AN: This chapter is, um, M rated in a way you probably won't expect but it's NOT totally explicit unless some readers are sort of sensitive. If so, why do you like Hibari? He's no fluff-monster XD Anyway, please enjoy.

"Scream my name."

Hands, large and calloused and heavenly, skim her flesh and send jolts of virgin pleasure dancing along her nerves. Teeth and lips, hot and almost painful, mark and suckle the skin of her neck as though he can taste the blood thrumming beneath.

He is driving her mad with the speed and depth of his thrusts. All the pleasure and pain of the act melds, sparking like fireworks behind her closed eyelids-

o o o

To say her sleep is peaceful would be an outright lie.

The young woman laying in bed keeps tossing and writhing under the covers. Memories of the previous night replay torturously, just like film clips, while sensations ghost over every bit of skin that Hibari had touched. The occasional groan and curse drifts from her parched lips.

Amai's door stands open and she is the only occupant in the bed and room. The window is opened wide to let the cool, windy day tone down the ambient heat. Books lay scattered on the floor, and some other very few knick-knacks sprinkle the thin carpet, accompanying the tossed clothes she had worn.

Mirroring the room Amai looks equally messy. Thick shoulder length brown hair in tangles and terrible snarls, red marks all over her neck and torso; and fading welts on her wrists from when Hibari had, ahem, restrained her with the belt of his yukata.

Eventually, like an angel of grace, little Hibird swoops into the room and glides down in a circle to land on the girl's head.

It takes a few minutes of Hibird singing Namimori's anthem, but Amai manages to wrestle herself out of those vivid dreams.

"Hello sweet birdie," she coos tiredly, smiling as she lifts a hand for him to land on. Hibird obliges and nestles into her palm, chirping softly. Amai lightly kisses the tiny avian's crown. "Thank you for waking me up, Hibird."

Jeez, Amai thinks as she stretches out flat on the mattress and places her tiny companion on a pillow. She feels small aches everywhere, numerous little pains that nearly overwhelm a luscious sort of bone deep satisfaction that sits heavy in her muscles. I wonder if I can walk...

While she lies there thinking and musing on things, Hibird leaves for exactly two minutes and then flies back chirping the words, "Breakfast! Breakfast!"

"Nugh." With another grunt Amai tears away the duvet and the thin covers before rolling to her feet-

And falling right on her rump.

"Of course," she huffs, though not entirely as angry as she might sound. Her knees are like half boiled noodles and feel funny when she stands, but within another two minute she hurries as best she can towards the kitchen once she is dressed in a black skort and t-shirt.

Breakfast for Hibari is simple: rice, miso soup, fruit slices and tea. Once done, Amai makes her slow and awfully careful way towards Hibari's room.

Standing mutely beside his slightly open door, Amai berates herself. He BONED me. We made like mammals and did the fricken dirty! How the HELL can I still be so nervous around him! Stupid, stupid girl.

Amai pinches her cheek and the pain helps her to knock.

"Come in," reaches her ears, low and silky. She swallows hard and walks in.

Hibari, as it is the weekend and his minions are patrolling Namimori for him, still sits by his table looking over papers and 'detention slips' (which are really just notices from a few teachers who delight in siccing him on their erring pupil's). Dressed in a clean yukata of handsome wine purple, Amai curses Hibari for looking so... unforgettable and terribly beautiful in a handsome way.

Not wasting any of his time Amai walks over and kneels down on very noticeably shaky legs to place the platter down so she can place his food down on the specifically emptied space of table. She stands a little too quickly, which nearly has her face-planting either beside her 'masters' thigh or in the bowl of miso, and walks out with mechanically jerky steps. But, on a whim inspired by what went on the last night, Amai turns and wishes Hibari a pleasant day.

To her delight he lifts his gaze from the papers to catch her eye and nod.

o o o

The following three and a quarter weeks, which had been extended from the firstly ordered two, breezed by peacefully. Dream like.

If it weren't for the picture Amai had taken of the now evanesced 'love bites' on her neck, she would have believed that night was a cruelly sexy dream.

Questions and 'What If's' tunneled through both Amai's daytime thoughts and nightly dreams. Yet all of her daydreams were just that- fantasies that are left the gather in a secret corner of her mind where the rest of her wishes and deepest yearnings find rainbow-ocean grave.




It's been another week- actually, make that two.

Still, nothing extremely noticeable has changed.

Hibari, if she isn't making a big deal of it, seems to tolerate her presence more than he used to.

He talks to her seven times out of ten instead of two (chances increase when questions aren't 'stupid'). And, unlike others, Hibird seems to seek her out frequently during the day to simply sit with her or watch her from a random perch. During the times Hibird hangs around Amai, she has started calling him Cute Birdie or Sweet Birdie and, in turn, funnily enough, Hibird tends to chirp back "Pretty Bird!" whenever she does.

Every morning in school Amai is chosen to deliver files to Hibari's desk and she always bids him a good day. The young man doesn't growl at her to leave and nor does he ever whip out those tonfa for disturbing his peace. Most notably he rarely straight-out ignores her.

To her everyday surprise he looks her in the eye as he nods and turns back to the papers.

Perhaps this is his way of 'affection'?

Ha. Well, a girl could dream. And for all she knows, it is his emotionally stunted way of 'attachment' to other people.

During those weeks Amai said not a word to anyone. She didn't really change in attitude and manner either, except, certainly, to keep a steady attendance going.

Avoiding mentioning it to anyone was not out of any sense of fear, but more out of a reluctance to share that treasured experience.

Now... Amai sits with Bianchi in a bar as she nurses a weak but deliciously sweet drink.

Bianchi's smile is sly and 'I know what you did, naughty girl!'. "What is it you wanted to talk about, Amai-chan?"

Amusing pink darkened the younger woman's cheeks as she thumps her head into her folded arms. "I bet you know already, but..."

Mimicking Amai to meet her friends eyes, Bianchi smiles with less 'evilness' and more kindness. "Go on, I'd love to hear it."

"Mmph... I..." Amai swallows thickly and forces away the liquid heat dancing through her veins. "I slept with him. Um... naughty type sleeping, I mean."

Bianchi resists the first urge to throw her head back and laugh like the mildly drunk woman she is, and giggles quietly instead. "How is he? Nothing compared to Reborn, I'm sure, but spill!"

Amai sits up and scrubs a hand over her face, uncaring because she already tends to avoid wearing make-up, and smiles like the cat who got the cream.

"He's absolutely amazing. I know I was a virgin before that, but he was still incredible, I didn't think he'd be able to make a woman crumble..."

Bianchi smiles again in that wicked way. "Did you think he was 'in the closet' too?"

Amai scratches her nose and looks away sheepishly. "Well, yeah. I'll admit that."

Bianchi laughs and downs her much harder drink.

"I'll bet your love for him isn't any better, right? If anything it's deeper."

In answer to Bianchi's words, a heavy sigh hisses out from Amai's pursed lips. "Yeah. And part of me hates it while the other doesn't give a damn."

Bianchi pats her companion's head. "Yeah. We've both got it bad, huh? At least I have Reborn all to myself."


. . .


One Month Later. Spain, Zaragoza.

The hotel room is small and dark. High above in a clear night sky the moon hangs fat and bright; its pale light seeps into the room in stripes through the blinds. Around them the air is thick, heavy with cherry-cigar smoke and it curls about Amai's head, seems to choke her more than the hand gripping her windpipe.

Heavy breathing fills the room. Teeth clamp down, bruising her shoulders as a trail is lazily followed up to her neck, prompting the hand choking her to let go. This makes way for his mouth to close over her pounding pulse. He sucks only when the skin breaks, letting her blood wash over his tongue. Horror and disgust make the acrid smoke worse than it is, makes her want to throw up and hide under a boulder somewhere in the Himalaya's for next fifty years, give or take another decade.

Large and heavy hands roam her form, trailing along a gothic Lolita type dress. Everywhere they touch the hands bruise, they hold her in a violent grasp, grinding bones. And as his hands find her hips, lifting her further into his lap so he can thrust up into her clothed heat, Amai has had enough. He's got to be sufficiently off his guard now.

Smooth as silk, she pulls back from him, the target, and lets a sultry smile quirk her bruised and bloodied lips that captivates him. Then, quick as a striking cobra, she slams her fist into the greasy bastards throat with enough force to punch a whole through a metal filing cabinet. Needless to say, his head snaps back with an audible crack that leaves his milky blue eyes lifeless.

The resulting sick wave of self directed repulsion that hits Amai is allayed slightly with knowledge of the circumstances and reasons surrounding this assassination.

Grigori Borodin is a lesser known Russian Diplomat with, of course, Diplomatic Immunity. He used to come to Italy and Spain and spend time with pretty young women and the occasional boy, whomever he could charm or buy. After paying to sleep with them, which was usually the case and always a bloody, brutal affair, he left them broken and with no physical evidence of his ever being there. The man was a special case. With years of self-defense training that made him very dangerous, coupled with a naturally precise instinct, the only way to kill the formidable filth was to seduce him and hit at his most vulnerable. Otherwise

When Reborn offered her this job he made sure she knew what the man did. She couldn't refuse, not when she qualified so perfectly as his type.

Knowing what her target had done still doesn't stop her stomach from churning with the knowledge that she had taken her first life.

And for a dangerous half hour Amai sits on the rumpled bed, simply staring at Grigori's corpse where it slumps in a torn love seat. The sharp crack of his life ending doesn't want to leave her in peace, as it keeps echoing in her head like the beating of the Tell Tale Heart.

Soon after the thirtieth minute passes Amai plucks her Vongola cell phone out of the frivolous little purse that came with the outfit and calls Reborn.

"Is it done?" The hitman's voice, low and clear, works like a bucket of water and snaps her out of that funk.

"Yes, of course it is." Of course, of course, it's the easiest thing to do. Too easy, too simple. I feel sick. I really need a hug.

Silence on Reborn's end lasts for less than a minute before he comes back with orders to sneak out of there and head to the pre-established safe-house on a street across the city. Following that, arrangements would be made for a trusted second party to transport the corpse and make it so that others see this as a hit that was done somewhere in Russia and near a place he frequents.

"Okay, I'll be there within the hour. See you soon Reborn."

Amai snaps the phone shut, never more grateful to Tsuna for asking Reborn to help her on her first higher ranking mission.


. . .


The Next Day, In a Meeting with Tsuna and Guardian's.

When Amai arrived back in Namimori she called in a favor from a friend and arranged for them to head around and pick up school work and class notes from friends for the next three days.

There is a meeting today between Tsuna, his guardians, and some other trusted individuals.

It is about a minute past the meetings start and Amai is fighting back an urge to run away and hide until the markings from her mission have faded.

Sadly, Amai made a promise to herself the day she acknowledged Tsuna as a leader and best friend. She would never run away from anything unless it was life or death, and Hibari is on that list of Life-Or-Death along side Xanxus, Byakuran and a few other characters from the Varia. She forces herself to head inside.

"Good of you to make it here late, Amai." Reborn sounds sarcastic as he sits by Tsuna's side at the long u-shaped table.

Amai shrugs and sits down beside a twelve year old Lambo who is playing with one of his horns and affectionately ruffles his hair. Out of everyone she is the only one wearing the jacket she stepped in with.

The meeting is normal, not really tense. Her mind has drifted off to La-La-Land hand-in-hand with a bored Lambo, so she plays Tic Tac Toe with him and doodles funny faces that have him stifling what would have been obnoxious giggles.

"Hey, Amai-chan," whispers Yamamoto from her other side. He tugs lightly at her coat. "Are you sick? You're still wearing your jacket."

Amai nearly swallows her tongue when Yamamoto asks that. None the less she manages to reply without bumbling. "No, but I might be coming down with something. I'm wearing it just in case." She smiles brightly but can't make herself meet Yamamoto's eyes.

Few but Reborn and Tsuna know why she disappeared for a week and she wants to keep it that way.

While the meeting continues onward Amai pops up the collar of her jacket and sinks more into it, now very thankful she doesn't have a boyfriend.

Although, unbeknownst to her, Hibari is watching her movements with lazy intensity.

He sees how she absently rubs at her shoulders and several other areas. Sees how she doesn't meet anyone's eyes, even Lambo's, and tugs at the scarf she's left wrapped around her neck like a shield. His eyes narrow in calculation as his mind goes over why she would be acting unlike herself, so distant and nervous. Being who he is, he makes it a habit of knowing things about any herbivore's he frequently comes in contact with, he's not content with being unable to even make an educated guess.

She is being secretive, of that he is sure. That is something she rarely, if ever, is.

The only thing that may have something to do with it is the two weeks she'd been mysteriously away along with Reborn, in which Hibird couldn't find her and never failed to come back and circle the Prefect chirping "No Pretty-Bird, no Pretty-Bird!" until Hibari ordered it to leave for a few hours.

Within fifteen minutes the meeting ends and everyone stands up to leave.

Hibari decides to act on a whim and investigate first hand as to why the herbivore is acting out of sorts...

AN: HOLY SHIZA. I finished without making this a million words long! Please review if you finished reading! A word or four always brightens my day like you wouldn't believe. :)