Reborn! - [Byakuran/Mukuro] - A Fine Line
Porn-off fic requested by kubinashi, with the horrific prompt of 'otaku fusion belly-dancing' idk. Originally posted here.
Title: A Fine Line
Pairing: Byakuran/Mukuro
Diaphanous fabric slipped beneath Byakuran's fingers as he smiled up at the other young man. There was an ethereal beauty to being caught in the whirl of Mukuro's illusions, knowing full and well what he saw couldn't be real and yet indulging in them all the like.
It seemed there were points even a man like his charming little killer could be pushed to that would make him snap. And the Millefiore had done just that. Between the self-ordained starvation that Mukuro sustained to the airborne poisons that the Millefiore had used to keep him restrained and his power dulled, the once proud convict had withered into something else. And as his grip on sanity began to slip-- something even the spite of his eternal grudge against the world couldn't hold forever --so did his grip on the things that held him into place.
Today was a garden or what could loosely be considered one, swirling blossoms drifted in the air as if swimming through it and Mukuro was some foreign god surrounded by the crumbling world he had once commanded. Byakuran, alone, seemed untouched, stepping easily through the haze of Mukuro's illusion, only interacting with the occasion brush of his fingers against a passing bloom.
"You're dying, Mukuro-kun," he had drawled, eerie eyes catching on a new light as he had knelt at the other's side.
Mukuro was slumped, draped in jewels and veils, almost too perfect to be real. His already slender form, sickly from malnutrition's touch, brushed only in soft light from the sun that didn't exist in white cell he'd used as his base.
"Don't you think I know, Mafia?" he breathed, with a smile, reaching up to drag him down. Eyes that had once been so clear with murderous intent, so sharp with intelligence, were lidded and darkened with lack of sleep.
The illusions kept him up, the world at his touch dragging itself from his corrupted corpse.
He laughed as he brushed thin lips against Byakuran's and Byakuran couldn't help but shake his head, brushing perfect fingers against Mukuro's slowly sinking cheeks.
"If I let you that is," he purred softly and Mukuro's too far gone to really struggle against the kiss. The others too weak to do much more than cling to him, bone thin fingers digging into white fabric as Byakuran pressed closer. "Open for me, Mukuro-kun."
There's nothing in Mukuro to stop him. His body acted for him, leaning up into the proffered piece of fruit, bracelets jangling with the movement. Byakuran hummed with a sort of lazy contentment, watching him eat, a few bites at a time as he slipped his fingers lower.
There was a tribal elegance to the younger man, dressed almost like a belly-dancer in today's illusion. He stroked at the bare skin of Mukuro's stomach.
"Could you dance for me, I wonder?" Byakuran hummed, matching Mukuro's hazy gaze.
"I could," Mukuro scoffed, lips lazily curling over another grape, watching as Byakuran's fingers drifted lower, teasing along bared legs. "But why would I do it for you?"
Byakuran leaned closer, fingers catching the fabric of Mukuro's flimsy skirt, "Maybe I'll be willing to trade something."
Dulled bi-colored eyes fixed on him for a few seconds before Mukuro closed them, "'Something'? Oya, how vague." He arched up, lips brushing against the others, "Maybe we can work that out."
Title: A Fine Line
Pairing: Byakuran/Mukuro
Diaphanous fabric slipped beneath Byakuran's fingers as he smiled up at the other young man. There was an ethereal beauty to being caught in the whirl of Mukuro's illusions, knowing full and well what he saw couldn't be real and yet indulging in them all the like.
It seemed there were points even a man like his charming little killer could be pushed to that would make him snap. And the Millefiore had done just that. Between the self-ordained starvation that Mukuro sustained to the airborne poisons that the Millefiore had used to keep him restrained and his power dulled, the once proud convict had withered into something else. And as his grip on sanity began to slip-- something even the spite of his eternal grudge against the world couldn't hold forever --so did his grip on the things that held him into place.
Today was a garden or what could loosely be considered one, swirling blossoms drifted in the air as if swimming through it and Mukuro was some foreign god surrounded by the crumbling world he had once commanded. Byakuran, alone, seemed untouched, stepping easily through the haze of Mukuro's illusion, only interacting with the occasion brush of his fingers against a passing bloom.
"You're dying, Mukuro-kun," he had drawled, eerie eyes catching on a new light as he had knelt at the other's side.
Mukuro was slumped, draped in jewels and veils, almost too perfect to be real. His already slender form, sickly from malnutrition's touch, brushed only in soft light from the sun that didn't exist in white cell he'd used as his base.
"Don't you think I know, Mafia?" he breathed, with a smile, reaching up to drag him down. Eyes that had once been so clear with murderous intent, so sharp with intelligence, were lidded and darkened with lack of sleep.
The illusions kept him up, the world at his touch dragging itself from his corrupted corpse.
He laughed as he brushed thin lips against Byakuran's and Byakuran couldn't help but shake his head, brushing perfect fingers against Mukuro's slowly sinking cheeks.
"If I let you that is," he purred softly and Mukuro's too far gone to really struggle against the kiss. The others too weak to do much more than cling to him, bone thin fingers digging into white fabric as Byakuran pressed closer. "Open for me, Mukuro-kun."
There's nothing in Mukuro to stop him. His body acted for him, leaning up into the proffered piece of fruit, bracelets jangling with the movement. Byakuran hummed with a sort of lazy contentment, watching him eat, a few bites at a time as he slipped his fingers lower.
There was a tribal elegance to the younger man, dressed almost like a belly-dancer in today's illusion. He stroked at the bare skin of Mukuro's stomach.
"Could you dance for me, I wonder?" Byakuran hummed, matching Mukuro's hazy gaze.
"I could," Mukuro scoffed, lips lazily curling over another grape, watching as Byakuran's fingers drifted lower, teasing along bared legs. "But why would I do it for you?"
Byakuran leaned closer, fingers catching the fabric of Mukuro's flimsy skirt, "Maybe I'll be willing to trade something."
Dulled bi-colored eyes fixed on him for a few seconds before Mukuro closed them, "'Something'? Oya, how vague." He arched up, lips brushing against the others, "Maybe we can work that out."