Fashionistas
Pairing. TYL 6918
I don't own KHR. Mukuro-sama and Hibari-san belong to each other.
-King Ro-
Note.Just something short of drabbles. Very, very short. Series of irregular drabbles about one single topic [fashion].
Please don't expect often update on this one, I deemed it merely for quick stress relief.
Hereby disclaimed the ownership of any fashion brands using in this fic.
[This phrase will never get old] Reviews, comments and criticisms are always welcome. I hope you enjoy it.
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1.
Blinked several times to fully awake, Hibari stretched felinely on the stuffed, soft mattress like a lazy cat. He reached out for his Bvlgari watchband atop the cabinet near bedside, mahogany eyes scanned over its inlaid silver numbers.
"Mukuro."
Hibari shook the sleeping illusionist, whose arm still wrapped possessively around his hips, grimaced as said man just tightened the grip and huskily muttered Five more minutes, Kyouya. At the fourth time, Hibari offered a good, strong kick on Mukuro's stomach, proudly watched him fell down the floor with a loud 'thwack'. Calmly slipped in a underwear, Hibari stepped over torn-off clothpieces from his Marc Jacobs sleepwear, which was ripped to shreds yesterday by Mukuro. He silently noted himself to never select thin silk fabric for any outfit, anymore.
"It's transparent, almost." Dressed on the turtle-necked Ralph Lauren shirt, Mukuro dreamily licked his lips. "You should wear something like that frequently." And the pervert received another kick right above abdomen.
While Hibari arranged some luggage in their coffee-colored Salvatore Ferragamo suitcases, the illusionist looked around for his Botticelli boots; only god knows how they drilled a hole in the wall and stucked there overnight. Moncler jacket, Gaultier leather pants, D&G belt, Hermes tie, every thing was thrown discardedly on the floor. Then Mukuro had a hard time just tried remembering where did he hide his Rolex watch. He was sure it should be somewhere under the bed, but the only things he could pull out from there were two pieces of cracky bent metal. Probably the hour-min indicators. Only god knows how.
-x-x-
"Why travel by public airplane when we have our own helicopter?"
Hibari leaned on the back of his seat, sleepily rubbed his eyes. Thanked to the Marc Jacobs sleepwear, he had underwent countless rounds until four o'clock in the morning. Four o'clock in the morning. That damned pervert bastard.
"Can't be helped, you slammed three helicopters on Vongola headquarter already, Kyouya."
Mukuro chuckled, raised an eye at how awkward his skylark was sitting, probably due from last night overtime activity. Yet he didn't feel a tinge of anxiety nor guilt. Conversely, his lips curled up to a villainious smile which evil can't beat, together with the all-too-suspicious sparkling lighting effects around him, as if he was contemplating something, very suspicious.
And Hibari suddenly felt a terrible hip sore.
Later, he regretted deeply for not shoving Mukuro off the plane right then and there, before the bastard became regular customer at Marc Jacobs sleepwear shop.
[1. End]