[CURRENT] Kink Meme Four
Katekyou Hitman Reborn! Kink Meme Four!
Welcome to the meme!
Please read Da Rules before posting. And by "please," I mean, "You must."
1) Keep non-anonymous comments to a minimum. This is an anonymous meme, please respect that.
2) No fighting or wank. IP logging has been turned on, and I will ban IPs that cause trouble.
3) Respect the Fill-Only ( Read more... )
Welcome to the meme!
Please read Da Rules before posting. And by "please," I mean, "You must."
1) Keep non-anonymous comments to a minimum. This is an anonymous meme, please respect that.
2) No fighting or wank. IP logging has been turned on, and I will ban IPs that cause trouble.
3) Respect the Fill-Only ( Read more... )
Mukuro prefers to watch. But surely that's no surprise, is it? He walks through the world but is not of it, separates himself from the rest of humanity with long sleeves and gloves and the disdainful curve of his smile, and does not permit himself to be touched or touchable.
He is the Mist, and anyone who reaches for him will find that he eludes them, slipping through their fingers like an errant breeze.
Nevertheless. Mukuro likes to watch.
The bedroom has a bed (of course): the mattress is broad and firm, covered in linens smooth like satin and heaped with pillows, some just right for resting one's head and others shaped like wedges and benches, just right for draping oneself over for a lover's convenience. There are posts, solid things, and straps and cuffs that dangle from them, ready to be wrapped around wrists and ankles. There is a table next to the bed, and on the table are neat rows of toys, dildos and clamps, cock rings and strings of beads, vibrators and floggers and bottles of scented and flavored oils.
And in this bedroom, there is a chair, Mukuro's chair, placed where he can lounge in it and watch what is happening on the bed. Sometimes he sits there and watches Ken spread himself over one of the bench pillows for Chikusa, mouth open and his eyes squeezed shut while Chikusa fucks him. Sometimes it's M.M. who leans herself back against the pillows and uses her fingers to spread herself open, showing him the shape her body makes around the thick dildos she uses to fuck herself.
This time it's Chrome that he watches, and she's asked for something unusual. "Please," she says, her gaze cast down; his Chrome is still so very shy, sometimes. "Please, Mukuro-sama, will you help me?"
He prefers to watch, but he is the Mist. There are ways, and ways, of watching and helping when one is the Mist.
"Yes," he tells her, crossing one leg over the other as he begins to shape the Mist, forming the tendrils of it and sending them creeping across the sheets.
His little Chrome raises her face then, smiling softly, even as he curls the first tendrils around her ankles and strokes them up her legs. "Thank you," she says, and utters a soft sound as he slips another tendril of the Mist through the knotted sash of her robe, picking it undone. Her robe slips open and Mukuro smiles. She is bare beneath, lily-pale curves emerging as he uses the Mist to draw the robe off her body.
He likes to watch all of his people, but there is something between him and Chrome that is, perhaps, special. But Mukuro prefers not to dwell on such things.
Chrome sighs as he slides the tendrils of Mist over her skin; her eye flutters shut as he strokes them along the sweet, soft skin of her thighs and over the curve of her breasts. He strokes the tendrils over her breasts, coiling thicker tendrils around the swell of them, manipulating them until she gasps and bites her lip, arching into the pressure of them. He traces other tendrils over her skin, drawing patterns in languages long since dead across the canvas of her body, and wraps thick bands of the Mist around her waist, her thighs, and her shoulders, using them to lift her off the sheets entirely. Chrome relaxes into the support of his grip on her body, lets him hold her up as he pleases and merely moans, small and breathy, when his tendrils of Mist spread her thighs apart, showing the cleft between them. She moans again as he strokes a tendril against her, dipping it between the folds of her body and finding that she is already slick and hot.
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When he ghosts the first tendril of Mist across her clit, her entire body arches and stiffens as she comes, trembling in his toils. Mukuro watches the way her skin shivers and dances over her muscles, damp with her sweat and flushed with her pleasure, and changes the rhythm of the tendril stroking inside her, turning it sharper and faster. Chrome claws her fingers at the empty air as his tendril of Mist massages her clit, and her toes curl and flex as she shakes. He holds her open, keeping her thighs spread wide even when she tries to twist away from the relentless thrusting pressure of the Mist tendril inside her, strokes his tendril of Mist between the rosy wet shine of her lips until she arches one final time and goes limp.
Mukuro settles her unconscious body against the sheets, straightening the sprawl of her limbs and using the Mist one final time to wipe away the sweat that soaks her hair and the slickness between her thighs before he draws a sheet up to cover her.
And then, even though he prefers to watch, he rises from his chair and passes his fingers over Chrome's forehead before he leaves her to her rest.
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