Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What. The. Fuck.”

Tybalt’s eyes widened as he realised what had just happened.

“What the hell was that, Capulet?” Mercutio was looking at him incredulously, one hand still gripping Tybalt’s collar and the other hanging forgotten at his side. Tybalt felt sweat break out across his forehead as Mercutio stared down at him.

“Shit. Shit, I-- uh, I’m--” He pushed Mercutio away roughly. “I need to go.”

He turned quickly to escape the alleyway.

“You’re running away ?”

He walked faster, refusing to answer Mercutio’s furious shouts. He kept his eyes down and took a direct route home to the Capulet estate, his face burning with embarrassment and shame. Mercutio had every right to be surprised, Tybalt had never left a fight unfinished before, never given up until he’d made his Capulet blood proud. Even if it had meant returning home bloody, bruised, and beaten to a pulp, Tybalt had worked hard to establish his reputation as a man who would fight to the last of his strength. If anyone ever found out about this disaster, he was ruined. Still, what had happened in the alleyway had left him with no other option than to run away. Shoving past his family and up the stairs, he replayed the afternoon’s events in his mind.

The fight started out like any other: as cocky as ever, Mercutio was itching for a quarrel, and Tybalt, as always, was more than happy to oblige. Mercutio yelled insults at him across the square until Tybalt got mad enough to follow him into one of Verona’s narrow, twisting streets. They had been going through this routine for years and had discovered the narrower streets were the most fun to fight in, the close quarters creating an additional challenge.

Tybalt threw the first punch, an exaggerated, mocking swing meant more to antagonize than to cause actual damage. Mercutio reacted quickly, retreating further into the alleyway before launching his own attack. Tybalt easily dodged the series of blows, and managed to land one on Mercutio’s shoulder, momentarily knocking him off balance. Mercutio only grinned, and Tybalt smirked in reply before aiming another hit at Mercutio’s stupid, perfect teeth.

Almost half an hour later, both of them were breathing hard, emotions running high and new bruises beginning to form. That’s when the fight got heated in a different way. Somehow, Tybalt had gotten backed up against a wall with nowhere to run and no room to swing properly. Before he could think, Mercutio stepped closer and used the opening to let loose- with his mouth.

The kiss was brief, taunting, and apparently, a distraction. While Tybalt was still processing the salty-sweet taste of red wine, blood, and sweat that remained on his teeth, Mercutio took advantage of the shock and punched him hard in the face.

Pushing open the door to his room, Tybalt ran his hand over his face, lightly brushing the pulsing bruise on his jaw. Regret and anger churned in his stomach. He should have punched back, both of them had been expecting a retaliation swing. Instead... God, instead, as his head snapped to the side he had let out the most sexually charged moan he'd ever heard and ruined his own fucking life because now Mercutio knew . Tybalt knew he knew, there was no way that kinky piece of shit hadn't made the connection. As for the fact that he hadn't laughed or made a snarky comment, and the fact that he’d seemed angry- Tybalt didn't know what to think.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

“What?” he barked.

“Tybalt? I made you some tea.” Juliet slipped into the room, tea in hand and a first aid kit hanging from her elbow. Tybalt relaxed.

“I’m not that bad, Jules.” he assured her, “But thank you for the tea.”

“You sure? Last time you came home so upset some monster had cracked two ribs and your eye was swollen shut for a week.”

“Really, I’m fine this time.”

“Promise?”

“I swear. Honestly.”

“Well, okay. I’ll leave the kit here, just in case. If this is what a win looks like, the other guy must be a trainwreck.” Juliet smiled, “It’s getting late. You should come down for supper.”

Tybalt grimaced. A win. Right.

“I’m not that hungry. The tea’s good.”

Juliet sighed and stood up, a concerned expression on her face, “Alright, just, please clean your face, your nose is bleeding pretty bad. And come find me if you need anything. You worry me sometimes, coz.”

“Sorry, Jules.”

Juliet smiled again as she closed the door behind her, but her eyes still looked worried. Tybalt felt bad. Sighing heavily, he dropped down onto the couch and buried his face in the cushions. How did this happen? Why him? Why fucking Mercutio, of all people? The thought of Mercutio brought the taste of his lips back to mind, and Tybalt muffled a scream in the cushions, mentally kicking himself. He hated that asshole. Why then, after the kiss, when Mercutio had punched him, why had it prompted such a visceral reaction? Tybalt had realised how his feelings were intensified by fighting long ago, and had found ways to deal with the way getting beaten up made his body react, he’d even researched various kinks and measured them against his own experience. He’d always been able to control his instincts, and nobody, not even the shady people he paid to pummel him bloody knew how fucking good it felt to him.

What was it about Mercutio that had so suddenly brought down all his walls? Tybalt’s mind wandered again to the taste of Mercutio’s kiss, the metallic tang of blood from a split lip, the salt, the bitter aftertaste of red wine. The feeling of teeth bumping teeth, reckless and furious and goddamn wonderful . Being kissed by his worst enemy had felt fucking amazing .

Maybe that was why the subsequent punch had had such an effect. Maybe the fact that Mercutio had felt the need to kiss him, albeit as part of the fight, had been so unexpected that no amount of preparation or control could have prevented a reaction. And maybe the idea that there might be something more between them than pure detestation…

But Mercutio had been so outraged. And he was an asshole. There was no way in hell a dick like him would ever feel a positive emotion for another human being in his miserable life.

Tybalt groaned and rolled over onto his back, opened his eyes, and shrieked.

Mercutio, the fucking dickheaded idiot supreme, was staring down at him from the skylight.

Chapter Text

Mercutio’s glowering face disappeared briefly when Tybalt instinctively launched the nearest thing at hand towards the skylight, which happened to be the first aid kit. However, he soon reappeared and swung down into the bedroom before Tybalt could stop him.

They stood there in his bedroom, the tension palpable, running warm and thick like a sword dripping with first-kill blood.

“So.”

In Tybalt’s mind Mercutio smirked and sneered, leered and simpered. In reality his expression was unreadable, a rarity for the exuberantly mannered prince’s nephew.

“Care to explain?”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“So, what? We just leave it at this?”

Something in Tybalt’s core jolted at Mercutio’s tone on the word ‘ we ’. Until tonight ‘ we ’ had meant enemies, rivals, sparring opponents. Until tonight the existence of a different type of ‘ we ’, of ‘ us ’, of ‘ them ’ had been a subconscious desire, too improbable to even acknowledge, let alone act upon.

“Tch,” Mercutio scoffed, “Fine, asshole.”

Tybalt made to argue, but Mercutio cut him off angrily.

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get you to see me as more than a punching bag?”

“I-- what?” Tybalt spluttered. This was not the direction he had expected this conversation to take.

“You think you’re so above everyone with your cool scar and fancy swords and brooding eyes and your Capulet blood. You think everyone really hates you? Well, you’d be right about that. Nobody likes you, Tybalt. Nobody likes your fake-ass blonde hair or your abs or your arms or your freckles or that stupid smirk. I hate it all. I hate all of you, Tybalt Capulet. And yet. And yet-! ” He gestured emphatically in a vague direction. “And now you pull this stunt and make me deal with it? Fuck you.”

He turned and ripped open the heavy burgundy curtains concealing Tybalt’s window.

“I thought that was supposed to end it. I thought you’d be furious, and then I’d know for sure. But, you.” He stepped onto the windowsill and tuned to face inside, pointing accusingly. “ You! ”

And with that he hopped onto the roof below and disappeared in a flash of curls and maroon cape.

Tybalt stared after him, utterly confused. Where was the laughter? The incessant teasing? He had been expecting mortification, but instead Mercutio’s outburst had almost seemed to mirror the feelings that made Tybalt’s heart twist at the thought of the kiss. More than a punching bag? It was almost like- like--!

Tybalt bolted to the window, “Mercutio! Wait--!”

His exclamation was answered only by the wind caressing the trees somewhere in the darkness of the Capulet estate. He sighed.

About to turn away, he paused as a small sound broke the quietness of the night. He held his breath until it came again, a tiny, stifled sniffle. Climbing as soundlessley as possible out of the window, he sourced the sound to a patch of deep shadow where the edge of the lower roof met the outside wall of his room. He walked carefully towards the darkness and sat down beside the maroon bundle perched with two legs emerging to dangle off the roof. There were several moments of silence, but the tension had shifted into something softer.

“I’m not crying.”

Tybalt nodded even though Mercutio wasn’t looking. Mercutio pulled off his hood and drew his legs up to his chest. Resting his chin in between his knees, he stared stubbornly forward at nothing. His cheeks glistened.

“Remember when we used to come up here?”

Tybalt nodded again.

“Remember the first time?”

Seven years ago, Mercutio’s parents hadn’t come back from a diplomatic trip to Venice via Padua. The carriage horse had arrived in the Escalus courtyard, carriageless, and although Mercutio’s uncle stepped in as temporary Prince and organized massive search efforts, Nicolosia Escalus and her wife Bianca were never found. It was a clear midsummer’s night three weeks later that Tybalt had chased his escapee cat Gattie out onto the roof and stumbled upon eleven year-old Mercutio sitting with his knees pulled up, gazing blankly into the night and tear tracks tracing his face. His nose was running.

“You had snot everywhere.”

“You ass . Shut up.” Mercutio smiled wetly. “You were my best friend. You seemed to know so much about fighting, about people dying and how to handle it, everything. Even though you were only a year older than me.”

“I’m a year and-”

“A year and three fifths older than me, whatever! Anyway, we were so close, and then you went away to train for a year when you turned fourteen and when you came back… I don’t know…”

“What?”

“Actually, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Cutio!” Tybalt needled, dragging up an old nickname from their childhood escapades.

“I-- You-- You got fucking hot, okay? But the feud had gotten really bad and whenever you saw me we didn’t talk like we used to, you just seemed like you hated my guts.”

“You were always with those Montagues. You traded sides like our friendship didn’t even happen. I thought you hated my guts.”

“I do hate your guts. But I also… really like your guts. And like, the rest of you.”

“Thanks…?”

“Dude.”

“What.”

“I like. Your guts.”

“Oh. OH. I like my guts too. Uh, I mean, I like-- I like your guts. I love your guts! Your guts are great. And you. You’re great.”

Mercutio laughed hard at that, and leaned into Tybalt’s shoulder for support. They sat side by side with their legs hanging off the edge of the roof, just the same as they had sat as friends years ago. Tybalt looked downwards at Mercutio’s face, now startlingly close, wet cheeks replaced by blushing ones, eyes sparkling with mirth rather than anger. Every inch where his shoulder and Mercutio’s cheek touched felt alive with a thousand white hot sparks, and when Mercutio grinned he felt like his eyes were seeing for the first time. He gazed awestruck at Mercutio’s long eyelashes, his warm, Mars-brown eyes, his lips, and his stupid, familiar, perfect teeth. Then Mercutio looked up.

The first kiss had been blood and gunpowder, fiery, desperate, and somehow finite. Mercutio’s attempted murder of his seemingly unrequited feelings, the betrayed cry of a friendship stabbed to death by separation, time, and miscommunication: et tu? Et tu?

The second kiss was rebirth. Mercutio’s lips tasted like the salt of the ocean, the cradle of Earth’s earliest life, and when Mercutio’s warm hands caressed Tybalt’s cheeks he felt the sun dawning within his chest. Behind his closed eyes new galaxies exploded into dazzling existence, and the familiar rush of their street brawls flooded his veins, but this time different , this time better .

They broke apart slowly. Tybalt could feel Mercutio’s heart racing in time with his.

“I hate you.” Tybalt said, but it didn’t feel like hatred.

“I know.” Mercutio replied, and Tybalt knew from the glimmer in his eye that it didn’t sound like hatred, either.