Title.- Different
Fandom.- Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Rating.- R :'D
Pairings.- Yamamoto/Mukuro Db
Warnings.- Bad grammar?
Notes.- A beta would be highly appreciated and loved. Feedback in encouraged. :'D
This felt bad.
Not in the sense that he didn't liked it. But 'wrong' couldn't define the feeling quite well, either. It was more like as if you'd steal something and enjoy it. It's morally wrong, yes. And it felt that way. But you can't stop it.
He wondered if this was what the definition of 'evil' felt like. He felt like being poisoned.
"You have never been with a boy before, Takeshi-kun."
It wasn't a question. But it seemed his partner wanted an answer.
Not like Yamamoto could muster anything. His head felt heavily clouded and his thoughts were long missing. He continuously had to force himself to breathe. Feeling like if a heavy fog curtain had just settled inside his mind.
His partner grabbed him by the chin, and he could see clearly both his red and blue eye.
"Have you been with a boy before, Takeshi-kun?"
That, was a question. And by the chills it sent down his spine, he knew an answer was demanded.
He managed to barely shake his head, but the other boy seemed pleased with it.
And it was nothing but the truth, honestly. Sure, Yamamoto had been with a couple of girls before, just like any normal guy would have. He liked women, after all. Though that didn't mean he had anything against this. It was simply, and in pure honesty, he hadn't considered it before.
However, there was one thing he had to admit. It was completely different from being with a girl.
Girls were soft in all places. With pronounced curves and rosy lips. Small and delicate. With that soft, charming scent all over their velvety skin that tingled Yamamoto's nose.
Now, there were sudden sharp angles instead. Moist skin under his fingertips, with small but well developed muscles. With absolutely no makeup over his face; which allowed him to taste his own lips instead of some, pre-fabricated, cherry flavor. And the aggressiveness. It seemed almost as if he was wrestling. It made him feel too excited.
And the scent. It wasn't sweet like a perfume any girl might wear. It was a mix of moisture, sweat, soil and arousal.
Mukuro smelled like sex.
"Kufufu, I can't help but feel a little honored, then." He murmured as he attacked his neck. Yamamoto gulped and gripped Mukuro's shoulder with one hand, letting the other travel up the Italian's chest.
It seemed like a pretty damn bad idea, truthfully. Like driving a car with a fierce rain going outside, plus a dense mist involving it all.
You couldn't know when you were about to crash or fall off a cliff.
But he couldn't bring himself to stop.
