and live in harmony harmony /headbutts stars
[ It's just one pain in the ass after another.
Wherever it is that Kakashi's been placed now, he lands there hard, catching his elbow against the edge of a wooden table as he falls, snapping his head back in time to narrowly keep his chin from smashing against the hard floor. The impact hurts, knocks the breath from his lungs and momentarily ( Read more... )
Wherever it is that Kakashi's been placed now, he lands there hard, catching his elbow against the edge of a wooden table as he falls, snapping his head back in time to narrowly keep his chin from smashing against the hard floor. The impact hurts, knocks the breath from his lungs and momentarily ( Read more... )
The light glances over him, bounces off the tines of his weapon where he's half set it against the wall, leaving it lax but close enough so that if-
Well, just in case, right? Because both of them are on edge now, and Mukuro thinks that maybe he'll push a little more. There's nothing else around for miles that could possibly be an interruption. ] Not at all. I'm sure it's an easy mistake to make.
[ The dark plays funny tricks on things. Mukuro hasn't stopped smiling, features half sunken by the traces of dark that linger, and he makes no move to shift out into the light. That brief escalation of tension's been momentarily eased away, Mukuro having given Kakashi a way out, of sorts, but for how long? How long of a reprieve is this, how long will it last? He's still intent on jerking his chain, you see. ] It would have been dangerous if that hit. Someone might have been hurt.
[ And Mukuro might have actually had to strike back- then they'd have a lovely mess on their hands, wouldn't they? ]
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Mistakes happen. They're bound to happen. But that's a mistake he shouldn't have really made, because he is human, yeah, he's as human as they come, but when you're dealing with someone who isn't really, it's best if you pretend that you're just as unphased as they are.
The edge of the blade starts biting into his skin, and Kakashi realizes then that he'd been pushing it into his wrist without even noticing. He relaxes, and he doesn't say anything at all, he's always bound by words but maybe he just needs to shut the fuck up sometimes, and he steps forward, moves into the light for a fraction of a second, before passing back into the shadows.
That distance that had been inched between them when Kakashi had moved to hit him ( maybe if he'd been just a little bit faster -- ) is quickly cut back down, and he stops just in front of him, casting one glance toward the direction of his trident. He looks at it for a second, shoulders taut, and then holds out his hand, the one with the kunai. ]
Mmn, here. Maybe you should take it. [ Safety first. :'> ]
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When it comes to dealing with men like Kakashi, Mukuro's well acquainted with how they work-- don't show any cracks, don't break, and whatever you do, don't turn your back on the enemy. So how many of those has Kakashi broken? It doesn't really matter though, either way, to Mukuro, because he knows exactly how this will work. He'll crush Kakashi into little pieces and then grind them beneath his heel, that's what.
Because everytime, he's buried men of this level, hasn't he? In a place much like hell.
He looks up, half tips his head at him and his eyes flick back from Kakashi's face to his trident. Mukuro extends his hand, and closes it around the sharp edge of the weapon, hard enough to nearly slice through his gloves. ]
It'll be in good hands.
[ And in that same movement, Mukuro flips it, high enough to very nearly score a scratch across the surface of Kakashi's face, before it lands solidly in the palm of his hand, and he laughs. ]
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Kakashi only knows little bits and pieces of how Mukuro works, of how he's put together, and he's one of those crazy motherfuckers that'll pretend they aren't. Because he's so fucking good at everything he does, at everything he says, at talking like he knows what he's saying, like he gets the gravity of it, and maybe he does, but that doesn't make it any better. And Kakashi knows he can't really contain it, he can't box it up and make it shut the fuck up, so why does he even try.
It's worse than playing with fire. It's more like -- bathing in poison, in toxic waste, and just splashing around in your eventual demise because why the fuck not.
( And that poison makes you sick, but it won't stop you, either.
Maybe he's wrong. Maybe this was never supposed to go anywhere to begin with. )
And when Mukuro flips his blade, and when it comes close to scratching along the side of his cheek, Kakashi doesn't blink, and his expression doesn't change. He does tilt his head back just slightly, just in case, and his hand is already moving up in the same moment that the kunai lands safely again in Mukuro's palm.
His fingers close around his wrist, slip all the way down to his elbow, and he's not thinking ( this doesn't require thought ) when he pulls his mask down the rest of the way, jerks Mukuro forward, and with all the compacted hotroughviolent torrent of binding emotion that came with having to deal with this bitch for over half a year, he kisses him hard enough to draw blood. ]
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So when he's jerked forward, he cuts himself on the blade this time- the blood seeping through his glove, warm and s(t)ick(l)y, coating is fingers, and there's only time for one more breath, one more second to react before he finds himself so unceremoniously grabbed and there's an intense sort of heat and now isn't really the time to realise that he's never seen Kakashi with his mask off, but the human brain processes only so much at a time and this detail stands out starkly for no reason at all.
Maybe Mukuro wants to laugh, maybe he does, and that's the brief, muffled sound he makes against Kakashi's mouth before he leans into, against Kakashi, sliced up hand with the kunai pressed right up the his stomach, bloody fingers curled in a fist around the weapon, and all it'll take is a single move.
One wrong move, one little thing that Mukuro doesn't find to his taste, and he'll gut him right then and there.
--he's really laughing now, shoulders shaking even as he kisses back, feeling the tang of blood permeate his mouth, sink against his tongue and the trident slips with a silent clatter.
Was that a bad idea? Ah, well. ]
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It's not intentional, it never is, he's just always been like this. Maybe a bit harder, a little bit rougher, when he was younger, but he's different now, changed, except he can only change so much . . . Mostly, he's tired of changing. That hand at his elbow moves up past his arm to the side of his face, thumb drifting beneath his chin, and Kakashi forces his mouth open wider, bites at his bottom lip, at his tongue, laps the blood he's drawn away.
Mukuro tastes as poisonous as he feels, but it's less noticeable, more addictive and damning. It's warmer than it should be, and this son of a bitch'll be the end of him ( he's known for awhile ), and Kakashi is either delusional or masochistic or he just doesn't give a fuck.
His other hand falls to his waist, digs into the fabric there, and he forces him back against the wall off to his right, the one plastered in faded Victorian wallpaper, almost impossible to make out in such poor lighting. He pins him bodily, traps the shorter frame there by slipping his fingers away from his jacket, pushing them against the wall right next to his head.
-- No, he gives a fuck. And he hates that fucking laugh, so he'll kiss him harder, he'll suck every bit of oxygen from his lungs until he can't laugh at all. ]
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It's funny, isn't it? How all that pent up frustration translates into something like this- but physical is as physical does, and Mukuro doesn't protest to it yet, not when Kakashi seems to be enjoying himself so much.
(Is this better?)
Mukuro flattens the palm of his hand (the free one) against Kakashi's stomach, digs his nails into the material of his clothing and keeps it there, doesn't make a single move until he realises that he can't fucking breathe, can't move like this, not when the air's bled dry and spots of white dance in his vision.
It's not until Mukuro's on the very verge of losing consciousness, giddy from the lack of oxygen and blood slowing pulse still racing-
That's when he shoves a knee up against Kakashi, pushes him back and bites down hard enough like he means it, he's really going to bite his tongue off if he doesn't back off. ]
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( No, don't. Rip his mouth open while you can -- )
For a fraction of a second, his fingers tighten around his jaw, dig into bone and muscle and skin harder, reflexively, instinctively, and then he's relaxing, his hand is slipping away to press against the wall. His other hand moves down, closes around the blade pressed against his stomach.
But he doesn't force Mukuro's hand away, he doesn't try to get that blade away from his stomach, whatever, he can do what he wants, and the only room he gives him is a fraction of an inch, his chin hovering close to the other's shoulder.
And he waits, lungs burning, for just a second, fingers of one hand digging into the crumbling wall, while the fingers of his other hand twitch over that blade, push down into the pulse in Mukuro's wrist. ]
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So there it stays, a twisted, indistinct sort of smile that Mukuro graces Kakashi with, and he lets the silence drag on for another beat before breaking it. ] Don't.
[ It should have sounded serious, but the way Mukuro says it, with that underlying current of laughter and amusement, it sounds anything but.
The blade's pressed between the two of them now, with nowhere to go for one way or the other, and Mukuro pushes it up against Kakashi, lightly, lets the sharp edges flirt along skin and bone. How much force would it take to break through both his hand and past fabric until it's grazing against skin, drawing blood? Enough, Mukuro thinks, to be difficult in such an enclosed space.
One second, two, three, and he tips his head towards Kakashi, light jumping over his eyes briefly. ] Are you satisfied?
[ He likes to think he's something more than human (maybe less), and you have to wonder if there's a pulse beating at all against Kakashi's fingers. ]
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And he could back off, but he doesn't really want to. So where does that leave him?
There's that question, too, and Kakashi is silent for another moment, for the few seconds it takes for his heart to tighten substantially in his chest ( you're a better man than this ). The fingers pressed against Mukuro's wrist curl into warm skin, into the long vein in his arm, and then they're moving, twisting down to wrap tightly around his wrist, force his hand and the blade away from his stomach as he eliminates that tiny inch he'd placed between them a second or so before.
He moves quick, using the entirety of his weight to keep Mukuro pinned against the wall, and his fingers work over Mukuro's own, pry them away from the kunai, as his other hand moves away from the wall ( flickering with instinctive energy, reacting to his emotions, to the hard pit in the bottom of his stomach ) and skirts up his side. His fingers dig into his hipbone, move up to press against every single one of his ribs through the clothing, before it finally stops at the back of his neck, curling hard into dark strands of hair as he jerks him forward against him, interfering with the weight he's applying to keep him pinned.
Is he satisfied? ]
No.
[ No. Fuck you, Mukuro. He's not. ]
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It's not like he had ever much in the way of morals anyway.
Fine, yeah, sure, if Kakashi wants to touch him though, Mukuro'll be good and stay put for that long, he'll even make an amused noise at the back of his throat, and let the weapon drop from his fingers in a detached fashion, with a muted clatter. But then, Mukuro laughs, doesn't even bat an eye when he's yanked forward and Kakashi radiates nearly red hot against him and really-
You're being greedy, aren't you? ]
And I've been generous thus far. [ This is when Mukuro rediscovers the use of his hands, clenches a fist in the front of Kakashi's vest and on, against him, dragging himself upward to close the height difference. It's nose to nose like this, with Mukuro unblinking and not even a millimeter spared between them.
At point blank, Kakashi can't miss the kanji changing in Mukuro's eyes, before there's the faint thump of something(s) heavy dropping around the, a soft, sibilant hissing filling the air, and the snakes are looping around them, curling languidly up a leg here, there, in a parody of an embrace. ]
Didn't I say? Someone's going to get hurt.
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Mmn.
[ He doesn't look away, he's focused intently on that eye, as his free hand moves to slide the kunai back into the belt around his waist. There's not a lot he really has to say. Once upon a time, way back, he had a lot of things to say, but he's run out since then, they're past words and idle conversation, and he's kind of tired of talking at all.
Mukuro is still really close, and Kakashi hasn't moved a fucking inch. There's a heavy, tight pressure on his leg, curving up over his ankle, as a snake wraps itself around him, and he has to wonder if this is an illusion, or if it's something else, and he has to physically stop himself from activating the Sharingan. ]
Did you? [ He speaks, finally, and it's innocent in the way he says it, nonchalant ( but careful ), and his fingers slide down from the base of his skull to the back of his neck, thumb pressing into the hard bone in the middle of his upper back.
He should maybe stop touching ( stop it before it starts he's only human or is he or is he or is he is he) him.
But he can't really pull himself back, he's rooted to the ground like he's being held there. ] I don't remember.
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Conversation's an easy, idle thing to play with, and in some way Mukuro enjoys it nine times out of ten, because it says so much about a person, but sometimes actions really do speak louder than words and it's left to one side. Instead, he takes the lack of loquaciousness and interprets for exactly as it is. He chuckles, more to himself than Kakashi, and idly lifts one hand, slides a slow, contemplative finger along his cheek. It tracks a smear of blood across his face, a not quite dry remnant of the cut on his palm, and Mukuro cradles Kakashi's face for one brief moment, mouth curved into a razor sharp smile. ]
Don’t you? [ The snake continues its trek upwards, raises itself to waist level and tastes the air with its tongue, tastes the two loaded words, but this is no garden of God’s, and there is no Adam or Eve to tempt. Mukuro pats his cheek, dropping his hands back down by his sides before he leans against the wall and when his eyes close it’s like a spotlight shutting off. He thinks, maybe, yes, now, and then he acts.
The room curves inwards at a claustrophobic, dizzying rate and then the floorboards explode in flames, sparks spitting and hissing around them, and it’s hell on earth.
(How certain of that is he, to put such a stake on it? )
Mukuro shoves Kakashi back, away, tears the roots out from the earth until their positions are reversed and it’s him leaning over the other man, one hand poised against the wall, the other wielding his trident again, points digging in threateningly against his chest, pinpricking but not quite reaching through the material-this time, it’s Mukuro who kisses him, sickly sweet and-
He knows, they know, that the only way to go now is forward, but where? ]
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And look at this little bitch go. Everything happens really quickly, much too quickly for his brain to absorb it all in a timely manner, his nerve endings and all the reactionary elements in his body lagging behind, not quite able to catch up with Mukuro. Kakashi doesn't even try to keep his Sharingan from activating now, it's instinctive, reflexive, it's built into who he is, just like how he can't keep the sparks of electricity from curving around his fingers and palms when his pulse spikes, and he can't --
He can't see through shit.
Mukuro's mouth closes over his own, and he's frozen for half a second, thinking, thinking, he doesn't need eye contact, but there has to be rules or guidelines, there has to be something that keeps him on a certain line, that keeps him on a particular path. Maybe they're not illusions, except -- there's no other explanation, it's impossible, maybe he's a demi-god. No, he just thinks he's a god. He just wants to be one. He's just like Pain he's just like Pain no he's not, Kakashi, get the fuck off of that already.
And then he remembers where he is, and that he can't stop to think, who the fuck does he think he is? Kakashi kisses him back hard, all bite, all teeth, and the fingers of his hands move past the sharp tines of the trident, drag up his sides, curling into his ribs.
( He's a liar. He wants him dead so bad it aches. )
He leans into the trident ( remember what Gamma said ), and those fingers fall to his waist, dig into the material of his pants as he drags his skinny hips forward until they're flush against Kakashi's own, smooths his thumb along the sharp curve of his hipbone, across skin that burns as hot as the fire around them, or maybe that's just his imagination.
( He's a liar. He wants to force his jaw down and fuck his mouth raw, and dig his fingers into his skin, right above his chest, dig and dig and dig until his chest glows blue and spills red, until he forces his hand right through that beating heart, and he'll kill him because he fucking terrifies him, because if he can't -- ) ]
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As a general rule, skin does not make for a good conductor of electricity, but at this range, at this rate, it drips down past the surface and into his bones and there’s a crackle to the air, but he’s unaffected, how could that be? Maybe it’s an immunity built up over the years, electro shock therapy (haha).
Fifty hertz, fifty-two, and the ruins are crumbling, engulfed by flames that are going nowhere fast.
Mukuro presses forward, all acute angles and sharp edges in more than once, and just a little further, and Kakashi, he’s really toeing the line there, isn’t he? Things will be bad for him if there’s even one little scratch, only one drop of blood required, not even a signature on the dotted line needed. He slides his hand down between them, abruptly palms him through material and clothing and everything in between that sets them apart. There’s a blatant challenge in the action and in the way Mukuro smiles against Kakashi’s mouth and bites down hard enough to draw blood only to soothe it in a mocking fashion.
It’s too late, because he’s already dead and dancing in Mukuro’s palm with him as puppet master and pulling the strings (fear is a liability- he's already won), and he laughs delightedly, maybe a little maniacally but sometimes there’s no going through this world without going a little wrong, right? And he’s not so badly off at all.
You’re no match, he doesn’t even need to say it, it’s a fact; Mukuro’s caging him in, dragging himself forward on his toes and they’re already close enough, but now they’re even closer. The only ease in pressure is the weight of the snakes vanishing, gone, consumed by the heat or recalled by some other means.
He’s still laughing, even as he rocks against him, quick, sharp movements- because if he can’t, well. ]
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There's the crackle of electricity, the snapping and popping of the flames licking high into the air around them, and those sounds sort of all bleed together, twisting into one deafening roar that pounds insistently against Kakashi's eardrums. His fingers work down over those hips, to the steel and leather of his belts, and then --
He freezes again, muscles tensing then shuddering, because Mukuro is touching him, biting down until blood pools on his tongue, and Kakashi's breath catches on a hiss like he's been wounded, like Mukuro's just shoved a blade right through his gut. He might as well have, for how he reacts to it, one hand slipping to cup the side of his face, thumb pressing down into the skin beneath his eye like he wants to push in and gouge it from his head.
And he kind of does, really, but he wants to do a lot of things.
It's at this point where the brain stops working, stops trying to catch up, and where all logical thought just dies off into a breathless murmur, too quiet to be heard, too inaudible to be noticed. Kakashi wants a lot of things just like how he wants to do a lot of things, and most of those things involve killing the man that's pressed against him, but he can't, because he's not a man, but he can't, because he doesn't know how, but he can't because he can't.
Which leaves him with very few options. This isn't helping, what is he doing, he's not going to kill him because a dead man can't kill shit, and Kakashi's hand falls to the side of his neck, the fingers of his other digging into the fabric of his shirt as he pushes forward and turns them again, instinctively avoiding the gleaming tines of that trident as he crushes him back against the wall. He nudges his knee between both of his legs, and he's already working off those belts, the metal clinking loudly but not loud enough as he forces them open, drags his mouth down from his ear to the soft skin at the side of his neck, right where the pulse beats heaviest.
He wonders, for the briefest of moments, like a dying defensive flicker, animal instinct that flares and claws at the moral binds of humanity, if ripping it out would help. ]
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