Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3525467.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Katekyou_Hitman_Reborn!
  Relationship:
      Dino_Cavallone/Hibari_Kyouya
  Character:
      Dino_(Reborn), Hibari_Kyouya
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, Photographs, Topping_from_the_Bottom, Power
      Dynamics, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Literal
      Sleeping_Together
  Series:
      Part 3 of Restraint
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-21 Words: 3361
****** Illuminate ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Dino lies still for a moment, blinking dream-blurred appreciation at
     the way even the mess of his bedroom looks like something artistic
     and beautiful in the unusual lighting; then he rolls over, carefully
     so as not to disturb the still form against his back." Dino takes
     advantage of serendipitous lighting and Hibari takes advantage of
     that.
Dino isn’t trying to wake Hibari up. He blinked himself awake to the golden
glow of morning sunshine spilling through the shut blinds, casting the whole
room into a haze of the sort of beauty that only lasts for a handful of minutes
before it fades and is gone. He lies still for a moment, blinking dream-blurred
appreciation at the way even the mess of his bedroom looks like something
artistic and beautiful in the unusual lighting; then he rolls over, carefully
so as not to disturb the still form against his back.
Dino ought to have suspected what he sees. If the lighting makes the clutter of
his room artistic, it will have an even greater effect on Hibari, who always
looks like something of a model even under ordinary circumstances. He’s still
not prepared, isn’t expecting the way the light turns Hibari’s hair ink-dark
across the pillow and casts the pale of his skin pearlescent and nearly
glowing. His lashes look thicker than usual, shadowy and heavy across the line
of his cheekbones like they exist for the sole purpose of drawing Dino’s
attention there, the sharp edge of collarbone against the edge of the blanket
infused with so much temptation it’s worse than more skin would be. He looks
like a sculpture, he looks like an angel, and when Dino looks away it’s only to
reach for the camera pushed back at the corner of the nightstand.
Dino’s not trying to be secretive. There’s almost no thought that goes through
his head, beyond breathless appreciation and the instinctive need to capture a
record of this image before the light shifts and it is lost entirely. Dino
isn’t a photographer, beyond a few blurred candid snapshots at parties that
speak more to his intoxication than to whatever he was trying to photograph,
but the light is as kind to the camera as it is to the setting, fills out the
lines of the sheet until it looks like a frame and illuminates Hibari’s skin
from the inside. The first picture is perfect right off the bat, framing
precisely the angle Dino wanted to capture; even in the review screen it looks
backlit, haloed with light and so clear he can see the individual strands of
Hibari’s hair in the image. But he just keeps taking pictures, not even
bothering to change the angle of the camera as much as taking the same perfect
shot over and over and over, waiting for his breath to come normally and not
surprised when it doesn’t.
From behind the lens of the camera, it takes Dino a moment to realize Hibari’s
eyes are open. He doesn’t see the motion, has no evidence of action other than
the shift of his eyelashes; it’s just in one shot there’s a dark sweep across
cheekbones, and in the next there’s the odd blue-grey of Hibari’s gaze trained
on Dino like the camera’s not there at all.
Hibari doesn’t ask what Dino’s doing. He doesn’t actually speak at all until
Dino offers, “Morning,” without lowering the camera from in front of his eyes.
Then he unfolds, shifting to sit up without any sign of self-consciousness at
baring the pale skin of his chest to the potential of the camera. Dino doesn’t
push the capture button, is frozen in place by Hibari’s consideration as the
other reaches out to slide the camera from his hold, turns it around to
consider the array of gold-lit pictures for himself. There’s no reaction on his
face, not a blink or a frown to indicate any kind of emotional response; he’s
just looking, considering what he’s seeing before he stretches out to set the
device back on the stand.
“You woke me up,” is all he says as response, the tone so flat Dino’s not sure
if it’s a complaint or a threat or simply an observation. Hibari moves in
closer, sliding smoothly over the gap between them as the sheets slide off his
hips and bare the long line of his legs, and even when he settles himself onto
the blond’s lap Dino’s still not sure if he should be worried or not. He’s
trying to get traction off the impossible blankness of Hibari’s expression when
the other reaches out to rest his wrists at Dino’s shoulders, to press the tips
of his finger against the blond’s shoulderblades, and whatever danger Dino may
be in is neatly ignored by the reflexive response of his body to the
featherlight touch. His skin flashes instantly hot, his breathing catches in
his chest, and however beautiful Hibari may have been asleep he is a thousand
times more so now that he is awake and moving, turning his head to consider the
side of Dino’s neck like he’s determining the best points of attack.
“That bite is bruising,” he notes. He sounds cool, calm as he points out the
fact, but the words call up the memory of Hibari’s lips flush against Dino’s
skin, the dig of his teeth while Dino was too overheated for it to feel like
anything but pleasure.
“Bruises are fine,” Dino says, somewhat recklessly given that he still isn’t
sure if Hibari is mad or not. “I thought you were going to bite me to death,
but I’m still pretty alive.” He risks reaching out to touch Hibari’s hips, a
glancing touch rather than a hold; he’s learned quickly not to restrain Hibari
in any sort of context, if he’s hoping for anything less vicious than a true
fight.
“For now,” Hibari agrees. The gliding pull of Dino’s fingers across the tops of
his thighs seems to be acceptable; he’s not pulling away, at any rate, and
while Dino may have the head start on arousal Hibari’s not far behind.
“I guess I should make the most of the time I have left,” Dino observes. He can
feel a smile pulling at his mouth, amusement making its way into his
expression, and for just a moment there’s a flicker of something at Hibari’s
lips too, something that is almost a smirk before it vanishes.
“You should,” Hibari agrees, and then he’s crossing the space between them
before Dino has a chance to react, catching his teeth at Dino’s lip without
waiting to appreciate the friction of their mouths together. Dino submits
without considering resistance, opens his mouth in an invitation which Hibari
takes almost immediately, sliding his tongue in against the roof of the blond’s
mouth as the hands at Dino’s shoulders close into a hold and Hibari leans in to
bear him down to the bed.
Dino could resist. He doesn’t. Going backwards means Hibari is lying on top of
him, if only for a moment, the expanse of his pale skin warm and radiant
against Dino’s chest. It also has the advantage of pinning their hips together,
pressing Dino’s length in against the angle of Hibari’s leg and hip and gliding
the rising heat of the other’s cock over Dino’s stomach. Dino resists the urge
to drag Hibari in against him, to roll them over so he can pin Hibari to the
bed and kiss him the way he wants to; he’s willing to wait, to exert patience
to see how the other directs this instead of trying to wrest control for
himself.
Hibari pulls back almost immediately. He’s licking his lower lip, idle movement
like he’s considering the taste of Dino’s mouth on his, and his hand at Dino’s
shoulder is pressing in harder and bracing. Then he rocks up onto his knees,
that one hand making his third point of contact, reaching over the end of the
bed for the nightstand and the bottles there.
“Kyoya,” Dino starts. The name brings Hibari’s chin down, his gaze focused on
Dino’s as he rocks back over his heels, this time with a bottle of lube in
hand. “I can do it for you.”
He’s half-hoping the other will accept his offer. There’s something sensual
about the idea of working Hibari open under his own fingers, about toppling the
other back over the sheets and stretching him open until he’s flushed and
incoherent. But Hibari shakes his head, quick negation as he has every time
Dino has offered, and when he opens the bottle it’s to slick it over his own
fingers.
“Put on a condom,” he orders, his tone the steady assurance of obedience from
someone who has never had his rule questioned. It shouldn’t be a turn-on -
- Dino has never thought of himself as particularly submissive -- but maybe he
does kind of have a kink for this, or maybe it’s just that everything Hibari
does is offhand seduction, that even the steady gaze of his eyes looks like
temptation when he ducks his chin to look up through his hair at the other.
Dino rolls over to do as he’s told. The possibility that Hibari is avoiding
having an audience doesn’t occur to him until he’s turning back with a foil
packet held between his lips, rolling over onto his back before he tears it
open. Hibari’s rocked up on his knees, leaning in over his wrist in a way that
ought to be awkward and just looks artistic, his head tipped so far forward
Dino can’t see any of his face except for the breathless part of his lips as he
breathes in time with the motion of his hand. Dino can’t quite see what he’s
doing; the angle is all wrong, Hibari’s arm twisted in so the blond can barely
even see the flushed hardness of his cock pinned in against his stomach for the
barrier of his wrist. But he can see the deep breaths shivering across the
other’s shoulders, the tiny involuntary motions as he rocks in closer against
his hand, and Dino’s hands are shaking as he gets the wrapper open so he can
unroll the condom around his aching cock.
Hibari is still shifting when Dino has the barely-slippery latex around
himself. Dino knows better than to duck in to try to see his expression -- he
really does want to do more than start a fight, this morning -- but he does
reach out to skim his fingers against Hibari’s hips, to feel the shiver of
reaction hum out into the other’s skin as Dino shifts his fingers. He sits up
to get closer, shuts his eyes and ducks his head against Hibari’s shoulder so
he can focus. With his eyes shut he can pace his breathing to Hibari’s, can
catch the suggestion of friction from the catch in the other’s inhales. When
Hibari rocks in the motion bumps him against Dino’s arm, accidental contact
that lingers in spite of Hibari’s usual aversion to sustained physical contact.
Dino is breathing deep, gasping inhales in time with Hibari’s near-soundless
pants, and then there’s a touch at his shoulder, a shove knocking him back with
the aggression that says what is to come far better than Hibari’s declaration
of “Enough.”
He’s leaning in, now, his face close enough for Dino to see the color of his
eyes under the shadow of his hair, enough that the blond can see the tiny
tremble of adrenaline in the shape of Hibari’s lower lip. Dino’s staring at
that, trying to keep the raw admission of want all across his expression to a
minimum, when Hibari looks down and wraps his fingers around the base of Dino’s
cock. There’s a moment of expectation, pressure hot with promise and too still
for satisfaction; then Hibari tilts his hips, takes a breath, and when he rocks
back to take Dino into him the heat is so much it blows Dino’s attention all
away for a moment. There’s satisfied friction rushing through him, pleasure and
heat in equal parts, and he doesn’t mean to groan low and purring but he does
anyway, the sound sliding up his throat without conscious effort. There’s a
sound over him, something that is half a gasp and half a cut-off laugh, and
then Hibari moves again, before Dino has had time to collect his composure.
Dino’s hips come off the bed, reflexive reaction as much as the gasp of his
breathing, and this time Hibari does laugh, a low chuckle as he shoves at
Dino’s shoulder to hold him down. That’s warning in itself, now that Dino knows
to look for it, and then Hibari’s legs tighten against his hips and he begins
to move in earnest.
He sets a steady pace. It’s slow, smooth and unhurried while still being just
over the edge of barely too much, until Dino can’t regain his initially lost
restraint and is left to groan against the bed, to jerk up in instinctive
attempt to meet the slide of Hibari around him. Even when Hibari lets his
bracing hold at Dino’s shoulder go to close his fingers tight around his own
length his rhythm doesn’t falter; it is Dino who can’t catch his breath, who
can’t stop angling for more even though it gets him no discernable variation in
the other’s movements. When he looks up he can see Hibari’s expression, the
elegant lines of his features gone superheated with sensation, but even then he
keeps steadily rocking his hips, fucking himself on Dino’s cock with so much
grace Dino has no question about who is being used.
He doesn’t mind. If this is what being used is going to feel like he can hardly
complain, even less so when Hibari’s head tips back so his face tilts into the
morning sunlight, his eyes sliding shut like he’s trying to reach for a half-
faded memory. His hair falls smooth over his shoulders, the beginnings of
tangles from sleep slipping loose of the fine strands until it looks styled
into perfection again. Dino stares at the line of Hibari’s throat, the sharp
edge of his collarbones shifting under his skin, and then he’s sitting up
without thinking, reaching to press his mouth to that glow. Hibari doesn’t
shift, doesn’t look down as someone else might; if anything he tilts his head
back farther, lets Dino press his mouth to the taut line of his skin without
resistance. Dino keeps his eyes open, lets the full impact of the moment hit
him: the clean metal-brilliant taste of Hibari’s skin under his lips, the line
of Hibari’s shoulder shifting before his eyes, the sound of Hibari’s breathing
slowly speeding as he moves. Dino’s whole body is flushing hot, like the
sunlight is lighting him on fire, and if he shut his eyes or ducked his head he
might be able to push off the pleasure a little longer, delay the satisfaction
another moment or another heartbeat.
He keeps his eyes open. There’s no point in fighting the pleasure, at least
none that he has ever found, and it’s better this way, better to draw back an
inch to watch Hibari’s expression fall into lines of focused attention as he
moves, better to feel the wave coming for him and let the leading edge catch
his breath stuttering in anticipation. When it hits him the pleasure is a
smooth as the slide of Hibari around him, rippling out warm and satisfied into
his body until it’s hard to draw boundaries on it. There’s just the heat,
purring under his skin like sound formed around the shape of a heartbeat, and
Dino is quivering against Hibari’s shoulder, forgetting the rule of delicacy to
cling to the other’s hips for a moment. Hibari is still moving, still rhythmic
and as smooth as if he didn’t notice Dino’s moaning gasp of orgasm; then he
takes a sharp inhale, the way he does when he’s preparing for a fight, and when
his hand jerks it’s as sudden as the motion of his weapons. Dino looks up just
in time to catch the way Hibari’s face goes slack, all the usual taut attention
under his features going blissfully still for a moment; then Hibari’s
shuddering, his mouth open around a soundless moan, and he’s coming more across
Dino’s hip than over his own fingers.
Dino falls back to the bed without being pushed this time. He doesn’t need
Hibari’s urging when the soft support of an outside force offers comfort to the
languid satisfaction in his limbs. After a moment Hibari’s hand pushes at his
hip, bracing his own movement rather than keeping Dino at arm’s length, and
then he’s moving away too, only offering a faint hiss of reaction as he slides
free. Dino rolls over, reaches for a tissue to wipe himself clean and catch the
condom as he slides it off, and by the time he looks back up Hibari’s got the
camera in his hands again. He doesn’t look angry, exactly, but Dino is rapidly
learning that Hibari doesn’t give much warning when he is, in truth, so he’s
careful as he stretches back out across the bed, lying flat on his back so
Hibari can take advantage of contact if he wants and avoid it if he prefers.
“You can delete those if you want,” he offers, while Hibari is still flicking
through the pictures on the camera. “The lighting was too good to pass up.”
Hibari glances sideways at him, a quick cut of silvered blue that Dino can’t
read at all. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then he moves, falls back across the bed
with such unerring precision that his hip bumps against Dino’s, the soft of his
hair catching on the blond’s shoulder without Hibari needing to move at all.
Dino looks down, startled into unconscious affection, and Hibari’s arm comes
out over them and pushes the capture button.
He doesn’t even look at the resulting picture before he tosses it at Dino.
“Don’t delete that,” is all he says; then he’s rolling away again, offering the
curve of his back for Dino’s consideration rather than even the non-expression
of his features.
Dino stares at his shoulders for a minute, a little lost and still trying to
catch up to Hibari’s words. Then he looks down, the camera he missed catching
safely cradled in the blankets, and picks it up to scroll through the recently
captured photos.
Given what came before it, Dino is expecting Hibari’s photograph to be dimmer,
less golden-glowing with the inadvertent perfection of the early frames. It is
not. It looks deliberate, posed with none of the telltale awkwardness of a
structured image, striking while retaining the candid unconsciousness of true
art. Hibari is staring dead at the camera, his eyes fixed on the lens and the
faintest hint of what might be a smile at the corner of his mouth. The morning
light has caught Dino, too, turned his hair radiant and his mouth shining damp,
and the way photo-Dino is looking at Hibari is all accident too, warm and fond
in a way Dino couldn’t deliberately reproduce if he tried. Even the obvious
line of Hibari’s arm holding the camera just makes it more artistic, grants it
the truth of unstudied grace that highlights the tiny perfections in the
photograph into something breathtaking.
“Wow,” Dino says without looking away. “This is the best of them, Kyoya.”
“I know,” is all Hibari says.
Dino glances up from the camera. Hibari hasn’t turned around, isn’t looking
over his shoulder or even suggesting a smile in his tone. But his arm is
shifted higher on the bed, the gap it creates almost awkward with the
suggestion of invitation, and the sunlight is catching off the curve of his
waist like it was intended to draw Dino’s eye.
Dino smiles, safe where Hibari can’t see him, sets the camera back on the desk
and slides in closer to fill the gap Hibari left for him. There’s no protest,
vocal or physical; there is just Hibari falling into place against his touch,
the sound of an exhale that might be relief and might just be an ordinary
breath.
“I want a copy of the last one,” Hibari says, perfectly clearly.
Dino huffs a tiny breathless chuckle. “Okay.”
When Hibari’s fingers land against his wrist to briefly tighten into a hold of
almost-affection, Dino knows better than to say anything about it.
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