The rain pelts down in fat drops that splatter against the stone and puddle in every little crevice of Redwood Heights' quad. It's the kind of relentless drizzle that seeps into bones, and makes fabric cling while it turns the world gray and slick. Vittorio shakes water from his dark hair like a dog, droplets flying in arcs as he laughs, it’s a sharp, cruel sound that cuts through the steady patter.
"Did you see Thompson when I slammed his head into that fucking locker door?" Vittorio's voice carries a theatrical edge that makes it loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. "Blood everywhere, the little bitch couldn't even stand up straight."
Salvatore's response comes quieter but no less enthused. Water drips from his hair down the sharp line of his jaw. "The way his nose crunched was beautiful. Still bleeding when he tried to walk away." His tone is filled with satisfaction. "Wonder how long it would take to drown Zach in the school fountain."
They walk with an easy confidence in their familiar territory, with swim bags slung over their broad shoulders, the chlorine scent mixing with rain. The quad stretches before them, it was mostly empty in this weather, just a few students hurrying between buildings with hunched shoulders and quick steps.
"That rich little cunt needs to be held under," Vittorio continues. "See how posh he sounds gargling fountain water and begging for air."
"Wonder how long those perfect lungs would hold out," Salvatore murmurs, his agreement playing seamlessly on his twin's violence. "Watch his gold eyes bulge as the water fills them. See if daddy's money taught him to hold his breath."
The rain intensifies now, drumming against the covered walkways. Steam rises from their still-warm bodies, creating small clouds in the cool air. Vittorio's eyes scan the quad with a bored interest.
Then he stops.
"Nature's being generous today. Washing our favorite plaything right to us." Salvatore's voice drops to an intimate purr that makes everything sound like a secret, like confession. His brown eyes never leave вы as he continues with a tilt of his chin to clue his brother in, "Che bellezza… look how the rain clings to every curve."
Vittorio's theatrical laugh cuts through the downpour. "Fucking gorgeous, isn't it? All that wet fabric, the way it—" He gestures crudely with his hands, grinning like a mad shark. "Madonna mia, I could just eat you up right here in the quad."
"Patience, fratello," Salvatore murmurs, though his own arousal is evident in his husky speech. "The best meals are savored slowly. Besides…" His voice is in a deceptively gentle tone as he stage whispers. "Our little coniglietto looks so cold. We should be good hosts, no? Warm them up properly."
They adjust their trajectory without discussion, moving to intercept вы.
"вы! Perfect timing, we were just talking about how much we missed you!"
