FIC: Crossroads
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
Title: Crossroads
Pairing/Characters: 6959
Rating: PG-13/R for vague sex
Summary: There are an infinite number of crossroads in one’s life. But no matter how you chose to go, your path may intersect with someone else’s in ways you’d never imagine…
Note: Originally for khrminibang but since it's been awhile I've gotten the go-ahead to post here. ALSO ALSO... I had kind of lost contact with my artist so if you are out there and want to share with me / have me post your art with this if you drew any, let me know! Also, MIGHT BE MISSING SOME FORMATTING... ):
The first time they met was on his birthday. A strange way to turn 15, that was sure, and not one he remembered fondly. And who would? There was no party, no cake, no Happy Birthday wishes from the Tenth (not that he'd ever want something like his birthday to overshadow the presence of the Tenth), no mention at all. Instead, they were fighting for their lives against that bastard and his subordinates. That infuriating smile, that intolerable laugh, and the way his gaze sent shudders of tense apprehension down Gokudera's spine. That was the worst part. The way that older boy could make them all feel like they were an instant away from a painful descent to oblivion had thoroughly ruined any birthday wishes. Not that many had remained after the previous bouts of getting beaten to a pulp.
And there was the fact that he had failed the Tenth. He'd been, in the end, unable to keep his boss out of danger, and for that huge transgression he'd never forgive himself. Or that creepy-eyed asshole. He'd gone so low as to turn Gokudera's body against his beloved Tenth, and that was something that he'd be glad to spend a lifetime getting revenge for. No, he wasn't going to let it go until every bit of pain and guilt and humiliation that Gokudera had felt on that day had been thoroughly beaten into the arrogant son-of-a-bitch's too-pretty face.
Still, looking back on it, that had been an important day. It was the first day that the Tenth had truly realized what they were getting into. He'd never doubt the strength of the boss's imagination, let alone his comprehension skills, but there was just something about actually being involved in a deliberate, dirty fight to the death, with your comrades bleeding around you, to make someone realize that things were 100% real and serious. To be honest, Gokudera himself was still not entirely used to that -- after all, he'd never really had comrades to speak of -- but violence was nothing new to him. He thought, on the occasion that he actually did think about it, that even though it upset the Tenth then and there, perhaps those fights were good for him. It had been a manageable opponent, everything had turned out all right in the end, and they'd all gone home to recover.
But it was still unacceptable for someone to want to use the Tenth that way, and Gokudera still wanted vengeance. For that reason, the moment he got home from the hospital he began looking up ways to counter illusions, and information on his enemy. He didn't completely trust the Vendice to keep the smiley bastard under wraps, and if he showed up again Gokudera intended to be fully prepared to deal with it in the most efficient (and violent) way possible. There'd be no way he'd let anyone else come even close to harming the up and coming Vongola boss.
No, when he met Rokudo Mukuro again, there would be blood, and it wouldn't be his.
=
It hadn't taken very long for Mukuro to get a good idea of what kind of person Gokudera Hayato was. Even watching from a distance was enough to see the furious potency of his personality; the way he whipped everything around him into chaos and violently threw out the parts he didn't want. It was amusing, he thought, to see that scowl that just must make the girls swoon in that bad-boy kind of way, and to see how obvious it was that there was only one thing in those pale green eyes, and that was the tenth boss of the Vongola. For that reason, it seemed only fitting to Mukuro that Gokudera's body be used in his fight with Sawada Tsunayoshi. That intense will to protect was best served by crushing it, showing him that it couldn't always prevail.
After all, human beings were too fond of their ideals. Mukuro hated them, those deluded ideas of bravery, loyalty, friendship and love. These pathetic beings clung so tightly to them, pretending they weren't all full of more negative things deep down. Underneath the candy coating, he'd never met someone who wasn't a selfish, lying, cruel person when given the opportunity to be one. So why pretend to have virtue when it was all a facade? No, Mukuro preferred to be openly violent and cruel. Sure, he would act when it suited him, and lie to others... but not to himself. To himself, to those he gave a measure of trust, he was always honest, and that was the only virtue he needed.
And so, after that first meeting, when he saw the perseverance of the Vongola though his occasional hosts, it drew him like a moth to flame. How did these people, no more than children, go through all he'd put on them and come out just as determined to be loyal and stand for ideals as they had been before -- perhaps even moreso? It was Sawada Tsunayoshi, surely... in that boy, there was something different. It had startled Mukuro, and it continued to perplex him, how he'd not yet seen the tell-tale signs of corruption in the boy. He'd have to keep looking of course -- there was no chance it wasn't there, but still it was surprising how deeply buried the darkness was.
It wasn't hard to see why Gokudera Hayato was so close a follower. It wasn't hard to see why all of them were, really. But the fierceness of Gokudera's determination to be right-hand man, his foolish blind adoration of Tsunayoshi, was above and beyond the friendly camaraderie of the others. He'd seen the likes of it before, and it made him smile a sadistic smile, because he knew how it would end. Like it always did, that kind of devotion always ended up with one or both parties dead, and the other either shattered or surprised to find himself relieved.
So Mukuro knew it would go, and so he started to watch Gokudera Hayato, for the day it all came apart.
=
Of course, things could not always go according to plan. It was several years later that their paths finally crossed in person, on a plane heading for Milan. Gokudera had had a bad morning already - he'd literally rolled out of the wrong side of his bed and into a lamp - and hearing from the Tenth that he'd find out who his partner was on the plane only made things worse. So he was in a black mood, sitting back in his economy seat and sending occasional glares at the screaming baby two rows ahead, when Mukuro walked onto the plane.
At that moment, only an iron will kept Gokudera from either getting off the plane or blowing the whole thing up in a fit of rage. He trusted the Tenth's decisions, of course. This was an information gathering mission, one that would require skill, tact, and stealth, and no one of the guardians was better at insinuating himself into social circles without being noticed than Rokudo Mukuro. Still, Gokudera was sure his own skills were up to this level of mission - it wasn't that difficult, and if all else failed roughing someone up was acceptable in this case - and he wished very much that the Tenth had let him go alone. Alas, there the man was, and he sat next to Gokudera with a mocking smile and a feline grace, crossing his legs casually as if he wasn't being given a look that could curdle milk.
“Hello, Gokudera Hayato.” The voice was like a purr, all gentle, low, and smooth, with a hint of predatory sharpness that sent a cold shiver down Gokudera's spine. “I hope you're prepared for this. I'd like to get it done without any detours.”
The condescending tone made Gokudera bristle back from his moment of instinctive discomfort, and he growled his reply with barely-restrained anger. “I'm perfectly prepared, thank you very much.”
Mukuro's response was a simply hum of acknowledgement, and from there the mission continued in a similar mood. Mukuro was always so infuriatingly calm and polite, but always so obviously looking down on him, and Gokudera was always two seconds from an explosion. Still, he couldn't find fault in Mukuro's execution of his part of the mission. It was done flawlessly, with him slipping in and out of the social circle of the man whose information they were looking for with hardly a ripple, and in the end Gokudera had a sheaf of papers that would keep Vongola and their operations safe for another few months at least, on that particular front.
But it made him angry. Surely, surely something in those papers was wrong. Surely Rokudo Mukuro had left a trap there - a pitfall for them all to fall into, because he hated them, didn't he? But after awhile, when things continued to go smoothly, Gokudera had nothing left to accuse Mukuro of in relation to the mission, or the ones after it. Still, he kept a seething resentment smoldering in his gut, and his eyes open for any sign of the inevitable betrayal.
=
It hadn't come yet by the next time the Vongola was called on to host a holiday party for their friends and allies. It was a black-tie affair, and the ballroom was decorated in garlands of evergreen and red ribbon, classy, with live music floating gently from the corner. The floor was covered in a mass of people, mostly mafia, some their more open civilian connections, men and women in black or grey suits, red dresses, moving around from knot to knot of carefully, artfully bland small-talk. It was the kind of party where one wanted to be seen enjoying himself just enough with the right people, and not to be seen speaking to the wrong people at all.
Of course, Mukuro was the wrong kind of person for anyone to be seen with, so he was left alone. And he liked it that way, really. He was only really in attendance because Chrome had caught a cold, and the Vongola needed a full set of guardians present in case of emergency. Mukuro was aware, though, that a good number of the guests most likely thought his appearance was an emergency in itself. Still, there he was, in a proper suit for once, watching from near the wall as the guests made much of themselves and of each other.
It was disgusting.
Even now, years after he'd begun working with the Vongola, the sight of so many mafia, so many arrogant sinners, made him itch for violence. Nothing would please him more than to see the room painted in the blood of these pompous fools, and the more he thought about it, the more his mood blackened, and the more his right eye throbbed. But just as he was ready to either start a slaughter or storm out of the building, he was pulled out of his dark thoughts by a hand on his arm. He turned his gaze, and met the disapproving scowl of Gokudera Hayato. The shorter man was, as always in Mukuro's presence, bristled up like a threatened cat, and Mukuro found it ever so amusing.
“Hello, Hayato.” He smirked, enjoying the flash of rage crossing Gokudera's face at that familiarity. “Is there something you want?”
Gokudera's voice in return was a wary growl. “I want you to not be here. But I need you to mingle more. The Tenth wants you to get to know these people, in case you need to... go on a mission.” The idea of Mukuro being let off on his own seemed to put a bas taste in Gokudera's mouth, and that made it sweet for Mukuro.
He opened his mouth for a witty retort, but just then the music picked up into a dance. A moment's scan of the room saw people splitting into pairs with careful laughter, and Mukuro's smile grew wider as he looked at the man next to him.
“Well, dancing is a good way to meet them one-on-one, isn't it? But I need a partner to start...”
“No.” Gokudera's glare could have killed three lesser men.
“Ah, but I wasn't giving you a choice.” Mukuro tugged the protesting storm guardian onto the dance floor. “Remember, Tsunayoshi would be very disappointed if we fought in public.”
Gokudera's scowl couldn't get any deeper, but the thought of disappointing the Tenth seemed to upset him enough to make him calm down, grudgingly accepting Mukuro's lead in the waltz with a mumbled “I'll kill you later.”
Mukuro laughed, and shortly, for just a few moments, they forgot their dislike of each other in favor of casual arguments over who had stepped on whose foot. Talking to the other guests had been nearly forgotten.
Whirling around the dance floor, it was a focus on steps, and when they parted to change partners, somehow they always found themselves together again, with Gokudera frowning in both irritation and concentration, and Mukuro smiling in the vague amusement that accompanied most of his actions. Really, for all of his anger and rough edges in private, here it was obvious that Gokudera had been raised in high society. His dancing was much better than Mukuro's, though Mukuro's natural grace made it easier on them both. He stumbled less than most of Mukuro's dancing partners - though judging by their faces it was their partner who had them nervous, and not any lack of dancing ability.
Soon, though, the dancing was over, and the two of them made their way back to the empty space near the wall.
“Well?” Gokudera demanded, hands on hips and the usual frown on his face.
“Well what?”
“Did you introduce yourself to people?”
“Of course, Hayato. Though it seems most of them had been warned.”
“Good. They should be. And don't call me that.”
Another small laugh found its way out of Mukuro's throat. Really, he was so stubbornly hateful, it was almost a relief in contrast to Tsunayoshi's endless attempts to convince him to fit in and allow himself to make friends with everyone.
“You know, the uninformed may just think you have something against me.”
“That's because I do. I don't trust you, and don't think you can convince me to.”
“Your beloved Tenth seems to trust me.”
“The Tenth is a forgiving person. But the right-hand man has to be there in case someone betrays his trust. Which won't take too long for you, I'll bet.”
Mukuro only smiled. “I wonder. We'll see what comes when.”
Gokudera just glared, and walked away.
=
The acquaintances made at the party turned out to be useful, a few months later. Mukuro had been assigned as the contact to a couple of them, and when one turned out to be planning a betrayal, he'd played interested just long enough to get the information needed for a raid.
Now, a week before the enemy's planned attack on the Vongola, he and Gokudera were doing a two-man take down of the operation. The idea was to slip in, take out the leaders, and slip back out with as little bloodshed as possible. Gokudera didn't particularly mind this set-up, but he dreaded trying to put Mukuro and “very little bloodshed” into the same mission. It just didn't work - Mukuro's missions were either information gathering or a slaughter. You didn't send him into dangerous work and expect him not to get into trouble.
Hell, if they weren't all so god damned busy, he'd rather have just sent the Varia on this one. It was, technically, an assassination, and they were good at that. Contrary to appearances, they were perfectly capable of taking a single person out in a crowded building without being caught, as well as experts at whole-sale slaughter.
But they weren't there, he was, and Mukuro was, and they'd just have to get it done.
Mukuro seemed dreadfully calm about it, as always. As they made their way down the quiet hallways, avoiding and tricking guards with illusions, Gokudera had to wonder if the tall man's heart pounded the way his did, or if the girl whose body he was inhabiting knew what was going on when she wasn't in control. Really, weren't they nervous? Gokudera didn't lack confidence in his abilities, but there was always the possibility of a mistake, or someone being where you didn't expect them. No matter how many time he'd done this, or something like this, it was always a little scary.
The targets died in their beds, not even knowing what had hit them (or bitten them, in this case. Mukuro's summoning ability had come in handy for once). But the thrill of success made Gokudera a little less careful. Not much, but just enough to step around a corner without listening closely, and the next thing he knew there was a bang and the feeling of something slamming into the junction of collarbone and shoulder with the bite of high velocity. The bone cracked on impact, and in surprise and pain he couldn't help but shout and fall backwards onto his rear.
In moments, the hallway was full of noise - of men running in, of guns firing, and soon the sound of screams, as to Gokudera's eyes the hall turned pitch black, lit only by the light of ghostly lotus flowers. The scenery was almost peaceful, except when a spatter of blood or the limb of a falling body was illuminated by the flowers. It was dreamlike, everything full of dark indigo mist, and Gokudera almost felt as if he could sleep. As if there wasn't some kind of slaughter going on around him.
It seemed like ages before it stopped, and light came back to the world so abruptly that it made his eyes hurt. He blinked, and quickly paled - there were at least six or seven bodies in the hall, and the sounds of more people on the way. Mukuro was covered in blood - and smiling, a little bit of a manic grin, and holding a gloved hand out to him.
“Come. You want minimal bloodshed, right?”
“This is not minimal.”
“It will be even less so when the next wave arrives.”
Gokudera snarled, but took the hand offered to him and stood. Mukuro nodded, and they took off down the hall away from the sounds of shouts and running footsteps.
Later, in the car, it occurred to Gokudera that somehow, with all those flying bullets, nothing else had hit him. And that really, Mukuro could have fought without the illusions. He could have taken them down while leaving Gokudera entirely vulnerable, and if he died he could claim there’d been nothing he could do. The idea of being protected by that bloodthirsty man was infuriating, and knowing how close he’d come to being killed was chilling. But instead of thinking too hard on it, he concentrated on the pain in his shoulder, and the smell of blood.
==
In times of crisis, even the most unlikely of people are drawn together. Death can be like a weight on a rubber sheet, drawing it down and pulling things from the opposite corners to the same point. Like this, not knowing the truth of the matter, the death of Sawada Tsunayoshi drew Mukuro to Gokudera.
It had happened too quickly for either of them to register. One minute, Mukuro was leaning against the wall and watching the other guardians tensely wait for the news of how the meeting had gone. The next, the room was full of panic as someone burst in, shouting about gunshots and wounds and doctors and “What do we do? He’s gone.” He caught Hibari’s eye as the man walked calmly out of the room, and in response to his questioning look, got a nod. Something was up, but it would he hard to tell what that was without beating it out of someone -- someone who wasn’t Hibari Kyouya, because that man would never tell him anything.
After that, there’d been nothing left to do but observe. At the funeral he watched most of the guardians and all of their friends sob, gripped by sorrow he couldn’t quite feel. He didn’t understand it, really. How could anyone be so attached to another human being so to let oneself fall apart this much at their death? How could anyone command so much love and affection s to have this room full of loyal, sad people? He thought again about Tsunayoshi -- that boy, that man had been so full of life, so full of unexpected strength. Why would he let himself go with such little security into such a dangerous meeting? How could he let himself be taken down so easily? It made no sense, and that frustrated Mukuro. Yes, he was frustrated, but he wasn’t sad.
That night, after laying their boss’s coffin out in a secluded place, Mukuro ran into Gokudera in the hallway. the man was clearly brooding, with a dark and foreboding expression on his face. Mukuro stopped, refraining from smiling, and instead sighed.
“You know, frowning like that will give you wrinkles.”
Gokudera was clearly not in the mood for jests, as he glowered and answered in a low tone. “Shut up. You probably had something to do with this.”
“Really? It’s been this long and you still suspect me to pop up and get you at every turn. How silly.”
“Yeah? Well why haven’t you? You always said he was just your target, yet here you are, years later, and now it’s too late. What were you waiting for all this time, huh?”
Mukuro paused. He had plans, of course. And the opportunity just hadn’t come yet. But still, sometimes he himself wondered why he’d cooperated for so long. And yet, his motives had never really changed.
“It was interesting, watching him.” He answered. It was true, if not the whole truth, and it would do.
Gokudera just stared at him, green eyes full of anger, frustration, and heart-break. Then, he simply walked away.
After that, it seemed like it become more and more commonplace for the two of them to meet, even if only to argue, or for Mukuro to listen in amused silence while Gokudera spelled out the virtues of Sawada Tsunayoshi. It was as if, by having someone who wasn’t emotionally invested, someone he could work on convincing, Gokudera was better able to work out his own feelings. And Mukuro didn’t mind, particularly. No, there was something about Gokudera’s endless rambling that was almost like a soothing white noise, and he listened without complaint.
==
Eventually, Mukuro had gotten an idea of what was going on. And of course, he acted on it immediately, setting some plans into motions that ended in his involvement in the defeat of Byakuran. It was pleasant, to see that too-cheerful, false smile disappear. Gratifying as well, after having experienced defeat at his hands. But more, to have been correct, that Sawada Tsunayoshi had been alive all along, was satisfying to every sense. He’d seen through the ruse, and now he was around in person to further his plans.
He was in a good mood when he ran into Gokudera in the base’s kitchen. Despite being fatigued from his body’s deterioration while in the Vindice prison, Mukuro was feeling very chipper indeed, and even seeing Gokudera’s clear happiness couldn’t dampen his own. It was funny, though -- the man was humming, while making tea for two - presumably for himself and the Tenth. He seemed oblivious to everything around him, and thus Mukuro found it painfully easy to sneak up behind him. He smirked, leaning in inches away from Gokudera’s ear, and just as he began to pour the sugar, spoke.
“Hello again.”
It was entirely worth it to see Gokudera jump, yelp, and drop the sugar bowl to the floor with a crash.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Don’t do that!” Gokudera shouted, whirling around to give Mukuro a withering look.
What he got in return was a chuckle, as Mukuro stepped back and brushed hair away from his face in one flamboyant gesture.
“You know, that’s what I like about you, Hayato. You’re always so full of energy.”
“Yeah? So are lawnhead and the baseball idiot.”
“And yet it’s you that I’m interested in.”
“What do you mean ‘interested’?”
“Exactly that. I’m simply interested.” It was another truth, that. Throughout the years, Mukuro had found himself more and more interested in Gokudera Hayato. From a white noise, he’d become a study in the war between violent urges and the moral compass imparted by Sawada Tsunayoshi, and thus wholly fascinating. It was amazing how someone so inclined to hurt people as a solution could be so pacifistic despite himself.
And so, here he was, discovering that it was almost pleasant to be in the admittedly hostile company of Gokudera.
“...Fine. Whatever. Be interested. I don’t really care, you just stay out of my way.”
Mukuro laughed again, partly at Gokudera’s confused face and partly at the idea of staying out of anyone’s way if he wanted to be in their way, and shrugged.
“Whatever you say, Hayato.”
“Don’t call me that.”
==
It wasn’t even a year later that Sawada Tsunayoshi married Sasagawa Kyouko. Everyone had seen it coming from months away, but that didn’t make the occasion any less joyous. After all, it had been the Tenth’s dream for over ten years, and achieving it made him happy in a way that nothing else in the world could. His life was finally reaching the place he wanted it to be in, and the new spring in his step was worth every penny and every minute of planning and throwing the best wedding ceremony the Vongola could buy.
Gokudera knew all of this. He knew how important it was, and how happy everyone else was, and how honored he should feel to be the best man. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to be entirely content with the situation. After all, for nearly as long as the Tenth had been chasing Kyouko in his heart, Gokudera had been following him with his own. He wanted to say it wasn’t fair -- that he’d worked so hard for Tsuna, that Kyouko hadn’t done near as much to deserve the boss’s affection as Gokudera had. But the rest of him knew that was a pointless complaint. He couldn’t interfere with love -- not that kind of pure, innocent mutual emotion. He had no place there, and he’d have to resign himself to being only the right-hand man.
Of course, that didn’t stop the fantasies he’d been indulging in since he was old enough to know what to do with his hand and a box of tissues. He kept those to himself, but in the privacy of his room he was free to indulge himself in the idea of the Tenth, the Tenth’s voice, the Tenth’s hands, the Tenth’s body. He could imagine their lips brushing together, nervous and awkward and all full of affection. He could picture the scarred, deceptively thin body leaning over him, a warm smile on that gentle face, and roughened hands sliding down his chest, between his legs, touching him with all of the careful attention to detail that came from years of clumsiness and loving determination. And that was enough, really. He didn’t need the real thing, if loving that woman was what would make the Tenth happy.
Unfortunately, it was during one of those times that Mukuro happened to slip into his room, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.
“So, Hayato. I was thinking that you looked downright miserable over this wedding business, so I brought a little something to help-- oh.” He paused, as Gokudera let out a strangled noise and hastily pulled the covers over himself. For a moment, it looked as if Mukuro was going to leave the room. But instead he smirked, set the glasses down on the nearest bookshelf, and walked -- no, stalked -- over to the side of the bed.
“Are you that lonely? Really, how silly of you. I’m sure there’s someone you could have convinced to sleep with you by now.”
“Get out.” Gokudera knew his face was flushed, but he still did his best to give Mukuro a killing glare.
“Hm? No, I don’t think I will. You’re probably dying for some real attention.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” Mukuro tapped Gokudera on the lips, then trailed his finger down his jawline, his throat, to slide feather-light on his collarbone. The touch wasn’t the slightly clumsy charming touch of his imagined Tenth, but it still made his body react, telling him in no uncertain terms that it really was dying for attention.
He shoved the offending hand away anyway, but with Mukuro watching, he stopped to think. Would it be entirely bad to allow what the other man was clearly offering? He was an awful, treacherous bastard, of course. But he was also one of the guardians, someone that could, at least to an extent and on his own terms, be trusted. And he was really, really aching to get laid. Maybe just this once... he growled, then sighed, and reached up to take hold of Mukuro’s shirt.
“Just once. And you’d better not tell anyone.”
“As you wish, Hayato.” Mukuro looked smug -- too smug, so Gokudera pulled him down by his collar for a rough kiss, all physical need and no affection involved. And that was fine too, because it would be a strange day when Rokudo Mukuro began to actually care for someone.
From there, it was a quick matter of clothing before they tumbled into the sheets, heated touches and rough movements pulling them together closer than any of their previous meetings could have hinted at. They were a pair of frustrated men, with no love lost, and their sex reflected that -- all elbows and knees and no mercy or requests for it. By the time they were done, they were both exhausted, sated, and a little more and less inclined to kill one another at the same time.
When Gokudera woke up in the morning, he was alone. But their paths had intersected many times, and he was sure they would again. Perhaps it would be as if nothing happened, and perhaps it would be awkward.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be “just once” after all.
Title: Crossroads
Pairing/Characters: 6959
Rating: PG-13/R for vague sex
Summary: There are an infinite number of crossroads in one’s life. But no matter how you chose to go, your path may intersect with someone else’s in ways you’d never imagine…
Note: Originally for khrminibang but since it's been awhile I've gotten the go-ahead to post here. ALSO ALSO... I had kind of lost contact with my artist so if you are out there and want to share with me / have me post your art with this if you drew any, let me know! Also, MIGHT BE MISSING SOME FORMATTING... ):
The first time they met was on his birthday. A strange way to turn 15, that was sure, and not one he remembered fondly. And who would? There was no party, no cake, no Happy Birthday wishes from the Tenth (not that he'd ever want something like his birthday to overshadow the presence of the Tenth), no mention at all. Instead, they were fighting for their lives against that bastard and his subordinates. That infuriating smile, that intolerable laugh, and the way his gaze sent shudders of tense apprehension down Gokudera's spine. That was the worst part. The way that older boy could make them all feel like they were an instant away from a painful descent to oblivion had thoroughly ruined any birthday wishes. Not that many had remained after the previous bouts of getting beaten to a pulp.
And there was the fact that he had failed the Tenth. He'd been, in the end, unable to keep his boss out of danger, and for that huge transgression he'd never forgive himself. Or that creepy-eyed asshole. He'd gone so low as to turn Gokudera's body against his beloved Tenth, and that was something that he'd be glad to spend a lifetime getting revenge for. No, he wasn't going to let it go until every bit of pain and guilt and humiliation that Gokudera had felt on that day had been thoroughly beaten into the arrogant son-of-a-bitch's too-pretty face.
Still, looking back on it, that had been an important day. It was the first day that the Tenth had truly realized what they were getting into. He'd never doubt the strength of the boss's imagination, let alone his comprehension skills, but there was just something about actually being involved in a deliberate, dirty fight to the death, with your comrades bleeding around you, to make someone realize that things were 100% real and serious. To be honest, Gokudera himself was still not entirely used to that -- after all, he'd never really had comrades to speak of -- but violence was nothing new to him. He thought, on the occasion that he actually did think about it, that even though it upset the Tenth then and there, perhaps those fights were good for him. It had been a manageable opponent, everything had turned out all right in the end, and they'd all gone home to recover.
But it was still unacceptable for someone to want to use the Tenth that way, and Gokudera still wanted vengeance. For that reason, the moment he got home from the hospital he began looking up ways to counter illusions, and information on his enemy. He didn't completely trust the Vendice to keep the smiley bastard under wraps, and if he showed up again Gokudera intended to be fully prepared to deal with it in the most efficient (and violent) way possible. There'd be no way he'd let anyone else come even close to harming the up and coming Vongola boss.
No, when he met Rokudo Mukuro again, there would be blood, and it wouldn't be his.
=
It hadn't taken very long for Mukuro to get a good idea of what kind of person Gokudera Hayato was. Even watching from a distance was enough to see the furious potency of his personality; the way he whipped everything around him into chaos and violently threw out the parts he didn't want. It was amusing, he thought, to see that scowl that just must make the girls swoon in that bad-boy kind of way, and to see how obvious it was that there was only one thing in those pale green eyes, and that was the tenth boss of the Vongola. For that reason, it seemed only fitting to Mukuro that Gokudera's body be used in his fight with Sawada Tsunayoshi. That intense will to protect was best served by crushing it, showing him that it couldn't always prevail.
After all, human beings were too fond of their ideals. Mukuro hated them, those deluded ideas of bravery, loyalty, friendship and love. These pathetic beings clung so tightly to them, pretending they weren't all full of more negative things deep down. Underneath the candy coating, he'd never met someone who wasn't a selfish, lying, cruel person when given the opportunity to be one. So why pretend to have virtue when it was all a facade? No, Mukuro preferred to be openly violent and cruel. Sure, he would act when it suited him, and lie to others... but not to himself. To himself, to those he gave a measure of trust, he was always honest, and that was the only virtue he needed.
And so, after that first meeting, when he saw the perseverance of the Vongola though his occasional hosts, it drew him like a moth to flame. How did these people, no more than children, go through all he'd put on them and come out just as determined to be loyal and stand for ideals as they had been before -- perhaps even moreso? It was Sawada Tsunayoshi, surely... in that boy, there was something different. It had startled Mukuro, and it continued to perplex him, how he'd not yet seen the tell-tale signs of corruption in the boy. He'd have to keep looking of course -- there was no chance it wasn't there, but still it was surprising how deeply buried the darkness was.
It wasn't hard to see why Gokudera Hayato was so close a follower. It wasn't hard to see why all of them were, really. But the fierceness of Gokudera's determination to be right-hand man, his foolish blind adoration of Tsunayoshi, was above and beyond the friendly camaraderie of the others. He'd seen the likes of it before, and it made him smile a sadistic smile, because he knew how it would end. Like it always did, that kind of devotion always ended up with one or both parties dead, and the other either shattered or surprised to find himself relieved.
So Mukuro knew it would go, and so he started to watch Gokudera Hayato, for the day it all came apart.
=
Of course, things could not always go according to plan. It was several years later that their paths finally crossed in person, on a plane heading for Milan. Gokudera had had a bad morning already - he'd literally rolled out of the wrong side of his bed and into a lamp - and hearing from the Tenth that he'd find out who his partner was on the plane only made things worse. So he was in a black mood, sitting back in his economy seat and sending occasional glares at the screaming baby two rows ahead, when Mukuro walked onto the plane.
At that moment, only an iron will kept Gokudera from either getting off the plane or blowing the whole thing up in a fit of rage. He trusted the Tenth's decisions, of course. This was an information gathering mission, one that would require skill, tact, and stealth, and no one of the guardians was better at insinuating himself into social circles without being noticed than Rokudo Mukuro. Still, Gokudera was sure his own skills were up to this level of mission - it wasn't that difficult, and if all else failed roughing someone up was acceptable in this case - and he wished very much that the Tenth had let him go alone. Alas, there the man was, and he sat next to Gokudera with a mocking smile and a feline grace, crossing his legs casually as if he wasn't being given a look that could curdle milk.
“Hello, Gokudera Hayato.” The voice was like a purr, all gentle, low, and smooth, with a hint of predatory sharpness that sent a cold shiver down Gokudera's spine. “I hope you're prepared for this. I'd like to get it done without any detours.”
The condescending tone made Gokudera bristle back from his moment of instinctive discomfort, and he growled his reply with barely-restrained anger. “I'm perfectly prepared, thank you very much.”
Mukuro's response was a simply hum of acknowledgement, and from there the mission continued in a similar mood. Mukuro was always so infuriatingly calm and polite, but always so obviously looking down on him, and Gokudera was always two seconds from an explosion. Still, he couldn't find fault in Mukuro's execution of his part of the mission. It was done flawlessly, with him slipping in and out of the social circle of the man whose information they were looking for with hardly a ripple, and in the end Gokudera had a sheaf of papers that would keep Vongola and their operations safe for another few months at least, on that particular front.
But it made him angry. Surely, surely something in those papers was wrong. Surely Rokudo Mukuro had left a trap there - a pitfall for them all to fall into, because he hated them, didn't he? But after awhile, when things continued to go smoothly, Gokudera had nothing left to accuse Mukuro of in relation to the mission, or the ones after it. Still, he kept a seething resentment smoldering in his gut, and his eyes open for any sign of the inevitable betrayal.
=
It hadn't come yet by the next time the Vongola was called on to host a holiday party for their friends and allies. It was a black-tie affair, and the ballroom was decorated in garlands of evergreen and red ribbon, classy, with live music floating gently from the corner. The floor was covered in a mass of people, mostly mafia, some their more open civilian connections, men and women in black or grey suits, red dresses, moving around from knot to knot of carefully, artfully bland small-talk. It was the kind of party where one wanted to be seen enjoying himself just enough with the right people, and not to be seen speaking to the wrong people at all.
Of course, Mukuro was the wrong kind of person for anyone to be seen with, so he was left alone. And he liked it that way, really. He was only really in attendance because Chrome had caught a cold, and the Vongola needed a full set of guardians present in case of emergency. Mukuro was aware, though, that a good number of the guests most likely thought his appearance was an emergency in itself. Still, there he was, in a proper suit for once, watching from near the wall as the guests made much of themselves and of each other.
It was disgusting.
Even now, years after he'd begun working with the Vongola, the sight of so many mafia, so many arrogant sinners, made him itch for violence. Nothing would please him more than to see the room painted in the blood of these pompous fools, and the more he thought about it, the more his mood blackened, and the more his right eye throbbed. But just as he was ready to either start a slaughter or storm out of the building, he was pulled out of his dark thoughts by a hand on his arm. He turned his gaze, and met the disapproving scowl of Gokudera Hayato. The shorter man was, as always in Mukuro's presence, bristled up like a threatened cat, and Mukuro found it ever so amusing.
“Hello, Hayato.” He smirked, enjoying the flash of rage crossing Gokudera's face at that familiarity. “Is there something you want?”
Gokudera's voice in return was a wary growl. “I want you to not be here. But I need you to mingle more. The Tenth wants you to get to know these people, in case you need to... go on a mission.” The idea of Mukuro being let off on his own seemed to put a bas taste in Gokudera's mouth, and that made it sweet for Mukuro.
He opened his mouth for a witty retort, but just then the music picked up into a dance. A moment's scan of the room saw people splitting into pairs with careful laughter, and Mukuro's smile grew wider as he looked at the man next to him.
“Well, dancing is a good way to meet them one-on-one, isn't it? But I need a partner to start...”
“No.” Gokudera's glare could have killed three lesser men.
“Ah, but I wasn't giving you a choice.” Mukuro tugged the protesting storm guardian onto the dance floor. “Remember, Tsunayoshi would be very disappointed if we fought in public.”
Gokudera's scowl couldn't get any deeper, but the thought of disappointing the Tenth seemed to upset him enough to make him calm down, grudgingly accepting Mukuro's lead in the waltz with a mumbled “I'll kill you later.”
Mukuro laughed, and shortly, for just a few moments, they forgot their dislike of each other in favor of casual arguments over who had stepped on whose foot. Talking to the other guests had been nearly forgotten.
Whirling around the dance floor, it was a focus on steps, and when they parted to change partners, somehow they always found themselves together again, with Gokudera frowning in both irritation and concentration, and Mukuro smiling in the vague amusement that accompanied most of his actions. Really, for all of his anger and rough edges in private, here it was obvious that Gokudera had been raised in high society. His dancing was much better than Mukuro's, though Mukuro's natural grace made it easier on them both. He stumbled less than most of Mukuro's dancing partners - though judging by their faces it was their partner who had them nervous, and not any lack of dancing ability.
Soon, though, the dancing was over, and the two of them made their way back to the empty space near the wall.
“Well?” Gokudera demanded, hands on hips and the usual frown on his face.
“Well what?”
“Did you introduce yourself to people?”
“Of course, Hayato. Though it seems most of them had been warned.”
“Good. They should be. And don't call me that.”
Another small laugh found its way out of Mukuro's throat. Really, he was so stubbornly hateful, it was almost a relief in contrast to Tsunayoshi's endless attempts to convince him to fit in and allow himself to make friends with everyone.
“You know, the uninformed may just think you have something against me.”
“That's because I do. I don't trust you, and don't think you can convince me to.”
“Your beloved Tenth seems to trust me.”
“The Tenth is a forgiving person. But the right-hand man has to be there in case someone betrays his trust. Which won't take too long for you, I'll bet.”
Mukuro only smiled. “I wonder. We'll see what comes when.”
Gokudera just glared, and walked away.
=
The acquaintances made at the party turned out to be useful, a few months later. Mukuro had been assigned as the contact to a couple of them, and when one turned out to be planning a betrayal, he'd played interested just long enough to get the information needed for a raid.
Now, a week before the enemy's planned attack on the Vongola, he and Gokudera were doing a two-man take down of the operation. The idea was to slip in, take out the leaders, and slip back out with as little bloodshed as possible. Gokudera didn't particularly mind this set-up, but he dreaded trying to put Mukuro and “very little bloodshed” into the same mission. It just didn't work - Mukuro's missions were either information gathering or a slaughter. You didn't send him into dangerous work and expect him not to get into trouble.
Hell, if they weren't all so god damned busy, he'd rather have just sent the Varia on this one. It was, technically, an assassination, and they were good at that. Contrary to appearances, they were perfectly capable of taking a single person out in a crowded building without being caught, as well as experts at whole-sale slaughter.
But they weren't there, he was, and Mukuro was, and they'd just have to get it done.
Mukuro seemed dreadfully calm about it, as always. As they made their way down the quiet hallways, avoiding and tricking guards with illusions, Gokudera had to wonder if the tall man's heart pounded the way his did, or if the girl whose body he was inhabiting knew what was going on when she wasn't in control. Really, weren't they nervous? Gokudera didn't lack confidence in his abilities, but there was always the possibility of a mistake, or someone being where you didn't expect them. No matter how many time he'd done this, or something like this, it was always a little scary.
The targets died in their beds, not even knowing what had hit them (or bitten them, in this case. Mukuro's summoning ability had come in handy for once). But the thrill of success made Gokudera a little less careful. Not much, but just enough to step around a corner without listening closely, and the next thing he knew there was a bang and the feeling of something slamming into the junction of collarbone and shoulder with the bite of high velocity. The bone cracked on impact, and in surprise and pain he couldn't help but shout and fall backwards onto his rear.
In moments, the hallway was full of noise - of men running in, of guns firing, and soon the sound of screams, as to Gokudera's eyes the hall turned pitch black, lit only by the light of ghostly lotus flowers. The scenery was almost peaceful, except when a spatter of blood or the limb of a falling body was illuminated by the flowers. It was dreamlike, everything full of dark indigo mist, and Gokudera almost felt as if he could sleep. As if there wasn't some kind of slaughter going on around him.
It seemed like ages before it stopped, and light came back to the world so abruptly that it made his eyes hurt. He blinked, and quickly paled - there were at least six or seven bodies in the hall, and the sounds of more people on the way. Mukuro was covered in blood - and smiling, a little bit of a manic grin, and holding a gloved hand out to him.
“Come. You want minimal bloodshed, right?”
“This is not minimal.”
“It will be even less so when the next wave arrives.”
Gokudera snarled, but took the hand offered to him and stood. Mukuro nodded, and they took off down the hall away from the sounds of shouts and running footsteps.
Later, in the car, it occurred to Gokudera that somehow, with all those flying bullets, nothing else had hit him. And that really, Mukuro could have fought without the illusions. He could have taken them down while leaving Gokudera entirely vulnerable, and if he died he could claim there’d been nothing he could do. The idea of being protected by that bloodthirsty man was infuriating, and knowing how close he’d come to being killed was chilling. But instead of thinking too hard on it, he concentrated on the pain in his shoulder, and the smell of blood.
==
In times of crisis, even the most unlikely of people are drawn together. Death can be like a weight on a rubber sheet, drawing it down and pulling things from the opposite corners to the same point. Like this, not knowing the truth of the matter, the death of Sawada Tsunayoshi drew Mukuro to Gokudera.
It had happened too quickly for either of them to register. One minute, Mukuro was leaning against the wall and watching the other guardians tensely wait for the news of how the meeting had gone. The next, the room was full of panic as someone burst in, shouting about gunshots and wounds and doctors and “What do we do? He’s gone.” He caught Hibari’s eye as the man walked calmly out of the room, and in response to his questioning look, got a nod. Something was up, but it would he hard to tell what that was without beating it out of someone -- someone who wasn’t Hibari Kyouya, because that man would never tell him anything.
After that, there’d been nothing left to do but observe. At the funeral he watched most of the guardians and all of their friends sob, gripped by sorrow he couldn’t quite feel. He didn’t understand it, really. How could anyone be so attached to another human being so to let oneself fall apart this much at their death? How could anyone command so much love and affection s to have this room full of loyal, sad people? He thought again about Tsunayoshi -- that boy, that man had been so full of life, so full of unexpected strength. Why would he let himself go with such little security into such a dangerous meeting? How could he let himself be taken down so easily? It made no sense, and that frustrated Mukuro. Yes, he was frustrated, but he wasn’t sad.
That night, after laying their boss’s coffin out in a secluded place, Mukuro ran into Gokudera in the hallway. the man was clearly brooding, with a dark and foreboding expression on his face. Mukuro stopped, refraining from smiling, and instead sighed.
“You know, frowning like that will give you wrinkles.”
Gokudera was clearly not in the mood for jests, as he glowered and answered in a low tone. “Shut up. You probably had something to do with this.”
“Really? It’s been this long and you still suspect me to pop up and get you at every turn. How silly.”
“Yeah? Well why haven’t you? You always said he was just your target, yet here you are, years later, and now it’s too late. What were you waiting for all this time, huh?”
Mukuro paused. He had plans, of course. And the opportunity just hadn’t come yet. But still, sometimes he himself wondered why he’d cooperated for so long. And yet, his motives had never really changed.
“It was interesting, watching him.” He answered. It was true, if not the whole truth, and it would do.
Gokudera just stared at him, green eyes full of anger, frustration, and heart-break. Then, he simply walked away.
After that, it seemed like it become more and more commonplace for the two of them to meet, even if only to argue, or for Mukuro to listen in amused silence while Gokudera spelled out the virtues of Sawada Tsunayoshi. It was as if, by having someone who wasn’t emotionally invested, someone he could work on convincing, Gokudera was better able to work out his own feelings. And Mukuro didn’t mind, particularly. No, there was something about Gokudera’s endless rambling that was almost like a soothing white noise, and he listened without complaint.
==
Eventually, Mukuro had gotten an idea of what was going on. And of course, he acted on it immediately, setting some plans into motions that ended in his involvement in the defeat of Byakuran. It was pleasant, to see that too-cheerful, false smile disappear. Gratifying as well, after having experienced defeat at his hands. But more, to have been correct, that Sawada Tsunayoshi had been alive all along, was satisfying to every sense. He’d seen through the ruse, and now he was around in person to further his plans.
He was in a good mood when he ran into Gokudera in the base’s kitchen. Despite being fatigued from his body’s deterioration while in the Vindice prison, Mukuro was feeling very chipper indeed, and even seeing Gokudera’s clear happiness couldn’t dampen his own. It was funny, though -- the man was humming, while making tea for two - presumably for himself and the Tenth. He seemed oblivious to everything around him, and thus Mukuro found it painfully easy to sneak up behind him. He smirked, leaning in inches away from Gokudera’s ear, and just as he began to pour the sugar, spoke.
“Hello again.”
It was entirely worth it to see Gokudera jump, yelp, and drop the sugar bowl to the floor with a crash.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Don’t do that!” Gokudera shouted, whirling around to give Mukuro a withering look.
What he got in return was a chuckle, as Mukuro stepped back and brushed hair away from his face in one flamboyant gesture.
“You know, that’s what I like about you, Hayato. You’re always so full of energy.”
“Yeah? So are lawnhead and the baseball idiot.”
“And yet it’s you that I’m interested in.”
“What do you mean ‘interested’?”
“Exactly that. I’m simply interested.” It was another truth, that. Throughout the years, Mukuro had found himself more and more interested in Gokudera Hayato. From a white noise, he’d become a study in the war between violent urges and the moral compass imparted by Sawada Tsunayoshi, and thus wholly fascinating. It was amazing how someone so inclined to hurt people as a solution could be so pacifistic despite himself.
And so, here he was, discovering that it was almost pleasant to be in the admittedly hostile company of Gokudera.
“...Fine. Whatever. Be interested. I don’t really care, you just stay out of my way.”
Mukuro laughed again, partly at Gokudera’s confused face and partly at the idea of staying out of anyone’s way if he wanted to be in their way, and shrugged.
“Whatever you say, Hayato.”
“Don’t call me that.”
==
It wasn’t even a year later that Sawada Tsunayoshi married Sasagawa Kyouko. Everyone had seen it coming from months away, but that didn’t make the occasion any less joyous. After all, it had been the Tenth’s dream for over ten years, and achieving it made him happy in a way that nothing else in the world could. His life was finally reaching the place he wanted it to be in, and the new spring in his step was worth every penny and every minute of planning and throwing the best wedding ceremony the Vongola could buy.
Gokudera knew all of this. He knew how important it was, and how happy everyone else was, and how honored he should feel to be the best man. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to be entirely content with the situation. After all, for nearly as long as the Tenth had been chasing Kyouko in his heart, Gokudera had been following him with his own. He wanted to say it wasn’t fair -- that he’d worked so hard for Tsuna, that Kyouko hadn’t done near as much to deserve the boss’s affection as Gokudera had. But the rest of him knew that was a pointless complaint. He couldn’t interfere with love -- not that kind of pure, innocent mutual emotion. He had no place there, and he’d have to resign himself to being only the right-hand man.
Of course, that didn’t stop the fantasies he’d been indulging in since he was old enough to know what to do with his hand and a box of tissues. He kept those to himself, but in the privacy of his room he was free to indulge himself in the idea of the Tenth, the Tenth’s voice, the Tenth’s hands, the Tenth’s body. He could imagine their lips brushing together, nervous and awkward and all full of affection. He could picture the scarred, deceptively thin body leaning over him, a warm smile on that gentle face, and roughened hands sliding down his chest, between his legs, touching him with all of the careful attention to detail that came from years of clumsiness and loving determination. And that was enough, really. He didn’t need the real thing, if loving that woman was what would make the Tenth happy.
Unfortunately, it was during one of those times that Mukuro happened to slip into his room, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.
“So, Hayato. I was thinking that you looked downright miserable over this wedding business, so I brought a little something to help-- oh.” He paused, as Gokudera let out a strangled noise and hastily pulled the covers over himself. For a moment, it looked as if Mukuro was going to leave the room. But instead he smirked, set the glasses down on the nearest bookshelf, and walked -- no, stalked -- over to the side of the bed.
“Are you that lonely? Really, how silly of you. I’m sure there’s someone you could have convinced to sleep with you by now.”
“Get out.” Gokudera knew his face was flushed, but he still did his best to give Mukuro a killing glare.
“Hm? No, I don’t think I will. You’re probably dying for some real attention.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” Mukuro tapped Gokudera on the lips, then trailed his finger down his jawline, his throat, to slide feather-light on his collarbone. The touch wasn’t the slightly clumsy charming touch of his imagined Tenth, but it still made his body react, telling him in no uncertain terms that it really was dying for attention.
He shoved the offending hand away anyway, but with Mukuro watching, he stopped to think. Would it be entirely bad to allow what the other man was clearly offering? He was an awful, treacherous bastard, of course. But he was also one of the guardians, someone that could, at least to an extent and on his own terms, be trusted. And he was really, really aching to get laid. Maybe just this once... he growled, then sighed, and reached up to take hold of Mukuro’s shirt.
“Just once. And you’d better not tell anyone.”
“As you wish, Hayato.” Mukuro looked smug -- too smug, so Gokudera pulled him down by his collar for a rough kiss, all physical need and no affection involved. And that was fine too, because it would be a strange day when Rokudo Mukuro began to actually care for someone.
From there, it was a quick matter of clothing before they tumbled into the sheets, heated touches and rough movements pulling them together closer than any of their previous meetings could have hinted at. They were a pair of frustrated men, with no love lost, and their sex reflected that -- all elbows and knees and no mercy or requests for it. By the time they were done, they were both exhausted, sated, and a little more and less inclined to kill one another at the same time.
When Gokudera woke up in the morning, he was alone. But their paths had intersected many times, and he was sure they would again. Perhaps it would be as if nothing happened, and perhaps it would be awkward.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be “just once” after all.