Firebrand

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Lys ap Adin

Branch

A dark AU in which Mukuro finds Xanxus first and makes use of him instead of Tsuna. Xanxus, for his own reasons, lets him. Very D/s Mukuro/Xanxus.

Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"Firebrand" published on 2009-05-27 19:41:09.

"But One Thought Between Them" published on 2009-05-28 11:45:32.

"Any Tool, When Held Correctly, Is a Weapon" published on 2009-06-09 19:54:04.

"Psychological Warfare" published on 2009-08-31 19:46:59.

"The River Continues" published on 2009-12-19 19:09:09.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is "Torch's Flame" by Guillaume Blanchard, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Australia_Cairns_Flame.jpg).

Cover design by Branch.

Firebrand

Lys ap Adin

Mukuro likes strong things, and pawns who are loyal to him. Alternate canon history; dark, violent, and twisty.

He leaves a message behind for whatever Estraneo survivors there might be. It's written in smoke and blood, and it says, quite simply, Don't do this again.

The two children who had survived the labs trail after him. Their eyes are wide and dark, and they look at him like he is a hero. He does not disabuse them of the notion.

But they are children, for all that they are strong—he saw the dark one make two kills, and the light one rip the throat out of a scientist with nothing but his teeth—and for now they are a burden to him.

He toys with the idea of killing them; the fewer people who know of him, the better. It would be simple enough to do. Given the way they look at him, they might even bare their throats for him.

Instead he renames them. The names come from an early life, perhaps his first, and though they no longer have faces attached to them, he recalls the sense of camaraderie that goes with them. "You will be Joushima Ken," he tells the light one, and to the dark one, he says, "And you will be Kakimoto Chikusa." They accept that, solemnly, and then he finds them a home.

The Rossi are a small Family, and, in the way of small, weak factions, have made up for it by building one of the finest information networks in Italy. Their boss is a sentimental fool, and adopts the two orphans without a single thought in his head but charity.

Before he leaves Ken and Chikusa to the Rossi's mercies, he gives them instructions. "Grow up," he tells them. "Become stronger. Listen. Learn. Be ready for me when I come for you." There are other things, ones he leaves unsaid—their minds are open to him now, ready for him to stroll through any time he chooses.

They accept that, too, and then Ken—already the brash one—asks, humbly, "What should we call you?"

"You shouldn't," he says, and they flinch. But it's true enough that he needs a name, and the one the Estraneo gave him won't do at all. "Mukuro," he says, finally, picking the name that goes with theirs. "You may call me Mukuro-sama."

The linguistic niceties are lost on them, to be sure, but they nod. When Mukuro leaves them, they are forming the syllables for themselves, eyes wide and shining.

He drifts through Italy on his own, possessing people and discarding them after he's learned the things they won't tell someone wearing a child's body, and what he learns is that he wouldn't give two figs for any of the Families or their so-called values. The Estraneo had been rotten at the core, and so are the rest of them. The more they bleat on about their honor and their codes, the more it disgusts him. They have no honor that they will not sell. They have no codes that they will not break.

The Mafia—humans—are revolting. There's nothing they won't sacrifice if it means gain, not even their own children.

The whole thing should be destroyed.

And then Mukuro thinks, Why not?

He drifts northward, towards the Rossi, with the vague intention of letting himself be adopted along with Chikusa and Ken. The Rossi are as good a place as any to stay while he plans his destruction of the Mafia.

That changes when he hears the rumors coming out of the Vongola—that the Vongola Ninth is getting old, and will select his heir soon. The favorite is Xanxus, his natural son. All the Barassi peon Mukuro is possessing knows of this Xanxus is that he's strong—incredibly strong.

Mukuro absorbs this, and smiles.

He likes strong things.

He goes strolling that evening, walking through his own world until he comes across Chikusa. The boy looks startled to see him, but takes his hand without hesitation. "Mukuro-sama," he murmurs.

"I have need of you," Mukuro tells him, and pushes Chikusa's consciousness aside.

The Rossi are careless among their own people. Mukuro strolls Chikusa's body through the Rossi base unchallenged, conducting his interrogations here and there, gleaning what they know of the Vongola, of this Xanxus. He pays no mind to the bodies he leaves behind him, and is pleased to note that Chikusa doesn't either.

It is terribly useful to have loyal pawns.

What the Rossi know of Xanxus dwells on the fact that he is rumored to be the Vongola Ninth's bastard son, and that he wields the Vongola Flame. He is said to be arrogant and short-tempered, and widely-expected to be named the Tenth any day now. In the meantime, he has taken control of the Varia.

Mukuro thinks that he will do nicely.

Xanxus is even better than he'd hoped.

It takes a while for Mukuro to weed through the man's underlings—killing the weak ones, disabling and marking the stronger ones for later use, if necessary—and reach him where he's brooding in his lair. When Mukuro walks in, carrying his trident and flicking the blood off his fingers, Xanxus is slouched in a chair. Mukuro doesn't make the mistake of assuming that the casual posture means that Xanxus is unwary; the man's eyes are burning.

Xanxus does him the courtesy of not assuming that the child's body Mukuro is wearing means that Mukuro is harmless. "Who the fuck are you?"

He smiles. "You may call me Mukuro," he says, and rolls out of the way of the gunfire—the gun had appeared in Xanxus' hand almost before he could see it. Delightful. "Oh, you are going to be fun to play with."

Xanxus snarls something wordless at him; his Flame sears through the air and Mukuro barely escapes being burnt. He laughs again and vaults out of the way, pivots on his staff and launches himself at Xanxus.

He'd dipped into the minds of the higher-ranking Varia, to see what their experience of Xanxus was. The uniform impression that he'd received was that the only thing Xanxus respected was strength. In that sense, he's a man after Mukuro's own heart. So Mukuro dances with him, trading blows and dodging bullets until the room is in ruins. He lands a hit early, a glancing blow as Xanxus turns his trident aside, but it lays the back of Xanxus' hand open. That's all the opportunity he needs.

He pays just enough attention to what's going on around him to keep Xanxus from injuring him, and goes for a stroll through Xanxus' memories. He's looking for confirmation that Xanxus really is going to be the Tenth. What he finds is something else entirely.

"And to think all of Italy believes you really are his son," Mukuro says, beyond entertained by it. The rot goes all the way to the heart of the Vongola, who pride themselves on the purity of their Family traditions. It's too delicious for words. "To think he even let you believe it—!"

Xanxus howls and lunges for him, but it's too late now. Mukuro has seen to the heart of the man, seen all his doubts and insecurities and the intangible things Xanxus hungers for and knows that he won't ever have. Mukuro steps out of his way and reaches out his own Will to seize control of Xanxus.

The man goes down like a rock, but his spirit struggles against Mukuro's, fighting against the grip Mukuro has on him. "You are strong," he says, going to Xanxus and standing over him.

The man glares at him, eyes fierce.

Mukuro considers him, and crouches. "Very strong," he says, softly. "And yet they don't want you. They fear you and what you can do to them." The spirit of Xanxus flinches in his grip. "You will never belong to them, and they know it." Xanxus flinches again, but Mukuro's hold on him is too strong now, and Mukuro refuses to let him look away. "But they don't mind using you, do they? They don't mind lying to you, and letting you destroy their other enemies. You make a very pretty little pawn, don't you?"

He tips his head to the side, studying Xanxus. "I wonder how long it will be until their fear of you outweighs their need for you, and they decide to kill you? It can't be long... I see you're already planning to take what should be yours. They won't let you, you know. The old man who calls himself your father will see you dead by his own hand before he lets that happen." He smiles as Xanxus' spirit goes still against his. "Remember, it's always the Family first with them. And you? You're not even family, let alone Family."

That has him; Xanxus' will flinches against his one more time, and then goes limp, bleak with despair.

Mukuro starts to shoulder him aside, and reconsiders it. "I wonder what you even want with that," he says. "Whited sepulchers, all of them. Corrupt to the very core of them. Weak little men who can't even do their own killing, and rely on monsters to do it for them. Liars and cheats, all of them." He lays his hand against Xanxus' cheek, lightly, and can feel Xanxus listening to him, intent as a flame. "You are much finer than that, aren't you? You're stronger than they are. Purer than they are, for all their fine bloodlines."

Xanxus' spirit flexes against his; Mukuro relaxes his hold just a bit, enough to give him a voice. "What do you want from me?" he rasps.

Mukuro smiles at him. "I want you to help me burn it all down," he says. "Right down to the ground. All of it—the whole rotten, stinking thing."

Xanxus' eyes change, go bright and fierce. "Yes," he whispers.

Mukuro can see the future burning in his eyes. It's a beautiful sight.

- end -

But One Thought Between Them

Branch

Companion story for Lys ap Adin's "Firebrand". Xanxus fights Mukuro's possession, but not for quite the reason one might assume. Mind-Porn with Creepiness, D/s, I-4

Xanxus wanted what Mukuro wanted. He gloried in the destruction. But he still fought possession every time, spirit clawing viciously against being pushed aside.

Eventually Mukuro asked why.

What, do I look like your fucking lapdog? Xanxus snarled back.

Mukuro laughed. Since that's what you are, I suppose you do. The jerk of Xanxus' spirit against his amused him. Well? You do my bidding every day. Aren't you?

It isn't for you!

Of course not. It's because you enjoy this. The tremble that passed through Xanxus' spirit, at that, caught his attention. He smiled slowly. You enjoy every moment of it, don't you? he purred, provokingly.

Another jerk, as Xanxus tried to lash out at him and back away from him at the same time. Mukuro turned inward and caught him again, holding him fast in a hard mental grip. Xanxus' spirit shuddered against his.

You do it because you enjoy it and because I'm stronger than you, Mukuro whispered to him. Because you enjoy that I'm stronger than you. He tightened his hold.

Xanxus' resistance subsided, though his submission was still tinged with fury, much to Mukuro's entertainment. He pulled Xanxus closer, close enough to feel his body again, and stroked Xanxus' hand down his own chest to cup between his legs. He kneaded slowly, savoring Xanxus' shock. Xanxus strained against his mind's grip again and arousal shuddered through his spirit, echoed through his body, when Mukuro pinned his spirit where it was, close enough for sensation but not for control. Mukuro laughed, delighted.

He spread the legs of Xanxus' body and undid his pants, sliding Xanxus' hand inside. Xanxus' spirit shivered under his hold and Mukuro murmured, You like the feeling when I make you submit, hm? That's why you always fight me, isn't it?

Xanxus spirit jerked under his grip, but if Xanxus had had a voice at the moment he would have moaned out the denial. Mukuro moved Xanxus' hand on himself, stroking him slow and firm and relentless, and Xanxus' spirit turned pliant against his, yearning towards the pleasure both physical and non-physical. Mukuro smiled and moved Xanxus' hand on him faster, harder, until Xanxus' body arched taut as he came.

Mukuro pushed Xanxus' spirit back again, holding him down in his own mind, and Xanxus trembled, quiet.

You'll get what you want, with me, Mukuro purred, mind brushing over Xanxus light and easy. Everything you want.

End

Any Tool, When Held Correctly, Is a Weapon

Lys ap Adin

Sometimes Mukuro finds it necessary to tend to Xanxus. Written for Porn Battle VIII, to the prompt "overwhelmed." Smut with reasonably creepy D/s overtones

After the last of the Arcobaleno fell, things began falling into place rapidly. Or began falling to pieces, to be more precise, which was much more to Mukuro's taste. Many of the smaller Families were nothing but smoking ruins, and even the fact that the larger Families were reaching past ancient vendettas to ally against them couldn't shake his good humor.

It was all only a matter of time, now.

Regrets? he purred to Xanxus, when Xanxus had dismissed his lieutenant and retired to his private rooms to rinse the blood from his hands.

Xanxus bared his teeth at the mirror; he seemed to like having another face to address, even though Mukuro had told him it wasn't necessary. "Fuck, no. I always hated that fucking midget."

Hate wasn't precisely the right word for it, of course—Mukuro had tasted Xanxus' longing for Reborn's attention, and his resentment when Reborn had overlooked him. But Xanxus found it easier to couch such sentiments in hate. Mm, I suppose, he said, lightly enough, and stretched himself out, reaching for control of Xanxus, wanting a deeper taste.

Xanxus snarled and fought back against his grip, resisting the pressure of Mukuro's will, the way he did every time. Mukuro laughed and closed his grip more tightly, and tasted the relief and desire as he overcame Xanxus' resistance. Such a complicated spirit Xanxus had, with as many layers and contradictions as a fine wine. Held, now, Xanxus shuddered beneath his will. Such fineness in you, Mukuro murmured to him, tasting him, and pulled him closer.

Xanxus flexed beneath him, a shudder that tasted of denial; even now, he resisted such compliments strenuously.

Look, Mukuro told him, directing Xanxus' gaze to the mirror that hung over the basin. Look, Xanxus. See. And Xanxus saw, because Mukuro would not let him look away, not as he moved Xanxus' fingers to unbutton his shirt and let it fall, and then to his slacks, undoing them and sliding them down, until Xanxus was bare in the reflection.

Beneath his grip, Xanxus' will was tinged with rage and embarrassment, and Mukuro huffed, tightening his grip until Xanxus, reminded, went pliant. Look at the strength of you, he murmured, sliding Xanxus' hands over his chest and stomach, stroking over the solid muscles there. Xanxus' will trembled under his. See the things that drew me to you in the first place.

Xanxus flexed under him, beginning to rouse, yearning and resisting all at once. Delicious, complicated Xanxus. Mukuro purred and lifted Xanxus' fingers to his mouth, sucking on them. Xanxus writhed under his grasp, watching his reflection, tasting the traces of blood and gunpowder still on his fingers. So strong, Mukuro told him, savoring the way Xanxus flexed under him. So beautiful. So foolish of them, not to value you. He braced Xanxus against the wall, and stroked his hand down; Xanxus strained against him when he realized how Mukuro was directing his fingers.

Mukuro tightened his grasp on Xanxus, pinning him, and slid Xanxus' fingers into him. Xanxus' body arched and shuddered at the stretch, and Xanxus himself would have cried out at the foreign heat of it. I see you, he told Xanxus, fucking him on his own fingers, slow and deliberate. I see all of you, Xanxus. And you are brilliance itself. And you are mine.

Xanxus would have cried out again, at that, had Mukuro permitted it. Instead he went limp against Mukuro's grip, staring at himself as his body shuddered and pleasure clamped down on him, complicated and layered.

There, my own, Mukuro whispered to him, stroking him slowly as Xanxus panted, quiescent under his touch. You see? he asked, gathering him closer, and purred as a ripple of acquiescence ran through Xanxus.

So delightfully intricate, his Xanxus. He couldn't have found a better tool if he'd tried.

- end -

Psychological Warfare

Lys ap Adin

The Cradle Affair, this time with more Mukuro. For cliche_bingo, prompt: "Darkfic." Part of the Firebrand 'verse. Dark like a very dark thing.

They began with the Vongola itself, because Mukuro was well aware of the psychological asset that taking out one's strongest opponents first could be, and because he wanted to test the mettle of his new acquisition. Xanxus agreed to the mission readily enough—had, indeed, been planning on a strike that would have installed him at the head of the Vongola when Mukuro had come in search of him. Mukuro stepped back to let Xanxus restore order among those members of the Varia who had survived Mukuro's assault, and was satisfied with letting them get on with planning the strike.

He rather liked the pragmatic way the survivors accepted him without question when Xanxus growled, "He's with us now," at them. Such practical people, these Varia. It had been a good decision to seek them out. They accepted Ken and Chikusa, too, with only a minimum of muttering, especially after Mukuro had the two of them demonstrate how strong they really were by setting them against a pair of soldiers from one of the squads. After all, if there was anything the Varia did respect, it was strength, and they had a long tradition of new members making places for themselves by removing their predecessors from it by force.

And so they plotted their assault on the Vongola, with Ken and Chikusa as pint-sized mascots and Mukuro himself drifting among them, watching Xanxus' scrappy little second conduct the planning as Xanxus himself brooded in the background, cultivating the detached, lordly pose he had created for himself.

Mukuro wondered, sometimes, whether his new tool was having second thoughts. If Xanxus was, he wasn't showing them outwardly, or on the surface levels of his thoughts.

He didn't let them show when they finally struck, either, as the bulk of the Varia's forces struck at the Vongola's army, while their most elite members punched through the defenses of the main house like a sharp knife driving through soft flesh. Xanxus and his second took the point of that force, driving through the mansion themselves and slaughtering anyone who stepped in their way. Mukuro followed after them, at a rather more leisurely pace, savoring the carnage and the running battles as he picked his way through the winding hallways. He kept a corner of his attention on watching the battle through Xanxus' eyes, enjoying the taste of Xanxus' unholy satisfaction at cutting down all the people he'd suspected of slighting him in the past.

It was amazing how well Xanxus could motivate himself. Mukuro hardly ever had to nudge him into the appropriate direction at all.

The Vongola were old, and canny, none of them more so than the old man who led them. Mukuro had been expecting that, even if Xanxus hadn't, and arrived in the large vaulted room where Xanxus was facing his erstwhile foster father just in time to hear Xanxus' furious denial of the old man's true strength. "This is impossible!" he raged, and Mukuro could feel him straining against the Ninth's Will, trying in vain to break the seals that the old man had placed on his Flames.

"It is," the Ninth told him, inescapably gentle. "Xanxus, my boy, you can't beat me. Stop this, and we can—"

That was quite enough of that, Mukuro decided, feeling the flicker, almost as of longing, in Xanxus' will. "Perhaps he can't beat you," he said, stepping out from behind the pillar where he had been observing. "Fortunately, he brought me along, too."

The old man did him the courtesy of taking him seriously despite the child's body that he wore. "And you are?" he asked, raising his scepter.

"Oh, they call me Mukuro." He called on his trident. "Rokudou Mukuro."

He already knew that the old man was good from having watched him fight from behind Xanxus' eyes. He was, however, an old man, and heartsick at his adopted son's betrayal and tired from having battled him already. What was more, his Flame's secret power was for use against other Flame users, which Mukuro was not. It was a lovely fight, really; Mukuro laughed when they finally closed with each other and the Ninth's scepter bore down on him, heavy against the child's strength of his body.

"Why are you laughing?" the old man asked him, frowning and wary. "You're losing."

"It's because I know something you don't know," Mukuro told him, smiling, and drove Xanxus' fist through the old man's chest.

Really, he decided later, when Xanxus had finally stopped screaming, it was a good thing he'd come to the Varia when he had. There was no telling what kind of a hash of things Xanxus would have made of it if Mukuro hadn't been there to nudge things along.

- end -

The River Continues

Branch

Mukuro believes in possessing what's his completely; the obvious ways are only the beginning. Mind-Porn with Creepiness, D/s, I-4

Xanxus had gotten as used as a person could, over the years, to the way Mukuro took him to bed using Xanxus' own body. All bets were off, working with someone who possessed people, including you. He got that.

But sometimes, now, it was different. Sometimes Mukuro used his own body. And then things went differently.

Those were the nights like this one, when the darkness inside him felt heavier than usual and Mukuro's presence shifted outside of him, teasing him with there-and-gone until he was twitchy. When he finally felt a firmer brush of that presence he looked up with a glare to find the man actually standing in the doorway, lean and careless and smiling that surface smile that really creeped him out.

"Yeah, what?" he growled.

Mukuro didn't move, just smiled a little wider and seized Xanxus' self harshly, without pretense or banter for once, driving Xanxus down in his own mind until he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even think of fighting any more, dazed and pliant under the ruthless grip.

And then Mukuro drew back, leaving Xanxus still and trembling and hard from the touch of Mukuro's strength.

The next touch he felt was hands running over his skin, easing him down against the bed, brushing his clothes aside. Sliding after Mukuro's fingers was possession, soft this time, stealing through his body and caressing every inch of him. It didn't restrain him this time, but this soon after being reminded so roughly and completely what Mukuro was to him he couldn't resist. It was familiar and warm, and he surrendered to it with a low moan. Mukuro stroked him, inside and out, not holding or moving him this time but easing Xanxus' body into his hands, preparing him in little ways to receive every touch.

Mukuro's hands felt different than his own—strong, yes, but slender. The touch, though... he knew that touch, knew the feeling of fingers pressing into his ass that way, knew the possessive slide of Mukuro's will down his arms and legs. It was the feeling of being wanted, because what Mukuro wanted Mukuro took.

"Exactly," Mukuro purred, speaking for the first time that evening. Mukuro's possession of his body tipped Xanxus' hips up just a little, just enough to make the first thrust perfect, and he smiled as Xanxus gasped.

That lean, tall body fucked him slowly, surely, and Mukuro's will held him, stroked and caressed him, nudged him until he was spread out just right and panting under the pleasure. This gentle possession took nothing, only urged, though the core of Xanxus still vibrated with the memory of Mukuro's crushing power. Even so, he knew this was another way of binding him just as firmly; he could feel it waiting.

"You belong to me," Mukuro murmured, low and husky.

The final surrender was one word Xanxus whispered of his own will.

"Yes."

Mukuro gathered him up and kissed him, slow and deep, the one touch that Mukuro could only give him in person, and Xanxus moaned as pleasure rolled through him, spilling in on the heels of his submission. He couldn't tell if that was Mukuro's doing or just his own response; it almost didn't matter right now. Mukuro held him as the heat wrung him out, and as it faded he gripped Xanxus' will more tightly, pressing him down slow and inexorable, stilling the first twitch of embarrassment and resistance before it could really begin. Xanxus breathed out and subsided under him.

"Some day you will surrender this completely to my gentlest touch," Mukuro said, light and soft against his ear.

The thought made Xanxus shudder with want and heat, and Mukuro smiled down at him, slow and dark and real.

End