A/N: Outing myself because I know you want to flame me for this rubbish. As usual, ConCrit is appreciated & point out any mistakes I missed/made.
Disclaimer: KHR belongs to Amano Akira.
He's finally done it, finally achieved his goal of possessing the Vongola Decimo's body. Now, it is his time to reign, time to destroy the filthy world of mafioso.
He can see it already, and the excitement courses through his veins, rushing up to his cheeks and pinking them. Ah, he's losing control of himself. Not yet, it's not a good idea to blow his cover yet...
A hand wanders down, reverently touching himself, familiarizing Mukuro with this new vessel. It never ceases to amaze him, how this petite body hides so much strength and power. Just the thought of it makes Mukuro shudder, ever so slightly. Staring deeply into the mirror, he trails his left hand ever lower, his right hand bracing himself against the sink. He wonders if the boy is just as small down there.
The wielder of the Six Paths of Hell snickers to himself at his crude sense of humour. Considering the brunette's frame, it wouldn't be a surprise. Then again, he had some Italian blood... Making good use of the dexterity in his left hand, the convict quickly unbuttons and unzips the pants, then pushes down his boxers.
Mukuro grips himself before looking down. It looked average, normal.
And yet the sight turns him on, because it signifies how thoroughly he's won. Breathing just a tad heavier, he starts to stroke himself.
The illusionist rapes the mind of his host even as he's pleasuring the body. The boy was frantically crying out in a corner, and instead of grating on his nerves, the voice of Sawada Tsunayoshi pleading for him to let go, begging for him to not hurt anyone, makes him stiff instantly. The pathetic sounds his possession makes is such a lovely soundtrack.
Faster and faster Mukuro goes through the memories, all the bad and the good, picking up Sawada's mannerisms, his fears, his hopes, his crush, everything. His hand parallels the speed of his mind, rubbing himself at a harsh pace. The right hand braced against the sink had turned pale, and he can hear the soft pants of himself.
The friction on his dick is delicious, rough and stimulating.
By the time he's done with these records, the cries had faded to whimpers. Such a fragile toy. Mukuro casts him one last glance, and his lips twist into a vicious smirk. His dear Chrome had done such a good job, now the boy only had himself to blame for this mess.
He fades out of the subconscious into the real world and feels Nagi, waiting patiently outside the door. Mukuro twitches, comes with a quiet moan, and splatters white all over the sink and mirror, onto the reflection of his body. He curls the lips into his customary expression but, ah, it just looks out of sorts on this face. Lazily dragging a finger through a patch of fluid, the Mist Guardian brings it up to his lips and licks it clean.
Victory had never tasted so sweet, he decided.