6918 fic
Yay, I did it /cheers. Didn't get to put in as much blood as I would've liked >.> And Mukuro's on laughing gas. And while it is indeed very sexy, 6918 isn't my top ship either. C&C is always appreciated.
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We Are Locked In An Embrace Of Hate
They're something to be proud about, he thinks. Something you could frame and put up in the living room to show off and give long stories about to relatives and neighbours who pop in for a little chat. Except no one does that with him. And he's glad that they don't. All the stories about his killings would be a bit too gory for afternoon tea.
Blood is a colour of royalty, of pride, of a sort of sultry regality, lounging sexily on the throne. Hibari gives the still body one last kick in the guts for good measure, and some more blood trickles out. It stops at his shoe momentarily, perplexed, then thinks laterally and goes around the sole and further along the floor. Its journey is entrancing, but something makes his eyes flick from the stained floor to a dark corner in the room.
"I know you're there. Why don't you just come out so I can bite you to death."
It's not a question, and a boy in a dark green uniform steps out from the shadows (although he is stepping out very willingly). His mouth is dancing back and forth across the line that borders between an amused smile and a chuckle.
"There's nothing wrong with just enjoying the show, is there?" Mukuro's smile grows wider. His gloved hand is gripping his weapon tightly, his stance shifts slightly, his eyes narrow, and Hibari misses none of this. His reply is quick.
"I'm not here to be fighting weak trash." The words are heavy, filled with implications that he should be fighting against a particular someone else, and Mukuro laughs. Because he could disappear right now and leave Hibari dissatisfied, craving blood and hating him even more. But he doesn't move. Not yet.
Mukuro takes a deep breath, gathers himself from his mirth, and stares into the other's eyes.
"And that's wonderful, because I'm not here for that either. And, although I doubt it'll be happening, I'm sure I wouldn't mind your fangs biting me to death." His once-dying laugh is back in full force, the echoes bouncing off the concrete walls back to them as Hibari looks at him in angry silence.
Mukuro stops laughing again. It's so very hard to keep laughing when others don't join in.
"Let's see how much you like it." Hibari lunges towards him. What a story this would be, he thinks. Sitting upright on the couch, tea turning cold on the coffee table, visitors rapt with awe as he speaks of his finest hunt. How his prey fought back, valiantly, you could even say. How metal met metal, so fast that sparks flew. And how exotic the blood looked in that dark, crumbly room.
Exotic, he thinks again, looking down at his prey with blood running down the side of his face. He licks his lips. Raises his tonfa for the final blow.
"And what a beautiful illusion that was. My finest work, I have to admit." Mukuro is behind him, an eye marked with a single horizontal line. This time he doesn't break into laughter, and all he does is smile, smile an impossibly happy smile that makes Hibari furious. He can still taste the blood on his tongue. He then realises that it's his own blood, and it's coming from his nose as well, and from his temple.
"I hate you." Hibari spits out the words as if he want to get them out as quickly and painlessly as possible. Mukuro looks into his eyes, sees the bloodthirst that hasn't been satisfied, the pride that has been ruined, and feels like he's bursting from all the happiness. He begins to fade away.
"But don't you love hating me?"
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We Are Locked In An Embrace Of Hate
They're something to be proud about, he thinks. Something you could frame and put up in the living room to show off and give long stories about to relatives and neighbours who pop in for a little chat. Except no one does that with him. And he's glad that they don't. All the stories about his killings would be a bit too gory for afternoon tea.
Blood is a colour of royalty, of pride, of a sort of sultry regality, lounging sexily on the throne. Hibari gives the still body one last kick in the guts for good measure, and some more blood trickles out. It stops at his shoe momentarily, perplexed, then thinks laterally and goes around the sole and further along the floor. Its journey is entrancing, but something makes his eyes flick from the stained floor to a dark corner in the room.
"I know you're there. Why don't you just come out so I can bite you to death."
It's not a question, and a boy in a dark green uniform steps out from the shadows (although he is stepping out very willingly). His mouth is dancing back and forth across the line that borders between an amused smile and a chuckle.
"There's nothing wrong with just enjoying the show, is there?" Mukuro's smile grows wider. His gloved hand is gripping his weapon tightly, his stance shifts slightly, his eyes narrow, and Hibari misses none of this. His reply is quick.
"I'm not here to be fighting weak trash." The words are heavy, filled with implications that he should be fighting against a particular someone else, and Mukuro laughs. Because he could disappear right now and leave Hibari dissatisfied, craving blood and hating him even more. But he doesn't move. Not yet.
Mukuro takes a deep breath, gathers himself from his mirth, and stares into the other's eyes.
"And that's wonderful, because I'm not here for that either. And, although I doubt it'll be happening, I'm sure I wouldn't mind your fangs biting me to death." His once-dying laugh is back in full force, the echoes bouncing off the concrete walls back to them as Hibari looks at him in angry silence.
Mukuro stops laughing again. It's so very hard to keep laughing when others don't join in.
"Let's see how much you like it." Hibari lunges towards him. What a story this would be, he thinks. Sitting upright on the couch, tea turning cold on the coffee table, visitors rapt with awe as he speaks of his finest hunt. How his prey fought back, valiantly, you could even say. How metal met metal, so fast that sparks flew. And how exotic the blood looked in that dark, crumbly room.
Exotic, he thinks again, looking down at his prey with blood running down the side of his face. He licks his lips. Raises his tonfa for the final blow.
"And what a beautiful illusion that was. My finest work, I have to admit." Mukuro is behind him, an eye marked with a single horizontal line. This time he doesn't break into laughter, and all he does is smile, smile an impossibly happy smile that makes Hibari furious. He can still taste the blood on his tongue. He then realises that it's his own blood, and it's coming from his nose as well, and from his temple.
"I hate you." Hibari spits out the words as if he want to get them out as quickly and painlessly as possible. Mukuro looks into his eyes, sees the bloodthirst that hasn't been satisfied, the pride that has been ruined, and feels like he's bursting from all the happiness. He begins to fade away.
"But don't you love hating me?"