Title: Falling Into Ecstasy
Rated: NC-17
Pairing: MukuroTsuna (6927)
Summary: For Theme Set III at centi-porn. Um… ignore the crappy title >_>;;;
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Part I
Crave
Sawada Tsunayoshi has never been very good at asking for what he wants. But Mukuro could read between Tsuna’s stuttered greetings, the involuntary pull of puzzled eyes, the flustered heat in his face.
Fortunately, Mukuro is good at taking what he wants.
Tsuna is resplendent in his uncertainty: in the jerk of his hips, the awkward jumble of adolescent limbs, his surprised gasps like every touch is a discovery, a delight wrapped in slippery fingers and smoky whispers; peeled away like Mukuro’s numerous layers, body upon body of discarded possessions. Tsuna shudders around him and Mukuro, unveiled, falls apart.
Balance
They maintain a tenuous balance. Mukuro slips through his identities like a second wardrobe. Tsuna doesn’t object so long as Mukuro goes to him in his own skin. But the stipulation is unnecessary because Mukuro allows no one else to touch him, not even his other selves.
For all intents and purposes, Tsuna is his boss and Mukuro is obedient when it suits him. When asked to, he takes reconnaissance with the sun guardian, smiles in bemusement at the rain guardian, kneels between the Vongola Tenth’s knees and takes him into his mouth until it is Tsuna who’s asking, begging, moaning.
Rhythm
Now, Mukuro thinks. Do it now.
Tsuna’s thighs clench around his waist and Mukuro presses him harder into the mattress. Curled fingers grapple at the sheets and Tsuna’s mouth falls open in quick, staccato gasps that signal he’s about come. Then Tsuna arches, cries hoarsely, and Mukuro thinks ‘now’ but instead wraps his arms around Tsuna’s narrow chest—filling out but still slender, still surprisingly fragile—and presses his nose against the skin beneath Tsuna’s chin where his pulse beats strong and frantic.
Mukuro’s thoughts break against their unsteady rhythm and he tells himself, again, ‘Next time.’
Aware
Before the other guardians, Tsuna is the Vongola Tenth—accommodating and laughably bashful. He still blushes when he greets Kyoko, still offers a wary hand to Hibari who will never acknowledge him outside the sting of split skin and shattered bone.
Mukuro watches the way Tsuna’s fingers curl back into his palm like a disappointed rebound, and he smiles at the knowledge of those fingers, those wrists, the crease of skin at the fold of his elbow. Smiles as he walks away, as Tsuna’s gaze is drawn to his retreat in acknowledgment, as Gokudera Hayato stiffens in indignant rage at the subtle exchange.
Fleeting
Warmth is fleeting. Years spent suspended in a mockery of repose, counting the passage of time by the atrophy of his limbs, has taught Mukuro that there is nothing that cannot be endured because nothing is everlasting.
Not even this… thing… with the Vongola Tenth. This unacceptable quickening of his breath, this wander lust swelling in his hands like a broken sieve, this urgency in his gut that insists on taking precedence over objectives that have taken a lifetime to plan.
Sawada Tsunayoshi is a means to an end. Mukuro recalls the cold silence of his cell and holds this truth in his heart.