Cigarette, wine and drug
Author. Otamega | Translator. King Ro
Pairing. TYL! 6918
Genre. Romance.
OOCness.
I don't own KHR.
Note. As you might see, this is not my story, I just translated it from Vietnamese into English, hope it won't tracked down too far from the original. Otamega dear did a wicked damn good job at depicting Mukuro's thoughts, and I was fascinated. I mean, man, such a smexy, romantic story.
Another thing, this whole fic doesn't have a single dialogue, which is dubbed as amazing with me.
.
. Cigarette.
Hibari Kyouya hated tobacco.
And that's the only reason why Mukuro always smokes in front of him.
A purposeful tempting? Maybe.
But nothing's like the way it seems.
There are still something that the black-haired man would never be able to fully understand.
.
Mukuro smokes, wasn't because he really liked it, nor addicted to it. He just wanted to see one thing…
Hibari's pouting face is too adorable, even mixed with a trace of childishness that hardly –no, never– shows to anyone. His face, every single feature, every littlest thing, Mukuro could perfectly draw out in his mind despite during a fierce battle somewhere halfway around the world, apart from his skylark. They ambiguitily blurred behind the smoke, yet so clear, so vivid, so beautiful, which forced him to stay alive at all cost and come back no matter what.
His face, so dear, that makes he wants to kiss… A lot …
Like an irrevocable habit, Mukuro loves to kiss Hibari when his mouth was still full of tobacco smell. He's addicted to it.
Just because the way his skylark struggled to break out, then unknowingly, unconsciously, pulled closer in the more and more passionate kiss.
Hibari once almost killed him for scorched his tatami by leaving cigar ashes. But in the end, said Cloud always kept Mukuro's zippo whenever the illusionist hurrily dressed to part before aurora –which means early these mornings, some uninvited guests would come for business. Truth to be told, the illusionist could pay no heed if anyone explored about this complicate relationship, however, Hibari's higher-than-everybody pride just can't accept such thing. It's all right, if that was what his skylark wished for, Mukuro won't complain. As long as the Japanese man still let him smoke in his personal headquarter, and his bedroom, though the irritated scowl remains unchanged.
It's all right.
.
Hibari had his own reason. Really, smoke smells awful, not at all pleasant. Mukuro admitted.
Recalling the first time he smoked, the illusionist nearly choked.
But during one night, when he caught a rare chance to behold his sleeping beauty Hibari Kyouya, Mukuro suddenly thought, It wouldn't be bad if there has some smoke to add in the scene.
And smoke he did.
The Italian leaned against the wooden door frame which slightly opened to look out the Japanese-themed garden, quietly lighted a cigarette. While his skylark still deeply asleep on a futon next to him.
Each steamy smoke he breathed out sketched some odd shapes in mid-air before lightly swooped upon Hibari, gently touched his smooth hair, then swirled around the long eyelashes. Faintly. His soft lips curved into a graceful arc, ever so slight. Such a heart-stopping smile.
Who do you dream about? Is that me?
Mukuro vaguely wondered.
Serene. And so delicate…
It seemed almost as if they were never involved with this filthy underground world. Just like a normal couple, no more, no less. Sharing these private moments in their private place, together, like a normal couple.
Peaceful.
.
Mukuro softly coughed.
That alone was enough to wake Hibari up, annoyed the skylark for pulled him out of his precious sleep. However, the illusionist was more than pleased as he enjoyed his delicious late meal in mirth. Very delicious indeed. Since when one didn't fully awake, he would only resist half-heartedly.
From that day onward, sometimes Mukuro would purposefully smoke during nights staying with his skylark, regardless whatever consequence.
Simply because, he was addicted.
. Wine.
Hibari Kyouya despised alcohol.
But that couldn't drain out the illusionist's hope in his long-term conspiracy: get the Cloud drunken.
No specific reason. It's a secret.
There were something, some secrets that Mukuro'd never tell anyone, and this was one of these.
He'd consumed alcohol since he was seven or eight. With mafioso, drinking is the most necessary and common protocol. It'd only be normal if he -despite still was a kid at this time, and being an Estraneo resident- to be able to drain one bottle in less than five gulps.
But then the ambition to destroy the dirty mafia world washed over him like a horrendous tornado. He no longer needed liquors, so he stopped drinking. Seeing that as a way to symbolically cut off the invisible bond which attached himself with his cursed, damned origin.
—That, until one evening, Mukuro caught a wobbly, drunkenly Hibari came back from the meeting, where he had reluctantly drank a cup or two at the negotiation celebrating party. Of course, the Cloud managed his best to keep his composure, so no herbivore could get a chance to see him in this embarrassing situation.
But again, Rokudou Mukuro was carnivore. And carnivore knows just how to catch an opportunity.
That was the first time ever did Hibari make the first move, to lean on and kissed the illusionist. Such bold action which had begun a long, hot, sexy night. Later, whenever he remembers about that night, Mukuro still couldn't stop himself from getting aroused by the quirky taste of wine lingered on the tip of his tongue.
Just by a taste of wine?
No, he doesn't think so. More than anyone, Mukuro understands just how respectable his Hibari's self-control was. What the Cloud didn't want to do, he'd never do. Only when one got drunk, one could be more honest to himself.
After that, the Italian didn't tell his skylark about this incident, not a single word. It seemed Hibari had completely forgotten everything when he woke up the next morning, Mukuro guessed.
… But the seductively alcoholic scent from his lover that night would remain as a sugar sweet secret that following him for the rest of his life, a secret which Mukuro selfishly keeps to himself forever.
The Mist started drinking again, to get a hold of what belongs to his deeply buried feelings from that memorable night. Then unexpectedly, discovered some things even more valuable.
Hibari always threatened to bite him to death whenever Mukuro brings alcohol to the Cloud's headquarter. However, only, only his little skylark could memorized all of his favourite wine branchs. All.
Villa Puccini, Poggio Al Lupo, Vitiano Falesco, … each and every name was in Italian, too long, too hard for an unheeded Japanese man who cared about nothing but soaked himself in enemies' fresh blood, to remember, all.
But Hibari did, though usually acted like he doesn't care. Mukuro knew that, it couldn't be coincidence that Kusakabe –his skylark's second in command– conveniently stored sufficient liquors on the basement, all in his favourite list, and ready to serve him any time. What an interesting contradiction. His Hibari Kyouya is.
The conspiracy to have his lover get drunk, maybe, doesn't seem so hopeless.
Mukuro always uses the kisses—always the kisses.
Hot.
Pungent.
And bittersweet.
Drunk …
He realized that even someone with utter drinking endurance like him could someday knows what it means to be drunk. Not because of high alcoholic concentration or anything similar—
But the way his skylark's bare shoulders delicately shivered when his hot breath tickling from behind the earlobe down the sensitive neck. Hibari would never know, that such natural reaction can make his Italian lover's head spinning around in ecstasy.
Like a lifelong drunk, that Mukuro refuses to be sober up.
So, the illusionist often drinks during nights being with Hibari, such a default habit that had been mentally programmed and could never turned off.
Simply because, he was addicted.
. Drug.
Rokudou Mukuro once wanted to try drugs.
He joked that with the Cloud on their paired-up mission to confiscate a massive amount of smuggling opium in Italy.
Hibari just wordlessly narrowed his eyes. And the last thing he left for the illusionist before leaving was a cold, strong punch on his face.
This wasn't the first time he got hit by the ever violent Cloud Guardian, truth to be told, even in a regular basis. But with that much brutality and determination, no.
A bit of happiness flows through his mind as Mukuro caressing the swelled bruise on the cheek. Ah, this means his skylark does care after all.
Because, God knows him, knows that when he said it, he meant it.
.
They usually describe opium as the most dangerous addiction, once you got dragged in, you can't get out. An irresistable drug.
Mukuro doesn't really pay it any interest. He merely wanted to try, all thoughts just wrapped in a single word: suspicion.
Could there, amongst any, every place on Earth, exist an addiction which can surpass his Hibari Kyouya's charm? Could there?
During Mukuro's childhood, he'd seen some lowlives in Estraneo famiglia drowned themselves in the white thick smoke when they congregated to use drugs. Like that, Mukuro sinked in the intoxicable sensations of every deep kiss on those mellow lips, the touch on this creamy smooth skin; the cool, soft feeling when he slids his long fingers across the silky black hair that nicely framed around Hibari's pretty face. Intoxicably. Yet he's gotten so used to it, as if the air he breathed in and out every day.
Sometime, Mukuro even thought he himself was no different from a child who couldn't sleep without his favourite fluffy pillow —and Hibari was, still is, that favourite fluffy pillow.
.
Vague.
Neither past.
Nor future.
Erased his sanity to the point of nothing's left.
Cares only about this moment, this treasured moment, the current time, the present.
Forever that feeling, these sensations, those scents, this skylark. Addictive.
…
.
Like those crazy addicts who get wild over the lack of drugs, Mukuro went berserk every night without his Hibari beside.
Scattered. Shattered.
The broken sounds go rampage, crushing crashing and crushing and crashing.
But his ears just can't hear that particular voice, died down in bloody silence.
Ripped open. Slashed.
The wind reeks of a distinct smell of blood, moisturized by the humid night dew.
The air missed an existance of one certain person, getting all dense, unbreathable, and suffocated. Just can't see.
Destroyed.
Blood splashed. Countless bodies fell by him, by his murderous trident.
His hands which missed a warmth from other hands, hardened and scarred by the chilly coldness of his metallic weapon. Just can't feel.
Crazy. Dizzy. Emptiness. Nothingness.
Then tobacco,
Is useless.
And alcohol,
Is meaningless.
Without his Hibari Kyouya.
Just like one has many methods to use drugs, Rokudou Mukuro, has various ways to love his skylark.
A bloody fight was always the beginning of all. However, time isn't limitless. And how very fool of somebody to try and challenge his patience.
Mukuro doesn't have much patience —to be exact, no self-restraint, when it comes to a special little skylark.
The battle soon came to an end with some small tricks, not too many nor too hard to fight back. But it seems that even his beautiful prey doesn't really willing to resist. Mukuro could very much certain about it.
—
Sensual.
When unbelievably tender, so gentle that could make one melted. The feeble moans. Weakly, slowly. Seeing his lover's flustered face heated up in sweet pleasure, how very addictive.
When painfully rough, too possessive over the sweat-slicked body beneath. One struggling to lock the screams behind those bleeding lips. One thrusting rhythmically. The breathy pants, flushed and seamless. Passionate.
More than enough, to form an addiction.
.
Mukuro understands, and so does Hibari.
That there are something between these two which neither of them can find the right words to express.
Eluriated.
Like a cigarette.
Tipsy.
Like a bottle of wine.
And intense.
Like the effects of opium.
.
In the very end, it was just some addiction. One can escaped tobacco, alcohol, even drugs, though very hard –but not impossible, if one is determined.
And Mukuro was full of determination. These should be no obstacles.
However, his lover would never know, never know, that amidst this vast wide world, there is only one drug, only one addiction—
Only one,
That he can't get away from.
So persistent, and very toxic, but he had caught in too deep.
Want to continue, want to sink in, want to keep drowned.
Just won't stop, either can stop. Never stop.
Still one.
No matter how long after,
Still only him. Because of him.
.
.
Hibari Kyouya.
[.End.]