#breakbert

They collided in a fevered scramble, lips meeting with a violence that left Gilbert’s teeth aching. Break pressed him down with implacable weight, the bed springs groaning, sweat-slick skin sticking to cheap sheets. The air hung thick with the tang of their bodies—a humid, electric musk—blending with the stale shreds of tobacco that always seemed to cling to Break no matter how many times they washed.

Gilbert’s chest rose and fell beneath Break’s grip, muscle tensing with every act of resistance. But resistance always met its match: Break’s hands clamped down with a possessive certainty, fingers digging deep, mapping new bruises into Gilbert’s hips. Even as Gilbert twisted, biting down curses, Break’s grin only sharpened—the pleasure in domination painted clearly across the tilt of his mouth, across every slow drag of his tongue.

The room was chaos. Shirts spattered with old sweat, jackets slumped in limp piles. Every reminder of their earlier fight stoked the pulse of something darker, rougher, boiling just beneath their skin.

It was always like this: the furious collision, the struggle, the surrender. Gilbert’s mind insisted he hated every second his body betrayed him—how it ached for these bruising kisses, how skin burned where Break’s mouth lingered, how every grunted word curled low in his gut and sparked wanting. Every time Break’s lips brushed his ear, whispering filth and challenge both, Gilbert shivered, the sensation prickling from his neck to somewhere far deeper.

He loathed how Break made him crave, made him act like an addict needing a fix. Break’s mouth moved against his own, insistent, mint-ash tang bleeding from his tongue. Kissing Break was like inhaling smoke too thick for his lungs—a sharp, choking burn that set his senses alight. It always started bitter, but left a stain of sweetness on the back of his throat, the aftertaste impossible to scrub away. No matter how many times he coughed, gasping for air, all he wanted was to put it back between his lips for another drag, desperate despite himself.

Gilbert’s fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles whitening. He told himself he wouldn’t give Break the satisfaction of a moan, and still his voice slipped out half-formed—a strangled gasp as Break’s hand found him, stroking in time with the rise and fall of his ragged breathing. The callus of Break’s thumb, rough and sure, pressed just right, drawing him further to the edge.

“You want to quit me, don’t you?” Break murmured, breath all velvet smoke against Gilbert’s cheek, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his temple. “But you just keep coming back.” His words fanned across Gilbert’s ear, his grip never loosening, relishing each involuntary tremor.

Gilbert tried to look away, tried to put some distance between himself and the heat bleeding between their bare bodies. “Go to hell,” he managed, though even he could hear how thin it sounded. Every time Break paused—denying him that final rush, yanking him from the edge—Gilbert’s need grew sharper, spiraling to something close to pain.

Break feasted on that tension. “You’ll get your fill when I say so,” he said, breathing the words straight into Gilbert’s open mouth before stealing another hungry, smoke-stained kiss. “Only when you beg for it.”

Gilbert hated that he almost did.

Each wave of pleasure was fraught with shame; each kiss was bitter, laced with the poison he should have spat out. There was nothing safe about the man on top of him, a truth he knew all too well and yet each time he pulled away, Gilbert felt emptier than before, desperate for another poisonous inhale. There was nothing that could fill the ache.

Break took him in his mouth, tongue coaxing, dismantling him with infuriating patience, pulling back just to watch Gilbert flounder, sweat-streaked and dizzy, on the edge of relief. He was denied, again and again, left panting, shamed by the trembling of his own battered pride and hollow need.

“Asshole,” Gilbert spat out, barely able to steady his breathing. But even his venom wilted under Break’s gaze, that damn grin widening with every trembling inch of exposed vulnerability.

“You want me to stop?” Break asked, feigning innocence as his fingers traced a dizzying path down Gilbert’s flushed chest, his own body sprawled comfortably where it pleased.

Gilbert bared his teeth, black hair snarled between Break’s persistent fingers. “You’re insufferable.”

“Still here, aren’t you?” Break’s laugh rattled through his ribcage, hands coaxing more, always more. “You need it rough. You want the fire. Makes my job easy.”

Break leaned in, tobacco and sweat and something inexplicably sweet. Gilbert could taste it in every kiss—addictive, corrupting, something he’d never find at the bottom of a bottle or the end of a cigarette. Something he hated and needed, dose after toxic dose.

He hated how Break saw him, transparent and wanting, pathetic in his own denial. Hated how easily desire could be kindled with a word, a touch, a slow drag of fingernails along his hip bone. But most of all, he hated that underneath all the pushback, the name-calling, the clench of teeth—he always came back. Break was the habit he couldn’t shake, the poison he craved, the vice that burnt him clean and left him begging for another round.

Break drew him close, sealing their mouths with a command and a promise. “Just breathe me in,” he whispered, and Gilbert, weak and wanting, did exactly that—again, and again, and again.

Break jumped a bit at the abrupt sound, Gilbert’s anger radiating off of him practically like heat. He kept his hands by his hair, looking in the direction in which he could feel the younger was near him. And he was so damn near. The reason Gilbert’s anger was comparable to heat is because he was indeed close enough to feel every fibre of Gil’s being. 

Gilbert probably felt like he could get this close only because Break couldn’t actually see him. Whatever the reason, his presence was penetrative, though not unwelcome. It was his favourite little pathetic Gilbert after all… What could he possibly do to him that Sharon already hasn’t put him through with her harisen? Although, being this close to the Raven, he truly did not know what to expect. So he pretended as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Aside from that loud bang of Gilbert’s hands against the dresser. 

The Raven breathed heavily, composing himself to not scream at his mentor in such close proximity. It would be rather counterintuitive to yell at someone whose all other senses except for sight were sharper now. Or could Break be going deaf as well and wasn’t telling him that either? 

Either way, all that came out of him was a measured sentence, the only question that he needed confirmation on from the source himself. Head bowed in front of his mentor, he asked. “You really can’t see… Can you?”

Despite showing the best fighting Gilbert has seen from his teacher in a while, the sight of the older fiddling with the hairpins was quite pitisome. At this point, he was wondering if eyesight was truly the issue or just lack of skill in the hair department. 

Break thought of a million different ways to retort to that question. To tease Gilbert about barging into his room like that and to now be bent over him like so. He wanted to. He really did. But at the end of the day, he could not be more grateful to the person that saved him from committing an irreversible mistake. He lowered his hands from the back of his hair in defeat. In an unnaturally small voice, he confirmed the younger’s suspicion. “No.”

Break both heard and felt the sharp inhale that Gilbert took. It was so… desperate… as if a part of Gil hoped for the opposite answer. But there he was, disappointing his subordinate. 

At this point, Gil decided to look up into Break’s unseeing eye. It was so unnerving, because Break looked back at him, and for a moment, he thought he could see recognition and some sensory input, but no. The iris was unfocused, not looking him directly in the eye as one would in this close proximity. Break was just doing his best estimate to figure out where he should be looking. 

Gil let out a defeated sigh, seeing how there was nothing to be fighting here for. No bargaining nor anger will do him nor Break any good here. He took a long look at his mentor and the situation they were in. He was in Break’s room, effectively pinning him against his own dresser, a blind man, no less. How opportunistic of him… Granted, had he tried to do so earlier, it would have definitely ended with his being thrown out in the most creative ways Break could conjure at the time. Now though, all Break did was stand there, accepting fate for what it was. 

Gil leaned forward to look behind Break’s head at the mess that was created there after a whole evening, which also happened to include a fight. With his breath ghosting over Break’s ear, he asked quietly. “How did you even get them in there?”

With Gil this close, Break suddenly felt uneasy, a slight heat rushing through his body. They’ve never been this close before outside of training and fighting. There was something… intimate about this moment. Not only that, but Gil’s sudden change in tone. Going from angry to soft after Break’s confession really put him through some mental hoops. 

This close to Gilbert, he could smell the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. He tried not to inhale too deeply so as to not appear as if he was actively sniffing his student. Though, he dared say, the scent was pleasant to his taste. However, the warm breath on his ear… there was nothing he could have done to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine. In hopes that Gilbert wouldn’t notice, he answered his question. “Sharon…”

But Gilbert noticed. How could he not, being this close to someone, and being the one with eyesight. Break’s visible bodily reaction was very noticeable and Gil couldn’t help the smile that passed on his lips. He brought a hand up to hover over the back of Break’s hair, trying to find the best place to start with the hairpins

Break only continued to talk in an effort to disguise his growing comfort at being this close to another man. “She really likes all things dress up and hair, so naturally she was the one to--ahh…” 

Gilbert finally touched his hair, barely, but still noticeable enough to make Break lose his train of thought and gasp in awe over how nice the sensation felt. 

Gilbert pulled his hand back when he heard and felt the gasp. He only touched a few of the strands to see if they were a good beginning spot, but Break’s reaction made him hesitate. “Hm? What is it?”

“Nothing!” Break shook his head, embarrassed with himself at his own reaction. ‘What the fuck was that?!’ 

“Alright… you let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” Gil reassured and went back to being infinitely close to Break. 

“Mhmm,” Break hummed his agreement and immediately fought back a low whimper once Gil’s hand actually fully immersed itself in his hair. What was this boy doing to him???

When Sharon played and fiddled with his hair, it didn’t feel like much. Just a necessity he had to sit through. But with Gilbert… the whole ordeal felt different. He was oh so aware of their proximity, but also there was something about knowing that Gil’s rough gun handling hands were doing the most miniature of tasks such as taking hairpins out of someone’s hair...

His mind swam. Maybe he should just call Sharon in here and get this over with, with no further complications to their relationship. Instead, he found himself gripping Gilbert’s forearm unconsciously, tilting his head in the direction of Gilbert’s head. What was wrong with him?

However, shortly after he realized he was holding onto Gil’s arm, Gil used that arm to return his hold on him. Recognizing this, Break’s thoughts shifted to, ‘what is wrong with him???’

Gil didn’t understand why Break suddenly decided to hold onto him, but he felt it would only be right to return the favour under the pretence that this way Break would hold still better and let him focus on his task. Or maybe he was hurting him, and Break was too proud to admit it, but instead transferred that pain into gripping him? This particular pin was a tad more tangled than the rest and he was really fumbling with it. Especially one handed, since he dared not let go of Break with his other hand. It was comforting in a sense, to them both, to be holding each other during this task.

Feeling Gil’s hand in his hair felt unlike any sensation he’s ever witnessed. No longer caring about why he was feeling this way, Break decided to just let himself get swept away in the soothing sensation of having someone fiddle with your hair. Since his hand was gripping Gil’s arm, he focused on how the muscle moved beneath the coat and skin. How firm and sturdy Gil felt in his hold. How strong his student has grown from the small and scared child he’d met a decade ago. 

He found that oddly comforting and unconsciously began leaning forward into Gil. He noticed that Gil pressed firmer into him as well, almost leaning his chest on his shoulder. ‘What is he doing…?’ 

Only being able to use one hand made the task more difficult, so with no other option, Gil decided to get his mouth involved. To do that though, he had to really lean into Break to be able to grasp the hairpin with his teeth. They could just change positions, but… somehow that felt like more work and he was comfortable enough as it was. Plus, he was practically already there. “Lean forward more, I can’t see…”

Break’s eye widened, and while he was dumbfounded, Gil used his hand to push his head into his shoulder. He gave a surprised gasp, his hand gripping Gilbert more earnestly now. His breathing picked up at being so intimately close to Gilbert, even closer than before, which is already the closest they’ve ever been. Now he was forced to inhale the scent of Gil’s coat, and to be practically embraced by his student. What a peculiar situation…

Now having a better visual on the back of Break’s head, Gil held onto the clump of messy hair with his hand and leaned in with his face to grasp the pin by his teeth. He felt Break stiffen underneath him and smirked to himself. This must be something new for his mentor as well. He had to admit, he rather liked this arrangement, for once putting Xerxes Break in an unfamiliar territory and watching him squirm as he was now. 

With the first pin successfully out of the white hair, he leaned back. Ideally, he’d have loved for Break to see him with his prize between his teeth, but alas, he will need to compensate. He pulled back slowly, talking lowly around the pin in his mouth, with his breath brushing right up against Break’s ear. “I got it…” 

Break bit his lower lip to fight back another involuntary whimper at both the sensation and action. ‘Did he just take it out with his teeth?’ He was able to deduce that much from the way Gil spoke, and how close he felt the younger’s face to the back of his head. He tried not to show his bafflement in his voice. “That one was really stuck in there, eh?”

Gil dropped the pin onto the dresser and leaned back in to get the other ones. “Mhmm,” he hummed. “The rest should be easier to get out.”

Break squeezed Gil’s arm when he felt Gil’s hand go back to touching his hair. “It’s okay, take your time…”

And so Gil did, take all the time in the world, slowly pulling out pin by pin, leaving Break to gasp, tremble and pant in his arms. After a few particularly gorgeous sounds from the older, Gil couldn’t help his own heart rate spiking, leaving him to breathe shallowly, which Break picked up on and played off of. They did not need to speak aloud to let their bodies talk for themselves. Especially when Gil’s hand would travel in between pins, just casually massaging gently the back of Break’s head. That bit in particular made Break lose composure and gasp louder than normal and grip Gil’s arm tighter. He even tried tilting his head back in pleasure a couple of times, but Gil just pushed his head right back against him, as that hindered the progress on getting the hairpins out. 

Another moment that made Break forget what was happening was when Gil would deliberately breathe against his ear hotly and sweetly. For no other reason, just because. Just because Break’s reactions likely fueled his own internal sensations, which he wasn’t hiding as well as he thought. Break could both feel and hear it. 

Particularly when Gil would get too close and actually faintly brush his lips against Break’s ear, making them each gasp in surprise, but carry on as if nothing happened. 

Soon enough, Break returned to looking more like himself with his scrunkly looking hair and the pile of bobby pins laid on the dresser beside them. Break wasn’t quite sure what to do now that that was over. As much as he enjoyed the moment, it was rather… peculiar, in the best sense of the word.

He still did not let go of Gil. Gil tried leaning back as soon as he was done, but Break kept a firm hold on him. Break’s next words surprised him. “This doesn’t have to mean anything, right?”

They just shared the most intimate moment of their lives with each other, gasping and trembling in each others’ holds without speaking a single word of it, the arousal running high between them, and Break was still holding onto him with an unyielding grip. 

Gil leaned back in to be eye level with Break again, face to face for the first time since he started pulling out the pins. “Just helping a blind man with his hairpins. Nothing more.” He whispered sweetly. 

He leaned in closer to Break’s face so that their noses would be barely touching and their lips hovering just over one another. Break was about to tilt his head to make their lips touch when Gil whispered reassuringly. “You can let go of me now…”.

Break hesitated for a split second, but did as was told. What a silly thing he did, holding onto Gilbert like that. He promptly released his grip and looked away, hand coming to hold the edge of the dresser he was still leaned back against. 

He expected this to be that, and for Gilbert to turn around and leave. That’s why despite Gil leaning away from his face, he was surprised to feel Gil caress the back of his head one last time, twirling a strand of his hair between his fingers before finally stepping away from him completely.