Summary: "Squalo only smiles when Yamamoto bleeds, like a shark that has just scented its prey. " Yamamoto, Squalo, and similarities across a spectrum.
There's a little spot behind Squalo's ear, usually covered by his hair. Yamamoto leans in and presses his tongue flat against the beginning of the jaw, and licks upwards.
Yamamoto loves finding the little weaknesses that Squalo has hidden all over his body. It's like a game, searching for treasure, finding that marked X. But instead of gold and silver his rewards are those soft, shuddering gasps wrung out of Squalo's throat; the gentle trembling of his muscles beneath Yamamoto's hand; the narrowing and sharpening of his gaze as he snaps his teeth and growls, low and rough and purely wanting.
His tongue moves down the jawline to Squalo's neck, licking and nipping at it, hard and raspy like how Squalo likes it. Squalo has never learnt what gentleness is, and it is not Yamamoto's place to teach him such things, no matter how much he might want to. Squalo lives his life balancing on all the sharp edges in the world, and so sex has to be something like that too, a game of domination. Push and pull, all teeth and nails and bruises and cuts, skin splitting open and blood flowing out.
Squalo only smiles when Yamamoto bleeds, like a shark that has just scented its prey.
And there is suddenly a slim hand on Yamamoto's chest, pushing him down hard. Squalo climbs over him, long legs straddling Yamamoto's hips and his long silver hair pooling down on their sides like the overspill of mercury, beautiful, silky and absolutely toxic. Squalo's smile is sharp like the swords he wields, and his hand on Yamamoto's throat is full of calluses, brushing harshly against skin.
When Squalo kisses him, Yamamoto doesn't taste heat and passion like he has read in those books that the girls in school carry around. No, when he kisses Squalo it was all teeth and tongue and lips, so real and visceral that no pretty words or metaphor can ever describe it. It's something about how Squalo's teeth scrape across the corner of a lip; about how their teeth clacking together; about how their tongues try to dominate each other. Squalo's hands were all over his body, roaming and searching for those same weak spots that Yamamoto had found in his.
It has always been a competition, between them. Because Squalo has always fought; has lived his life by the way of the sword; paid his way through everything with blood and flashing silver blades. It's about the battle, the violence, the blood; about winning and conquering.
For Yamamoto, it has always been a game – just on a higher scale. After all, it is in a game that he enjoys himself, and it is the game that meant everything to him. It's in a game that he has to win; he wants to win.
(He doesn't want to lose again; never wants to disappoint his friends again.)
In the end, they are after the same things.
Yamamoto laughs into Squalo's mouth, and pulls the zipper down.