Tsuna has heard some people say he's blind, and maybe he is, but he doesn't much care; in this moment at least Mukuro's malevolence is subdued, glittering barely-visible in his hooded eyes as he bends to pick up the silk scarf pooled on the table. It slips weightlessly over his hands, white and diaphanous as he brings it up to his face. It's wide enough that it covers everything but translucent enough that Tsuna can still make out the thin, bruised curve of Mukuro's lips, the shadows of his eyes, colors made mute and opaque by the fabric.

Once he has it secured, Mukuro drops to his knees, running his hands up the inseam of Tsuna's slacks before tucking two fingers behind his waistband and thumbing them open. Tsuna takes a quick, shuddery breath and Mukuro laughs; "You want this badly," he murmurs, clever fingers skimming over the shaft of Tsuna's cock. Before Tsuna can form a reflexive denial he leans in and presses his lips to it, hot breath gusting out.

The silk isn't soft; damp, the weave drags over Tsuna's skin, separating him from the slick heat of Mukuro's mouth. Mukuro's hands hold his hips secure against the wall while his tongue traces patterns through the fabric. Tsuna clenches his fists feverishly at his sides, uselessly, and the sound of his strangled panting fills the darkened bedroom. Mukuro hums three notes of an unidentifiable tune and laughs again.

"Will you tell me how badly?" Mukuro asks.

"Mukuro," Tsuna says. He's lightheaded already, blood thundering in his throat and ears. It's not enough; it never is enough, with Mukuro, who likes to play these games. Teasing touches of his fingers and his lips, of his mind against Tsuna's own, ghosts of images that make Tsuna's thoughts trip over themselves in a surge of fierce, formless want—

"I won't," Tsuna says, "I won't, because you know, you know, you." The scarf strains taut against the head of Tsuna's cock as Mukuro opens his mouth around it, licking at the slit, not—

"Vongola," Mukuro says.

"Enough," Tsuna says.

His hands uncurl themselves from his sides and one tangles through Mukuro's hair, yanking his head back; the fingers of the other scrabble at the scarf, pushing it up, up over his lips and nose so only his eyes are covered. Mukuro makes a quiet sound of surprise but opens his mouth.

Tsuna shoves his cock inside so roughly that he surprises even himself, a faint spike of alarm somewhere in the back of his brain, but then it's gone; Mukuro groans around it, the muscles of his throat fluttering, and finally Tsuna's harsh breaths aren't the only ones echoing against the walls—Mukuro's nose flares as he tries to get enough air but he doesn't push Tsuna's hips back, either. Wild with it now, Tsuna only backs off to fuck into Mukuro's mouth again, hips snapping forward, his hand still fisted in Mukuro's hair. Mukuro just takes it, acquiescent, chest heaving, hands coming up to grip the backs of Tsuna's thighs. "Mukuro," Tsuna breathes and loses himself in it, cock jerking as Mukuro swallows around him. His vision fails when his orgasm rips through him.