and live in harmony harmony /headbutts stars

[disillude]

[ 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

Comments

[tridented]

[ Take another step or two, and maybe there's a creak from the steps, the wood far too old and worn to safely step upon protesting under weight. Funny, isn't it? How things seem to come to a full circle and then, before anyone realises, it's back to the beginning, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

The surrounding area is nostalgic, and reminds Mukuro of ten years past, back when he was so much younger, though no more innocent than he is now, and with something like an amused sort of revelation, he wonders just how ironic it could be if it was indeed Kokuyo- but it's dark, dark enough that anything recognisable becomes too difficult to discern.

But here's something out of place-- a shock of white (or what was it? silver grey, excuse him) hair visible only by degrees, and damn it all if it isn't Hatake Kakashi.

Now, is this a stroke of luck, or something worse?

Mukuro takes a step down, stands a few scant feet away from Kakashi and doesn't move. ]

Did you take a wrong turn?

[tridented]

[ So Kakashi must be either masochistic or delusional- to think that he could change anything like this, to even try. Whatever it is (Mukuro suspects the former), it amuses him to no end, seeing Kakashi drives himself mad running in circles, in this endless game of cat and mouse. It's ridiculous, inane, almost redundant, but- it's happening, isn't it? Has been, for the past while, over the course of god knows how long- Mukuro forgets, sometimes, and time moves fluidly

[disillude]

[ He's a bit of both.

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

[tridented]

[ The wall meets his back solidly and the sting from the bite jolts him like a pleasant shock, and there's that thing about giving as good as you get- they're hard kisses, if they can even be called that, bruising and unforgiving, too much teeth and not enough tongue.

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

[disillude]

[ That grants him a small noise, something caught in the back of his throat; it's not surprise, because it's hard to be surprised when he's walling Mukuro and forcing his mouth open by pushing his thumb against his jaw. You have to expect surprises when you're doing that shit, when you're pulling that kind of ridiculous bullshit, and Kakashi turns his head away almost immediately, tips his chin up so he can breathe

[tridented]

[ What now? There's a standstill moment, the air grows heavy all around and almost seems to weigh more than its worth- Mukuro takes a sharp, short inhale, and is his chest rising and falling in the dim light? There's a faint quirk to his lips even before Kakashi distorts it briefly.

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

[disillude]

[ In the end, it's not like he really has a lot of options. Kakashi's kind of fucked up a lot of things, without really meaning to, without really intentionally going out of his way to, and there's no take-backs when it comes to this sort of thing, when you're stuck in a stalemate that was never a stalemate to begin with.

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

[tridented]

[ For such a wiry man, Kakashi's surprisingly heavy (but muscle weighs more than fat, after all), and Mukuro thinks, when he's pinned, he could stop this if he wanted to, because they both know that he's more than enough match against him- maybe that's exactly why Mukuro gets such a kick out of riling Kakashi. When someone's so damn desperate like that, sometimes it's difficult to resist.

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

[disillude]

[ Kakashi can't remember if he's seen this before. Part of him is pretty sure he hasn't, because it's never really gotten to this point, and he watches ( half fascinated, half horrified, so he really is just like -- ) as the filter of black in his eyes changes, shifts. He doesn't miss those other sounds, either, they're distinctive and clear, snakes, how fucking fitting, and Kakashi's fingers loosen in Mukuro's hair, before they're slipping away completely. ]

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

[tridented]

[ Good. That's a good reaction- stop touching now, draw back, like how you should when encountered with something too hot to possibly hold safely. Except Kakashi's not doing that, is he? And neither is Mukuro, so one of them (or both) is bound to end up burned, scalded. Not that it matters.

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

[disillude]

[ Kakashi only talks ( empty words ) because if he doesn't, he's sure that the silence will kill him.

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

[tridented]

[ Now that’s a treat, watching Kakashi’s composure degrade further, like fine cracks forming along the surface of that unflappable mask until it all comes crumbling down in pieces, and what’s left is this- the raw urgency that’s so clearly visible in his eyes Mukuro doesn’t even need to try to read it, the kind that screams danger, danger, and evokes all sort of fight or flight instincts. It only serves to make him laugh, and he does, in between breaths and teeth and tongue.

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

[disillude]

[ His head feels heavy, like it's being weighed down with copper and lead, and Kakashi isn't sure if it's from the lack of air, or if it's because of how fast his heart is beating, skipping a turn every other second. Mukuro presses against him, pushes into him, and Kakashi is leaning away from the wall, has barely enough sense to squeeze his elbow down against the side of the trident and push it aside, away from his chest

[tridented]

[ Nothing, he thinks, is probably going right, not the way Kakashi would have wanted it, not how Mukuro would have imagined it at from very start of this whole debacle, (or maybe he did, but that would be telling) that this is how it rolls out, in a painfully sharp clarity. And right now, he’s almost (is) enjoying himself, because it’s funny, how Kakashi keeps on touching even though he can feel the revulsion, the- the whatever, radiating off him and

[disillude]

[ Everything can be qualified as very easy when you're Mukuro, when you're capable of the things that he's capable of, and Kakashi thinks that, his brain stops for a second at those words like he's actually considering it, but it's still hard to really think, why isn't he thinking, he just really wants to --

( Do a lot of things. It always comes back to this, circles right back around, and Kakashi is selfish, or maybe he's not selfish enough, maybe he needs to be a little more selfish because that'll keep him alive. He wants to what, finish what you fucking start, Kakashi, come on

[tridented]

[ Maybe he wants this, maybe he wants that, but whatever, right? The wall meets him, and right now, with his neck exposed and pants halfway off and this whole motherfucking mess around them, you'd think Mukuro's at his most vulnerable, but he's not acting it at all. There's a lazy sort of assuredness in his posture, one that proclaims that everything up until now has been a careful orchestra of time and patience.

(If there's anything Mukuro's always been especially good at, it's being selfish. Take, take, take and no givebacks no returns, because he wants it all for himself and no one else.)

There must not be enough oxygen in the room anymore or maybe Mukuro's just not breathing like he should, but the flames die, asphyxiated by his own will and nothing more, and it really is very easy to do anything, anything at all, like reading the tense, strained silhouette (the room dim once more) Kakashi makes, and interpret it for what it is. The little hidden signs that his words are digging in and seeping through the cracks and below into