Title: Nocturnal Encounter

Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! is not mine

Warning: Victorian AU PWP unsuitable for those who hate euphemism and Gothic stuff

Credit: thank you my devoted beta reader, Sophia D'Soleil

Author's Note: This fanfic uses British English, by the way (single quotation marks for normal speech as well as some spelling differences).

'Vongole' is the plural form of 'Vongola.'

Who better than farmers know the art of tilling soil? Who better than scribes know the art of scripture? Who better than treasurers know the art of counting coins? Who better than doctors know the art of healing? And who better than incubi know the art of seduction?

The incubus was standing on a church roof, peering down like a hawk observing from the heights of a cliff, through the pooling mist that loomed over the town, wondering which plump hare was to be his prey. So thick was the mist that sailed across the benighted welkin that the church spires around him seemed like silhouettes of spear points that stabbed the heavens with escalating sense of foreboding.

All the blackness made no difference. It had been a fortnight since Queen Victoria's passing, but many of the hoi polloi still wore their mourning attire. Everywhere one went, one could see them draped in black gowns, black capes, black suits, black hats…

The incubus' eyes fell upon a lone traveller. In this mist, it was impossible for human's eyes to capture details, but such was not the case with an infernal entity. A complacent smirk adorned his countenance when he examined his prospective victim further. The young man who walked down a cobblestoned lane with the half moon high in the sky as the only guiding light was approaching the end of his teenage years. No cane, hat or even jacket adorned his body. In fact, other than the absence of grime, nothing indicated that he was no common labourer.

Hmm, why not? It has been a while since I last had a man.

It mattered not to the incubus to have a male as a sexual partner. Homosexuality was considered as a civil crime as well as an ecclesiastic sin amongst the humans, not amongst the race of incubi and succubae. The golden rule was that, be they the giver or the receiver, they ought to instigate their partners with pleasure, and then feed on that pleasure to sustain their own longevity.

Approaching his prey, the incubus descended from the rooftop. His shadow glided along the quatrefoil windows decorated with traceries. Upon landing, the incubus folded his sooty chiropteran wings. His leonine tail immersed into his body. His inky talons, as inky as the night itself, he concealed also. His razor-sharp nails and pointed ears, remoulded themselves into a rounder shape of a man's fingers and ears. His hair of indigo assumed a darker shade of ebon. His mismatched eyes of red and blue orbs blended into a single colour of azure.

It was uncommon, even among chthonic entities, to possess such heterochromatic eyes. The red eye mirrored his succubus mother's. The blue eye was inherited from his father, who was a fallen angel. The angel sacrificed his status, his home and his everything to be with the she-demon, and for a while, they had been happy together. Howbeit, the sky did not forgive traitors; the unhallowed angel's former brethrens hunted him down.

When the strike was delivered, his beloved shielded him and the succubus died before his very eyes. His grief did not last for long; the eight celestial hunters extinguished life from him next, leaving the child from their accursed union at the mercy of a pack of mountain hyenas. It was to the infant's vice that saved him from the starving predators—his natural ability to summon mist and cast illusion over his opponents caused the hyenas to attack one another instead. Ever since, Rokudou Mukuro survived on his own, relying on nobody but himself.

Infatuation, therefore, was nothing but a sweet trap that led to destruction from Mukuro's point of view. As an incubus, it became necessary for lust to be that with which he toyed and was toyed. Yet, throughout the nineteen years of his life, never had he surrendered to love.

The wind sprinkled the earth with red Bougainvillea petals in its howl. Alas, no lacy white gown of a bride stepped down this path, for on it an incubus disguised in human form sauntered in wait. The sacrificial lamb was drawing near, almost reaching the end of the lane where it met with the boulevard of flanking Bougainvillea.

'My, my, what a doleful face to display on so fine a night, sir!' A convivial remark came out from the now wingless wight in his all proper-and-prim habiliment.

'How can I not be so, sir?' replied the genuine human, 'For I am not talented with the brush in the way Waterhouse was. Nor doesKipling's proficiency with words lie within me. Nor am I gifted with divine melody like Elgar. Nor can my hands design splendid edifices as Burges did. I sold my coat for yesterday and today's bread, but what of the morrow?'

'You must excuse me for asking, but have you no home for shelter, pray tell?' enquired the incubus-in-disguise unctuously.

The man shook his head. 'I used to work as a scullion for the Whitakers. My father was the gardener and my mother was one of the parlour maids there, but my employer declared bankruptcy three days ago. The manor was sold, all the household staff was dismissed and the family moved away to Lancashire. My parents passed away years ago. I have no property of my own. I knocked on several doors, from a fishmonger's to a knife grinder's; no house was in need of a new employer.'

'There, there. If pennies were so easy to earn, there wouldn't have been so many homeless people on the streets. Your time will come. I am certain one day there will be someone who is willing to employ an honest man like you.'

'If I survive until that day.' As though his bleak words had not sufficed, the young man heaved a sigh. 'In times like this, I wish I were a woman. At least, I would still be able to sell my body for a living.'

'Ku fu fu fu fu.' Mukuro emanated a quiet, but shrill laughter, and then lifted the stranger's chin with his cane to examine the young man's feature. 'Surely we can arrange that. How does a florin sound to you?'

The youth stared at him disbelievingly. For the briefest moment, he seemed to be about to blurt, 'But it is against the law!' or perhaps 'I am not a mandrake!' But then, he swallowed hard and remarked through his teeth, 'That's very generous of you, sir.'

The incubus' lips curved upwards. The money was of course, a counterfeit, created with dark arts. Nonetheless, even if it were real, a florin would be a trivial price for such defloration; it couldn't even have covered a scullion's weekly wage. 'Make no mistake: I am buying not for a one-time service, but for the whole night.'

'Of course, sir.' The human bowed, but not before the incubus had caught a glimpse of his paling face.

There's no mistake that this one is a virgin, surmised the incubus, licking his upper lip. 'This is half of it.' He handed down a shilling. 'The rest I shall pay you upon the completion of your service. Now follow me.'

Together they passed rows upon rows of shops. The streets were quiet save for their own footsteps against the paved stone and the wind that whistled through the night's vacuous realm, sending the hanging signboards to creak as they swung against their brackets of wrought iron. They made no single stop until they reached a nearby stream flanked by sloping banks that were connected through an arched bridge.

The underside of this bridge was the most sequestered location a public place could offer. Pointing at the largest of the three arches under the bridge, the incubus instructed, 'Bathe in that stream first! You haven't cleansed yourself after leaving your former master's house, have you? I shall await you on that middle abutment.'

'Aba … I beg your pardon?'

'Abutment. The part of a structure that supports an arch,' explained the demon. There was a hint of impatience, but never condescension, not in the slightest, in his voice.

The visualisation of gleaming coins must have ignited a new strength within the youth, for what else would goad a man in the right mind to immerse himself in such a cold water in the middle of the night?

As the last undergarment left the man's smooth body, his sole audience's eyes flickered. The demon wished to cram every inch of his hardened flesh inside that man, pounding him again and again and eventually emptying everything in his twin globes into his prey's tight fissure in a grand climax.

W-wait, that spot is—ahh!

Imaginary moans filled the incubus' head—the moans he would hear when Mukuro took the young man from behind.

Mukuro even licked his lip once more upon seeing the movements of his prey's derrières as the human, having removed all articles of clothing on the rocks near the water edge, trod into the waist-deep stream. A large scar etched across the man's back, but that diminished not the incubus' passion; the delectable array of muscles on the same back made up for it. The young man dove for a while, ensuring the water washed every part of his fair skin.

Unable to abstain any longer from the temptation to brush, touch, stroke and ravage this prey, the demon removed his hat, waistcoat, trousers and shoes. Wading across the water, he made his stop right behind his prey. His manhood nudged the crevice between twin mounds of the bathing man's rear and the man's pupils dilated along with the sharp intake of breath he took. The incubus placed a hand on each shoulder before him, which then descended to the man's flanks and gradually became the leisurely exploration of the entire torso.

The human shivered, but the incubus was well aware that the chilling water merited more credit than his touches.

'I-I was under the impression that you were going to wait for me on that abutment, sir.'

I changed my mind.' Enclosing both arms around his prey, the demon kissed the youth's nape, whose body burst all over with goose bumps, at the touch of his lips. He heard a muffled gasp, restrained previous to completion, most likely due to its owner's chagrin.

Experience this, human; know how aphrodisiac an incubus' touches are!

Taking delight in what he turned his prey into, Mukuro lowered his hands. One hand, he delegated to explore his partner's plane of abdomen in great meticulousness; the other, he employed to squeeze the sac that clustered between the human's thighs and stroke the length of semi-erect flesh that loomed over them, hence bringing it to its fully tumid state.

Close to the human's ear, he made a promise sotto voce, 'You surely are taking your time. Since you like bathing that much, rejoice! Tonight, you will be bathed not only in stream water, but also in my seed.'

The sound of the young man's breathing now indicated that he had been running for a mile or more. His rubicund complexion darkened into cochineal shade. Nectar was spewed forth like a fountain from his lower limbs. The thick threads flew high, some smeared his marble-like torso, the rest pelted onto the stream and dissolved in the water.

Virgins! derided Mukuro inwardly, They tend to ejaculate too quickly.

Still, the demon ceased not his ministration, not until the sound of hooves against the paved road over the left bank: a sable coach, illuminated by a single lantern, was approaching.

'Quick, to the abutment!'

In haste though they were, both strode across the water as quietly as possible in order to minimise the recurring splashing sound. When the carriage was close enough to the bridge, they had hid themselves perfectly, pressing their backs as flatly as they might go against the wall of the arch. Quietly they listened until the horses' hooves were out of earshot and silence stifled the air anew.

Before Mukuro initiated any movement, however, a hand ran down his pubic bone. He turned his head to look at the hand's owner and was amused to learn his mating partner's resolution.

'You have paid well for one night, sir; not a minute to be wasted,' affirmed the human.

Letting the hand stroke him, Mukuro smirked. In a little while, he thought, you will beg for mercy. After all, a first-timer like you is likely to climax the moment I slip in and I have no desire for ceasing before the sun springs from the horizon.

The hand was soon replaced by the man's mouth. The incubus huffed at the transitional emptiness around his flesh while his servicer shifted from standing beside him to kneeling next to him. This young man was actually good with his hand, and it was quite disappointing, no matter how brief the intermission was, not to have such well-tended service. Notwithstanding this, the demon kept not his dismay as soon as the man's mouth brought forth another wonder.

The human journeyed upwards to the underside of the demon's erect flesh with the dance of his adept tongue. His fingers frolicsomely played with the customer's spheres. The incubus relished the sensation of the man's moist lips pampering the tip of his lance just before a pair of strong jaws contracted and pulled him sumptuously deep inside in a cavern of enthusiasm. His low guttural moans grew more meretricious as pleasure intensified within him.

He could have practised on himself with the hand movements, but how come he is endowed with such deftness with his mouth? Is he truly a beginner? Frustrated, the incubus clawed the limestone wall behind him, but he maintained his fulsome smile. 'Ku fu fu fu. Very good. You are a natural at this.'

The demon grabbed the man by his hair. It consumed nearly all his willpower to tear himself from the swirls of the man's tongue, but his conscience reminded him that he should not give in to pleasure. Sex was food; he lived by consuming his victims' pleasure, not giving them his own. 'Enough with the appetiser. Now we shall proceed to the main course. Stand up!'

Rather than obeying straightaway, the human rose to his feet very, very slowly, engraving a trail of kisses along his partner's torso, culminating with a deep kiss on the lips.

And … wow, what a kiss! The more Mukuro savoured the frictions between their lips, the further gravity turned away from him. Inside his stomach, something was floating, fleeting, flowing, fleeing, flipping, flurrying … he could not tell. Reality was as far as it could go, but at the same time, as inseparably nigh from him.

A speck of fear started to arise. What if this little moment of pleasure were to end?

No sooner had their kiss-engaged lips parted than a stranger stood before the demon. In such as still a night as unperturbed pond water, the incubus' eyes delineated the figure of the most enthralling entity he had ever beheld. His breath was caught in his throat while his eyes refused to stop gazing at the mysterious amethyst orbs before him. Was it even possible for a compendium of wonders to be embodied within a single entity? Young as he was, the man's hair was no less impeccable than the whitest snow. A purple spot, shaped like an upturned triple spires emerged on his cheek, just below his left eye—a birthmark, a tattoo or a scar, the incubus could not tell. He seemed as beatific as a cherub, yet felt as perilous a serpent. A gloating smile graced his countenance, replacing his previous fluster. No trace of the previous naive subservience lingered, as though this was a completely different entity.

Mukuro cursed inwardly: how come he, an incubus, fell into a mere human's trap! In alert, the incubus attempted to escape sideways. The human wouldn't allow that; he caught his previous captor by both wrists and held them high above the demon's head, pinning the latter to the wall.

'Fu fu fu fu fu,' the incubus heard a quiet, sly laugh, not too different from his own, but contained something of its own merit. 'Does my true appearance displease you, Mukuro-kun?'

He is no sacrificial lamb, but a wolf in sheep's wool. The addressee fleered. 'Oya, oya. How did you discover my name?'

'Searching for you I have been.' While the seducer's mouth emanated this answer, he allowed not his hands to be idle. So deft were these fingers that they divested Mukuro of his conscience more than of his shirt. The demon did not even pay enough attention to the fact that he let a stranger undress him without any form of resistance; his hands made no slightest attempt to push his seducer away even though they were free to do so.

Only after he had managed to find his voice, the incubus made his enquiry. His volume was whispery at best, filled with vacillation as he learnt what had become of him or what this man—or whatever entity the snow-haired creature was—had turned him into. 'Do I know you?'

'Not before today—in this life, that is. But we do know each other in other parallel universes.' This statement he answered casually as though it had been verified, like reciting some Pythagorean theory amongst scholars.

Aware of the human's weight on him, the demon of lust repeated his question. 'Who are you?'

'I am Byakuran Millefiore, the man who would become God,' the snow-haired man replied in a demeanour far more relaxed than his right allowed him to be. With that, the so-called Byakuran spread Mukuro's nether cheeks and in he went.

The man's thrust sent the demon's head reeling. As always, throe led the way, but the manifold pleasure that followed this immeasurable tremor made him wish the sun might never rise and the perpetual darkness let him drown in this bliss forever and ever. Passion anchored itself within the depth of his heart; who'd have guessed that this man had 'Ecstasy' as an alias?

The human had about half of his member in then slowly pulled, only to push again—more urgently this time—and then he withdrew and pressed forward again, going farther only a fraction of an inch each lunge. The demon's laborious breathing and the human's dives gradually formed a rhythm of which melody only the two of them could comprehend. In this fashion, Byakuran entered Mukuro entirely, grasping his hips as he plunged himself deep into the incubus.

'Fu fu fu fu fu. Your body is swallowing me.'

Silence was the sole reply the incubus gave. He had no need to look down to confirm his adversary's word. He was aware of the blood trickling on his thighs, resulted by his ravisher pumping against the inner sphincter, stirring his prostate with a vigorous spearhead while being submerged in his most vulnerable area. As the white-haired man pushed farther and farther until his balls bumped against the demon's opening, Mukuro felt so impossibly replete in the inside whereas his erection throbbed and exudated. He nearly fainted with lust; this new seducer had sent him over the edge of his sanity and he had to cling desperately for the last bit of it.

In attempt to direct his attention somewhere else—anywhere else but to this so-called Byakuran—Mukuro observed the yonder edifices. Being the tallest building in the neighbourhood, the church whereon roof he had perched earlier caught his eye forthwith. Its opulent composition of architectural sculptures was considered among the best in England. Other than with the crocket-enriched ogees and the dog-tooth cornice, the west wall was embellished with more than a hundred statues depicting the Crucifixion of Christ chronicle with a buttress dividing each scene. The most prominent from Mukuro's current angle, however, was that of Satan tempting Jesus while He was praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.

That's what's supposed to be; a diabolical being like me should tempt, not be tempted! Mukuro reminded himself. He was an incubus, an incarnation of lust and a manifestation of sexual congress, and yet, his current self was no different from an inexperienced adolescent human, not knowing what to do to calm the wild pounding in his chest. Each and every nerve of his tingled with excitement thanks to Byakuran's accelerated pace; the heat of friction from the man's ragingly stiff flesh ramming in and out of him.

Mukuro cast another glance at the carved foliage ornaments in the upper part of the church. Is this how I am to this human—bendable at his will?

Byakuran's voice dismissed his contemplation. 'Why is it that in every parallel universe it's either you yielded not yourself to me willingly or death separated us, Mukuro-kun?'

How is it that this man's penetration reminds me that heaven exists even for demons?

The incubus' lips quivered with harrowing pain in his lower region; Byakuran's thrusts grew more vehement, each embodied silent fury from the fact that Mukuro dared to think of any subject other than himself during copulation. Along with the pain, the pleasure escalated so amply that even a demon of lust could no longer contain it; the insurmountable coil inside his stomach implored for a release. Quite a few of Mukuro's promiscuous moans echoed through the stillness of the night before his member jerked as the first white fluid let loose onto the mildewy air. Jets of white shot out of his engorged lance landed tepidly on his partner's porcelain-smooth chest and diaphragm.

A pair of talons sprung forth from Mukuro's ankles; melanite wings spread on his back; tail reinstated to its place; elongated claws replaced round nails; ears grew pointy; even the colour of his pupils returned to their semblance to sapphire and ruby. A surge of panic washed over the incubus. Never before had a mating partner taken him to such pinnacle of pleasure that actuated him to lose control of his transformation.

How dare he make me feel this way!

But Byakuran seemed not appalled, or even as much as surprised, by this metamorphosis—if anything, a renewed light glistened in his eyes. 'You are beautiful, Mukuro-kun.'

Suddenly, the xanthochroid man pressed his whole length into winged creature, shoving hard and implanting himself within the depth of the incubus, and then intermitted. Byakuran simply stayed there until Mukuro's sphincter went into spasms on him. His member pulsed into an ejaculation deep inside of the demon. His virility was harder than a glistening diamond, yet the essence it emanated was softer than drifts of snow.

It seemed to take an eternity for the flame of Byakuran's orgasm to subside. When his manhood stopped throbbing within Mukuro, he preserved his embrace of the demon. Passion was limpidly reflected in his reopened eyes. Beads of perspiration spangled his temple. Ragged breath rolled out from his mouth. Tension left his shoulders and hips. He still stroked his softening lance back and forth inside the incubus, his essence of white lubricating them both.

Then Byakuran withdrew all the way, vacating Mukuro's body. The demon groaned with displeasure as his interior felt strangely derelict—gaping, even. Byakuran's nature had indeed fascinated his every sense, and he was intrigued to learn this man's familiarity with the peculiarities of the world; yet the thorough interview can wait. Right now, he wanted to grind this man's body with his own, or be ground mercilessly with it if Byakuran's erect flesh wilted back to its pendulous state and unable to perform a speedy recovery. Separation, therefore, was out of question.

A fresh desire wallowed up within him despite his climax a couple of minutes prior. Reaching up to his ravisher, with the entwinement of their tongues bearing evidence to the avidness of the kiss, his hands wandered all over Byakuran's shoulders and back, terminating with hard squeezes on the man's rear curvature.

At this encouragement, the snowy-haired man complacently remarked, 'The night is young.'

Soon after nuzzling and nibbling at Mukuro's neck and palpating his flanks with comforting strokes, Byakuran's mouth reclaimed Mukuro's, aggressively kissing the incubus into submission. As his tongue esuriently delved deep into his captive's mouth, he overwhelmed his partner, guiding the winged creature, limbs unsteady, to end up on his back on the stone floor of the abutment.

The ground was hard and unyielding and cold in contrast to his skin, albeit some of its corners were covered in moss. The narrow abutment ended where his crotch was; there was no room for the human in the platform, and so he had to stand in the gelid water, enduring the discomfort of the jagged rocks at the base of the stream against the tender skin of his soles.

A gusty breeze leapt between them, causing Mukuro to crave for Byakuran's warmth even more urgently. Just as all incubi possessed more erotic charm than humans, they needed the sexual pleasure even more.

More.

The more he moves inside you, the less you will be able to walk without throbbing pain when morning comes.

More...

Keep holding him, and you will be famished!

More! I want more; give me more!

Mukuro's pride as a demon forbade his mouth to beg, but it prevented not his wings from encasing the man, pulling the white head closer to meet him in another long-lingering lip lock.

Nevertheless, instead of parting the incubus' cheeks afresh and pushing his nectar- embrocated member at the winged demon's slippery entrance, Byakuran reached for Mukuro's slender tail. He brought it onto his mouth, and then explored its velvety length with painfully slow tantalising kisses. No external part of a demon was more sensitive than this spot other than his or her genitalia. It was hard not to mewl, but above them, two police officers were passing the bridge in their patrol. Not that killing those puny humans would pose a threat to him, but having to pause from the current leisure was the last thing in his mind.

Biting his own lip, Mukuro shuddered. His muscles contracted. His sweat trickled. His back arched. His toes curled. And yet, there was nothing he could do to prevent Byakuran from teasing him.

When the last tap of the policemen's boots against the cobblestones was out of earshot, Mukuro, loaded with opprobrium, ferally growled, 'YOU!'

But prior to the verbalisation of the curse, his partner pacified his indignation with caresses between their erections. Mukuro's had fully hardened while Byakuran was toying with his tail; Byakuran was indurated upon seeing Mukuro's reactions. Now that their mouths were ravishing each other's, their lower members were engaged in a fierce mini-swordfight.

Byakuran moved his arms and put his hands on the underside of Mukuro's knees then put all his weight on them. He feasted upon the view: a gorgeous creature's willing groins were wide open to him and him only. His grin widened as he noticed puddles of seminal fluid on the Mukuro's venter oozing from the indigo-haired incubus' furious member.

Although Byakuran's manhood was once again poised at the entrance to Mukuro's orifice, the amethyst-eyed man dove not with menacing force, nor did his hips pound into his partner's drenched tunnel immediately. Instead, he gazed at the figure underneath him very intently. The gleam in his eyes was brighter than hundreds of candles and scintillating stars, untainted by lie's dismal incitement.

'Per lumen et umbram mille vitas ut tibi occurrerimo vivi, o amice animi.' Save for the subtlest hint of dolour which encased Byakuran's words, the voice itself was toneless.

No word should have any power like that; still, Mukuro quivered.

Demons were born with the knowledge of all languages of the races of human on the face of earth, in addition to the languages of their own who dwelled under hell's umbrageous canopy and the languages of the divine entities in their heavenly abode. It took none of his effort to interpret the Latin words: 'I have lived a thousand lives through light and shadow in order to meet you, o soul mate of mine.'

The demon's jaw clenched. What God gave, God took away. Affection was no exception. He would not bend. Not now. Not ever.

'Then I suppose you will continue loving me as long as the rivers flow into the sea?' Derisive as it was, Mukuro's pitch was unmistakably higher than his normal speaking voice.

The white-haired man tore not his gaze from the pair of heterochromatic eyes. 'Even if the rivers, the trees and nature itself die, my love for you will never cease.'

But Mukuro's tail stroke Byakuan's lower back and rear mounds. 'Ku fu fu fu fu.' Another of Mukuro's scornful laughter pierced through the night's perfidious air. 'That is indeed a useful line. I shall use it the next time I need to court my prey.'

Byakuran answered not. He simply interlaced his fingers with Mukuro's and made his entry with one swift thrust. He kept his face buried at the crook of the incubus' neck, so even though the indigo-haired figure could sense wetness dripping from the snowy-haired man's face, there was no means to ascertain whether it was tear or sweat.

There would come a day when Rokudo Mukuro and he be reunited with a happier ending. For that purpose, he would have to gather the trinisettes; create the Funeral Wreaths along with thousands of minions to wage war against the Vongole as well as anyone who obstructed his way; and become the master of the parallel universe. Until that day, he would have to be content to live in consolatory dreams. For now, before the half moon in the lofty firmament bled away, he was joined in flesh with his beloved.

THE END

Readers, if the 'I have lived a thousand lives to meet you' part pokes your curiosity, read For the Love of Hell.