fic x's 3
dynastic was writing DinoMuku fic. I told her I'd write her a cookie if she finished it. It's...not really a cookie and it's. Okay. It started with this little ACTUAL cookie which is DinoMuku:
There was something cathartic about spending hours with needles poking into you over and over again over a rather large chunk of skin.
Well, cathartic as long as the needles were small and loaded with ink so as to have a reminder of the pain later. The point was, it was cathartic. And it made the wait worthwhile.
--
Earrings didn’t require a lot of pain or time. Or even thought. It was quick, but effective. One quick fire and you’d branded yourself with a post or ring of metal. It didn’t relieve the pain, it fed it. One shot at a time, it fed the anger building up to fury leading to a revenge so intense that it would shake the foundations of years to come.
--
A tattoo is a remembrance. An earring is a reminder. And that, that is how we differentiate. Remembrance of the past, reminder for the future. Alone, they’re shallow.
But together. Together they can build the present.
--------------------
See? Not much. Blathering about earrings and tattoos because...I could. And I like the aesthetic and too much Mukuro and Dino interaction on MM has warped my brain.
This? This is fic. Which was accidental.
Title: Trace a Tattoo
Rated: R [omgwtf I know, I don't WRITE R!]
Characters: Mukuro and Dino
Word Count: 2,051
Warnings: It's not porn, but it's not heavy on plot. Though there is some! Which was surprising. And I have NO IDEA what my brain was doing when I came up with this.
Summary: Dino has to keep an eye on Mukuro, who keeps two eyes on him.
There were times when Dino Cavallone was really glad he’d grown up in Italy. This was definitely one of those times. The vast majority of the Vongola X family was elbow-deep in study guides that made his head hurt a bit just to look at. And he was actually pretty good at paperwork, which was really saying something. If Tsuna could understand all that (which was debatable, really), he wouldn’t have any trouble with handling the Family finances in a few years. Of course, with so many of the Guardians occupied, that left the Mist Guardian with no one to “keep an eye on him,” as Reborn had put it when he’d called in the favor. Who knew that damaging his favorite hat would have him playing babysitter to a 19-year-old boy who, by rights, should be just as knee-deep in study guides and entrance exams as the rest of them, if he weren’t under house arrest.
And it wouldn’t be so bad if Mukuro weren’t giving him such odd looks every few minutes. He’d gotten a little more coordinated over the past few years, so he was at least fairly competent on his own, but Romario was still on speed-dial on his phone, which he had threatened to chain to Dino’s person before he agreed to do this. Dino had the sneaking suspicion that he was waiting outside the house just in case. But calling him because the looks Mukuro was giving him gave him the creeps? That just didn’t look good coming from a mafia boss in his twenties.
Mukuro, for his part, was having a fantastic time unsettling Dino. It was the most fun he’d had in well, months, really. It didn’t even require words, just letting his eyes linger on that patch of inked skin below Dino’s left ear, letting it fall to his shoulder, bare due to the summer warmth and Dino’s tank top, linger as he took in the extent of the pattern down to his wrist-and oh. His favorite part. That hint of color against a tanned background peeking between Dino’s shirt and low-slung pants. Fascinating, really. And then working his way back up, inch by inch, hour by hour.
It was far too easy.
“Do you want anything?” Dino finally couldn’t take it. He was going to the kitchen to get something to drink and to get away from those eyes. Just a few minute break would do, it was unnerving! A nice glass of water, or maybe something stronger if there was anything-
“To see the rest of your tattoo.”
Dino stumbled and ended up sitting on the floor halfway to the kitchen. He turned back to see a slow smirk spreading across Mukuro’s face and a flicker of light reflecting off his ear as he moved for the first time in hours.
“I…I meant to drink.”
Mukuro just smiled, sitting perfectly still again. Dino clambered to his feet and got a glass of water. Definitely just water. Anything else would be a fantastically bad idea--that much was obvious.
It was another hour before Dino looked back at Mukuro, who had yet to really move, and ask.
“Why?” He set down his pen first, it wouldn’t do to be caught off guard and smear ink all over his financial reports.
Mukuro didn’t answer. Well, not verbally at least. His smirk firmly in place, he pointedly let his eyes follow the same path they had all afternoon, his head inclining slightly as his eyes traversed downwards before coming to an obvious halt at Dino’s waist, where the shirt had, once again, ridden up to reveal the patch of inked skin. Dino noted the flicker of light again as he moved. It was the lamp reflecting off three silver hoops in the top of Mukuro’s left ear. Earrings. Three of them.
Finally, Mukuro lifted his eyes and caught Dino’s gaze with an elegant raise of his eyebrows. He lifted his right hand, reaching across his face to tap each one in succession.
“Past. Present. Future.” He drew his hand back, letting it linger near his right as it passed. “And you know of these six.”
Dino nodded, swallowing to give himself something to do. He’d noticed where Mukuro’s eyes had come to rest and he wasn’t entirely sure he was comfortable about that. And the earrings were…distracting.
“How far do they go?”
“Do what go?”
Mukuro dropped his hand to his lap and quirked an eyebrow. “Your tattoos, Cavallone.”
“Ah, of course. Right.” Dino scratched the back of his neck and looked down at his reports, wishing everything were as black and white as they were. He shouldn’t be this…this bothered by Mukuro. He wasn’t even doing anything! But it was damned unnerving.
“So, Cavallone?”
And the way he drawled out “Cavallone” as though the word were sex itself wasn’t helping.
“Your tattoos.”
Right. Question. Conversation. That was easier. “Most of my left side, honestly.” Dino grinned, talking he could manage. He might even manage despite the unsettling looks and topic of conversation. Because talking was something even a child could manage. And he was not calling Romario over the first conversation he’d had in four hours just because he was uncomfortable.
“May I see?”
Scratch that, he couldn’t handle conversation. Not with the topic and the looks and the voice and. And he took off his shirt. Because there wasn’t an easy answer and maybe, just maybe he could finish his work without feeling like a million ants were crawling up and down his spine.
He turned back to his work and the ants morphed into spiders, scrambling more quickly and with more legs. It wasn’t as though he was uncomfortable without a shirt, so the answer must be behind him.
Where Mukuro was now closer and examining every inch of his exposed side with a greedy eye. The flames that licked his ribcage might as well be on fire for the heat they seemed to be giving off. The old phrase had never made more sense than it did when it felt as though Mukuro’s gaze was, quite literally, burning into his inked skin and bringing the pictures to life. Which, considering his talents, he very well could be.
Finally, when only a few numbers had been filled in with shaking script (which felt like it had taken hours, but could have been mere minutes), the fire ceased and Mukuro smiled again.
“And the rest?”
“The rest of what?” Dino ran a hand over his side, as though to make sure everything was still there. The skin felt as it always had, not as though it had been alive and on fire moments before.
“Are you really so flustered, Cavallone~?” Mukuro’s limps twisted into more of a smirk than a smile, “The rest of your tattoo.”
“I, ah.” Dino glanced down to where the ink came to an abrupt halt at his belt. “I’m not taking off my pants, Mukuro.” He turned back to his papers, determined to ignore him, do his work, and not call Romario because he could handle people hitting on him. Even if they were…well. Rokudo Mukuro. It would be alright.
“Oh?” And it felt like there was a breath with that, ghosting across his neck, but he wasn’t turning around. “But now I’m curious, Cavallone.” Mukuro’s voice had dropped to something between a whisper and a purr and.
Okay those were definitely hands on his side. The pen clattered to the desk, rolling and smudging the still-drying ink despite his best efforts.
“What are you doing?!” Dino spun; sliding half off his chair when he found Mukuro crouched beside him, fingertips hovering over the flames just above his belt.
Mukuro’s face was nothing resembling a smile anymore--it was pure smirk. A smirk of a sinister nature. “I asked ‘may I,’ not ‘can I,’ Cavallone. I intend to see.”
It was all Dino could do not to fall the rest of the way out of the chair then. “I’m not taking-“
And then he did fall. Because Mukuro’s tongue had replaced his fingers and you would think that falling off the chair would have been an escape, but Mukuro followed him and that tongue-it was like his skin was on fire again as it traced the outlines where Dino knew his tattoos to be, traced from his belt to his shoulder, along the flames just below his ear, sending a shudder of pleasure through his body entirely against his will and it was all he could to reach out and grab something, anything to give him purchase in reality, in what he was there for, in why this was not alright despite feeling so damn…so damn good and sensual.
His hands found purchase in Mukuro’s hair, his right palm cooled by the touch of three metal bars beneath his palm that oh, if he could just reach he could tangle his tongue in-and this was not the reality he had been reaching for, this was madness, this was being on the floor of an apartment not his own with a boy-no, young man, now-seven years his junior who was making him feel like a teenager in that first blundering sexual encounter that never went as planned.
It wasn’t until Mukuro had worked his way to his elbow that he noticed the hand at his belt, deftly unfastening it and pushing the leather aside. Something in the back of his mind tried to pop up and remind him exactly why this was a bad idea, but then Mukuro nipped at the lines of barbed wire around his wrist and began the path back up his arms, tracing around the C on his upper arm, though it was the only bit of inked skin that escaped his wet, talented mouth.
There was a slight pause to his ministrations, and Mukuro might have something along the lines of “You don’t have to take them off,” but Dino’s brain had long since checked out of the building and really all he wanted as he sucked in a gulp of air was for his pants to be off because they definitely hadn’t been so tight that morning when he’d put them on.
There was a huff of breath, a laugh against his shoulder as the button of his pants came free at last-at long last! And he finally, finally managed to capture Mukuro’s ear with his teeth, rolling his tongue around the earring and pulling a hiss from Mukuro’s lips before he pulled away and continued his path downward, inching Dino’s pants off as he descended, tongue tracing the lines of freshly exposed ink as he pulled boxers and trousers alike out of his path. There was one spot, Dino knew, where the blue ink ran right across his hip bone, down his leg and almost under his scrotum. It had been terribly embarrassing when the artist had lifted his balls out of the way of his pen, but the wild horse, licked in flames and woven into the design with whips and barbed wire had been well worth it.
Even more so now as his mind could not begin to comprehend why this was possibly a bad idea, why no one had ever paid his skin this much attention before, why it felt like every nerve in his body was firing at high speed-whether through overstimulation or lack-thereof, and why, why he was now naked on the floor of an apartment not his own with a man well known to hate everything he stood for in their world. As Mukuro’s tongue slowed, approaching the end of the ink just below his knee, he realized it. He had been destroyed in a sort of revenge that was incomprehensible. He was unsettled, he was turned on, and he was exposed and naked and begging for release from someone who would never, ever grant it.
And as the ink ended and Mukuro pulled away, he felt the warmth of blood on his calf, smelled its scent and knew it was his own. There was a flash of a different silver as Mukuro licked the blood from the ink and moved back towards Dino’s shoulder. A sharp, three-pronged silver he’d seen before.
“You’re mine now, Dino~.”
-fin-
F-locked for now until I figure out what I think of writing something with a rating over PG.
There was something cathartic about spending hours with needles poking into you over and over again over a rather large chunk of skin.
Well, cathartic as long as the needles were small and loaded with ink so as to have a reminder of the pain later. The point was, it was cathartic. And it made the wait worthwhile.
--
Earrings didn’t require a lot of pain or time. Or even thought. It was quick, but effective. One quick fire and you’d branded yourself with a post or ring of metal. It didn’t relieve the pain, it fed it. One shot at a time, it fed the anger building up to fury leading to a revenge so intense that it would shake the foundations of years to come.
--
A tattoo is a remembrance. An earring is a reminder. And that, that is how we differentiate. Remembrance of the past, reminder for the future. Alone, they’re shallow.
But together. Together they can build the present.
--------------------
See? Not much. Blathering about earrings and tattoos because...I could. And I like the aesthetic and too much Mukuro and Dino interaction on MM has warped my brain.
This? This is fic. Which was accidental.
Title: Trace a Tattoo
Rated: R [omgwtf I know, I don't WRITE R!]
Characters: Mukuro and Dino
Word Count: 2,051
Warnings: It's not porn, but it's not heavy on plot. Though there is some! Which was surprising. And I have NO IDEA what my brain was doing when I came up with this.
Summary: Dino has to keep an eye on Mukuro, who keeps two eyes on him.
There were times when Dino Cavallone was really glad he’d grown up in Italy. This was definitely one of those times. The vast majority of the Vongola X family was elbow-deep in study guides that made his head hurt a bit just to look at. And he was actually pretty good at paperwork, which was really saying something. If Tsuna could understand all that (which was debatable, really), he wouldn’t have any trouble with handling the Family finances in a few years. Of course, with so many of the Guardians occupied, that left the Mist Guardian with no one to “keep an eye on him,” as Reborn had put it when he’d called in the favor. Who knew that damaging his favorite hat would have him playing babysitter to a 19-year-old boy who, by rights, should be just as knee-deep in study guides and entrance exams as the rest of them, if he weren’t under house arrest.
And it wouldn’t be so bad if Mukuro weren’t giving him such odd looks every few minutes. He’d gotten a little more coordinated over the past few years, so he was at least fairly competent on his own, but Romario was still on speed-dial on his phone, which he had threatened to chain to Dino’s person before he agreed to do this. Dino had the sneaking suspicion that he was waiting outside the house just in case. But calling him because the looks Mukuro was giving him gave him the creeps? That just didn’t look good coming from a mafia boss in his twenties.
Mukuro, for his part, was having a fantastic time unsettling Dino. It was the most fun he’d had in well, months, really. It didn’t even require words, just letting his eyes linger on that patch of inked skin below Dino’s left ear, letting it fall to his shoulder, bare due to the summer warmth and Dino’s tank top, linger as he took in the extent of the pattern down to his wrist-and oh. His favorite part. That hint of color against a tanned background peeking between Dino’s shirt and low-slung pants. Fascinating, really. And then working his way back up, inch by inch, hour by hour.
It was far too easy.
“Do you want anything?” Dino finally couldn’t take it. He was going to the kitchen to get something to drink and to get away from those eyes. Just a few minute break would do, it was unnerving! A nice glass of water, or maybe something stronger if there was anything-
“To see the rest of your tattoo.”
Dino stumbled and ended up sitting on the floor halfway to the kitchen. He turned back to see a slow smirk spreading across Mukuro’s face and a flicker of light reflecting off his ear as he moved for the first time in hours.
“I…I meant to drink.”
Mukuro just smiled, sitting perfectly still again. Dino clambered to his feet and got a glass of water. Definitely just water. Anything else would be a fantastically bad idea--that much was obvious.
It was another hour before Dino looked back at Mukuro, who had yet to really move, and ask.
“Why?” He set down his pen first, it wouldn’t do to be caught off guard and smear ink all over his financial reports.
Mukuro didn’t answer. Well, not verbally at least. His smirk firmly in place, he pointedly let his eyes follow the same path they had all afternoon, his head inclining slightly as his eyes traversed downwards before coming to an obvious halt at Dino’s waist, where the shirt had, once again, ridden up to reveal the patch of inked skin. Dino noted the flicker of light again as he moved. It was the lamp reflecting off three silver hoops in the top of Mukuro’s left ear. Earrings. Three of them.
Finally, Mukuro lifted his eyes and caught Dino’s gaze with an elegant raise of his eyebrows. He lifted his right hand, reaching across his face to tap each one in succession.
“Past. Present. Future.” He drew his hand back, letting it linger near his right as it passed. “And you know of these six.”
Dino nodded, swallowing to give himself something to do. He’d noticed where Mukuro’s eyes had come to rest and he wasn’t entirely sure he was comfortable about that. And the earrings were…distracting.
“How far do they go?”
“Do what go?”
Mukuro dropped his hand to his lap and quirked an eyebrow. “Your tattoos, Cavallone.”
“Ah, of course. Right.” Dino scratched the back of his neck and looked down at his reports, wishing everything were as black and white as they were. He shouldn’t be this…this bothered by Mukuro. He wasn’t even doing anything! But it was damned unnerving.
“So, Cavallone?”
And the way he drawled out “Cavallone” as though the word were sex itself wasn’t helping.
“Your tattoos.”
Right. Question. Conversation. That was easier. “Most of my left side, honestly.” Dino grinned, talking he could manage. He might even manage despite the unsettling looks and topic of conversation. Because talking was something even a child could manage. And he was not calling Romario over the first conversation he’d had in four hours just because he was uncomfortable.
“May I see?”
Scratch that, he couldn’t handle conversation. Not with the topic and the looks and the voice and. And he took off his shirt. Because there wasn’t an easy answer and maybe, just maybe he could finish his work without feeling like a million ants were crawling up and down his spine.
He turned back to his work and the ants morphed into spiders, scrambling more quickly and with more legs. It wasn’t as though he was uncomfortable without a shirt, so the answer must be behind him.
Where Mukuro was now closer and examining every inch of his exposed side with a greedy eye. The flames that licked his ribcage might as well be on fire for the heat they seemed to be giving off. The old phrase had never made more sense than it did when it felt as though Mukuro’s gaze was, quite literally, burning into his inked skin and bringing the pictures to life. Which, considering his talents, he very well could be.
Finally, when only a few numbers had been filled in with shaking script (which felt like it had taken hours, but could have been mere minutes), the fire ceased and Mukuro smiled again.
“And the rest?”
“The rest of what?” Dino ran a hand over his side, as though to make sure everything was still there. The skin felt as it always had, not as though it had been alive and on fire moments before.
“Are you really so flustered, Cavallone~?” Mukuro’s limps twisted into more of a smirk than a smile, “The rest of your tattoo.”
“I, ah.” Dino glanced down to where the ink came to an abrupt halt at his belt. “I’m not taking off my pants, Mukuro.” He turned back to his papers, determined to ignore him, do his work, and not call Romario because he could handle people hitting on him. Even if they were…well. Rokudo Mukuro. It would be alright.
“Oh?” And it felt like there was a breath with that, ghosting across his neck, but he wasn’t turning around. “But now I’m curious, Cavallone.” Mukuro’s voice had dropped to something between a whisper and a purr and.
Okay those were definitely hands on his side. The pen clattered to the desk, rolling and smudging the still-drying ink despite his best efforts.
“What are you doing?!” Dino spun; sliding half off his chair when he found Mukuro crouched beside him, fingertips hovering over the flames just above his belt.
Mukuro’s face was nothing resembling a smile anymore--it was pure smirk. A smirk of a sinister nature. “I asked ‘may I,’ not ‘can I,’ Cavallone. I intend to see.”
It was all Dino could do not to fall the rest of the way out of the chair then. “I’m not taking-“
And then he did fall. Because Mukuro’s tongue had replaced his fingers and you would think that falling off the chair would have been an escape, but Mukuro followed him and that tongue-it was like his skin was on fire again as it traced the outlines where Dino knew his tattoos to be, traced from his belt to his shoulder, along the flames just below his ear, sending a shudder of pleasure through his body entirely against his will and it was all he could to reach out and grab something, anything to give him purchase in reality, in what he was there for, in why this was not alright despite feeling so damn…so damn good and sensual.
His hands found purchase in Mukuro’s hair, his right palm cooled by the touch of three metal bars beneath his palm that oh, if he could just reach he could tangle his tongue in-and this was not the reality he had been reaching for, this was madness, this was being on the floor of an apartment not his own with a boy-no, young man, now-seven years his junior who was making him feel like a teenager in that first blundering sexual encounter that never went as planned.
It wasn’t until Mukuro had worked his way to his elbow that he noticed the hand at his belt, deftly unfastening it and pushing the leather aside. Something in the back of his mind tried to pop up and remind him exactly why this was a bad idea, but then Mukuro nipped at the lines of barbed wire around his wrist and began the path back up his arms, tracing around the C on his upper arm, though it was the only bit of inked skin that escaped his wet, talented mouth.
There was a slight pause to his ministrations, and Mukuro might have something along the lines of “You don’t have to take them off,” but Dino’s brain had long since checked out of the building and really all he wanted as he sucked in a gulp of air was for his pants to be off because they definitely hadn’t been so tight that morning when he’d put them on.
There was a huff of breath, a laugh against his shoulder as the button of his pants came free at last-at long last! And he finally, finally managed to capture Mukuro’s ear with his teeth, rolling his tongue around the earring and pulling a hiss from Mukuro’s lips before he pulled away and continued his path downward, inching Dino’s pants off as he descended, tongue tracing the lines of freshly exposed ink as he pulled boxers and trousers alike out of his path. There was one spot, Dino knew, where the blue ink ran right across his hip bone, down his leg and almost under his scrotum. It had been terribly embarrassing when the artist had lifted his balls out of the way of his pen, but the wild horse, licked in flames and woven into the design with whips and barbed wire had been well worth it.
Even more so now as his mind could not begin to comprehend why this was possibly a bad idea, why no one had ever paid his skin this much attention before, why it felt like every nerve in his body was firing at high speed-whether through overstimulation or lack-thereof, and why, why he was now naked on the floor of an apartment not his own with a man well known to hate everything he stood for in their world. As Mukuro’s tongue slowed, approaching the end of the ink just below his knee, he realized it. He had been destroyed in a sort of revenge that was incomprehensible. He was unsettled, he was turned on, and he was exposed and naked and begging for release from someone who would never, ever grant it.
And as the ink ended and Mukuro pulled away, he felt the warmth of blood on his calf, smelled its scent and knew it was his own. There was a flash of a different silver as Mukuro licked the blood from the ink and moved back towards Dino’s shoulder. A sharp, three-pronged silver he’d seen before.
“You’re mine now, Dino~.”
-fin-
F-locked for now until I figure out what I think of writing something with a rating over PG.