Mukuro!
3, 832 words in his POV and a week's worth of effort. I love Mukuro, but this is why I don't write him often; it's hard to get it finished and get it perfectly right. I only edited this about 128473928 times...
Vengeance
It was Mukuro’s understanding that being a young and reasonably attractive member of the White Spell was a one-way ticket to becoming Byakuran’s sex toy. He had watched several of the members coming in and out of that office room walking more than a little stiffly, well-hidden as he was in the guise of Guido Greco. No wonder that that the replacement Shouichi had suggested was a fat old man; if Byakuran had been his lover, he would have kept him away from anything worth screwing, too. Or maybe Mukuro would have just chained him up in a broom closet and had his way with him for the rest of eternity. Well, different people have different solutions.
Sorry, Shouichi, he thought, chuckling as he neatly dumped Leonardo Lippi’s fat body in the ocean. But if you’re as smart as everyone says, you should have known this was coming.
Mukuro knew he could pull it off. He had been analyzing Byakuran’s taste; he liked them young, shy, easy to tease and embarrass, the kind who said “no” and then let him ravish them night after night until they were begging at his feet for more. So absolutely nothing like Mukuro. Serious acting skills were in order here.
Cute, Mukuro thought, practicing his act in the hotel mirror. How the hell do I pull off cute?
You’re going to get us killed, Guido Greco editorialized from the corner of the mind that had once been his, I hope that makes you happy, you bastard.
Oh, you worry too much, Mukuro retorted, arranging his face in a look of embarrassed shock before grinning wickedly at his reflection. It’s going to go splendidly.
Not with your acting, Guido shot back, and retreated into the subconscious once more to mutter his snide comments.
Armed with a new identity and an air of sweet virgin youth, Mukuro waited nervously the next day in a room that was stifling with the scent of flowers, the sickly-sweet smell of their rot lurking under the fresh blooms. Mukuro thought he might vomit all over his clean white uniform from gagging on the perfume; and he was suddenly less sure about the whole plan.
Foosteps in the hall-he straightened into a stick-up-the-ass posture, arranged his face into shy nervousness. In the back of his head Guido was moaning prayers in Italian (He’s not a demon, Mukuro snapped at him, Shut the fuck up already!) as the door opened and Byakuran Gesso waltzed into the room.
Mukuro was possessed with a mad desire to laugh; this was going to be far too easy. He wasn’t even halfway in the room before Byakuran’s face split into a lecherous grin and he sauntered casually into his office, clearly intending to look sexy and suave (Though it must be hard to do that with hair like a porcupine, commented Mukuro to Guido, who snorted doubtfully and muttered something about pineapples).
“Hello!” he called cheerfully. “Let’s have the report, shall we?”
Dutifully Mukuro recited what he had been told by his commanding officer, who seemed not to notice that his old employee had been replaced with a much much much younger man. Byakuran studied him thoughtfully throughout, with a gaze that felt like he was trying to see right through Mukuro’s clothes to size him up.
“I’ve never seen you before, have I?” he asked cheerfully.
“No, Byakuran-sama, sir,” Mukuro stammered as best as he could. “Currently, I am assigned to the White Spell’s 6th Mughetto Squad, Leonardo Lippi, F rank.”
“Nice to meet you! And you don’t have to use ‘sama’, it’s stifling,” Byakuran waved a white hand dismissively; Mukuro fought hard to stifle his giggles.
It only took five minutes for Mukuro to decide that Byakuran Gesso was absolutely batshit. Who really sent hangars of flowers to their lover? It screamed of soap operas, the kind where the adulterer sent hugely expensive gifts to his wife to make up for the fact that he was sleeping with her sister. Not that Mukuro and Shouichi were related…but he did feel a slight twinge of pity for him, since Mukuro was here imitating his little-boy ways and seducing his lover. Or maybe that was indigestion.
“Are you coming back tomorrow?” Byakuran asked, as he was preparing to leave.
“Of course, Byakuran-sama,” he said with an uneasy smile. “I’ve been assigned to this post.”
“Oh? Well, then,” Byakuran crossed swiftly, pinning him to the doorway with a slender white arm. Mukuro’s breath caught in his chest-Byakuran was rank with the cloistering smell of flowers, and Mukuro could not breathe and Guido had dissolved into mental sobbing-he gave Byakuran his widest-eyed stare as the taller man leaned down to speak gently in his ear.
“I want you to feel comfortable here, Leo-kun,” he murmured, breath ghosting over Mukuro’s skin and making him shiver. “If there’s anything I can do for you…?” He gently caressed the lines of Mukuro’s jaw with his fingertips.
“Th-thank, you, Byakuran-sama,” Mukuro managed to squeak. “Ex-excuse me, please…”
And he darted under Byakuran’s arm and down the hallways to his quarters, where he threw himself under the boiling hot shower to scrub madly for four hours, until he no longer smelt of flowers.
The next day there was a small white box outside his door, containing a perfect white camellia in red tissue paper.
“That was fast,” Mukuro remarked, studying the gift thoughtfully.
What does it mean? Guido asked.
Mukuro chuckled. “It means he thinks I’m cute. So who’s the bad actor now, hmm?”
Because your ego really needs the boost, Guido snapped. You’re going to get us both killed.
“Don’t be silly,” said Mukuro. “Nobody dies from having sex with his boss.”
“Leo-kun,” Byakuran whispered sensually, nuzzling his neck. “You’re too tense. This won’t work if you don’t relax.” His hands slid beneath the uniform, stroking the soft skin of Mukuro’s abdomen as he worked deftly to open his pants. Mukuro groaned softly, throwing his back against Byakuran’s shoulder as the white-haired man ground against him. It was a miraculous balancing act, perched behind Byakuran’s desk in his swivel chair, Mukuro’s legs pushed apart in a painful almost-split as Byakuran brought him to the breaking point.
You are not here to have wild office sex, he told himself firmly, as he felt a hot sticky wetness burst across his backside and Byakuran yanked his pants off and began to force his way in. Why can’t you remember that?
Not that he’s not sabotaging everything behind Byakuran’s back (the sex seems to keep Byakuran distracted from life in general; Mukuro has no idea what he does, but he’s not in the office when he’s not hearing reports or screwing Mukuro near-senseless). He rips information off Byakuran’s computer and passes it on to the Varia, Squalo and Bel (the only two Vongola he can really stand to have a conversation with), along with detailed emails of his sexual exploits. He gets interesting replies back, curses and capslock from Squalo and amusing reports from Bel about Squalo’s attempts to replicate said exploits with Dino, which continually threatens Squalo’s well-being. It’s the little things like this that make it all worthwhile, even though he can hardly sit down anymore-picturing the expressions on the Vongola’s faces when they hear what he’s been up to. The days relax into a familiar rhythm of sex, work, sabotage, and Guido Greco’s fears are reduced to white noise in his head.
And sometimes, when Byakuran sleeps, he talks. It’s always the same word, the one he hisses sometimes between clenched teeth when he’s busy nailing Mukuro to the nearest solid surface.
Shouichi, Shouichi…
Mukuro really came to hate that name.
So when he’s kneeling, covered in his own blood at the feet of a devil waiting for death, the only thing he could think of is how much he’d love to break this man, tear everything he values to pieces before his very eyes. Shouichi should have been thanking God on his knees that he was in Japan right then, far away from Mukuro’s wrath.
I told you so I told you so we’re going to die! Guido Greco screamed furiously, but Mukuro hadn’t the time to listen to him right then.
“It was fun while it lasted, Mukuro-kun,” Byakuran purred. “But this time, why don’t you stay on the other side?”
You clichéd son-of-a-bitch porcupine, Mukuro though, but then there’s a knife in his heart and his mind derailed and breathing slows vision blurs and he can no longer see anything but black.
And then there is silence.
It was cool, wherever he was, and wet. There was a faint lulling sound of bubbles as he inhaled and exhaled slowly and regularly. He didn’t even hurt anymore; he felt calm and perfectly at ease, and he opened his eyes curiously to see what sort of place he was in now.
His tank, in the Vendicare prison.
Except that the chains that held him in place had rusted and fallen away, and he was free to move about the tank. He treated water lightly, still breathing easily through his oxygen mask, which thankfully still worked. No wonder he was so calm; pure oxygen in his bloodstream kept him mellow and level, and all the tubes which gave him nutrients still seemed to function. But the question was, how was he going to get out?
Oh, hey, look, a door.
That made sense. The people maintaining him in this tank would have to get in and out somehow. Except that his mask tubing wouldn’t stretch. Apathetically, he tore it off and swam over, examining it by the flickering green tank light which was threatening to die any second now. He touched a scanner, gently, and it flashed to life to check his fingerprint. ACCESS DENIED, it told him, so he kicked it impatiently, busting the mechanism and triggering the door anyway. The water rushed out, into a chamber and breaking down the worn-out door to the outside so as to dump Mukuro out on the cold stone floor.
Mukuro coughed and gagged, spitting stale-tasting water onto the stone. Pieces of glass cut into his hands, and his long blue-black hair hung raggedly around his face. Off in the darkness, flashes of electricity from broken wires revealed the series of tanks, shattered and devoid of their occupants. Somehow, he was the only one left here. Had they overlooked him, hidden within the darkest corner? Or was it some whim of Byakuran’s? He knew this had to be the work of the Millefiore boss; who else could have dropped the Vendicare like so many flies?
“Shit,” he spat. “Shit, shit, shit!”
His body felt weak, very weak after ten years of un-use. Vainly, he searched his mind for the small bundles of foreign emotion that connected him to Guido Greco and Chrome.
Guido, he thought, Are you there?
There was a terrible void, a huge gaping spot of nothingness where the young thief had been. He touched it with mental fingertips; a flash of red hot pain searched across his mind and he cried out at the sudden vision of Guido Greco’s body, bleeding and unmoving on Byakuran’s white floor.
“Oh, Guido,” he whispered, putting his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry…”
From Chrome there was only a faint echo of love and pain. Alive, then, but unable to help him; and he was no longer able to help her. He would have to do it by himself.
It took several days of painful stretching and limping for him to be able to leave the room. He wasn’t as damanged as he had thought, but it was a terrible effort nonetheless. He felt so alone, without Chrome’s gentle reverence, or Ken and Chikusa bickering, or the familiar sarcasm of Guido Greco. It reminded him too much of his childhood in the lab, this place, this silence, and he took to talking to himself now that Guido wasn’t around to verbally spar with it. And then there was a renewed surge of hatred for Byakuran, for reducing him to this state, which drove him to try his feet once more.
Until he could walk out under the sky at last, after three long weeks. He wandered across the bare field, reveling in the grass beneath his feet and the wind in his long hair. Above him wheeled the stars; impulsively, he looked up at the them, seeking new ones. Didn’t someone tell him once that whenever someone died a new star was born? Even if the person had been a thief.
“Guido,” he said, because he still needed someone to talk to in order to not go crazy right now. “I’m going to make that bastard pay for this. I won’t lose to him.”-because didn’t Mukuro owe him for dragging him into this mess, stealing his mind and body and condemning it all to the grave? And Mukuro had always believed in honoring his debts.
And because if somebody hurt you, you had to hurt them back. Ergo, he had to hit Byakuran where it would hurt most.
Shouichi, Shouichi…
He stood and stared up at the stars for a long long time, as though waiting for a reply that would never come, before resuming his slow march across the field back to civilization-and a flight to Japan.
It was easy, so easy to steal Byakuran’s shape now that Mukuro had seen it in all its naked glory. No one in Melone base asked why Byakuran Gesso had suddenly appeared, strolling casually down the halls with his trademark smirk. Mukuro supposed that Byakuran must do this often, if no one raised a fuss about it; it seemed fitting for his personality, anyway. Mukuro-as-Byakuran smiled wider. He hoped Shouichi had heard; he hoped that wherever he was, he was feeling hot and heavy as he waited for his lover. This would be sooo much easier if Shouichi didn’t ask too many questions.
“Excuse me,” he said, catching a White Spell member of moderate rank by the sleeve. “Would you happen to know where Captain Irie is at the moment?”
The man looked startled. “Ermmm…he should be in his research lab, sir.”
Oh, right. The lab. Mukuro vaguely recalled where that was located from one of his many sessions on the main servers of the Italian base, as he had been looking through the plans from this base. It was that room with the big white machine that looked ominous, even though he had absolutely no idea what it did.
See? I knew this was a good idea, he thought, before remembering that Guido Greco was no longer there to gloat to. Suppressing a pang of loneliness, he made his way deeper and deeper underground, counting the hallways to make sure he was going the right way until he found himself at last in front of an ordinary door. He pushed it open imperiously and strode in; it wouldn’t be right for Byakuran to appear hesitant about entering a Millefiore base.
Seated in a chair at a desk dwarfed by the machine above him was Irie Shouichi, looking decidedly pale and nervous.
“Hello, Byakuran-san,” he said, watching Mukuro with wide green eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course, Shou-chan,” Mukuro said, tilting his head in Byakuran’s characteristic manner. “Why else would I be here?”
“That is, uh…” Shouichi shifted restlessly. “I mean to say…”
Mukuro couldn’t believe it. THIS was what made Byakuran’s pulse quicken, this half-man-half-child with his messy red hair and apologetic face? He had expected someone with a least a little bit of backbone, or maybe a little more personality.
Still, he was here on business, not pleasure, the break-Byakuran-and-ruin-his-plans business.
“I’ve missed you, Shou-chan,” he said gently, leaning down to kiss the younger man on the mouth. Beneath him, Shouichi sighed, passing his breath to Mukuro, and relaxed visibly. He wrapped his arms around Mukuro’s neck and let himself be pulled up against his chest, cradled in Mukuro’s arms.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Shouichi murmured into his shoulder. “It’s very lonely here, sometimes, even with the Cervello. I missed talking to someone intelligent.”
You don’t know the half of it, Mukuro thought bitterly. “I understand,” he said, stroking Shouichi’s hair, “But I’m here now.” He pushed down on his Shouichi’s shoulders, who sat obediently on the floor and let Mukuro climb in his lap, still kissing him as he forced Shouichi down to the floor.
Shit, Mukuro thought, What am I supposed to do with him now? Now that he was here, he absolutely did not want to have sex with Shouichi. His body was refusing to cooperate with his plan; he was having trouble getting started without the snide banter in his head he had grown so used to. But Guido was dead, he remembered, and barely resisted strangling Shouichi for it, this boy who looked at him with absolute trust and more than a little confusion. It wasn’t his fault that Mukuro couldn’t hardly function without the company of someone else in his head.
“Is something the matter, Byakuran-san?” Shouichi asked, concerned.
SHIT! “No,” Mukuro whispered, bending down to kiss Shouichi again. “But I have a request, Shou-chan.”
“What is it?” Shouichi blinked; little beads of sweat appeared on his face.
Mukuro pulled back and sat down on the floor, unbuckling the pants of that stupid uniform.
“Suck it,” he said firmly. Just get it over with, he told himself.
Shouichi’s eyes widened slightly, but he took off his glasses and leaned over to pull the pants a little lower on Mukuro’s hips, for better access. Tentatively, he put out his little pink kitten’s tongue and licked it, experimentally, before taking the whole length of it into his mouth. He tangled his fingers in Shouichi’s hair and pulled gently, urging him to go as he pulled Shouichi’s pants down and began to play with him. Byakuran must have had him well trained, because Shouichi came fast, all over himself and the insides of Mukuro’s legs. Seizing the opportunity, Mukuro forced him face down onto the ground to cram himself inside Shouichi, who moaned and whimpered as Mukuro rode him mercilessly, clawing at his back and shoulders, sinking his teeth into soft flesh. He wanted to break Shouichi in half, even if it really wasn’t his fault that Guido was dead and all of Mukuro’s allies were in ruins and that when he thought there was silence. Shouichi gave in at every turn, driving Mukuro to bring him to the edge of climax and back again over and over until he was crying beneath him, begging for an end.
“First,” Mukuro hissed in his ear. “First tell me about the machine. How it works, and what it does.”
“Byakuran…” Shouichi begged. “Please…” Mukuro grabbed him and twisted, gently, so that Shouichi writhed beneath him.
“Tell me,” he demanded. “Now.”
“Please…Finish it…”
“No,” said Mukuro, beginning to move away, but Shouichi grabbed at him, pulled him back down against. A torrent of words poured from his mouth, a quick rush of mechanics-physics-explanationi-uses that set Mukuro’s mind reeling. Something like this in that hands of Byakuran Gesso…
“Please, Byakuran,” Shouichi whimpered. “Please…”
Mukuro gave in and pushed him harder and faster until at last Shouichi came all over his hand and collapsed sweaty and spent on the cold lab floor. He pulled out to lie exhausted and unspent next to his victim, trembling with exertion and triumph.
He thought vaguely he had probably broken character somewhere along the way, but he was too tired to figure out well. Strange, that one little sexcapade could tire him so easily, when he used to be able to go all night long and still walk down the street in the morning; something to do, probably, with his imprisonment under the Vendicare. Guido would have gotten a good laugh out of it, made some remark about how revenge drained you and aren’t you an idiot, Mukuro-san. And Shouichi? He was in bad shape, his heart pounding erratically and his breathing ragged. There were bloody fingernail scratches in his back, teeth marks on his shoulders, bruises already forming on his hips. Mukuro had not even tried to be gentle about it at the end; Byakuran had not been gentle with Mukuro’s playthings, and the point here had been to cause as much pain as possible. Ah, revenge!
“Byakuran-san,” Shouichi moaned feebly. “What was that?”
“That…” he began to explain, but he never got the chance to tell Shouichi what it was. There was a slight ping from the laptop to announce the opening of a communications line, and Byakuran’s face filled the screen.
“Hi, Shou-chan!” he called. “What are you up to?”
On the floor beside Mukuro, Shouichi froze. And suddenly, Mukuro found that he was no longer weak and tired; his body roared back to life.
Mukuro climbed to his feet gracefully, shedding his illusions as he did so to step back into his own skin, long hair falling seductively around his face. Smiling, he sat gracefully down in the chair and leaned in to address the screen.
“Hello, Byakuran-san. Missed me much?”
Byakuran’s face went white with sudden anger.
“Mukuro…”
Mukuro grinned; he was back in his element.
“I have just finished nailing your lover to the floor,” he said cheerfully. “Really, I don’t know what all the fuss was about, but tastes vary, yes?”
Byakuran was silent, staring at Mukuro through eyes narrowed in hatred. He took this as a sign to continue.
“I honestly thought about killing him, but then I said to myself: ‘No, it seems like a better idea to just ruin him for Byakuran for the rest of his life.’ I mean, do you really want him now that I’ve had him?”
“You…” Byakuran snarled. “I’ll kill you.”
“That’s your problem,” Mukuro said. “But now you have to live with the fact that I screwed your lover. And you know the best part? He thought I was you!” He almost laughed; he could practically hear Byakuran’s teeth grinding-very undignified.
“Payback is a bitch, but you know what? I think it was worth it, even if it was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen. Because I’m sure that Sawada Tsunayoshi and his famiglia are going to be very interested in this device of yours, which I coerced Shouichi here into telling me about.” Mukuro grinned, and got up from the chair, shifting back into his illusory form of Byakuran Gesso, stepping over the groaning Shouichi on his way to the door like so much trash.
“Enjoy the fall of your empire!” Mukuro called back over his shoulder at the doorway. Then he stepped back out into the white halls, laughing loudly to himself as he stalked confidently out of the base.
Hey, Guido, he thought, though he knew he wasn’t going to be heard, Guess what?
We won.
Vengeance
It was Mukuro’s understanding that being a young and reasonably attractive member of the White Spell was a one-way ticket to becoming Byakuran’s sex toy. He had watched several of the members coming in and out of that office room walking more than a little stiffly, well-hidden as he was in the guise of Guido Greco. No wonder that that the replacement Shouichi had suggested was a fat old man; if Byakuran had been his lover, he would have kept him away from anything worth screwing, too. Or maybe Mukuro would have just chained him up in a broom closet and had his way with him for the rest of eternity. Well, different people have different solutions.
Sorry, Shouichi, he thought, chuckling as he neatly dumped Leonardo Lippi’s fat body in the ocean. But if you’re as smart as everyone says, you should have known this was coming.
Mukuro knew he could pull it off. He had been analyzing Byakuran’s taste; he liked them young, shy, easy to tease and embarrass, the kind who said “no” and then let him ravish them night after night until they were begging at his feet for more. So absolutely nothing like Mukuro. Serious acting skills were in order here.
Cute, Mukuro thought, practicing his act in the hotel mirror. How the hell do I pull off cute?
You’re going to get us killed, Guido Greco editorialized from the corner of the mind that had once been his, I hope that makes you happy, you bastard.
Oh, you worry too much, Mukuro retorted, arranging his face in a look of embarrassed shock before grinning wickedly at his reflection. It’s going to go splendidly.
Not with your acting, Guido shot back, and retreated into the subconscious once more to mutter his snide comments.
Armed with a new identity and an air of sweet virgin youth, Mukuro waited nervously the next day in a room that was stifling with the scent of flowers, the sickly-sweet smell of their rot lurking under the fresh blooms. Mukuro thought he might vomit all over his clean white uniform from gagging on the perfume; and he was suddenly less sure about the whole plan.
Foosteps in the hall-he straightened into a stick-up-the-ass posture, arranged his face into shy nervousness. In the back of his head Guido was moaning prayers in Italian (He’s not a demon, Mukuro snapped at him, Shut the fuck up already!) as the door opened and Byakuran Gesso waltzed into the room.
Mukuro was possessed with a mad desire to laugh; this was going to be far too easy. He wasn’t even halfway in the room before Byakuran’s face split into a lecherous grin and he sauntered casually into his office, clearly intending to look sexy and suave (Though it must be hard to do that with hair like a porcupine, commented Mukuro to Guido, who snorted doubtfully and muttered something about pineapples).
“Hello!” he called cheerfully. “Let’s have the report, shall we?”
Dutifully Mukuro recited what he had been told by his commanding officer, who seemed not to notice that his old employee had been replaced with a much much much younger man. Byakuran studied him thoughtfully throughout, with a gaze that felt like he was trying to see right through Mukuro’s clothes to size him up.
“I’ve never seen you before, have I?” he asked cheerfully.
“No, Byakuran-sama, sir,” Mukuro stammered as best as he could. “Currently, I am assigned to the White Spell’s 6th Mughetto Squad, Leonardo Lippi, F rank.”
“Nice to meet you! And you don’t have to use ‘sama’, it’s stifling,” Byakuran waved a white hand dismissively; Mukuro fought hard to stifle his giggles.
It only took five minutes for Mukuro to decide that Byakuran Gesso was absolutely batshit. Who really sent hangars of flowers to their lover? It screamed of soap operas, the kind where the adulterer sent hugely expensive gifts to his wife to make up for the fact that he was sleeping with her sister. Not that Mukuro and Shouichi were related…but he did feel a slight twinge of pity for him, since Mukuro was here imitating his little-boy ways and seducing his lover. Or maybe that was indigestion.
“Are you coming back tomorrow?” Byakuran asked, as he was preparing to leave.
“Of course, Byakuran-sama,” he said with an uneasy smile. “I’ve been assigned to this post.”
“Oh? Well, then,” Byakuran crossed swiftly, pinning him to the doorway with a slender white arm. Mukuro’s breath caught in his chest-Byakuran was rank with the cloistering smell of flowers, and Mukuro could not breathe and Guido had dissolved into mental sobbing-he gave Byakuran his widest-eyed stare as the taller man leaned down to speak gently in his ear.
“I want you to feel comfortable here, Leo-kun,” he murmured, breath ghosting over Mukuro’s skin and making him shiver. “If there’s anything I can do for you…?” He gently caressed the lines of Mukuro’s jaw with his fingertips.
“Th-thank, you, Byakuran-sama,” Mukuro managed to squeak. “Ex-excuse me, please…”
And he darted under Byakuran’s arm and down the hallways to his quarters, where he threw himself under the boiling hot shower to scrub madly for four hours, until he no longer smelt of flowers.
The next day there was a small white box outside his door, containing a perfect white camellia in red tissue paper.
“That was fast,” Mukuro remarked, studying the gift thoughtfully.
What does it mean? Guido asked.
Mukuro chuckled. “It means he thinks I’m cute. So who’s the bad actor now, hmm?”
Because your ego really needs the boost, Guido snapped. You’re going to get us both killed.
“Don’t be silly,” said Mukuro. “Nobody dies from having sex with his boss.”
“Leo-kun,” Byakuran whispered sensually, nuzzling his neck. “You’re too tense. This won’t work if you don’t relax.” His hands slid beneath the uniform, stroking the soft skin of Mukuro’s abdomen as he worked deftly to open his pants. Mukuro groaned softly, throwing his back against Byakuran’s shoulder as the white-haired man ground against him. It was a miraculous balancing act, perched behind Byakuran’s desk in his swivel chair, Mukuro’s legs pushed apart in a painful almost-split as Byakuran brought him to the breaking point.
You are not here to have wild office sex, he told himself firmly, as he felt a hot sticky wetness burst across his backside and Byakuran yanked his pants off and began to force his way in. Why can’t you remember that?
Not that he’s not sabotaging everything behind Byakuran’s back (the sex seems to keep Byakuran distracted from life in general; Mukuro has no idea what he does, but he’s not in the office when he’s not hearing reports or screwing Mukuro near-senseless). He rips information off Byakuran’s computer and passes it on to the Varia, Squalo and Bel (the only two Vongola he can really stand to have a conversation with), along with detailed emails of his sexual exploits. He gets interesting replies back, curses and capslock from Squalo and amusing reports from Bel about Squalo’s attempts to replicate said exploits with Dino, which continually threatens Squalo’s well-being. It’s the little things like this that make it all worthwhile, even though he can hardly sit down anymore-picturing the expressions on the Vongola’s faces when they hear what he’s been up to. The days relax into a familiar rhythm of sex, work, sabotage, and Guido Greco’s fears are reduced to white noise in his head.
And sometimes, when Byakuran sleeps, he talks. It’s always the same word, the one he hisses sometimes between clenched teeth when he’s busy nailing Mukuro to the nearest solid surface.
Shouichi, Shouichi…
Mukuro really came to hate that name.
So when he’s kneeling, covered in his own blood at the feet of a devil waiting for death, the only thing he could think of is how much he’d love to break this man, tear everything he values to pieces before his very eyes. Shouichi should have been thanking God on his knees that he was in Japan right then, far away from Mukuro’s wrath.
I told you so I told you so we’re going to die! Guido Greco screamed furiously, but Mukuro hadn’t the time to listen to him right then.
“It was fun while it lasted, Mukuro-kun,” Byakuran purred. “But this time, why don’t you stay on the other side?”
You clichéd son-of-a-bitch porcupine, Mukuro though, but then there’s a knife in his heart and his mind derailed and breathing slows vision blurs and he can no longer see anything but black.
And then there is silence.
It was cool, wherever he was, and wet. There was a faint lulling sound of bubbles as he inhaled and exhaled slowly and regularly. He didn’t even hurt anymore; he felt calm and perfectly at ease, and he opened his eyes curiously to see what sort of place he was in now.
His tank, in the Vendicare prison.
Except that the chains that held him in place had rusted and fallen away, and he was free to move about the tank. He treated water lightly, still breathing easily through his oxygen mask, which thankfully still worked. No wonder he was so calm; pure oxygen in his bloodstream kept him mellow and level, and all the tubes which gave him nutrients still seemed to function. But the question was, how was he going to get out?
Oh, hey, look, a door.
That made sense. The people maintaining him in this tank would have to get in and out somehow. Except that his mask tubing wouldn’t stretch. Apathetically, he tore it off and swam over, examining it by the flickering green tank light which was threatening to die any second now. He touched a scanner, gently, and it flashed to life to check his fingerprint. ACCESS DENIED, it told him, so he kicked it impatiently, busting the mechanism and triggering the door anyway. The water rushed out, into a chamber and breaking down the worn-out door to the outside so as to dump Mukuro out on the cold stone floor.
Mukuro coughed and gagged, spitting stale-tasting water onto the stone. Pieces of glass cut into his hands, and his long blue-black hair hung raggedly around his face. Off in the darkness, flashes of electricity from broken wires revealed the series of tanks, shattered and devoid of their occupants. Somehow, he was the only one left here. Had they overlooked him, hidden within the darkest corner? Or was it some whim of Byakuran’s? He knew this had to be the work of the Millefiore boss; who else could have dropped the Vendicare like so many flies?
“Shit,” he spat. “Shit, shit, shit!”
His body felt weak, very weak after ten years of un-use. Vainly, he searched his mind for the small bundles of foreign emotion that connected him to Guido Greco and Chrome.
Guido, he thought, Are you there?
There was a terrible void, a huge gaping spot of nothingness where the young thief had been. He touched it with mental fingertips; a flash of red hot pain searched across his mind and he cried out at the sudden vision of Guido Greco’s body, bleeding and unmoving on Byakuran’s white floor.
“Oh, Guido,” he whispered, putting his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry…”
From Chrome there was only a faint echo of love and pain. Alive, then, but unable to help him; and he was no longer able to help her. He would have to do it by himself.
It took several days of painful stretching and limping for him to be able to leave the room. He wasn’t as damanged as he had thought, but it was a terrible effort nonetheless. He felt so alone, without Chrome’s gentle reverence, or Ken and Chikusa bickering, or the familiar sarcasm of Guido Greco. It reminded him too much of his childhood in the lab, this place, this silence, and he took to talking to himself now that Guido wasn’t around to verbally spar with it. And then there was a renewed surge of hatred for Byakuran, for reducing him to this state, which drove him to try his feet once more.
Until he could walk out under the sky at last, after three long weeks. He wandered across the bare field, reveling in the grass beneath his feet and the wind in his long hair. Above him wheeled the stars; impulsively, he looked up at the them, seeking new ones. Didn’t someone tell him once that whenever someone died a new star was born? Even if the person had been a thief.
“Guido,” he said, because he still needed someone to talk to in order to not go crazy right now. “I’m going to make that bastard pay for this. I won’t lose to him.”-because didn’t Mukuro owe him for dragging him into this mess, stealing his mind and body and condemning it all to the grave? And Mukuro had always believed in honoring his debts.
And because if somebody hurt you, you had to hurt them back. Ergo, he had to hit Byakuran where it would hurt most.
Shouichi, Shouichi…
He stood and stared up at the stars for a long long time, as though waiting for a reply that would never come, before resuming his slow march across the field back to civilization-and a flight to Japan.
It was easy, so easy to steal Byakuran’s shape now that Mukuro had seen it in all its naked glory. No one in Melone base asked why Byakuran Gesso had suddenly appeared, strolling casually down the halls with his trademark smirk. Mukuro supposed that Byakuran must do this often, if no one raised a fuss about it; it seemed fitting for his personality, anyway. Mukuro-as-Byakuran smiled wider. He hoped Shouichi had heard; he hoped that wherever he was, he was feeling hot and heavy as he waited for his lover. This would be sooo much easier if Shouichi didn’t ask too many questions.
“Excuse me,” he said, catching a White Spell member of moderate rank by the sleeve. “Would you happen to know where Captain Irie is at the moment?”
The man looked startled. “Ermmm…he should be in his research lab, sir.”
Oh, right. The lab. Mukuro vaguely recalled where that was located from one of his many sessions on the main servers of the Italian base, as he had been looking through the plans from this base. It was that room with the big white machine that looked ominous, even though he had absolutely no idea what it did.
See? I knew this was a good idea, he thought, before remembering that Guido Greco was no longer there to gloat to. Suppressing a pang of loneliness, he made his way deeper and deeper underground, counting the hallways to make sure he was going the right way until he found himself at last in front of an ordinary door. He pushed it open imperiously and strode in; it wouldn’t be right for Byakuran to appear hesitant about entering a Millefiore base.
Seated in a chair at a desk dwarfed by the machine above him was Irie Shouichi, looking decidedly pale and nervous.
“Hello, Byakuran-san,” he said, watching Mukuro with wide green eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course, Shou-chan,” Mukuro said, tilting his head in Byakuran’s characteristic manner. “Why else would I be here?”
“That is, uh…” Shouichi shifted restlessly. “I mean to say…”
Mukuro couldn’t believe it. THIS was what made Byakuran’s pulse quicken, this half-man-half-child with his messy red hair and apologetic face? He had expected someone with a least a little bit of backbone, or maybe a little more personality.
Still, he was here on business, not pleasure, the break-Byakuran-and-ruin-his-plans business.
“I’ve missed you, Shou-chan,” he said gently, leaning down to kiss the younger man on the mouth. Beneath him, Shouichi sighed, passing his breath to Mukuro, and relaxed visibly. He wrapped his arms around Mukuro’s neck and let himself be pulled up against his chest, cradled in Mukuro’s arms.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Shouichi murmured into his shoulder. “It’s very lonely here, sometimes, even with the Cervello. I missed talking to someone intelligent.”
You don’t know the half of it, Mukuro thought bitterly. “I understand,” he said, stroking Shouichi’s hair, “But I’m here now.” He pushed down on his Shouichi’s shoulders, who sat obediently on the floor and let Mukuro climb in his lap, still kissing him as he forced Shouichi down to the floor.
Shit, Mukuro thought, What am I supposed to do with him now? Now that he was here, he absolutely did not want to have sex with Shouichi. His body was refusing to cooperate with his plan; he was having trouble getting started without the snide banter in his head he had grown so used to. But Guido was dead, he remembered, and barely resisted strangling Shouichi for it, this boy who looked at him with absolute trust and more than a little confusion. It wasn’t his fault that Mukuro couldn’t hardly function without the company of someone else in his head.
“Is something the matter, Byakuran-san?” Shouichi asked, concerned.
SHIT! “No,” Mukuro whispered, bending down to kiss Shouichi again. “But I have a request, Shou-chan.”
“What is it?” Shouichi blinked; little beads of sweat appeared on his face.
Mukuro pulled back and sat down on the floor, unbuckling the pants of that stupid uniform.
“Suck it,” he said firmly. Just get it over with, he told himself.
Shouichi’s eyes widened slightly, but he took off his glasses and leaned over to pull the pants a little lower on Mukuro’s hips, for better access. Tentatively, he put out his little pink kitten’s tongue and licked it, experimentally, before taking the whole length of it into his mouth. He tangled his fingers in Shouichi’s hair and pulled gently, urging him to go as he pulled Shouichi’s pants down and began to play with him. Byakuran must have had him well trained, because Shouichi came fast, all over himself and the insides of Mukuro’s legs. Seizing the opportunity, Mukuro forced him face down onto the ground to cram himself inside Shouichi, who moaned and whimpered as Mukuro rode him mercilessly, clawing at his back and shoulders, sinking his teeth into soft flesh. He wanted to break Shouichi in half, even if it really wasn’t his fault that Guido was dead and all of Mukuro’s allies were in ruins and that when he thought there was silence. Shouichi gave in at every turn, driving Mukuro to bring him to the edge of climax and back again over and over until he was crying beneath him, begging for an end.
“First,” Mukuro hissed in his ear. “First tell me about the machine. How it works, and what it does.”
“Byakuran…” Shouichi begged. “Please…” Mukuro grabbed him and twisted, gently, so that Shouichi writhed beneath him.
“Tell me,” he demanded. “Now.”
“Please…Finish it…”
“No,” said Mukuro, beginning to move away, but Shouichi grabbed at him, pulled him back down against. A torrent of words poured from his mouth, a quick rush of mechanics-physics-explanationi-uses that set Mukuro’s mind reeling. Something like this in that hands of Byakuran Gesso…
“Please, Byakuran,” Shouichi whimpered. “Please…”
Mukuro gave in and pushed him harder and faster until at last Shouichi came all over his hand and collapsed sweaty and spent on the cold lab floor. He pulled out to lie exhausted and unspent next to his victim, trembling with exertion and triumph.
He thought vaguely he had probably broken character somewhere along the way, but he was too tired to figure out well. Strange, that one little sexcapade could tire him so easily, when he used to be able to go all night long and still walk down the street in the morning; something to do, probably, with his imprisonment under the Vendicare. Guido would have gotten a good laugh out of it, made some remark about how revenge drained you and aren’t you an idiot, Mukuro-san. And Shouichi? He was in bad shape, his heart pounding erratically and his breathing ragged. There were bloody fingernail scratches in his back, teeth marks on his shoulders, bruises already forming on his hips. Mukuro had not even tried to be gentle about it at the end; Byakuran had not been gentle with Mukuro’s playthings, and the point here had been to cause as much pain as possible. Ah, revenge!
“Byakuran-san,” Shouichi moaned feebly. “What was that?”
“That…” he began to explain, but he never got the chance to tell Shouichi what it was. There was a slight ping from the laptop to announce the opening of a communications line, and Byakuran’s face filled the screen.
“Hi, Shou-chan!” he called. “What are you up to?”
On the floor beside Mukuro, Shouichi froze. And suddenly, Mukuro found that he was no longer weak and tired; his body roared back to life.
Mukuro climbed to his feet gracefully, shedding his illusions as he did so to step back into his own skin, long hair falling seductively around his face. Smiling, he sat gracefully down in the chair and leaned in to address the screen.
“Hello, Byakuran-san. Missed me much?”
Byakuran’s face went white with sudden anger.
“Mukuro…”
Mukuro grinned; he was back in his element.
“I have just finished nailing your lover to the floor,” he said cheerfully. “Really, I don’t know what all the fuss was about, but tastes vary, yes?”
Byakuran was silent, staring at Mukuro through eyes narrowed in hatred. He took this as a sign to continue.
“I honestly thought about killing him, but then I said to myself: ‘No, it seems like a better idea to just ruin him for Byakuran for the rest of his life.’ I mean, do you really want him now that I’ve had him?”
“You…” Byakuran snarled. “I’ll kill you.”
“That’s your problem,” Mukuro said. “But now you have to live with the fact that I screwed your lover. And you know the best part? He thought I was you!” He almost laughed; he could practically hear Byakuran’s teeth grinding-very undignified.
“Payback is a bitch, but you know what? I think it was worth it, even if it was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen. Because I’m sure that Sawada Tsunayoshi and his famiglia are going to be very interested in this device of yours, which I coerced Shouichi here into telling me about.” Mukuro grinned, and got up from the chair, shifting back into his illusory form of Byakuran Gesso, stepping over the groaning Shouichi on his way to the door like so much trash.
“Enjoy the fall of your empire!” Mukuro called back over his shoulder at the doorway. Then he stepped back out into the white halls, laughing loudly to himself as he stalked confidently out of the base.
Hey, Guido, he thought, though he knew he wasn’t going to be heard, Guess what?
We won.