Title: Perfection Is Always Pretty
Pairing: Byakuran/Mukuro
Word Count: 398
Prompt: Crossdressing
Summary: In which Mukuro was so vain and insane that he actually loved it. *shots*
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"My, my, Mukuro-kun, you're so pretty."
Mukuro looked up and immediately couldn't help failing in hiding the narcissistic smirk that already formed on his now glossed lips despite being chained and handcuffed and forced to be nothing else but the other's currently favorite play thing – or to make it more obvious – sex toy.
He was pretty.
The reflection staring back at him from the mirror Byakuran was generously holding for him was that of a flawless perfection. Absolute perfection. He lowered his mascara-laden lashes thoughtfully – a manner that could only be described in the beholder's eyes as seductive.
"Why, thank you, Byakuran-sama, I know that." The chained illusionist smiled – more at his reflection – in satisfaction.
He, Rokudo Mukuro, was always pretty.
Byakuran smiled back and put the mirror away. Wanting all of the vain beauty's attention on himself, he quickly stole a kiss from those shiny lips – biting and sucking for all he wanted. Of course, he was a man who appreciated every bit of control he had but he was never one to hold back his desire.
He had to get his hand on whatever he wanted no matter what it was: Mare Rings, Vongola Rings, Arcobaleno Pacifiers or even Rokudo Mukuro in a leather skirt. He would definitely have to have them – all of them.
The Millefiore leader's violet eyes hardened despite his gentle expression as he whispered sweet nothing – sweet enough to shame the sweetness of his favorite marshmallows – against the other's sweet colored lips, feeling the taste of edible lip-gloss on his tongue. One strong hand toying with long, silky tresses, he again whispered:
"You are so pretty~."
Mukuro laughed. The sound of his laughter designated his narcissism and insanity. He was accustomed enough to the ringing sound of silver chains and the smelly scent of blood. His one blue eye twinkled at the white haired-man in charming mockery.
He knew he was pretty because he couldn't accept anything less than perfection. His plan should have been perfect. It should have been flawless despite Byakuran keeping telling him that he only played along with him – the spy – out of infatuation.
Everything should be perfect no matter what situation. Even if Byakuran's warm hand was to trail up his shapely leg, even if those long fingers were to slip into his girly panty and inside him, he...would still stay perfect.
For perfection was always pretty.