Title: Feats and Defeats

Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn is Amano Akira's

Timeline: right after Mukuro's disguise was exposed, before the Vongole infiltrated to Irie Shōichi's headquarters (but in this fic, I made Dino see Hibari a few days before the meeting with Tsuna and the others)

Warning: bleeding + yaoi (male homosexuality) lime content with hardly any plot

Author's Note: I'd be glad to accept correction for any mistake — be it spelling, punctuation, grammatical or misinformation. British English for both ficlets. 'Vongole' is the plural form of 'Vongola'.

A Captive's Fate

(10069)

'It's time for you to receive a true death. Bye-bye.'

The Millefiore leader stepped closer and pierced the Vongola's Mist Guardian's stomach through with bare fingers. Rokudou Mukuro coughed more blood. Just as a leaf withered in the blustery blow of the winter wind, he fell onto the cold marble floor. Pain was what he felt. Pain was what preoccupied his mind right now. But this was not all.

Another man's lips were pressed against his own.

If there had been one time when the usually cool-headed Rokudou Mukuro lost his tranquil smile, this would have been it. His eyes widened in disbelief as those foreign lips were assaulting him without a warning. They were simply there. And with their presence, the formerly coppery taste of blood that trickled on his face turned into a mixture of fury and …

An unknown thing.

He had experienced sex before, out of pure curiosity, with male and female partners from different age groups, on different occasions and killed his victims afterwards. Of course, kisses had been included back then. And yet, none of which made him feel the sensation he did not want to cease while it lasted and he wanted to be recurrent when it did end — just like this.

The indigo-haired illusionist attempted to hide his shock. 'Is this what you mean by "true death"?'

'Exactly — your pride deprived, your body tortured, and yet, there was nothing you could do to change the situation — what death could be truer than that?' answered his capturer with his usual calm tone and playful smile.

Mukuro tried his best not to wince as Byakuran's flesh tore into him — how could a man capable of torturing others yield to pain? Nor did he let himself be swept away by the new wave that the white-haired man introduced to him — how could a man capable of manipulating others' minds let himself be toyed by some temporary emotion? The Mist Guardian would have fought back more than he currently did, had his body not been debilitated to its limit — how could a man capable of defeating myriads of others be at the receiving end?

There was no answer for these unasked questions. The ruthless victor simply grabbed him by the hair, pressing his skull closer to his own head and spoke, 'You've realised it, haven't you? Regardless of what you do, regardless of whom you think about, as long as you are confined in this room, every inch of your body and every part of your soul are mine to use.'

Byakuran's words sent a chill down Mukuro's spine. Softer than silk, yet more acute than a steel blade. A thrill.

The amethyst-eyed Millefiore planted another kiss. Rough and possessive, like the way he launched his invasion down below. The proverb of 'fighting poison with poison' must be true; otherwise, what answer could explain why the counterbalance of such a violent kiss dissolved his pain away?

The Gesso had added one extra wound to his existing ones — an internal wound that hurt him most, not because of the physical damage itself, but because of the fatal mental injury it had done to his pride. Staring at the blood streaming down his thighs, Mukuro wondered since when had the pleasure-tinged pain turned into pain-tinged pleasure.

The suffocating air in that room was filled with the melody from the CD player at the back of Byakuran's desk. The Millefiore leader often chose to indulge himself in music and his choice today was Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Byakuran's treatment was as cold as the winter piece which was currently playing. And yet, somewhere beneath the Millefiore's piercing wintry-cold touch, there was a surging passion swelling, hotter than the hottest summer and yet seemingly more everlasting than the four seasons altogether.

Whatever reaction the Mist Guardian gave — wiggling, squirming, resisting, or even just stay as he was — made no difference to the Millefiore's leader. The illusionist tried in vain to escape from the music by behaving like the musical instruments which was not involved within the piece. However, when he became like a clarinet, Byakuran blew him. When he became like a harpsichord, Byakuran pressed him. When he became like a timpani, Byakuran pounded him. When he grew tired of his futile attempt and returned to Vivaldi's Winter by becoming like a violin, Byakuran stroked him, all the same. No matter what instrument he behaved like, Byakuran was always the maestro who knew how to play him.

The white demon's pace accelerated, just like the Allegretto music which was now playing. Eventually a sheet of pure white took over the illusionist's mind the moment thick, white liquid travelled inside his body — his enemy's belonging. Whiteness had corrupted him and there was nothing he could do to preclude this. Even his own body spilled the same white liquid.

When the xanthochroid man did pull away, the Mist Guardian's body felt uncomfortably vacant with the permutation. Where had the Millefiore's heat gone? No! If he put it this way, it would have sounded as though he had wanted to send Byakuran tumbling onto his chest again!

Through repressed panting, the illusionist peered at his capturer. Byakuran still wore the same old grin which made Mukuro wonder what those lips would taste like if he stole a kiss from them.

Clenching his fists to preserve his imperturbable smile, the illusionist spoke, 'My, my, surely a Millefiore leader has more to do than taking care of one midget?'

But the man between his thighs answered, 'Are you sure you want to send me away, my midget?'

'Why not, Millefiore?'

'Because you seem to crave for another embrace.' At this point, Byakuran tilted Mukuro's chin very closely to his own.

'Why would I?' Mukuro felt Byakuran's hair rustled into his own; the distance between their faces was less than two inches and the Gesso's shadow fell upon his complexion. His archenemy's aura was daunting, but Rokudou Mukuro's composure remained unfazed; he was supposed to be incorrigible by even the worst torments.

'Fu fu fu fu fu… Don't tell me you didn't enjoy our activity, Mukuro-kun.'

'Ku fu fu fu fu… Such vast, yet vain, self-confidence as expected from a Millefiore leader.'

'Confidence? I merely stated the fact. If you totally hated it, why did you behave as though I had been dislodging my flesh from your fissure when I merely withdrew myself from you?'

Mukuro could no longer maintain his impish smile. Deep inside he was wishingif only this Gesso had not possessed the ability to turn a disgrace of being claimed by a foe into an allurement of previously non-existing feelings. His body was throbbing, not only from the pain of his battle injuries, but also from Byakuran's dangerously seductive voice. Putting out the last trail of resistance, he colourised his tone with as much reluctance as he could muster, 'What choice did I have?'

'You could have pushed me away when I did this…,' replied the Gesso while parting the Mist Guardian's limbs once again.

'… or this…,' he caressed those bleeding inner thighs.

'… or this!' Byakuran re-entered Mukuro.

This time, the Mist Guardian offered no resistance. Only stifled groans existed between their damp bodies, slick tongues, tensed flesh and groping fingers. He simply closed his heterochromatic eyes as his conqueror's lips clamped a bit of flesh at the base of his throat, nipping it with the voracious eagerness of a vulture, yet with the tantalizing tenderness of a lover. And with that, the bearer of the two hell rings crumbled like ashes into the bearer of the Sky Mare Ring's igneous embrace.

Lies hide within the truth; truth hides within the lies — that is mist. What I feel now is no more than an illusion.

Or so Mukuro hoped.

A long time ago, he had fantasized Hibari Kyouya to be in his position; he had managed to conquer the Namimori prefect once, after all. Look at how the situation had turned out to be now! The man he had in mind was currently miles away.

On Purpose

(18D)

The raven-haired Vongola Cloud Guardian was practicing alone with his tonfas. Earlier, he had spent his time training the ten-year-younger Tsuna, but since the boy was still improving, he couldn't expect a real challenge out of the would-be-tenth Vongola leader. He wanted a serious match … the one which could set his belligerence ablaze … the one of which intensity made his blood boil…

How he missed a decent opponent! But who among the current Vongole could match him — the strongest of all Vongola guardians?

Where's that fucking Bucking Horse at times like this?!

Speak of the devil … the skylark heard a familiar voice entering his residence.

'Long time no see, Kyouya!' The golden-haired tenth Cavallone boss cast his usual smile upon sliding open the fusuma door of the practice room in the Vongola Cloud Guardian's base, ushered by Kusakabe. He still looked as dazzling as always despite the number of months since Hibari had last seen him.

Hibari did not even wait until Kusakabe finished closing the door and left the room when he swooped in high velocity towards the Bucking Horse, demanding, 'On your guard!'

Already familiar with his ex-disciple's nature for a decade, Dino extracted the whip from his belt. Soon the sound of the crackling leather as well as the clunking metal traversed the room. It was for this purpose that the Cavallone boss kept Romario and the rest of his subordinates within one-kilometre radius whenever he was going to see his inamorato.

Nevertheless, even an hour later, the battle was still undecided, but the Cavallone leader was aware of the limitation of time — fighting was not the main reason for seeing the strongest guardian of his allied family, after all.

Thus, when one of Hibari's attacks missed, the Italian taunted the Japanese, 'Worried about Rokudou Mukuro?'

'What kind of trash talk is this?' Hibari retorted, along with another swing of his arm.

Dodging still, the older answered, 'He was your first man.'

The next second, a pair of tonfas was pressed against Dino's throat, along with a deadly glare from a jet-haired skylark. 'You made it sound as if I had slept with him.'

'I can't help it; he was the one that kept you motivated to train with me. Ten years ago, even though your hands pointed those tonfas at me, your mind kept thinking of defeating him.'

Hibari's dark eyes narrowed dangerously. 'If you're that keen on remembering the past, I'll remind you that there isn't an inch of your body that is unfamiliar to me.'

With these words, the Cloud Guardian grasped the Bucking Horse by both wrists and pinned them overhead. Dino was still taller than he was, but the gap of their height difference had been closing gradually during the last decade as he had grown up.

Dino thought he could see a slight smirk on Hibari's face, but he couldn't be so sure. The ex-Namimori student committee leader's face became out of focus too soon; it covered his own face in fiery kiss. The horse chose to be tamed by the black yoke of the cloud today. After all, this Cloud had done a good job in training his 'little brother' into a figure truly befitting for Vongola X and he had successfully defeated myriads of Millefiore troops all these years. It was time to reward the skylark.

A moan slipped away from the blond's throat — a moan that was milder than a whisper and yet sounded more urgent than an alarm.

'Kyouya…'

It was a code — a secret signal between them that the blond was begging for the raven to stifle his insolent mouth with a kiss or two. Hibari Kyouya hated it when his name being called so casually, especially with such a wanton tone. Even Kusakabe called him 'Kyou-san' and Hibird called him 'Hibari'. Hence, when the Italian said 'Kyouya' in this sort of situation, they both knew what sort of reaction the Cavallone boss wanted to deal with.

Chapped or smooth, dry or moist, warm or cold, tremulous or eager … nothing in this world could please Hibari Kyouya more than these lips of Dino Cavallone.

The lust for battle that usually filled Hibari's raven eyes was now replaced with the lust for flesh. Even so, he kept his tone impervious to his flaring desire, 'What's the matter? Is that whip of yours for decoration only, Cavallone?!'

'Even a stallion knows when to submit to his master, Kyouya.'

'You do realise that encomium won't get you anywhere at this state, do you not?'

Dino only answered with his usual genial smile. But Hibari recognised the familiar glint in the Italian's eyes: he was actually expecting — if not longing for — another assault.

You'll get what you wish for! Hibari cast his tonfas aside, pushed Dino onto the wall behind him and started undressing the both of them. Quick. Impatient. Rushed. Just the way Dino wanted it.

The Vongola then positioned himself between the Cavallone knees and there, standing, their two bodies tangled into one. The Cloud Guardian's desire for the golden-haired man was no inferior to the number of the clouds in the sky. With every thrust, the passion in his eyes even grew stronger.

With both arms thrown at the younger man's back, the Cavallone boss simply let the Cloud Guardian to have his way with him, encouraging the jet-haired man, even; after all, Hibari Kyouya was the sole entity who had stolen his soul long before either of them could realise it. With the solid structure of the wall immediately behind him, there was no room to tip his head back, but there was no need for it either: Hibari's ravenous kisses kept him occupied most of the time.

Hibari suppressed his smirk as Dino murmured his name again. Every inch of Dino's delectable skin … every pigment of Dino's distinguished tattoos … every sinew of Dino's rippling muscles … every gasp of Dino's intake breath … every gust of Dino's pleasurable whimper … every drop of Dino's heated sweat … every beat of Dino's palpitating heart … every gleam of Dino's sultry eyes … every strand of Dino's silky hair … every part of Dino Cavallone … were all his to take. And he would not let go.

OWARI