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kat8chaMukuro's got blood on his hands, and splashed across the underside of his chin. When he steps towards her the squishy remnants of a nameless man's brains squelch under his boots. "Oya, oya…" Mukuro stepped on the dead man's hands, and the bones crackle sharply, like ice cubes being broken. "It looks like we made a mess."
Chikusa's crouched on the floor, the Kokuyo uniform skirt un-uniformly long and bunched around her knees. The fringe is an ugly brown shade; green cloth and blood do not mix. "We don't have an example to show the Vongola then." Chikusa cleaned the ice pick off on the back of the man's clothes. "Troublesome…" One of the man's eyeballs, brown, rolls off to the side.
"Now, Chikusa." Mukuro took the ice pick away from her, then touched her pointy chin and tipped it upwards. "You didn't break a sweat did you?"
"No, Mukuro-san." Chikusa stood, kicking a hand tightening in rigamortis to the side. "He wasn't worth that."
"Gokudera will be." Mukuro swung the ice pick from side to side, childishly. "If we can prove that a lobotomy will help." Then Mukuro smiled at her, not the fake smile he smiled at everyone, but the dark, murderous smile that people rarely saw unless they were about to die. Chrome saw that smile, inside her mind, and Hibari Kyouya, and Ken, and she. The smile sent thrills through Chikusa's body, made parts of it tighten. Chikusa was sure Chrome felt the same, and that was why Mukuro smiled that dark, dangerous smile at them.
"We'll have a successful test case next time, Mukuro-san." Chikusa licked her lips, almost giving into temptation and leaning forward to lick the blood from under Mukuro's chin. Bits of grey matter clung to the front of Mukuro's shirt, and brushed off when Mukuro pressed himself up against Chikusa.
"I hope so." Mukuro smiled sweetly now, his blue eye harmless, his red eye tempestuous and petty. "I know you hate ruining your clothes."
This is the sign Chikusa has been waiting for, because Mukuro does not indicate care unless he wishes for something in return, and in this case it's something Chikusa is willing to give. Chrome has never minded that Mukuro uses her body for this, or if she does mind, she's never said. "I should wash them." Chikusa turns away from Mukuro and starts walking to the employee showers, another part of Kokuyo Land that the fugitives have made their own. "Do you want to take a shower, Mukuro-san?" Chikusa leaves bloody foot prints that fade slightly with each step she takes. Mukuro leaves bloody foot prints too, but in the shape of Chrome's shoes.
They're both naked by the time they enter the showers, Chikusa's clothes dropped into a pile by the door, while Mukuro's clothes have disappeared. Mukuro doesn't wait for the door to close to press Chikusa up against the wall, her long legs spread open so he can push between them. She's already wet, she's been wet, she was dripping wet halfway through the botched lobotomy, when Mukuro stuck his fingers into the man's skull and wiggled them around. She's not loose, it's a tight fit, and Chikusa bites her lip when Mukuro pushes inside. She heals fast, so even if Mukuro was sleeping with her regularly it would be tight and start off painful.
Mukuro does not sleep with her regularly.
He's whispering endearments in her ear now, truths since there is no need for lies between them, between any of them, and Chikusa gasps breathlessly when he starts to move. It's rough, and the tiles of the walls scrape against her back, drawing ragged bloody lines in her skin while her nails draw similar lines on Mukuro's illusionary back. Her mouth hasn't been idle, each breathless gasp is accompanied by a smooth swipe of her tongue over Mukuro's chin, cleaning the blood from his neck.
Mukuro pulls her hips flush against his, impaling her fully.
"Mukuro-san." Chikusa's eyelids flutter closed, once, twice, and Mukuro plants a biting kiss on her barcode.
Mukuro draws her up to the brink again and again, but always pulls her back, changing position or speed, teasing her until Chikusa has been sweating almost as long as they've been having sex, her legs are quivering by the end, and her arms are shaking against the cool, slippery floor.
"Does it hurt?" Mukuro asks after he's pulled out, damp, sticky fluid sliding down the sides of Chikusa's thighs. Chikusa lets out a shaky breath, enjoying the sensation while it lasts.
"Yes, Mukuro-san."
When Chikusa turns to look over her shoulder the dampness is gone, leaving only her own sticky juices, and Chrome blushes, flustered, before hurrying quickly out of the shower room. Chikusa pulls herself up onto her feet, her nails breaking bits of grouting out of the walls, and she turns on the cold water, the pipes banging loudly.
Tomorrow she'd go out and find another man with one finger less than he should have, or with tattoos that don't peek out of his suit, and bring him back to Kokuyo land for Mukuro and she to play with. If Mukuro wasn't up to it, she'd keep him in the basement until Mukuro wished to appear again.
Chikusa's crouched on the floor, the Kokuyo uniform skirt un-uniformly long and bunched around her knees. The fringe is an ugly brown shade; green cloth and blood do not mix. "We don't have an example to show the Vongola then." Chikusa cleaned the ice pick off on the back of the man's clothes. "Troublesome…" One of the man's eyeballs, brown, rolls off to the side.
"Now, Chikusa." Mukuro took the ice pick away from her, then touched her pointy chin and tipped it upwards. "You didn't break a sweat did you?"
"No, Mukuro-san." Chikusa stood, kicking a hand tightening in rigamortis to the side. "He wasn't worth that."
"Gokudera will be." Mukuro swung the ice pick from side to side, childishly. "If we can prove that a lobotomy will help." Then Mukuro smiled at her, not the fake smile he smiled at everyone, but the dark, murderous smile that people rarely saw unless they were about to die. Chrome saw that smile, inside her mind, and Hibari Kyouya, and Ken, and she. The smile sent thrills through Chikusa's body, made parts of it tighten. Chikusa was sure Chrome felt the same, and that was why Mukuro smiled that dark, dangerous smile at them.
"We'll have a successful test case next time, Mukuro-san." Chikusa licked her lips, almost giving into temptation and leaning forward to lick the blood from under Mukuro's chin. Bits of grey matter clung to the front of Mukuro's shirt, and brushed off when Mukuro pressed himself up against Chikusa.
"I hope so." Mukuro smiled sweetly now, his blue eye harmless, his red eye tempestuous and petty. "I know you hate ruining your clothes."
This is the sign Chikusa has been waiting for, because Mukuro does not indicate care unless he wishes for something in return, and in this case it's something Chikusa is willing to give. Chrome has never minded that Mukuro uses her body for this, or if she does mind, she's never said. "I should wash them." Chikusa turns away from Mukuro and starts walking to the employee showers, another part of Kokuyo Land that the fugitives have made their own. "Do you want to take a shower, Mukuro-san?" Chikusa leaves bloody foot prints that fade slightly with each step she takes. Mukuro leaves bloody foot prints too, but in the shape of Chrome's shoes.
They're both naked by the time they enter the showers, Chikusa's clothes dropped into a pile by the door, while Mukuro's clothes have disappeared. Mukuro doesn't wait for the door to close to press Chikusa up against the wall, her long legs spread open so he can push between them. She's already wet, she's been wet, she was dripping wet halfway through the botched lobotomy, when Mukuro stuck his fingers into the man's skull and wiggled them around. She's not loose, it's a tight fit, and Chikusa bites her lip when Mukuro pushes inside. She heals fast, so even if Mukuro was sleeping with her regularly it would be tight and start off painful.
Mukuro does not sleep with her regularly.
He's whispering endearments in her ear now, truths since there is no need for lies between them, between any of them, and Chikusa gasps breathlessly when he starts to move. It's rough, and the tiles of the walls scrape against her back, drawing ragged bloody lines in her skin while her nails draw similar lines on Mukuro's illusionary back. Her mouth hasn't been idle, each breathless gasp is accompanied by a smooth swipe of her tongue over Mukuro's chin, cleaning the blood from his neck.
Mukuro pulls her hips flush against his, impaling her fully.
"Mukuro-san." Chikusa's eyelids flutter closed, once, twice, and Mukuro plants a biting kiss on her barcode.
Mukuro draws her up to the brink again and again, but always pulls her back, changing position or speed, teasing her until Chikusa has been sweating almost as long as they've been having sex, her legs are quivering by the end, and her arms are shaking against the cool, slippery floor.
"Does it hurt?" Mukuro asks after he's pulled out, damp, sticky fluid sliding down the sides of Chikusa's thighs. Chikusa lets out a shaky breath, enjoying the sensation while it lasts.
"Yes, Mukuro-san."
When Chikusa turns to look over her shoulder the dampness is gone, leaving only her own sticky juices, and Chrome blushes, flustered, before hurrying quickly out of the shower room. Chikusa pulls herself up onto her feet, her nails breaking bits of grouting out of the walls, and she turns on the cold water, the pipes banging loudly.
Tomorrow she'd go out and find another man with one finger less than he should have, or with tattoos that don't peek out of his suit, and bring him back to Kokuyo land for Mukuro and she to play with. If Mukuro wasn't up to it, she'd keep him in the basement until Mukuro wished to appear again.
