Disclaimer:Katekyo Hitman Reborn belongs to Amano Akira-sensei. Damnit.
A/N: Ciaossu, Chibi here. La Mia Religióne will be a collection of one-shots devoted to various 27 pairings (which are yaoi and yes there will be occasional lemons, so be warned) and/or simple non-romantic 27 relationships revolving around Tsuna's uncanny powers of making people take his side and eventually make googly eyes at him. I'm sure you'll get the idea from the title alone. XD I have yet to decide if all the stories would be in the same universe or not, though. Meh, we'll see what I'll come up with. An index for employed Italian words will be available at the end of each chapter because I'm OC like that. XD With that out of the way, I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I had fun in writing it (even if my soul is probably burning in hell right now). Also, this is my first KHR fanfic, so please don't hold back and tell me how well (or bad, depending on your perception XD) I did. n_n
This fic is dedicated to Eri (my buddy whose wavelengths are so in sync with mine it's scary) and Mich (a pal who fangirled with me when I needed it). XD
In this chapter…
Pairing: R27
Rating: M (for dark themes and sex)
Reborn: La Mia Religióne
religióne[reli'ʤone] s.f.
1 il complesso di credenze e di atti di culto che collega la vita dell'uomo a un ordine superiore e soprattutto alla divinità, intesa come fine ultimo di tutte le cose
2 [in senso figurato] sentimento di riverenza
3 ordine monastico, congregazione religiosa
In the beginning, there was nothing but darkness. The world he lived in was bleak: cold and dank as his icy stare, full of evils only told in hushed whispers for fear of invoking the presence of the devil himself. Each day was the same and he went through the motions almost mechanically, doing nothing more nor less than what he had to, save for when his bloodlust got the better of him; and then there would be nothing but a grotesquely beautiful symphony of sangue and screams and smoke in his wake, leaving death and darkness hanging thick in the air. And everyday he sank further into the inky abyss even if he had been swimming in it from the very start.
He was the best at what he did, and his name alone was enough to strike a crippling sensation of fear and awe in allies and enemies alike. He was a monster among monsters, a man with a blackened heart and a hollowed-out soul if he had any at all. A man who was, in the eyes of the cowardly righteous, too far gone to be saved.
'Ignorant fools,' he thought with a condescending snort, 'Who needs to be saved?'
After all, he was a man who believed in nothing but himself. As far as he was concerned, there was no god.
He was tempted to believe there was one—a god, that is—if only to have something to blame for all the feelings of frustration, disbelief and regret that threatened to swallow him whole. He looked down at the small hands, unable to fully grasp that they were actually his. He flexed his fingers once, twice, thrice, before clenching them with strength unnatural for his child body.
What right, he grit his teeth, what right did anything or anyone have to take such liberties on the life that was nobody else's but his own?
Rage welled up from his being, churning unpleasantly in his chest before he silently turned and walked away from the seven others who had yet to move from utter shock. His face was a cold mask of indifference that betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, his anger adding deadly shards to his frigid countenance. He took his gun out, thumb dangerously hovering over the safety.
Woe betide all those he would deem as enemies, for from this day forward he shall rain his wrath upon them; and their souls shall be a mockery of sacrifice to spite the god that dared inflict him with this curse and take what was his alone.
It took a while, but his fury abated with time; and soon he was left feeling empty after being filled with such fire for so long. Slowly, surely, the darkness receded, replaced by small patches of nothingness that ate at the blazing inferno of his rage. A detached calmness finally settled on him as he learned to accept that nothing could be done about the blasted curse—at least for now. He could do little else than go on with his eternity of a half-life: accepting jobs, making hits, seemingly doing as he damn well pleased. He killed with neither passion nor compassion, and the void eroded his being a little further each time. The chasm grew wider and he let himself fall deep into the hollow gorge, listless and unconcerned. It showed in his eyes, if one knew how to look; but then again, those who had the privilege of doing so were few and far in between. Most things have lost their meaning to him, and the only ones left with value in his eyes were respect for a few, honor on his word, and his own insurmountable pride.
The god he'd created had served its purpose and was nonchalantly thrown away, like the inconsequential garbage he thought it was.
When did it start?
He had no idea when it actually began. It was just another job, just another service rendered to a respected associate. It was supposed to be nothing special to the strongest of I Prescelti Sette. It's not like he hadn't taught before, so why was it different with him? How could the slip of a boy—now a man—resuscitate his dead existence without even trying? Without him noticing? And let it not be said that his past lovers were few and inexperienced; yet none of them even came close to making him feel this.
All thought and introspection flew from his mind as he leaned in and devoured the lips that breathed life into him, hungry and greedy for it to fill the void that rent his soul. His heart thudded almost painfully in his chest, a reminder that he was alive and tangible and real. His large hand reached up to loosen a tie, the other too busy clutching at chestnut hair to help its brother. Rustles vaguely registered in his ears as the kiss broke and clothes fell away, revealing the unworldly sight of swollen lips and half-lidded eyes; of a perfect body ethereally glowing under the pale moonlight. He reluctantly closed his eyes to the heavenly vision as slim, calloused fingers trailed from where they were locked behind his neck down his now bare chest like trickles of holy water, washing his sins away. He exhaled shakily, trembling despite the liquid fire being ignited in his veins.
He prostrated himself over this divine being, worshipping with reverent touches of fingers and lips and teeth and tongue, orating whispers of litanies that sang his praise. He followed every familiar dip and crevice in his pilgrimage, and he reveled in the moans and groans and gasps of pleasure—a humbling acceptance of his adoration. He yearned to hear more, for he knew no melody could be more sublime.
"Reborn…"
To anyone else who heard it, the utterance would just be a trivial, almost silent appellation; but to him it was a command he would never think twice to obey.
The ritual continued as oil-slicked fingers anointed an entrance, going in, circling, stretching: one at first, then two, then three. All the while he stared down at his beloved, eyes raking up and down the image before him; drinking, savoring, taking in as much as he could, lest it disappear in an instant—lest all of it was just a ghostly apparition of his heart's wicked desires.
"Reborn!"
And there it was again. He could feel the sense of urgency this time: those erratic breaths, that pounding pulse, those arms akimbo on wrinkled sheets. Like a sacrifice being given up in exchange for his salvation.
He knelt before his messiah and clasped their hands together in a blasphemous parody of prayer. He slid himself in slowly, gently; mindful and temperate as he entered the temple that was his body. But devout as he was, his patience could not be stretched further and soon the thin, taut strings broke with a harsh and audible snap. He pressed soft kisses onto his skin, nuzzling hisneck, seeking penance for his lack of forbearance; and his name spilled forth from his lips as they rocked together in reckless abandon, melding into each other in mind, body, and soul. With each thrust he bared a little more of himself, willingly laying everything out for his judgment, fearful yet trusting and faithful that he would never be turned away; that he would always bask in the cleansing light of his presence that made him whole. Perfetto. Completo.
His spine arched as he howled his climax in his name, and he never once questioned how it was that he saw the universe behind his closed eyes, or how he stood on the edge of comprehending all creation; beyond caring for the triviality of knowing. He was lost in the ecstasy of rapture and nothing else mattered, for nothing else existed outside of their sacred communion.
He shifted to the side, gathering him in his arms as he settled on the bed and accepted the soft, languid kiss that was his absolution. Strong, lean arms encircled him in turn and he found solace and contentment in them: a sanctuary for his tired and restless soul.
"I missed you" his angel said. His only answer was to tighten his embrace.
"I didn't want you to go on that mission, you know... But there was no other—"
"Sshhh," a press of fingers against immaculate lips, "I told you. If it protects the famiglia, it protects you. And you know I can and will do anything to achieve that."
"But—"
"Tsuna."
He firmly held the chocolate gaze, answering the unasked question.
"You are everything. Even if it's just a small threat, I won't let it go. Do you understand?" 'I can't afford to lose you. I can't.'
Everything of his was hanging in a precarious balance, and the mere thought of losing him was enough to reveal his tumultuous hold on his sanity.
An eternity passed in a single moment, and a touch of insight and realization sparked in the brown orbs.
"Aa."
A soft smile, a sweet kiss. Reassuring hands petting those spikes of midnight hair. And just like that, the scales tipped back in restored equilibrium.
Reborn did not believe in any god—it was in his nature.
'But if there was anything to believe in, it would be you,' his onyx eyes shone with absolute faith and love.
'La mia religióne.'
religion [rɪˈlɪʤən]
1 a complex of beliefs and acts of worship that connects human life to a higher order and particularly to the divine, understood as the ultimate end of all things
2 [figuratively] feeling of reverence
3 monastic order, religious congregation
Index:
La Mia Religióne –My Religion
sangue – blood
I Prescelti Sette – The Chosen Seven
perfetto –perfect
completo –complete
famiglia–family
A/N: Please feed the author. Reviews will be very much appreciated. XD