A/N: Oh lawdy, this is my first fic posted and it's . . . TERRIBLE, FFFF. I don't like it, but it had to be done, man |D It's unedited, and I figured that I need an awfully good beta soon ;w;
This is a response to episode 187, which practically screamed of Demon Spade, raping everyone. He must be proud of Mukuro to be passing on his rapist ge—WAIT. I have to post a birthday fic for Mukuro don't I, damnit.
. . . Demon Spade wanted Tsuna to demonstrate his . . . 'resolve'.
Resolve.
Such a word popped up so carelessly now; Tsuna loathed it. It dripped on him so casually, like bittersweet honey, and no matter how many times he ran himself over that water, that 'forgetfulness', it clung to him and would not come off. And you know what?
Tsuna would not show him his resolve.
He would continue to fight and deny that man—Demon Spade—the right to be shown his anything, and wait until he simmered down. Or so he thought.
As soon as it was inevitable that Tsuna would not show him his resolve, Demon Spade had warped the space around them (again, might I add), and Tsuna could see the sky he was once suspended in almost melting away, and all it left in its wake were more illusions—darker, now—that seemed to be pulling Tsuna in. He looked frantically around; there had to be away to escape the strong pull—but where? The brunette's lips part, and just when he is about to scream the name of Gokudera, he feels a hand leisurely cover his mouth.
The last thing he heard, in the illusion which was the sky, was a worried 'Jyuudaime', before everything went black.
It was hot.
The temperature in the room was unbearable.
The stench? Even Worse.
He could swear, as he gasped for air, that he would collapse soon from heat, or lack of air.
The room was small; and when I said small, I /meant/ small. The room, in length and width, was only a bit larger than the boy's frame was when he lay down; the height, however . . . he couldn't see it. He always saw his own face.
It stared at him, and taunted him with those eyes—his eyes, which made it all the more wrong.
Tsunayoshi's breath hitched, as the other man picked up speed . . . the sickly sounds of flesh on flesh were heard, and he could feel bile rising in his throat, wishing to get out, but he kept it in. He had to keep it in. Be stronger.
This new illusion he had been forced into was one that had definitely taken him by surprise—being forced into such a small room, his back, lacking clothes, pressed—no, glued to the hot floor with sweat, and Demon Spade . . . that man still took the form of Tsuna himself, but now—now, he had mounted Tsuna, and was currently thrusting himself mercilessly into the small boy, smirking widely.
Tsuna's eyes flickered in some emotion.
Was it hatred?
Whatever it was, it got the brunette even more livid, and his fingers scraped roughly against the searing floor as he searched for something to grab. Clenching his teeth, Tsunayoshi began to glare at the 'ghostly' imposter.
Demon Spade's hands leisurely stroked the boy's hips, and his smirk widened even more, if that was possible.
"I am pleased by your unbridled rage." Came his voice, deep yet smooth, as if nothing were even happening.
Tsuna hated that.
In return, Tsunayoshi looked away, and his fingers stopped; the anger continued to build up in him, but now he made no move to show it. Demon Spade lifted an elegant brow in question, as he moved to stroke Tsuna's member. At the touch, Tsuna gasped—this was wrong. Very, very, inhumanly wrong.
"What's the matter? Don't you hate me?" He continued to tease, and his fingers fiddled expertly with the head of the shaft as he continued ramming into the younger. "Take your rage out on me."
"Wh-what?" Came Tsuna's strangled reply, and he arched his back as the other hit a particularly sensitive part within him. Demon Spade merely smiled in accomplishment.
It was like casual talk by the fireside; almost like any other obvious thing you'd say to a person when it came from Spade's lips. Tsuna didn't like it. "Any person who stands in your way is an enemy." At this, he grabbed Tsuna's member completely and jerked it roughly, "And enemies must be completely crushed." Tsuna screamed, and he tried to pull away from Demon Spade—only to have his head hit the wall of the small room, and immediately after he closed his eyes in more pain. "That would be the real Vongola mafia boss."
He began to roughly pull at Tsuna's cock, ignoring the boy's pleas to stop, to have mercy, to at least make it feel better. But he did not; Spade lived on this . . . this pain; his love for it was immeasurable, and because of the cries for help and pleas, he began to speed his pace, now even more aroused than he was before.
"This is why I haven't deemed you worthy of succeeding the Vongola."
No.
"I shall have you shed that soft nature now."
Stop it.
And as if reading Tsuna's mind, he added in, as if it were nothing, "Or else, I will be forced to eliminate you."
I won't allow it.
"As I did to Primo, back then." He purred, and a sickly grin spread itself across his face. Tsuna stared in horror at what the man just said 'He . . . he did this to Primo?' That was unbelievable—it /had/ to be; nothing of this was told to him . . . Reborn wouldn't hide such important information! If he knew he was dealing with somebody this strong, he probably would have chickened out; he would rather be called 'Dame Tsuna' than anything else . . .
It was cold, and only the friction of the two's bodies could generate heat. The blonde lay lifelessly on the ground, as the other continued to fondle him, to place kisses that were yards away from 'loving', fingers protruding his entrance so carelessly. He made a few muffled sounds; drool slowly dribbled from the corners of his parted lips, as he breathed deeply.
"Why, Spade? Why would you do this?" Giotto's voice came, pained and slurred, as his toes curled against polished wooden floors. Placing a short kiss to the man's jaw, Demon looked up at Giotto.
"Why do you ask?" He questions, as he jabs a few more digits passed the ring of muscle. Giotto could do nothing but helplessly squirm; his hands remained on the floor, and even though he himself had the power to stop all of this, he felt himself bending to the other's wishes anyway. "You should already know the answer," Giotto made a choking sound as he heard this, and his back arched off of the floor as the other man touched a sensitive bundle of nerves within him "along with my plans and true desires." Spade began to nip at the tender, reddened flesh at Giotto's neck; the man mewled, and shivered, as he tried to pull away.
'I can't do anything about it'
Spade's fingers had retreated from the wet, cavernous hole, and were now finding themselves lodged into Primo's mouth.
'He's still one of my Guardians'
Giotto unwillingly sucked them, and Demon smiled, as if repulsively encouraging him.
'His time may have also stopped back then . . .'
Spade removed his fingers, and wrapped them leisurely around the founder's member.
'Just like this watch I hold'
Something had flared within Tsuna; a surge of courage, maybe? It couldn't be true—what he did to Primo, which was a lie. He found himself springing upwards—well, his torso at least; his bottom still seemed to be in a little 'jam' if you catch my drift—his hands placed themselves onto each of Demon Spade's shoulders, and he pushed the man back. Before Spade himself could screech out anything in surprise, he found his head roughly hitting the wall of the small room (see: irony) and his hands moved quickly from Tsuna's hips to cradle the now possibly developing bump on his head.
Tsuna made no effort to wait, as a hand found itself on Spade's shoulder, and the other one, cupping the man's head. He had commenced in riding the other.
Spade could only stare wide-mouthed, as he felt the hand on his head, and Tsuna moving, up and down, so easily on top of him. "Sawada Tsunayoshi . . ." He gaped, as said boy did nothing but glare at Spade. At this, his surprised look turned into a pleased smile.
"You did what to Primo?" Tsuna asked, and it came out more of a growl than anything else, as he began to quicken his pace. It was disgusting; trying to go by the other's rules, but if this is what it took to get some answers around here, then . . .
"In the mafia world, they believe that Secondo forcefully took control from Primo," The older said, with a knowing grin plastered onto his face, "driving him to Japan in the process . . . But that's not how it really happened. I was the one who wanted Primo to step down as the Vongola " Tsuna stared at Demon Spade, disbelief spreading over his features, as his hands retracted away from his fake self—like blistering tongs on his skin, they drew away quick, and found requiem on the warm floor.
"W-Weren't you one of Primo's guardians? Why would you . . .?" Demon Spade simply snort at the question, looking off to the side.
"Primo couldn't overcome his soft nature, same as you. That was why!" He explained. "The history of the Vongola is littered with conflict. It grew strong by crushing other families."
Giotto lay exhausted, curled up on the floor with his cape covering his nude body, as Demon Spade sat, looming over him; caressing him, playing with his hair, and cooing absolute nothings to him. "The Vongola family you created has become greater than you could have ever dreamed." Spade said, as his fingers ran leisurely through the hay-colored locks, twisting and writhing the digits ever so slightly to hear the other groan. "And we should accelerate this process." He adds in, hastily, before stopping. Giotto stare ahead lifelessly, the dying will flame on his head flickering, trying to stay alight, as his eyelids slowly began to droop, coaxing him to sleep. Demon Spade took a deep breath, as he watched the don, and he himself began to feel the onslaught of sleep.
"What I'm trying to say is that," Pulling the fingers from out of the other's hair, Demon Spade brings his hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes, "you aren't fit to rule the current Vongola."
The way he said it; it was so blunt, so simple, and so . . . laid-back. For a brief moment, sincerity flashed in his eyes, before it was replaced with that look of fake-adoration once more. Giotto slowly looked at Demon Spade, his emotions unreadable, and slowly, just as he looked at him, he looked away, and closed his eyes.
"You must crush your enemies in a display of total dominance!" Demon Spade exclaims, and with that he begins to stroke at Tsuna's member again—Tsuna sucked his teeth in response, trying to move away . . . but then he remembered; he was the one supposed to be dominating, not the other way around . . . /again/. So he began his continuous rhythm on the other; up and down, up and down, ignoring the other's attempts to rile him up again. "The weak have no right to live." Came Spade's taunt, and he purrs; obviously he had no intention of letting the other go anytime soon. Tsuna began to pick up his pace, and Spade simply scoffed in an un-amused way, "Abandon your own friends if that's what it takes to win. You don't need to feel emotion."
Emotions . . . friends
Tsuna always thought he needed those two things the most
But if it meant getting out of here alive . . . no
He needed his friends
He needed his emotions
Fuck it, Tsuna would wait it out, for all he cared.
P.S.: Hell yeah, I'm a gayfag who decided to rewatch the whole episode just to get the lines down |D! 3