[Fic] Untouched - TYL!Tsuna/TYL!Mukuro
Title: Untouched
Author: kirishimaayama
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nothing really. Angsting, perhaps. And implications of sex.
Prompt: V-61. tyl!Tsuna/tyl!Mukuro - Boss ; the bed has been untouched for days (fic)
Word Count: 1079 words
Author’s Note: Although I know this is not the only take on it, and I probably could have written something more comedic than angsty, I once again had to write from the beginning of the TYL/Future Arc, where Tsuna is .. My apologies, but I do hope you like it in any case. orz I hope there aren't any weird tensing problems I missed.. aslkhfg..
---
Untouched
The bed has been untouched for days.
Standing to the left side of the bed where they once shared their nights, and sometimes even their days, he cannot bring himself to reach across and fold over the skilfully embroidered corner of the pretty sunflower gold and sapphire blue patterned coverlet that adorns the single king sized bed placed in the middle of the room. The textile glitters with silken thread that sparkles like fine jewels in the golden light of the sun which filters through crystal panes and the fine lace curtains.
A woman’s touch, he always thought.
Though now he appreciates the soft dappled sunlight that spills across the wooden boards, shifting slightly with each little breath of air through the slightly ajar window. Life’s little pleasures.
The glimmer of gold and sapphire he catches from the corner of his eye reminds him of images he would rather forget. Silken skin sliding across somehow coarser material, and bronze and deep blue hair shining with the same colours under that golden glow as their bodies became one over and over again without end until both of them had been well satisfied and slick with sweat. Tsunayoshi always had a strange insatiable hunger in his presence.
But that hadn’t been the only thing Tsunayoshi had shown him.
He smiled, fine laughter lines beginning to show at the corners of his eyes as he grinned with nothing but pure joy and amusement.
“Mukuro. You have to enjoy the moment for what it is. Don’t worry about the past, don’t worry about the future. Enjoy the present, but look towards the future.”
He looked over at his companion doubtfully, a wry twist to his lips as he flipped his long tail of hair over his shoulder. “That makes no sense, Tsunayoshi.”
The other man only smiled secretively, wisdom that had not always been present now hiding in those soft amber eyes. “It will make sense in the future. Do not worry about where you will end up. Rather, simply aim for where you want to go and see where it leaves you.”
He fights a battle in his head. Several battles.
All that he hoped for from the Sawada kid, dashed like a handful of sakura blossoms in the wind, fluttering away through his fingers. The changes which his presence as the Vongola Boss had promised and the changes he had set in motion, that had swayed him to join Tsunayoshi’s cause.
And the man had somehow even captured his heart.
He never even dreamed that it would come to this - that he would somehow be convinced to stray off his once well defined path. Something had changed, wavered, since their meeting. He had set himself a goal - to possess Tsunayoshi.
But in what way?
You are wrong, Tsunayoshi. Is not the past important in shaping the future? Then should one not care about it?
In the first place, why did he, with the experience of his previous lives, look toward a child for direction? But Tsunayoshi had shown him there was hope, even when he had given up on it. And he had been convinced, had wanted to believe in that sliver of hope, however small.
Guide me.
But no guiding hand will appear. Life repeats itself. The only words which he will ever receive again have been said, and they resound in the metaphorical air and linger in his mind’s ear. He doesn’t understand. Not yet.
But he does not want to touch the bed.
The bed is warm, exactly as he’s left it on that fateful day. He only has to close his eyes to imagine that a warm body lay there not moments ago, that they were not sleeping in each other’s arms but minutes ago.
But he has spent countless sleepless nights alone.
He cannot bear to think that the last hands that touched that glittering coverlet were very much alive, warm as they smoothed out the small creases and brushed off a small speck of dust, here, there. There was a moment of frowning at the stain on the underside but the owner of those warm hands refrained from comment although there was the slight hint of creasing of his forehead as his expression shifted slightly. His mouth twitched in amusement as he looked up at Mukuro with a predator’s eyes.
And the illusionist looked back with the same wildness, challenging.
It takes all his willpower to not go tearing down the corridor to where Tsunayoshi once would be without fail, there in the Boss’ office, sipping a mug of coffee - though he had never particularly liked it - as he pored through the summarised reports Gokudera provided him. He needs to check that that room is still filled with that warm presence, because the world can’t just move on like that. It can’t just move on when it has lost its finest star.
He drifts, like one that has lost his home.
He wants to go now, to that sun-splattered room with its heavy curtains and too many weathered volumes on the bookcase against the wall. But they had always given him reason to visit Tsunayoshi there and get deliciously pounded against the wall. If he could even experience such loving pleasure one last time.
But he knows in his head that Tsunayoshi won’t be there, even if his heart cannot accept it.
His chest aches like it has never before.
He wants to capture this moment in time. Grasp the last visages of their past.
He wants to go there now and see that smiling personage in his high backed leather chair.
No, he needs to.
But no matter how much he wishes, he knows that it’s impossible. It has happened too many times to count. The elated tricking of his senses into some small hope that the study will once again be lit by that warm smile, only to be bitten by bitter disappointment when the room only yawns cold and empty before him, the seat empty.
Untouched, just like the bed.
He scatters rose petals across the covers and it is like a trail of blood across the sea of blue. They remind him of the spray, the stain of blood left across his clothes as he stared down at those golden-amber eyes, dimming of their warmth in his arms. A leaden hand rose to rest gently on his cheek before it falls, striking the ground like a thunderclap.
And all was silence.
Author: kirishimaayama
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Nothing really. Angsting, perhaps. And implications of sex.
Prompt: V-61. tyl!Tsuna/tyl!Mukuro - Boss ; the bed has been untouched for days (fic)
Word Count: 1079 words
Author’s Note: Although I know this is not the only take on it, and I probably could have written something more comedic than angsty, I once again had to write from the beginning of the TYL/Future Arc, where Tsuna is .. My apologies, but I do hope you like it in any case. orz I hope there aren't any weird tensing problems I missed.. aslkhfg..
---
Untouched
The bed has been untouched for days.
Standing to the left side of the bed where they once shared their nights, and sometimes even their days, he cannot bring himself to reach across and fold over the skilfully embroidered corner of the pretty sunflower gold and sapphire blue patterned coverlet that adorns the single king sized bed placed in the middle of the room. The textile glitters with silken thread that sparkles like fine jewels in the golden light of the sun which filters through crystal panes and the fine lace curtains.
A woman’s touch, he always thought.
Though now he appreciates the soft dappled sunlight that spills across the wooden boards, shifting slightly with each little breath of air through the slightly ajar window. Life’s little pleasures.
The glimmer of gold and sapphire he catches from the corner of his eye reminds him of images he would rather forget. Silken skin sliding across somehow coarser material, and bronze and deep blue hair shining with the same colours under that golden glow as their bodies became one over and over again without end until both of them had been well satisfied and slick with sweat. Tsunayoshi always had a strange insatiable hunger in his presence.
But that hadn’t been the only thing Tsunayoshi had shown him.
He smiled, fine laughter lines beginning to show at the corners of his eyes as he grinned with nothing but pure joy and amusement.
“Mukuro. You have to enjoy the moment for what it is. Don’t worry about the past, don’t worry about the future. Enjoy the present, but look towards the future.”
He looked over at his companion doubtfully, a wry twist to his lips as he flipped his long tail of hair over his shoulder. “That makes no sense, Tsunayoshi.”
The other man only smiled secretively, wisdom that had not always been present now hiding in those soft amber eyes. “It will make sense in the future. Do not worry about where you will end up. Rather, simply aim for where you want to go and see where it leaves you.”
He fights a battle in his head. Several battles.
All that he hoped for from the Sawada kid, dashed like a handful of sakura blossoms in the wind, fluttering away through his fingers. The changes which his presence as the Vongola Boss had promised and the changes he had set in motion, that had swayed him to join Tsunayoshi’s cause.
And the man had somehow even captured his heart.
He never even dreamed that it would come to this - that he would somehow be convinced to stray off his once well defined path. Something had changed, wavered, since their meeting. He had set himself a goal - to possess Tsunayoshi.
But in what way?
You are wrong, Tsunayoshi. Is not the past important in shaping the future? Then should one not care about it?
In the first place, why did he, with the experience of his previous lives, look toward a child for direction? But Tsunayoshi had shown him there was hope, even when he had given up on it. And he had been convinced, had wanted to believe in that sliver of hope, however small.
Guide me.
But no guiding hand will appear. Life repeats itself. The only words which he will ever receive again have been said, and they resound in the metaphorical air and linger in his mind’s ear. He doesn’t understand. Not yet.
But he does not want to touch the bed.
The bed is warm, exactly as he’s left it on that fateful day. He only has to close his eyes to imagine that a warm body lay there not moments ago, that they were not sleeping in each other’s arms but minutes ago.
But he has spent countless sleepless nights alone.
He cannot bear to think that the last hands that touched that glittering coverlet were very much alive, warm as they smoothed out the small creases and brushed off a small speck of dust, here, there. There was a moment of frowning at the stain on the underside but the owner of those warm hands refrained from comment although there was the slight hint of creasing of his forehead as his expression shifted slightly. His mouth twitched in amusement as he looked up at Mukuro with a predator’s eyes.
And the illusionist looked back with the same wildness, challenging.
It takes all his willpower to not go tearing down the corridor to where Tsunayoshi once would be without fail, there in the Boss’ office, sipping a mug of coffee - though he had never particularly liked it - as he pored through the summarised reports Gokudera provided him. He needs to check that that room is still filled with that warm presence, because the world can’t just move on like that. It can’t just move on when it has lost its finest star.
He drifts, like one that has lost his home.
He wants to go now, to that sun-splattered room with its heavy curtains and too many weathered volumes on the bookcase against the wall. But they had always given him reason to visit Tsunayoshi there and get deliciously pounded against the wall. If he could even experience such loving pleasure one last time.
But he knows in his head that Tsunayoshi won’t be there, even if his heart cannot accept it.
His chest aches like it has never before.
He wants to capture this moment in time. Grasp the last visages of their past.
He wants to go there now and see that smiling personage in his high backed leather chair.
No, he needs to.
But no matter how much he wishes, he knows that it’s impossible. It has happened too many times to count. The elated tricking of his senses into some small hope that the study will once again be lit by that warm smile, only to be bitten by bitter disappointment when the room only yawns cold and empty before him, the seat empty.
Untouched, just like the bed.
He scatters rose petals across the covers and it is like a trail of blood across the sea of blue. They remind him of the spray, the stain of blood left across his clothes as he stared down at those golden-amber eyes, dimming of their warmth in his arms. A leaden hand rose to rest gently on his cheek before it falls, striking the ground like a thunderclap.
And all was silence.