#older cyno my beloved...... this hc lives in my head rent free man

[mamichigo]

⚠️ (minor fighting/violence)

--

"You've gotten sloppy," Cyno comments coldly on the first night at Aaru Village that they get with no one else around.

Alhaitham looks up from his book and across the table. The General Mahamatra stands stiff at the corner, the figure of him intimidating and imposing. He hasn't changed one bit. That harsh way of giving feedback, too, is the same as ever.

"I'm assuming you're referring to our fight," Alhaitham hums. He returns to his book. "I'd say I held my own well, given I'm still alive and uninjured."

"Not for any merit of your own."

Alhaitham turns the page unhurriedly, and hears the irritated click of Cyno's tongue. He smirks.

"So you did go easy on me. I didn't think you had it in you."

Cyno doesn't fall for the provocation. "I didn't teach you how to fight just for you to ruin all my efforts. Your form was wrong."

"For what reason, then, did you teach me?" Alhaitham snapped his book shut. "We all know how busy the General Mahamatra is, why should he spend his time on just any stupid brat in the Akademiya. Isn't that right?"

"You acted as if you had a death wish."

"That was still none of your business."

They stare at each other, neither willing to back down. Alhaitham feels that familiar discomfort between his ribs, the need to get under Cyno's skin, to move that distant and ever righteous heart of his. If Cyno never admits to care for him, then Alhaitham will haunt his every waking hour until he can no longer ignore Alhaitham's existence.

"Draw your weapon," Cyno orders abruptly.

"And why should I? As you might remember, we're under strict orders not to get into more fights."

Cyno chuckles, dark and sardonic. It sends a shiver down his spine.

"I've never known you for following orders."

Alhaitham returned his smile in kind. "Perhaps you don't know me all that much then, General."

Cyno's eyes narrow.

"Draw your weapon and I'll teach you again. Properly this time, so you won't dare forget it."

He makes no move to summon his weapon. "You said it yourself, didn't you, my Mahamatra? I'm not very good at following orders."

He barely has the time to put his book away before Cyno lunges at him. The air crackles as he moves, but he barely makes a sound as he jumps perfectly over the table. The chair falls to the floor as Alhaitham dodges to the side, just barely out of range. One of Cyno's nails nicks his cheek, the sting of it sharp on his skin.

They exchange a look before Cyno is on the move again. He's more precise, more vicious than in their previous fight. It's only muscle memory that allows Alhaitham to perfectly parry every punch. There's no opening at all; Alhaitham can see now Cyno didn't lie about holding back before.

But is he supposed to be happy about that, satisfied that at least Cyno didn't want his head?

(This frustration, too, is familiar.

It's like being back at the Akademiya, doing anything to get the attention of the taciturn senior who wouldn't look his way. He had been young, and foolish too.)

As the adrenaline boils to the surface, so does the simmering annoyance. When Cyno moves to strike, Alhaitham steps to the side, and catches a fistful of his hair, close to the neck. Cyno gasps when he drags him close. They both come to a stop, panting.

Alhaitham is under no illusion that Cyno couldn't break loose if he wanted to. However, for that moment at least, Alhaitham has him. Fuming, yes, and glaring at him. But still willingly in Alhaitham's grasp.

"What do you want from me?" Alhaitham asks lowly. He's done with the games, with the pointless dancing.

Cyno looks up at him, eyes burning. "Nothing. I've never wanted anything from you."

Alhaitham drags him even closer, until he's pressed to his chest and hanging on his tiptoes. Alhaitham tilts his head and smiles without humor.

"Too bad, because I want everything from you."

The press of their mouths is painful, unforgiving. They stumble gracelessly towards the table, where Alhaitham pushes Cyno up onto it, allowing him better reach, better access. He scrapes his nails along Cyno's scalp, down to his neck, delights in his responding growl. As if to get back at him, Cyno bites down on his lip close to bleeding.

Alhaitham chuckles against his mouth, and the ease of it somehow gentles their movements. He puts a hand on Cyno's naked waist, thumbs at the firm skin. Cyno moves to the side for air, their noses nuzzled together. Alhaitham quickly claims his mouth again, enjoying the haziness of oxygen escaping his lungs.

If Cyno had any protests before, they died in his throat. Instead, he watches Alhaitham through his lashes, soft in a way that he doubts anyone else is privy to.

"Everything?" Cyno asks between kisses.

"Everything," Alhaitham promises.