Title: Pro Tempore
Hibari, Dino
Right now, Hibari's technically older than Dino. Anyone who says otherwise is not in possession of all the facts.
For Cliché Bingo, prompt: "Bodyswap/Bodyshare." Abuse of the ten-year bazooka, chaos, and a Hibari who knows exactly what he wants. 1228 words.

Pro Tempore

Tetsuya had just brought in his tea and withdrawn again when it happened: a soft poof and the sensation of the world jolting half a step sideways before settling into a new position.

Kyouya found himself staring at the wide eyes of Sawada Tsunayoshi and his teenaged herd of herbivores. The idiot calf was squalling, somewhere around his feet. "There had better be a good reason for this," Kyouya said, and realized, in the first short gesture he made, that he was already holding his tonfa, rather than his teacup.

Sawada began sputtering--apologies, by the sounds of it; Kyouya ignored him in favor of conducting a rapid self-inventory: tonfa, gakuran, a handful of missing centimeters. "Sawada," he said, voice sharp, and Sawada shut up, "why am I a teenager?"

Sawada blinked and peered at him nervously. "Ten-years-later Hibari-san?" he ventured.

Kyouya's fingers itched on the grips of his tonfa. "Yes. Again. Why am I a teenager?"

It was then that the calf's wails resolved into something intelligible: "You broke it!"

Kyouya found his gaze, like everyone else's, being dragged inexorably downwards to see Lambo clutching the pieces of his ten-year bazooka and having outright hysterics.

There was only one thing to say to that. "I am going to bite you all to death," Kyouya announced, bringing his tonfa up as Sawada began babbling apologies again.

Five minutes came and went while Sawada was trying to explain how a friendly argument had turned into a scuffle that had, in its turn, accidentally gotten Lambo involved, and how his teenaged self had been in precisely the wrong place at the wrong time when Lambo had resorted to the bazooka. By the time Sawada finished, both Gokudera and Sasagawa were doing their level best to be inconspicuous, as well they should have been.

But he'd deal with them later. "I haven't gone back," Kyouya pointed out.

"You probably won't, not until the bazooka is fixed."

That was Reborn, appearing out of nowhere, as was his wont, and peering at the wreckage of the bazooka with bright, curious eyes. "I think it will have to go to our craftsmen in Italy."

"How long do you think the repairs will take?"

Reborn looked up at him. "I couldn't say." He shrugged, as if it were of no concern to him, and Kyouya's fingers itched for the tonfa he'd put away.

But it couldn't be helped. "Fine." He'd survive until things were restored to their proper order. He'd survived much worse.

Kyouya was turning to go when Sawada said, "Wait."

When he looked, the expression on Sawada's face was one that he recognized. "What?"

"How are things in the future?" Sawada asked, serious and intent.

He might have known. Kyouya snorted. "Thriving."

Something in Sawada's face eased, and Kyouya permitted himself a smile. Some things did remain constant, it seemed.

They didn't ask him where he was going, and Kyouya didn't bother telling them, which was exactly as it should have been. Besides, dislocated from his proper time as he was, there were only a few places that he could go, which was surely something that the smarter members of Sawada's band ought to be able to figure out on their own.

Of course, Cavallone misunderstood everything when Kyouya showed up on the doorstep of his Japanese headquarters. "Here to spar?" he asked, already uncoiling his whip as his man withdrew to a discreet distance.

"Why not?" Kyouya asked, after a moment's consideration, and launched himself at Cavallone. A fight would be as good a beginning as any.

It was constricting, not having his boxes, like trying to fight with an injury. Cavallone wasn't himself, either--wouldn't be, either, not for another few years. Kyouya growled with the frustration of it when a blow that should have had the weight of Cavallone's Flame behind it merely snapped a line across his cheek, stinging but otherwise harmless.

It was just as well that he hadn't actually come here for a fight.

"There's something different about you today," Cavallone said, when Kyouya had fought him to a standstill and was kneeling on his chest to keep him down.

"About time you noticed," Kyouya told him, and glanced at Romario. "Out," he said. "I have things to say which are private."

Romario didn't actually move until Cavallone laughed and flicked his fingers at the man. "This is unusual," he said, when Romario had withdrawn. "What--"

"Shut up," Kyouya told him, and leaned down.

Cavallone's mouth tasted like blood--he must have cut the inside of his cheek on one of the punches Kyouya had landed--and he went very still under Kyouya's knees. "What...?" he said, and stopped, and then started again, staring up at Kyouya and looking stunned. "What in God's name has gotten into you today?"

"Just because you think you ought to wait another two years doesn't mean you should," Kyouya told him, shifting back on his heels and contemplating Cavallone's t-shirt. It was already ripped and spotted with blood in a couple of places, so he hooked his fingers in the collar and tugged. The cloth made a satisfying noise as it ripped.

So did Cavallone; Kyouya almost never got to hear that particular note of indignation from him. "Kyouya! What the hell?"

"I'm saving us some time," Kyouya said, stripping the t-shirt off of him and studying the effect with a certain sense of satisfaction. "Do try to keep up."

It clicked for Cavallone right about the time Kyouya reached for his belt buckle. "That damn bazooka!" he said, and yelped as Kyouya started undoing his belt. "What the--wait, stop! Why are you a teenager?"

Kyouya left off what he was doing, and began stripping his own clothes off instead. "The bazooka seems to be broken, and I'm stuck here till it's fixed."

Cavallone's eyes glazed over just a bit as Kyouya dropped his shirt to the side, but he shook it off. "That's unfortunate--wait, what do you mean, saving us some time?"

"I would swear you didn't hit your head that hard when you went down," Kyouya told him, watching Cavallone swallow hard as he shimmied out of his pants and underwear. "You're planning on waiting another couple of years before you approach me. And it's only going to piss me off when I figure out that you don't have a good reason for doing it."

Cavallone had the good sense to look suddenly nervous. "You are technically underage," he noted, but the protest sound feeble enough to Kyouya to ignore, especially when he didn't protest when Kyouya reached for his belt again.

"Not right now I'm not." Kyouya smiled at him, finally getting Cavallone's pants open. "Right now, technically, I'm older than you." He snaked a hand inside Cavallone's pants and squeezed. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to stand on propriety if I don't have to."

He squeezed again, and Cavallone's resistance crumpled on a low, vibrant moan. "Fine, whatever," he said, breathless, and hauled Kyouya down for another kiss.

Kyouya let him, satisfied with his victory, and decided to let the argument about who was going to top wait till later. It was going to take at least a few days for the ten-year bazooka to be fixed, after all, and it wouldn't do to give Cavallone too many shocks all at once.

- end -

There is a part of my soul that just really loves the idea of Hibari getting impatient with Dino's dithering and taking steps. Sometimes I just can't help indulging it.

Comments, as always, are a thing of delight!