AN: This is going to eventually be a series of drabbles about the Vongola family in relation to my story Not Your Whipping Boy. They can be read as a stand-alone, though reading the original story might make things a bit clearer. :D Always remember, R&R are loves. ^.^


Mukuro Rokudo was no one's fool. He was quite capable of handling himself, thank you very much. Despite the typical stigma of illusionists being weak, he had trained his body, making it a powerful vessel, at least for this turn of the wheel. He could put up to the Skylark, he was quite happy to go on solo missions for the Decimo (though he insisted he was only biding his time until Tsuna's body was ripe for possession) and he still detested the mafia with a single-minded purpose.

But there are some things that he was discovering he could not do without. He found himself opening up… just a bit… to the Vongola. Not the mafia, never the mafia. But the Vongola seemed to draw him out. Somehow, in the course of a year, his world had gone from safe and reliable (albeit rather dark) to something completely turned on its head, and he wasn't completely sure he was upset with this.

The first thing Mukuro discovered he couldn't do without was touch. When he had come from Vendicare the last time, he had discovered a frustrating need to remind himself that he wasn't alone anymore. He was practically clingy, draping himself over the young Don every chance he got, entertaining Kyoya's nearly constant demands for fights, and creeping the other Guardians out by running his hands through their hair, along the shoulders and every once in a while, (when he was intentionally trying to be a pervert) along their thighs. The only one who didn't seem put off by this behavior was Ryohei, oddly, but everyone chalked it up to the time the energetic boxer had spent with Lussuria… you definitely needed to build up a tolerance of being touched with that one. His twentieth birthday made Mukuro realize exactly how tactile he'd become.

The morning dawned bright, hot, and cheerful, much to the disgruntlement of the male illusionist. He rolled back over, throwing the light blanket over his head with a soft growl. When sleep eluded him, he flopped onto his back with his arms behind his head, pondering deeply. Twenty years in this cycle and he really hadn't accomplished anything that he wanted to do. The world wasn't at his mercy, the mafia didn't belong to him… hell, he didn't even have a car yet. That particular thought startled a laugh out of him and he shook his head. He decided to give himself a small birthday present. Five minutes later found him in sleep pants and little else, sneaking inside Tsuna's room. The brunette lay on his side, softly snoring in a bed so monstrous it threatened to swallow him whole.

Mukuro smirked, suppressing the chuckle that wanted to escape so he wouldn't wake his 'prey'. He slipped into bed behind the sleeping Decimo and pulled the smaller man into his arms, burying his face in the chaotic brown locks. "Ku fu fu, Tsunayoshi-kun, will you let me possess your body?"

The soft whispering made the young mafia boss wrinkle his nose, muttering in his sleep for a moment before his eyes flew open as his Hyper Intuition told him he wasn't alone. The feel of the arms around him, and the legs that had curled possessively around his told him who had snuck into his bed at 6 in the morning. "Mukuro… what are you doing?" No jump of surprise, no small scream… as a matter of fact, Tsuna just snuggled into his male Mist's warmth, closing his eyes again with a grin of gentle exasperation. Nope, definitely not the first time he's woken up like this… and sadly, it's not always his Mist he wakes up to, either.

Mukuro's grin turned into a mou of distaste. "The sun woke me." He sounded rather put out, and Tsuna almost thought he had been woken by Ryohei before he realized what he meant and laughed softly.

"I'm sorry… you were the one who chose the room on the east side of the house." He pulled the covers up a bit, covering the two of them up. "Go back to sleep, hentai. I have another hour before Reborn tries to kill… er, wake me."

The easy way that Tsuna curled into his arms, the trust he showed by leaving his back open to his Mist… all of this startled Mukuro all over again. As he considered his mental whining earlier about his lack of accomplishments, he shook his head, closing his eyes. Maybe a car wasn't that important.

An hour later, the door opened silently and a tall, fedora-wearing hitman looked on the scene of the Decimo and his male illusionist snuggled up in sleep together. A couple of years ago, this would have made him see red, but Tsuna had explained to the ex-Arcobaleno before they moved to Italy that Mukuro was having a hard time adjusting to life outside the Vendicare tank and Reborn was not allowed to stop him from touching Tsuna or the other Guardians.

He was broken from his reminiscing by a pair of dual-colored eyes staring at him from the bed. "Arcobaleno."

"Rokudo." Reborn smirked, motioning to the bed. "Comfortable?"

"Quite, actually." The illusionist snuggled against Tsuna again, getting rewarded with a soft huff of contentment from his Sky. His… Sky… ugh. He was well and truly tamed, wasn't he?

Reborn noted the emotions flitting across the sleepy Mist's face, giving the slightest nod. "Wake him up, he has a meeting in 30 minutes." And with that, the hitman was gone, closing the door as silently as he'd opened it.

"Ku fu fu fu, I could think of a number of ways to do that…" Mukuro's perverted musings were interrupted by Tsuna's wide yawn.

"30 minutes, huh?" The Decimo's face twisted into a brief pout before he pulled himself from Mukuro's cuddling. Tsuna dropped a soft kiss on his illusionist's forehead and stood. "Go on down to breakfast, I'll be there in a few minutes." He headed into the bathroom, yawning quietly.

As he watched him go, Mukuro sighed softly, pondering for a moment how he'd managed to get himself snared by the dirty mafia after all. He sat up in the bed; arms resting loosely on top of pulled up knees and came to a conclusion. He hadn't been snared by the mafia… he'd been snared by the Vongola Guardians who never turned him away, and by the gentle brunette who welcomed him with open arms.

The second thing he couldn't live without, even more frustratingly, was gentle affection.

It started out innocently enough. In the future-that-never-was, the girls in Tsuna's family had gotten in the habit of taking care of 'their' boys. It was a habit they quickly picked back up again when they had graduated and Tsuna had been forced to move to Italy at Timoteo's request. The Guardians of course followed, and surprisingly, so did Kyoko, Haru, Hana, and I-pin. The girls took over the household duties of the tenth generation's wing, refusing the grandfatherly figure's offer of maids and cooks. They knew what their boys needed and were more than happy to help them out. However, they weren't willing to do it for free, this time. The girls banded together and forced the Decimo-in-training to admit that one: they were needed, and two: they were liabilities to his family. After a heated argument, in which Hayato and Tsuna argued loudly against it, and Bianchi and surprisingly, Kyoya held out with a quiet resolve, it was determined that the girls needed to learn to defend themselves. Mukuro had surprised everyone, including himself, when he opened his mouth, actually OFFERING to teach the girls. Well, not quite EVERYONE, as his sweet Nagi had simply smiled, shooting him a look of deep gratitude.

For the last six months, the male Mist had been meeting with the girls for 3 hours every day, training them in everything from simple self-defense to weapon skills. They had made amazing progress, and even Tsuna was forced to agree that the girls being able to defend themselves properly would mean less worrying for his Guardians and himself.

Haru was a deadly shot with almost every projectile she picked up, and Mukuro had quickly called on the Rain Arcobaleno to train with her for one of her three hours each day. He couldn't quite help the swell of pride in his chest when Haru had decimated the training program Gianinni had put together for her, not even flinching as she pulled the trigger under the chin of one of the Vongola grunts who'd been chosen to attack her. It took him 3 hours just to get the paint off his chest, chin and throat, a week before the bruise faded, and almost 3 weeks before his voice lost the husky overtones of a damaged throat.

Kyoko preferred close range combat, relying on her rather devious feminine wiles to lure her opponents into a false sense of security before showing them her claws. Quite literally, as the girl's weapon of choice was a fine set of silver daggers. Again, noticing the promise in his unconventional pupil, Mukuro summoned Belphegor from the Varia. It was surprisingly easy gain the psychopathic murderer's acquiescence… probably derived from the sweet smile Kyoko had turned on him, with a pretty curtsy and a murmured, 'Your Highness,' when he was introduced. How the younger Sasagawa sibling had known exactly what to say was a mystery to the Mist, but Bel's delight was almost tangible. He had bowed over her hand, called her his 'princessa', and gleefully taught her the fine art of drawing blood. Tsuna had not been happy about the training, but when Kyoko had added a new set of scars to a visiting Don for blatantly groping Hana in the hallway, he stopped muttering about it.

Hana, despite her bristly exterior, was definitely not faring as well as her friends in the training. Mukuro determined that the girl was much like his sweet Chrome when he'd first found her… weak, and so completely unsure of herself that she undermined her own abilities. With much the same hand that he'd used on Nagi, Mukuro gently pulled the girl away from her own uncertainties. He patiently repeated the same moves over and over again, his smile always at the ready as he taught her the fine 'normal' female arts of self-defense. By the time he determined her capable, she was deadly accurate with a can of mace and knew all of the vital, painful points on the human body. She would never be an assassin, but Mukuro was quite confident that she would never be anyone's victim either. She had also proven to be quite devious with a computer and an internet connection, even going so far (at her wicked tutor's urging) to break into the Varia Mist's bank account. After getting over his catatonic state, Mammon offered to share contacts with the girl and train her, as long as the Vongola Decimo was willing to pay him for the privilege. Tsuna readily agreed, recognizing both the potential of Hana's abilities and the fact that she'd need more protection than the others.

After a bit, Mukuro realized he was actually looking forward to the training sessions. The girls never shied away from him, never muttered about him behind his back, and not once did their clear eyes hold anything but trust for him. He admitted, to himself at least, that that was exactly what kept him coming back to his darling Nagi. He never wanted to be trusted, liked, or respected by the foul mafia… but the unconditional love those girls showed for him soothed his soul more than any plans of mayhem and revenge ever had.


Tsuna watched from the sidelines, and was privately thrilled by the changes in his devious Mist Guardian. Though he was still an extremely tactile creature, and still took great pleasure both in cuddling with Tsuna and sparring with Hibari, he had turned his other attentions on the girls, no longer trying to creep the Guardians out. Again, the odd man out in this was Ryohei, who was now seeking the attention of the illusionist, and not being shy about tossing an arm around him when they sat near each other or offering friendly punches to the shoulder when they met in the hall. Even Hibari had decided the illusionist was a worthy opponent, and took care to make sure he was healthy and safe. (If anyone DARED to ask the Skylark why he was so concerned, after getting thoroughly bitten to death, Kyoya would reply that the pineapple was no fun to fight weak.) The young Decimo knew that Mukuro needed the love that his family so willingly offered. He did his best to keep his male Mist out of meetings and gatherings that weren't desperately important, and showered him with affection both privately and publicly.

After all, he couldn't do without the soft 'ku fu fu's that wafted into his office after he'd been at the paperwork too long. He didn't want to live without the long, slender fingers that ran through his hair and combed the thousand small tensions away. He would not live without his surprisingly gentle illusionist friend, and he would fight anyone who sought to take him away again.