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"Dammit, Franky! You're in big trouble! Kokoro said to get you back inside now!" The bundle of kicking and screaming and damn slippery little brat was writhing in his arms like an eel out of water — not terribly far from the truth, Iceburg reflected sourly as he struggled to keep a grip on the dripping wet boy.
"But Battle Franky Nine is almost ready! I just have to adjust the cannon! It's gonna beat up a Sea King!" Franky kicked out with his legs, one flailing limb catching Iceburg in the shin. Iceburg winced and almost lost his grip.
"I don't care what it's going to beat up, you need to get inside now! And you shouldn't be building those irresponsible things anyway, Foolanky!"
"Assburg! I can build whatever I want! And I don't have to go inside if I dunwanna! Raargh!" And the little bastard bit him. Let out a squeaky little roar, grabbed his arm, and bit him.
"Shit!" Iceburg shifted his grip to lock the annoying and apparently downright dangerous idiot's arms to his sides, shifting him closer, where his thrashing kicks would have less force. Franky threw his head back defiantly, eyes fiery and huge. He stared at Iceburg for a second before something suspicious-looking and devious passed across his face and all of Iceburg's brat-alarms went off at once.
"Foolanky, whatever you're planning to tr— mmph!"
Really, he'd been prepared for anything. Iceburg'd been bitten, kicked, punched, and even tickled by his co-apprentice in the brat's efforts to get away when Iceburg was called upon to rein him in.
But when Franky lunged forward and kissed him soundly on the lips, his arms went nerveless, and the slippery mass of wiry limbs had slid out of his shocked grip before he'd had the chance to blink.
By the time Iceburg had recovered enough to give chase with a hiccoughing roar, Franky was already on his nearly-finished battleship, shirt flapping, crowing triumphantly as he steered it away from shore.
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"That was the RUDDER, Franky!" Iceburg dodged another lump of scrap metal tossed haphazardly his way, focusing on the figure in the flapping shirt in front of him.
"How was I supposed to know? I couldn't tell one of your rudders from a Sea King's left tit!"
"That it was at the back of the ship and underwater might have helped!"
"You call that thing a ship?" Another chunk of scrap came flying his way, and Iceburg thought he recognized the carefully-carved figurehead he'd been missing for a few weeks now.
"Dammit, Foolanky, quit stealing parts of my ships!"
"Why should I if you can't even catch me?"
The little thief was starting to get some legs on him. But Iceburg was still longer and heavier, so when he darted sideways to cut Franky off and lunged, fully extended, he could just grab the flailing end of Franky's loose shirt and send them tumbling into a scrap heap.
Iceburg was tackling him before he had a chance to wriggle away. They rolled over and over, ignoring the sharp jab of metal and wood all around until Iceburg had finally pinned Franky against the half-dismantled hull of a schooner. Iceburg was, to his chagrin, panting. Franky seemed a little worse for the wear, but if he looked at all sorry or intimidated, Iceburg'd eat his bandana.
Brat.
Iceburg started to say something about the rudder. Or something about how Franky should be helping with the train, or about how plain stupid and immature the younger boy was acting. But instead of threats on his lips, there was Franky's mouth.
Like the first time, over a year ago, his arms went numb even if his mouth didn't, and again the gangly bastard was slipping away.
Iceburg recovered quickly enough to grab at an ankle, but all it earned him was a smirk over a loudly-patterned shoulder before the thieving, devious, annoying, foul-tasting bugger was out of sight.
He really shouldn't have been that surprised.
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The next time Franky kissed him, Iceburg was almost ready for it. He'd practically practiced for it. This time instead of his arms loosening in dumb shock, they tightened in a half-rehearsed reaction. He'd jerked his face away, and even pulled off that line about how "That won't always get you out of trouble, Foolanky." He hadn't really counted on the fact that bringing Franky that close would give the other a chance to bite his neck, however. Nor had he quite taken into account the effect that would have on him.
As he watched Franky run away again, Iceburg reflected sourly that he'd really thought the biting stage had ended around twelve years old. But then again, that bite hadn't really been meant to hurt.
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He really had no idea how the wiry bastard kept managing to get their mouths together like that when Iceburg was desperately trying to hold onto him and Franky was — supposedly — trying just as desperately to get away.
He'd learned from last time — what was that? a few months ago? — not to pull the other boy in any closer, and he'd long lost the nerveless response of a few years ago. He would have been perfectly prepared to ignore it, but this time when their lips met, it was Franky who went still, Franky who pulled them closer, and he really didn't have time to think about it before his mouth was opening and there was a tongue reaching eagerly for his own, wrestling with it like its owner had been wrestling with him but a second ago. Iceburg wasn't sure exactly what his hands were doing, sliding down Franky's back as if he were enjoying this; had no clue why his lips were moving with the hot, insistent pull of Franky's.
Wasn't sure why he wasn't expecting it when rough hands shoved him away and Franky had run off again, snickering as usual, and Iceburg was left panting lightly, feeling hotter than he had any right to.
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"You're in trouble," he whispered before sealing his mouth over Franky's. There was a second when the lips under his were shocked and unmoving, and Iceburg felt a smug little thrill of triumph before he locked his arms around the momentarily pliant body under his.
He had the brat in an arm lock before Franky'd had the chance to tense again, and Iceburg laughed. "Nma. I warned you."
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"Am I in trouble again?" Franky half-purred just before Iceburg's lips prevented further commentary. Franky's mouth was warm under his own, and Iceburg could feel the smirk curling against his cheek when he breathed, "Yes."
He'd been planning to do something about that. Really. But Franky had turned around with a cocky, knowing gleam in his eye, and had already smoothed callused hands over his back, flicked a thick thumb across his jaw before Iceburg had a chance to start tricking him properly.
He wasn't really sure who he was kidding anymore.
He didn't really care.
As much as Franky annoyed the hell out of him, as much as they fought and snarled at each other, Iceburg still half-melted when Franky pulled away to bite softly at his neck, slid his hands around to toy with the zipper on Iceburg's pants. It still felt good to slide that offensively raucous shirt off Franky's strong shoulders and trail his hands down a firm, sweating back as broad palms slid over his bare hips.
He doubted Franky felt very punished.
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The colossal engine was lying in a steaming wreck by the rails. Tom had already gone inside to pore over his blueprints, but Franky was still here, picking at the boiler he'd worked so hard on.
"I'm in trouble again, aren't I?"
Iceburg sighed as he toed the twisted metal. It could have been any number of things. It could have been the boiler, or the pipes, or the paddles. Franky knew that. Just as he knew that they'd try again tomorrow.
"No, Foolanky. You're not."
Franky turned a half-smile toward him, looking more chagrined than sad.
Yeah. They'd try again tomorrow.
He could almost see the silent question, half-defiant and half-scared, in the younger man's eyes.
No, Franky wasn't in trouble. But he got a kiss anyway.
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Before the townspeople mobbed them, before they carried Tom away, before Iceburg had a chance to shout any more, Franky turned to him and whispered, "I'm in trouble again, aren't I?"
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Franky had called out to him before Iceburg had a chance to leave. The blueprints were left on the table; Franky had crossed the room. Iceburg could imagine him standing uncertain and stubborn a few paces back. Leaving behind something that could destroy the world, but daring to look like he was concerned for Iceburg, like he didn't think himself twenty-something and invincible anymore.
Iceburg closed his eyes for a moment and stiffly held his ground.
"You're in trouble, aren't you?" Franky's voice sounded so different.
Iceburg almost laughed, then. His shoulders sagged, but he didn't turn around when he answered.
"Nma, Foolanky. No more than you are."
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End.