The old men were arguing over killing him.

Chrome had never danced a waltz, but she imagined that what she and Mukuro did was what it would feel like. As he stepped back, she stepped forward. As he stepped forward, she stepped back. Always in unison, turning and turning on this floor that was her body. It wasn't difficult at all to dance the same steps with Spade, drawing back far enough for his will to direct her body. It wasn't difficult, but it was completely different.

"I am going," Hayato said, low and deadly, "to kill you."

Yamamoto just smiled, the bastard, cheery as if Hayato had offered to take him on a fucking picnic. "Okay."

Dino moaned a little, low in his throat, as Kyouya pushed his knees wider against the cool, rumpled sheets. Tonight promised to be something special.

There was always the risk, when the doorbell rang after dark these days, that it would be another thrilling moment of flight come calling, so Hayato was already scowling when he opened the door. It was good to get off on the right foot. What stood there tonight wasn't an invitation to airsickness, but the scowl didn't go to waste.

"I have to say, you're not the one I'd expected to be the most protective of the Vongola's reputation." Dino folded his arms and leaned against the wall, one foot braced, and considered. "Actually, I guess you and Gokudera are probably tied. But I didn't expect that, either." He kept coming back because Kyouya kept surprising him.

It was easier, Hayato decided, when Yamamoto was actually driving the motorcycle. And it was easier because Yamamoto was an idiot, and liked to do silly, flashy moves, and it was easy to roll his eyes at someone popping a wheelie and laughing like a kid.

The hard part was when Yamamoto was holding still on the damn thing. And the hardest part was keeping his eyes away from long, long legs spread casually over a sleek machine and not, not, looking at the way worn denim pulled taut over Yamamoto's thighs.

It was easier, he thought, to give Gokudera what he needed. Gokudera was far more straightforward. When Yamamoto came to him, Tsuna had to look harder and make guesses.

Sometimes Yamamoto just sat quietly at his feet for an evening. Sometimes he wanted to hold Tsuna, to shelter and shield him, and Tsuna rested against his chest until his arms relaxed and loosened. Sometimes he wanted to touch, slow and gentle, and kissed Tsuna's fingers softly until he said yes.

And sometimes he needed to not be the protector, for a while.

Tsuna had thought, ever since he started to think about it at all, that the reason Gokudera seemed harsh to most people was that the brash manner he wrapped around himself clashed so with the fine elegance of his mind and presence. In the rare moments he let himself quiet, Gokudera seemed quite gentle to Tsuna, voice lowered into smoothness, the lines that usually caged his eyes tight relaxing into something like serenity.

Note: This will be funniest if you've read any of the Edo period reams of love-advice for samurai, though it should make sense even if you haven't. If you haven't I quite recommend them, they're very entertaining.

Dino sat cross-legged on Kyouya's couch, reading down a page in his book and ticking things off with a highlighter.

Five years whole-hearted devotion, check. Kyouya certainly didn't leave much room for anything else, at least if a person wanted to live on with all his bones intact.