and sexual like that can do much. He's heard other kind of women exist, but he's never really run into them much. Not with his line of... work.
His line of existence.
He sure gets it now, however, because there's not an inch of worry in this woman's body as she just makes her way through the pretty little apartment they're in with all the grace and elegance of someone who was born for it. His exact opposite in a whole lot of ways, when he's the kind of guy who tears and burns his way through all that might try to stand in his way. He'd say it's a "feminine vs masculine" sort of thing, but he realizes that doesn't really sound quite right seconds within watching the woman. She's too much, and it's too purposeful. He'd almost call it the kind of weightless and silent walk of an assassin, honestly. Unfortunately, that's not quite right either.
It hits him just seconds after the differentiation in his head, however. An old memory from what feels like a million years ago, another life, caught on the fuzzy screen of a television in a store window he'd never be allowed into until he became someone different.
How she moves is like that ballet-type shit.
How she talks, well, he doesn't know how ballerinas talk or anything like that, so he can't say if it's right or not when she says over her shoulder casual as anything, "Oh, so you thought you wouldn't change even a little bit in ten years or so?"
What a smart mouth. He should kick her ass for that, make her remember just who is in charge here. But she's got a coffee pot already set up right in the bedroom (which, he's gotta say, is probably the smartest thing anyone has ever done in the entire god damn mafia, and he knows a lotta wiseguys) and it's right to brewing, so, you know what? He'll save the bullshit for at least five more minutes. However long it takes for her to get a mug filled and handed over to him. "What, shit like coffee tastes change that much?" he asks with a scoff.
"Yup," she says without even an ounce of hesitation, sitting back down onto the end of the bed with a little bounce. For all her grace, she doesn't look like she'd weigh fuck or all. He could probably pick her up with his pinky finger. "I mean, mine sure did! I thought I only really like the super sweet stuff, back in Japan, but then I got here, and Italian coffee feels soooo different." She presses a finger to her cheek, a cute little gesture that he doesn't think most Italian women do. Probably. "A cultural differences kind of thing, maybe?"
"Wouldn't know." For all that he knows Japanese - already got it down in no time flat, like so many other languages, demands that he'd take inbetween his teeth and chew through - it's not like he's ever been to the country. Funny, honestly. Every reason people would shit talk him to his face as the heir to the Vongola, he'd crush through, and it'd never be enough. What kinda guy ends up learning the language to a country he's never been to?
But he guesses that changes, in the future, apparently. He goes to Japan and picks up this pretty thing with those warm eyes that don't look like they've even seen a drop of bloodshed and walks like she can ignore gravity.
His answer doesn't seem to bother her too much, which, good. He doesn't need some chick getting on his case about minor shit like that. "Well, I guess I'll ask you later," she says instead with a shrug, like that's just a given. Which he guesses it is? He's never dealt with this kind of stupid weapon shit before. "Anyway, you're acting pretty calm about this! I thought you'd definitely have more questions for me, considering things."
Xanxus pulls his gaze away following the curve of her neck down to the way her loose stringy lingerie shirt sits on her torso. Not as big boobed as he honestly thought his woman would be in the future. Fuck, is this what some of those old bastards meant when they said their taste got more refined with age? He always figured that was some bullshit, considering he's definitely seen them feeling up women with big tits, but not all of them did. Apparently they weren't just lying for show, if this is his future. "Don't think there's much to question," he sneers. "Weird shit is happening. What else is new? Anyone in the underworld would tell you weird shit is happening all the damn time anyway. Time travel isn't nothing new."
And honestly, time travel is almost simple. He knows how those stupid cows do their weapons, and he knows that he won't stick around too long in this future.
You know what's actually weirder? The mundane stuff. Yeah, from a young age, he could make a fire more destructive than live ammunition flare up from around his hand. Sure. Why the hell not. But that was just the way his body worked, the way a lot of people could surprisingly work, if only they knew those little secrets. Apparently there's some folks in international law who can fuck with it too, and ain't that a bitch and a half.
Far weirder is the kind of shit people get up to. The lines in the sand that they decide to draw for absolutely bullshit reasons. Yeah we'll fuck with human trafficking but we don't peddle drugs. Yeah we'll peddle drugs but we won't mess with sex work. Shit that's hardly any worse, if the bastards were all honest at all, but that they won't touch for whatever weird reason.
Pretending they still all got an ounce of morality in them. That's the real bullshit, he's gotta say. In comparison to that, fire is simple. Fire burns bright and hard and eats up everything stupid enough to get in its way. That it comes from flint or gasoline or his own fury doesn't really matter in the end.
That's not really the kind of talk you give beautiful women, however. Really, that's especially not the kind of talk you give beautiful women if you want them to live, because those kinds of too-beautiful women are usually using that beauty for a reason.
At least this beautiful woman doesn't press on the matter. All she does is nod, as though that's the most obvious thing in the world - and he always figured it was, which is why it's driven him up the wall that so many people don't get it. "I guess you're not wrong. It's just a matter of getting into that kind of life where it's weirder, huh?" And she beams brightly at him. Maybe a little too brightly, actually, like the sun returning to the desert.
Nevermind the shit he said before, honestly. She's definitely seen shit go down and blood be spilled. Maybe there's a reason she can still sit so sunny right next to him.
For as much as it's not been a long conversation, that coffee pot seems to get heated pretty damn quick, and she's up and at 'em as quickly as she'd fallen back onto the bed. All black, no sugar or cream or anything, just as he likes it. Frankly, just as he's used to more than anything else, when sometimes it was almost more available than good clean water. It's even steaming still when she hands over to him a plain black mug, no fancy embellishments on it. That's fine too.
"Eiyaaaaah, so you can do that at this age too!" she exclaims, delighted, when he downs near half the mug immediately, no matter how much it burns all along his tongue and right down the entirety of his throat.
Well, at least this is far from her first time serving him coffee in the future. So there's that. "It's not that big a deal," he says, although maybe a stupid part of him is a little pleased to see the way her eyes sparkle and her hands clasp together. As though he's just some young kid on the streets again, performing a dumb trick and seeing other dumb kids getting excited about it. That sorta thing would never have satisfied him for long, but, hey. When you're stupid and your age hasn't even hit double digits yet, sometimes it's the little shit. The first beginnings of reputation before you find the serious stuff.
Funny how the serious stuff ends up looking so much like the kid stuff sometimes, or maybe just when he's time traveled and there's a pretty girl in lingerie smiling at him.
While he's finishing some of his coffee a little slower - he's already got the bulk down so nothing is really going to waste - she goes to fetch a mug for herself. This one is a little nicer, even if she pulls it from what he suspects to be a sock drawer - and she waits for her own cup to start filling up. "You know, in the few minutes that you've been here, I think I've got you narrowed down pretty well on when you're from," she tells him, casual as anything. "Pretty sure, anyway."
Well when she says it like that, he almost wants to ask. Definitely wants to cheat. It's not that he's thinking about if they'll be victorious in the coup; he knows they will. He's positive that they will be. Asking otherwise would be as good as admitting defeat, wouldn't it? Because him asking would say he isn't sure.
But all the other shit should be fair game, he figures. No, no, he's not going to get into detailed economics with some random dancer who shares his bed, just, things like what Families become big deals. Technology he should keep a look out for. Things even a common dipshit off the street could probably name if they had a second to talk about it, and they've got at least a minute, maybe more.
There's no time for it. Not before she's stepping forward and leaning down, petite fingers tapping underneath his chin so that she can press a flickering kiss right there against his mouth.
"Something to help keep you warm, from me," she tells him, before she leans in again for another kiss, this one a little deeper and a little feistier and definitely a little longer. "And something else from him, too, since he can't be here to do the same."
"Wait, hold the fuck on, him-" is all Xanxus can get out of his mouth, flames not even having a chance to sputter to life at his fingernails, and then that's it.
There's that stupid fucking smoke explosion.