Calla

BY : gentleferocity
Category: Beyblade > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 697
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade/Bakuten Shuuto, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Beyblade/Bakuten Shuuto and its respective characters are (c) to Takao Aoki. Taissa Ivanov (c) R. L. Kinghorn.

A late night phone call leads a resentful Bryan to an equally resentful visit from the younger Ivanov sibling. [AFFO/MF/AU/Timeskip/OC]

Holy fuck, I wrote something new. Like, totally new, N e w. But yes, enjoy. I mainly felt like writing (sex) fictions after rediscovering Beyblade, thirteen years since I last watched it... And rekindling my crushes on the fourteen year old characters, who’re still fourteen. That’s now illegal. You’re welcome.

 


 

Kuznetsov had only just stepped out from beneath the shower when his phone went off. Again. Cursing beneath a heavy breath he pulled his cargo pants up his legs and rubbed the towel vigorously through his sopping hair. It was the fourth time in the last hour or so. And he almost turned a deaf ear to it, just like he had the times before but the noise was becoming a thorn in his side. He was in one of his signature ill moods, and if experience was anything to go by it was probably Tala calling, forgetting his fucking keys again and looking for someone to stay up and let him in, or some other such shit. Fuck it. With a low grumble and the now-damp towel slung around his shoulders the Russian stormed from the steamed washroom and down the hall into the kitchen.

 

    And no one else could have stayed in tonight because...? Bryan grabbed the vibrating device off the walnut island counter and without even looking at the caller identity flashing on the screen, thumbed the answer button and brought it to his ear.

 

    “What?” He snapped.

 

    “Oh. I... Hi.”

 

    He blinked. Well, it certainly wasn’t who he had surmised. It wasn’t exactly Tala but it hadn’t been a faraway assumption. Her voice came across more hushed than usual. Hardly a surprise, the edge of irritability in his otherwise flat tone was as clear as cut glass. Mopping his uneven fringe back from his forehead Bryan blinked away the droplets lingering on his lashes and pulled a face corresponding to his mood. “Oh. It’s you.”

 

    The Ukrainian sidestepped his undisguised impertinence, like she always did.

 

    “I hope you don’t mind me calling you,” she said, though she already knew the answer to that statement. He did mind. Very much so. Her quietude did little to hide her skittish nerves. “Is Tala there?”

 

    “You know that he’s not.”

 

    Another unpleasant pause.

 

    “...Can I come over?”

 

    Bryan turned his grey gaze to the penny-plain clock hanging in the corner above the microwave with a lazy blink. It was eleven thirty-four, and minus sixteen degrees outside, in the middle of winter.

 

    “No.”

 

    "Hell no” would have been a more favourable answer. Bryan wasn’t one for company where he could avoid it save for the Blitzkrieg team and the questions her brother would unsparingly assault him with when he rolled home—whenever in hell /that/ would be—would spark a third degree Bryan could indubitably do without. Even an excuse as simple as “she was waiting for you to come home” wouldn’t persuade him. A formidable team they may be when it came to sports but basic credence in and for each other wasn’t something that ran naturally in their blood, and since she’d walked onto their scene, the whole act of possessive older brother had become Ivanov’s thing. Making up for missing out all these years by being a stupendous kind of asshole, Bryan thought churlishly.

 

    She didn’t speak and he assumed she was reconsidering. In hopes to deter her further, he tepidly asked, “And Kai is where?”

 

    Yes. Kai was also a thing. A big thing as proved to be the case and another thing he’d have to bother with by the morning if she got her way. Everything was a fucking thing these days. He heard her inhale at the other end of the receiver as the other boy’s name left his lips. It was an almost pained sound and he knew immediately alluding to Hiwatari had struck a tender nerve, one that was on its last leg.

 

    His fuck to give, ultimately, for her personal complications was naught.

 

    “He’s... he’s not been around for a few days. He never tells me anything anymore, you should know what he’s like. I don’t know where...”

 

    She dwindled into silence again and Bryan could almost picture her lifting the hillock of her shoulder in indifference, lost for words or an explanation, her eyes filled with a degree of heartache only an individual stupid enough to get involved with him could possibly comprehend.

 

    “Please, Bryan. Please.”

 

    Begging. He thought for a brief moment she might erupt into tears. Christ, he fucking hoped not. Bryan knew he was going to yield, a scarcity in itself. And he let the accountability fall to his tenuous friendship with his team captain. For fucks sake. Heaving a breath leaden afresh with nuisance Bryan cast a black look to his reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, subjecting himself to the level of discontent reflected back his eyes for having given in to her.

 

    “You can wait for Tala here,” he brusquely said though quickly ruled, “For a while. But you’re not staying. And if he’s not here by one, you’re out. No arguments. Got it?”

 

     “Spasibo,” she said, the word bore on a weary breath. If his acceptance had actually uplifted her frame of mind it was well hidden. “I’ll be there shortly.”

 

    “Yeah, sure. Make sure you get driven. I mean it, you’re not staying here.”

 

    “I will.”



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