Summary: "It was the quietest, most involuntary whimper, but it was enough to show that he wanted him. That he needed him." He hates him as much as he's in love with him.
Warnings: TYL!6918 smut.
Soundtrack: Dance Inside – All American Rejects, Poison – Groove Coverage, Bad Romance – Artist vs. Poet, Favourite Fix – Artist vs. Poet
Dislike would be an understatement and a mistake.
It was far past something as simple and petty as dislike as they both stood on opposite ends of their alleged burned bridge.
He doesn't dislike him, no, he hates, hates, hates him.
He sits at his cool mahogany desk and his head rests on his cradling arms. The moon looks down knowingly upon him.
Everything – he hates absolutely everything about the God damned illusionist. The list was absolutely infinite and only ever increasing.
The stupid hair, the contradictory eyes, the low chuckle that never meant anything good... and of course the nights.
The nights stretching well past midnight and into the dark hours before sunrise because his body wouldn't allow him to fall asleep like it knew something – someone – was missing.
The nights in which his room seemed to be so much larger without anyone to share it with, and so much quieter (in the most empty kind of way) without conversation to fill it.
It's been weeks, months even, since they've last had any contact. Weeks since the deadline of Mukuro's mission.
Perhaps he's dead.
Just as quickly as the thought comes, it goes.
Failure wasn't an option with Mukuro – besides, the bastard wouldn't die so easily. He would know. He could remember that day, ten years ago so vividly, as though it were on constant rewind. Mostly, he remembered the sakura, and how each petal seemed to sweetly, innocently swing its way down in a gentle cascade and how it burned invisible humiliation and defeat onto his skin, and ultimately, his being. But as the years had passed, the less he believes it.
It must have been an illusion. It had to be.
The harsh blows to his body, the cold cement against his cheek, and the blood, bright red and trickling out of his veins, staining his uniform, dried on his body – all of that, however, was real. So very real.
It pissed him off.
But it reassured him in some sense about the man's strength... and it wasn't like he could ask that herbivore of a mafia boss, Sawada Tsunayoshi about him. Then it would seem like he was worried about him – which he wasn't. Not in the slightest. In fact, he couldn't care less – he could die and he wouldn't so much as bat a lash.
Caring was the first step to loving a person, and Hibari Kyouya was not the loving type. He had no intentions to follow in those steps, no matter how huge or inevitable they appeared to be.
A soft sigh escapes his throat as he waits for the elusive sleep that insists on evading him.
He's used to it.
Honestly, it was almost like he was trained to not fall asleep without that man by his side. Needless to say, that pissed him off to. The mere thought of it made his eye twitch, a vein pop, and his hands clench uncomfortably. He refused to believe that he might have actually been getting emotionally attached to a person, especially Rokudo Mukuro.
He hears the knob of the door turn, and it's perfect. A grin places itself on his face. This was all too perfect. He hasn't had a mission in the longest time, and the tonfas his hands immediately raise expectantly. Perhaps beating the life out of a human would grant him some sort of peace. Besides, he couldn't be held responsible now, could he? He was already in a bitter mood, it was an intruder, he couldn't be held accountable for his actions.
The door slowly creaks as it inches open slowly, carefully.
He continues to wait with a predator's patience as someone steps out from behind the shadows into the light of his, softly shutting the door behind him.
"Jesus," the figure breathes, dramatically clutching his chest, "Don't scare me like that, Kyouya, you'll give me a heart attack."
Before he knows it, arms wrap around his body like a vice, pulling him in as close as possible, and he whisked away into a familiar scent that was just the slightest bit of pineapple. He's tucked away just under a chin, and snuggled close against a chest. He's half shocked and half dumbstruck, and his blank stare indicates that he barely registers the situation.
"Herbivore," Hibari hisses and quickly, but coldly pries that arms off himself, practically flinging them aside and immediately slinks back defensively until he's reached his bed. Despite himself, he finds himself asking, "Where have you been?"
He grits his teeth at how desperate he sounds, but does a quick once-over, noting that he seems fine, healthy and intact. Thank God.
"Oh, you know, around," Mukuro answers airily, loosening the tie on his neck. A standard answer for a standard query. Right. Sorry for forgetting. The tie slips quietly onto the floor under Hibari's stoic gaze, "Kufufufu, did you miss me?"
Hell no. Never. Not in a million years. He redirects his intense gaze back at Mukuro, "Don't be so full of yourself, you –"
"I missed you," he interrupts in a hushed whisper. Almost like it was important.
Missed him his ass.
If he missed him, why would he have been gone for so long?
But despite himself, he can feel fire burn along the tips of his ears and over his cheeks – he hadn't been expecting that, he was caught off guard, he... he has to look out the window now, or risk being caught with a blush of all things.
"Look at me, Kyouya."
Gloved fingers stealthily grab his jaw, and they pull him away from the night scenery beyond the glass and force him to look into those mismatched eyes. That wasn't much of a choice, now was it? He focuses in on the entrancing eyes of brilliant crimson and deep indigo.
"I did," he assures, but he can't believe it.
This was all too familiar.
"Honestly," Mukuro says earnestly.
He was used to this also. The nights where Mukuro was here, where sweet nothings were spoken (on Mukuro's part only, because he would never, ever say anything like that,) and where he would fall into a blissful dream, only to wake up to an empty bed with all traces of the man gone, like he had disappeared. Vanished into thin air.
There's a silence as he searches through those eyes looking for some sort of clue as to why he's here before realizing they're fixed on him, and he can feel the warmth crawling up his neck once more. He notices it. He knows that he notices it. He knows that he knows that he notices it.
"I know I'm beautiful, Kyouya," he says in that velvety and suave voice, playing it for all its worth if it means that he'll get to see that flush again. His eyes light up in that stupidly and childishly, and well, fuck, they're practically dancing with amusement, "But it's rude to stare."
He's supposed to be resisting right now, but he can't find it in him to push away what he's been longing for. Well, he could just put up the act of resisting.
Hibari shakes off the thumb and index on either side of his head, the illusionist's only here on whim, he tells himself. He's almost able to remove himself entirely from Mukuro's grasp, though; he isn't able to remove his eyes. They're glued. Stuck to his form and the way his silhouette is subtly outlined from the bright moon spilling in through the window, his cartilage piercings glimmer under the light and his face... it's illuminated just enough to see...
His name is whispered hotly against his ear inducing a shiver which seems to please Mukuro. With a smile gracing his face, he plants a kiss at the junction between his neck and jaw as if for the sole purpose to see if he'll react to it as well. It's a sensitive spot (and he fucking knows it) but the ex-prefect has discipline. Hibari hopes he's disappointed when it doesn't manage to rouse a response. That's when it's sucked on. It's sucked on for the briefest, most agonizing moment and he holds back a moan or two. His squirming hips are held in place so that he won't escape, and more kisses ascend up his jaw, each kiss doubling the speed of his heart's beat, each kiss doubling his anxiety. Suddenly, he's nervous all over, like he's the inexperienced teen he was years ago, seconds before his first kiss – only it's not, and that makes it worse. Uneasy suspense practically drips from every fibre of his being.
Not to mention this pisses him off too.
When the lips have reached his, all the uneasiness seems to melt away along with him. He can only comprehend the soft lips on his. The stupid illusionist knows how to apply just enough pressure to leave him unsatisfied, and to drive him insane with want... and he uses this to his full advantage happily.
Because this was war, starting from the very moment that door clicked shut.
The rules to this war were simple: show the enemy no weakness – or in this case want.
There's no turning back.
And without a further delay, kiddies, let the games begin.
He absolutely would not lose to the man he hated most.
The lips tug gently on his bottom one (too gently for his taste) and teasingly slip off as soon as he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. Before he's had the chance to miss them, they've taken to brushing back and forth lightly on the side of his neck. It's... pleasant, and almost soothing, so when an abrupt set of teeth sink in deep enough to break the skin, he's surprised. Surprised enough to almost make a sound. Almost. Instead he inhales sharply – a gasp – and no, it doesn't count. An eyebrow rises questioningly at him, and he rolls his eyes in reply. It did not count.
Luckily, he doesn't ponder it any further and a tongue peeks out from behind and begins to languidly lap at the ruby liquid trickling down his neck.
"Yum," he whispers with a coy smile.
Hibari narrows his eyes cautiously at the smile.
"That mark," Mukuro hums thoughtfully, and taps on the side of his neck, a reflection of where it would appear on him, "Will be pretty hard to hide. Hasn't Tsunayoshi and the others at least suspected something?"
Red flourishes on his cheeks.
They have (and on more than one occasion,) but that's none of his business.
It takes everything he has to prevent maiming him, so he settles for a cool "You talk too much." Because that's what he is. Calm, and cool, and collected. Except... just never with Mukuro.
Hibari grabs Mukuro by his shirt and jerks him forward.
Their lips crash bruisingly in a kiss.
A real kiss.
A surprise attack.
Because hey, he needs to play offence too.
He immediately enters the other's mouth, and a tang of blood is still evident. His blood. It's disgusting, but he... he can't help but want more of the elusive flavour, so he contrivingly retreats with false innocence and waits for Mukuro to come and – ah. There's a small jolt on Mukuro's part as he's bitten, and sadly without a sound, but there's that copper taste again, so Hibari pays him no mind.
It's so deliciously wrong, and he knows he's sick and twisted for relishing in it, but nevertheless he enjoys it. He searches out every last drop from every last crevice of the orifice, running his tongue over every inch until he deems it clean. Mukuro's tongue prods at his, and soon they move against each other rhythmically, mixing metallic saliva.
He unconsciously clenches at his shirt and angles his head differently for better attack. Time blurs into a heated rush of starved mouths and bodies intertwining.
"I missed these..." Mukuro murmurs without any real breath as they part temporarily.
These as in these kisses, rough and feral, impatient and demanding, breath-taking, body-numbing? These feverish kisses that left an aftertaste of passion and disdain that had you craving for more?
Yeah, he had missed them too.
"I missed you," he says again for the second time – like he can see the doubts forming in Hibari's head – and he's almost tempted to believe him.
But you don't leave a person, alone and without a goodbye because you miss them, Hibari reasons cynically. Why did he have to keep saying that anyways? It wasn't like he meant it... right? Oh look, he's already getting to you – don't fall for it, nothing good will come from it, he chides, brusquely reminding himself. He wouldn't be tricked, not again, not this time. He'll win this time. Definitely.
He doesn't say anything, and the words hang awkwardly in the air and the Mist pushes the Cloud gently on the shoulders to diffuse the tension. He gives in, and falls backwards onto the bed. The Mist kicks off the leather boots that ran up his calves with slight difficulty (cursing his taste in clothing as he does so) and crawls onto the bed, climbing over top of the Cloud Guardian.
Hibari interprets this as dominance, and glares at him in defiance.
Mukuro smiles at this. It's a given that he'll tease the poor boy with that irresistible look of what's supposedly a scowl adorning his face. He drops his hips onto the other's, drawing out another gasp – which isn't counted either – and steadily grinds their confined but evident arousals together. Sometimes he throws in an impulsive thrust for good measure, and it seems to work.
Hibari bites on his already swollen lips, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels his fragile concentration crack with every press of the hips. The shattered pieces of his resolve hand loosely together, barely connected as wonderful friction hammers at it. His nose scrunches up in attempt to suppress the sounds threatening to spill out of his mouth, and his outstretched arms clench the grappled with the bed sheets, gripping them until his knuckles are white.
Mukuro rocks his hips against Hibari's in a torturously slow manner, entertained with his futile struggles. They both undeniably want it. Both are painfully hard and never more conscious of each other – every small shift fuels their lust, and every small swivel brings waves upon waves of unmistakable albeit unspoken pleasure.
When he's decided they've had enough, he skilfully undoes the obi on Hibari's yukata, and delicately drops it off to the side revealing an Elysium in the form of a slender frame covered in creamy white skin begging to be defiled.
He can feel his stare, the same stare from the same eyes that never fails to make him flush.
"It's rude to stare," he mimics in attempt to rip those eyes off of him, winning a soft grin on Mukuro's part.
Every patch of newly exposed flesh is assaulted. Mukuro's pleased at how docile the skin is, how easily it is to paint it pink with love bites. There's a sharp graze on his collarbone and an array of nips on his protruding hip bones, spreading liquid fire through his blood. It's like the invisible marks from the sickening sakura petals ten years ago were emerging under the man who etched them there.
Fuck, it was the smallest whimper, the smallest whimper – and in his defence, it was a particularly hard nip – but he heard it, there's no way he couldn't have heard it – the smirk he feels against his skin is proof. It was the quietest, most involuntary whimper, but it was enough to show that he wanted him. That he needed him.
Before he can explain himself, a hand snakes up his chest and deftly rolls a nipple between its fingers, teasing it until its gone stiff and rigid, this time, Hibari doesn't try to conceal the low groan escaping his lips when it's lovingly flicked. He automatically arches into Mukuro, an implied plead for more. He hates this. He hates how Mukuro makes him – it's almost like he wants it too much,
A heavy, drawled out moan betrays him as he's pinched particularly hard.
It was only a stupid game, anyways.
It doesn't mean he has lost, necessarily.
Mukuro captures his lips in another playful kiss, and Hibari ignores his insides as they turn to jelly. Mukuro continues to roam his body, re-exploring memorized crooks and curves; his hands are cold in contrast to the warmth emitting from his body but it feels so good. Each and every damn fleeting touch burns his body just that much more.
Why was it that the wrong things always felt so right? He should push him off. He should shove him onto the ground and demand to know where he's been for the past couple of weeks without so much a word about his departure.
But before he can bring himself to, the hands stop and abode on his lower back again, just before his boxers. They rub small circles comfortingly; sensually; rendering him incapable of stringing the words connected to his thoughts. It's always like this. Whenever he's with Mukuro, all traces of coherency and rational thinking seems to disappear along with their clothes. It was only with him, his cold demeanour and indifferent composure seemed to crumble under that grin. It was an inscrutable thrill on he could provide... unfortunately, the thrill was highly addictive and came a price.
Don't give in, he tells himself. Win. But to win, he needs to retaliate. God damn, he didn't think he'd have to do this so early in, but...
Keeping their mouths connected, Hibari undoes the buckle to Mukuro's belt, also cursing his eccentric choice of clothing. He manages out alright, and even slips off Mukuro's tight pants with only one accidental brush against the front, earning a small flinch. He decides he likes that, so he continues to massage him through thin silk boxers in a devilishly belligerent manner.
It immediately elicits several tasteful moans against his lips which he fervently devours, pleased with his work.
Fingers hook onto the sides of the fabric barrier and swiftly yank them off in one swoop.
Mukuro blinks as Hibari breaks the kiss and pushes him down so that their positions are reversed.
He won't lose.
His lips feel lonely but he won't let him know that.
Hibari makes haste of Mukuro's shirt, all but lacerating it off; it gets discarded onto the ground with a soft rustle along with the rest of their clothes. The illusionist props himself up on one elbow and curiously watches the other as his tongue runs down his stomach, so aggravatingly close...
When the head descends upon his cock, he lets out a blissful groan, the first sound he's made, but doesn't let his eyes leave the scene of hollowed cheeks and plump pink lips. A velvety tongue runs along his underside and he almost loses it. He swirls lazy circles around him in the most agonizing way, he collects a few drops of sweet pre-cum along the way, and he shallowly dips into the slit. Each second only serves to break his control further, but he won't admit defeat, not yet – even with the pleasant warmth he's enveloped in, or the erotic scene before him with striking ashen cobalt orbs staring up at him.
He gets an idea.
It's a hazy blur of confusion and movement, but an overall successful attempt.
Hibari's forced on his knees and elbows, his ass directly above Mukuro's face, while he was greeted with Mukuro's length on the other side. A small blush tinges his cheeks a soft red at the thought of how exposed his is, but he continues with his previous task without a comment – he's lost the battle, but it's his best hope for winning the war. He relaxes his throat with practised ease (as disturbing as the thought is to him,) and engulfs the length whole, barely gagging as he does so.
He can faintly feel fingers stroke his inner thighs, lightly brushing them. "Have you been playing with yourself?"
The question flusters Hibari. The way Mukuro says it without any shame flusters Hibari. It flusters Hibari to a whole new level of fluster and embarrassment.
Before he's able to retort a reply, there's a tongue delving into his hole, and he moans, only to have the moan muffled by the obstruction down his throat. Tears prick at the corners of his vision, blurring the edges as the appendage reaches further into the tense ring of muscle; he's not sure how much longer he can hold out. He tried not to focus on the hot wet feeling from behind, and concentrates on bobbing his head. He can't lose.
Thankfully, he tongue is removed, but all too soon, he regrets it as it's replaced with a probing fingers. He quivers. A second digit is added shortly after, wiggling and curling in all the right places.
Oh... Oh God, he can hear himself getting stretched. He can hear how very well lubricated Mukuro's erection is as he slides his mouth along it. He can hear the heavy breathing and the bed creaking and fuck, it was so... lewd... so provocative and so stimulating above all else.
The digits pull out and Hibari's pulled off and placed gently on his back.
"Are you ready, Kyouya?"
"Silence means yes."
With a rough thrust and a yelp, Hibari is penetrated.
It slips in easily, already slick from his previous ministrations.
He isn't allowed any time to adjust as he slammed into again; instead he hangs onto Mukuro and bears with it. There's no hesitance, just an animalistic drive for more. Being so completely filled hurt – but it hurt in the best sort of way. Pain and its own sickening sense of pleasure seemed to be in balance, because his heart is beating wildly, thumping heavily against his rib cage. Frivolously, he wonders if Mukuro can feel it race against his chest, with only mere skin really separating them.
"You shatter my will power," Mukuro growls but doesn't slow down his pace. "Sorry." He doesn't seem sorry, but if he is, the ravishing Hibari's neck is both an apology and condolence. The harsh kisses and bites are a good distraction and with each thrust, he can feel all the weeks of loneliness dissolve from his bones, all of his doubts erased from tense muscles because they're together now.
The war is a mere and insignificant afterthought as he gives into the greedy lust and passionate want calling for him, and even more so when Mukuro hits that spot inside of him, causing his eyes to roll back with a shaky moan. The reaction seems to inspire a whole onslaught against his prostate – not that he's complaining. Nails claw at his back in the heat of the moment. It's mindless indulgence and fuck, does it feel good.
Impulsive movements with minimum attention are coupled with erratic gasps for air as they impetuously bask in what they've been deprived of.
Gentle waves of pleasure now replaced with torrents of ecstasy and euphoria.
They're light-headed from the kisses, and high from the touches.
It stains their vision hot white.
Hibari reaches in between them and begins to stroke his member in time with the thrusts, his stomach clenches and unclenches, and his body convulses with each feeling. They reduce each other to a disarrayed flushed and sweaty, panting, trembling mess of desire in a matter of minutes.
Hunger... When they're bodies are intertwined, pressed up and meshing against each other, it was like they were trying to sate a hunger. A hunger for each other. A hunger that couldn't be filled despite all of the delicious kisses and sinful touches; both of them knew it, and neither was willing to stop.
Hibari comes into his hand with a strangled cry of Mukuro that almost seems foreign to him as his gives into bliss. He barely recognizes his own voice because that's what Mukuro does to him. Mukuro on the other hand sinks himself deep inside of Hibari one last time, releasing as a low groan escapes his lips because his name sounds so delicious coming from the other.
They collapse onto the bed, facing each other, exhaustion clearly evident. Mukuro's breath fans his face as light as a feather.
"Aren't you tired?" he asks while fighting the sleep hanging over him.
"Only of you, herbivore."
He grins, and his arm lounges at his waist, "Insomniac."
Hibari's eyelids are heavy and getting increasingly difficult to keep open. He blinks a few times, ingraining the image of the sleeping Rokudo Mukuro into his memory. After all, how many mornings after sex-driven nights had he awoken to only to find an empty bed, and all evidence of the man he had shared the bed with gone? It was because of him the isolation he was once used to felt even emptier, even hollower than before because he was allowed to get close and experience a relationship with someone, not matter how grudgingly he refuses to accept it.
He... he's lost the war, hasn't he? No, that would be wrong. He's lost long ago.
Blink, blink, blink.
After all those years, Mukuro was able to break down all of the walls surrounding the aloof Cloud.
He forced his way into a non-existing place of his everyday life.
He beguilingly weaved himself into his conscious, and effortlessly wrapped Hibari around his finger, playing him so easily.
When his eyes blink open again, he's greeted with the red sunlight of morning... and Mukuro.
Mukuro is half dressed and shrugging on his shirt. There's angry, almost painful pink carved onto his back, but the bastard deserves it.
"Leaving?" he croaks out, his voice hoarse, because if anything, he wants the last word. The illusionist visibly stiffens with obvious shock, but manages to calmly turn around to a heartbreaking image; to a wounded man with a look akin to pleading and with skin branded delicate hues of pink and purple.
"Yeah," He makes his way to the lying down skylark, placing an unusually affectionate butterfly kiss on his forehead.
His kisses... he wasn't sure if anybody had noticed, but he wore Mukuro's kisses for days on end – every single one of them, even when the marks have faded. At odd times he'd feel teeth against neck sending a shiver up his spine, or a warm linger of lips on his own making him flustered all over again.
"Sleep, my allodola," he whispers with soft eyes, and it's like those ten years have caught up with him. He looks old and tired but he rakes a hand through his ebony lochs in a gentle caress, "You need it. I... I – yeah. I'll see you soon."
He numbly nods with all the strength he can muster because it's like his heart catches in his throat.
Mukuro quickly drifts through the room collecting his things and breezes out the door.
When was soon?
I totally ripped off the 'soundtrack' thing from some other FanFiction author, but I can't remember who... sorry. ^_^" [If you're reading this, you can tell me, and I'll credit you.:D] All of the songs in some way or another do relate to what I was trying to capture here, and yes, Artist vs. Poet did a cover of Bad Romance. It's a million times better than the original in my opinion because you can actually comprehend the lyrics they're singing. Poison is kind strange, but I really liked the lyrics. XD
It's been like... four months (a third of a year!) since I've wrote any smut.
Any reviews would be greatly appreciated.
EDIT: (April 12. 2011)
I stole the soundtrack part from Aimeeshii & Takigawa Aki.
Erm... so go check them out?
(Their fanfics are pretty great~)