Chapter Text
Reborn blinks. Where he was sipping his espresso before, smirking as he fingers a gun to threaten Skull, now he is under his sheets, in bed.
An adult body lays beside him, the distinctive purple hair shifting to measured breaths, plush bitten red lips parted in sleep. The only reason why Reborn doesn’t immediately go for his gun is because he doesn’t feel his gun on him.
He’s naked, miraculously in his full adult body, a silk shirt he prefers crumpled in the corner of an eerily familiar room. He’s in the arcobaleno manse, in his bedroom, but his gun case is shifted to the left and his closet is in the wrong corner and thousands of other minute details are striking him off .
Reborn, for one, doesn’t own a rope rig. Nor does he have a display drawer full of tasteful sex toys and bondage gear and collars, left open in his closet. He hasn’t had sex in decades, nor has he ever entertained the thought of masturbating in his toddler body.
The body shifts, cracking open an eye.
“Skull.” Reborn grits out. The ten year bazooka must have malfunctioned, and spit him out in another dimension. Because he’s definitely not in the past, curse broken as it was, and Reborn swears to Byakuran that he will not be like this in the future, naked and bedpartners with his lackey .
“Mn.” Skull softly vocalizes, closing his eye again and lazily snuggling more into a frozen Reborn. The movement exposes a delicate leather collared throat, lurid bite marks all over his shoulders and chest, trailing down his stomach and over rope marks.
Reborn knows what his own teeth marks look like. Skull has been marked, extensively. By him .
He feels his confusion transform into irritation, and his sun flames, for once unimpeded by the curse, swirling eagerly in his core at his emotion. Well.
Well, well, well. Perhaps this universe isn’t all that bad. No curse to siphon away at his flames, adult body, and a clearly kinky sex life, albeit with Skull?
Reborn places a sun-infused hand on Skull’s head, and Skull nuzzles into the contact, drinking in the flames, proffering up his own cloud in absolution. Adoration. Devotion. His sun sinks into Skull’s skin like they belong there, and the cloud he curiously lets in dances in his core, soothing the tempestuous heat of pure sun.
Well. Perhaps he could get used to this.
**
Reborn waits until Skull is back in deep sleep to leave, some nonsensical part of him reluctant to abandon his lackey. The hitman pads through the hallway, taking note of the architecture. Viper’s room is to the left, as is in his world. Fon’s is to the right, Colonello’s down the hall, with Lal next to Colonello’s. The only strange thing is that instead of Skull’s room, Reborn opens up a door to an armory, the walls lined floor to ceiling with guns and anti-tank rifles and tactical armor.
Where does Skull sleep, then? Does he not live with the rest of them here? Because all the other rooms are clearly lived in, quite recently, in fact, like they’re an actual set and not the best of the best united in name only.
“Alpha.” Fon meets his gaze at the foot of the stairs. “Why have you left him alone?”
Reborn almost double takes, before wiping any traces of confusion off his face. He’s never gotten into the rigid old-guard hierarchy play before, considering it too gauche and traditional. There’s time and place for tradition, and in a set that didn’t get along in the first place, it was quickly dismissed as a recipe for disaster within the first two days of them living together.
As expected, Reborn’s alpha, the top of the pack, the king of the set. He’s a sun, but even in another world, Reborn is higher than his sky, if he has a sky.
“Who?” Reborn frowns. Left who alone? He hasn’t seen anyone except Skull and Fon so far in this dimension, and Skull’s asleep in his bed. Does he have a prisoner he has to keep an eye on, bundled away in the basement somewhere?
Fon’s smile freezes, his words coming out slower. “Our bonded sky, of course.” Fon stares at him, plainly looking Reborn over up and down.
No. It can’t be. This lucky son of a bitch Reborn has a sky that has bonded so unobtrusively, so subserviently, that he feels no pull on his own flames? That he feels no compulsion to protect, to sacrifice, to hover around him?
No sky would lay their flames so submissively for their guardians. It’s continuous hard work on the sky’s part to only offer, and never take or sway, giving away all the benefits of harmony and none of the drawbacks. No sky binds themselves so tightly to their guardians and not expect anything back. It’s insane. This kind of gift doesn’t exist in the mafia, where it’s all trades and negotiations, back stabbings and betrayals. In such a submissive bonding like this, if any of the sky’s guardians die, the sky will feel soul wrenching pain; but if the sky dies, the guardians won’t feel a thing, and would be free to bond to other skies in the future.
“No.” It’s not possible. This version of Reborn gets all the cake and eats it too, while he’s stuck, perpetually blue-balled in his toddler body and sniping at the other arcobaleno on the rare occasions when they see each other. This version of Reborn is bonded.
This version of Reborn is the goddamn luckiest son of a bitch in both worlds.
Fon shakes his head. “Go get a checkup with Verde. As Second, I will stay with our sky.”
Reborn nods, as smoothly as he can, and makes his way to the kitchen. So Fon is second in the hierarchy. He waits, listening to the wooden floors creaking, as Fon… opens Reborn’s bedroom door murmurs softly to Skull, who obediently answers back after some coaxing.
Reborn stumbles, then catches himself.
Skull is his bonded sky. He’s bonded to Skull.
Fuck.
**
Way more than five minutes has passed and Reborn has not puffed back into his home dimension. Which is all the better, because Reborn doesn’t want to leave this world, not when Skull is warming his cock at the kitchen table.
Reborn presses his fingers into Skull’s plush ass, spearing him firmly onto his cock as Skull clutches at his shoulders, shaking his head. Pearl-like tears gather in the corner of Skull’s eyes, highlighting his vulnerability; instead of crocodile tears accompanying staged screams and dramatic flailing, this Skull is reserved in his overwhelm, biting his bottom lip to muffle a whine when Reborn pushes him down another inch.
This Skull is undeniably beautiful in his service. With an elegantly arched neck, he moans, hanging onto Reborn with shaking fingers, the movement rucking up his short silk negligee until the place where Reborn enters Skull is sinfully exposed.
The world’s Reborn is a lucky fucking bastard.
With a lapful of his sky, Reborn stands up, lifting Skull up and dropping him onto the table. Without disconnecting, Reborn slams into the sky, rutting furiously into the warm, clenching hole, ignoring the screams and cries of, “ too much!” .
That’s right. Take it, puttana. “Madonna santa.” He mouths, greedily thrusting into the blessedly hot and tight ass. Reborn spreads the flesh of Skull’s ass, stretching the skin around the hole thin so he can watch himself plunge deeper inside. His sky screams, voice breaking, sobbing as his internal muscles spasm to make sense of the sensation, hugging the dick tighter, practically begging Reborn to ravage him harder.
“My pleasure, my sky.” Reborn obliges, panting, sweat dripping off his brow and onto Skull’s baby-soft skin. “You’re taking it so well.”
Embarrassingly, it only takes a few more thrusts before Reborn nestles in deep, and he cums, heaving from the exertion, all but collapsing as his dick twitches inside that sinful heat.
Oh, how he wants to go again.
He tries to will his dick to harden, but it softens instead, and Reborn slips out, a trail of cum dripping out of Skull and only the kitchen table.
Reborn can’t move for the life of him, still seeing white, head lowered as he regains his breath, limbs loose and numb.
“More, master. More, please-” Reborn’s hearing fizzles back in, after the ringing in his ears dies down.
“Oh, you’re too empty? My poor little sub.” Colonello teases, mostly serious. The man abandons the pile of camouflage laundry he was folding on the couch, legging over and checking on Skull, immediately pumping four fingers into him.
Skull quietens, settling. “Just needed something inside you, huh? How can you ever survive without our dicks?”
“Daddy.” Skull manages, batting tear-bleary eyes. “Daddy, please.”
“I’ve got you, my sub.” Colonello reassures Skull, gathering the purple-haired cloud in his arms and carrying him back to the couch. “I know, I know. Shhh. I’ll put something back in you, just be patient with me, will you, sweetie?”
Skull whines, shaking his head, whimpering taking a more desperate tone. “Daddy?” He begs, lost and confused.
“You good there, Reborn?” Colonello calls out as he frees his cock and feeds it to a thankful Skull. The cloud’s whines turn into moans of satisfaction as Colonello rams his sizable dick into Skull’s unresisting hole. “The orgasm hit you that hard? What, did you not cum in him last night?”
No. Reborn didn’t cum last night, and he hasn’t cum in decades. Reborn feels more lightheaded than when he was on the run from cleaners and bleeding out from a thigh wound after a shootout gone wrong in the beginning of his career.
He hasn’t had a fuck like this since… he hasn’t had one like this, ever. Despite his status as a casanova, Skull in this strange world has been the best fuck of his life.
Reborn huffs out a breath of laughter.
“Good sub. There’s a good fucking sub . Yeah, take it.” Colonello murmurs, carefully brushing purple fringes behind Skull’s ears as he mercilessly grinds into the cloud. Skull is splayed ass up, chest to the couch, his fingers uselessly gripping at the sofa cushions, burying his face into the blanket that rests on the back of the couch. “Did you get enough dick today? Aww, you must have been so needy for more dick, and your daddy didn’t give you enough. Poor little needy sub. You must have been sooo empty, it was driving you crazy . Don’t worry, daddy has you now.”
Skull jerkily shakes his head, mouth open, drooling. His eyes slowly loose their alertness, unseeing as he takes the brutal fucking, more hazy than getting cock drunk would look like.
“There you go.” Colonello gently encourages, a stark contrast to the savage way he’s pounding into the darkening, swelling hole. “Good boy. Yeah, it’s okay. Let me take care of you, baby.”
Skull responds, ten seconds later, his limbs twitching in a whole-body shudder, nodding jerkily. Like his brain processing is lagging behind.
If Reborn had more energy to spare, he might have thought it fascinating. But right now, all he can do is wait and catch his breath.
It’s almost like he’s overdosing , Reborn thinks, watching as this Skull trembles out of his skin, eyes completely glazed over, mouthing nonsensical things. Skull can’t support any of his limbs, so Colonello props him up, petting him down his supine back as he continues to plunder into Skull’s ass with militaristic precision, negligee pushed up into a tangle at Skull’s shoulders, exposing the unblemished skin of his spine. But nobody is reacting.
Viper continues to read their ledgers for the month, while Lal watches as she finishes her omelet. Fon is cleaning up in the kitchen, smiling softly at the scene when he looks up every once in a while as if what’s happening is cute and heart-warming instead of a brutal public fuck.
It’s like fucking Skull literally out of his mind until he seizes is normal on a Sunday morning. For them in this sexed up porno world, it probably is.
Finally, Colonello cums, grunting as he pistons one last time. “Ugh. You’re a good little cumdump, sweetie.” And Colonello brushes a kiss to Skull’s forehead, holding the cloud for a moment as his body stops shaking.
“Yeah. You’re down under good, aren’t you?” Colonello praises, whispering. “Honey, could you-”
Lal wordlessly hands him a dildo, and in one practiced motion, Colonello slips out while he pushes the dildo in, ensuring no loss in cum.
“Thanks, dear.”
“No worries.” Lal slings an arm around Colonello’s shoulders for a second, and then goes back to her brunch on the table. “I can bring him to headquarters today if needed.”
“And have him come back loose from your strap on? That’s no fun.” Colonello jokes, pouting. “The last time that happened, he was gaping the next day, and I had to fist him to get him to scream.”
“He needs to ride out his subspace in a warm, quiet, and dark place.” Fon patiently interjects, like he’s said this a thousand times.”Or else he starts scratching his skin off.”
“Buegh. Don’t remind me.” Colonello fake-retches. “Once was bad enough.”
“Don’t stress him. I have a contract with the mafia school.” Viper floats over. “He’s to arrive in pristine condition.”
Verde opens the door from the basement lab to join Sunday brunch. Another anomaly. The Verde in his world would not abandon his experiments for anything, least of all to spend time with his set. “You’re renting him out again? So soon after coming back from the Triads?”
“Mou. I’m only renting him out once.” Viper snootily shoots back. “But… hm. Perhaps you are onto something. If I can rent out his services-”
“What, is this the “good subs should be bred subs” kind of thing?” Colonello shakes his head. “Like, how often does that actually happen? Is the mafia so lacking in them that you guys breed every one of them?”
“Considering that all subs are a resource worth their weight in gold, and good subs are rarer and worth more, it is tradition to breed high caliber submissives to beget more high caliber submissives. Of course, the submissive phenotype is not solely based on genetics, so prominent mafia families typically sign contracts to create three children per submissive, rolling the die on getting at least one submissive child bound to their family.” Verde monologues, somehow pulling out a powerpoint presentation and a whiteboard.
“As breeding contracts with any high caliber submissive is scarce and each child takes on average a year to conceive, these contracts are highly competitive and selective. Only prominent famiglias like the Vongola have ever purchased breeding contracts.”
“But once a submissive child is born to the famiglia, the family is almost certainly going to survive for another generation, save for acts of God or catastrophes.” Fon chimes in.
Viper hums. “Mou. Skull is a high quality sub. He single handedly expanded the territory of the Triads to Russia and swallowed the Bratva within ten months.”
Reborn sits himself onto the dining table chair, tucking himself back in and staring blankly at his untouched expresso and bowl of polenta, now cold. Submissives? Breeding contracts? Completely rewriting the landscape of almost half of the Asian continent?
This hasn’t happened in his world.
Leon crawls from the windowsill where he was sunbathing to perch on Reborn’s shoulder. FriendStrangerFriend, the chameleon pushes with the remnants of this world’s Reborn’s sun flames.
Reborn sighs. This is more complicated than he thought.
He should get some answers out of Fon. As his second, he should be forthcoming with answers.
**
Something is wrong. Reborn has one hand on his gun, Leon seated firmly on his shoulder. Skull is in a skin-tight biker’s suit, screaming dramatically, in the body of a toddler . Looking down at himself, he’s in the body of a toddler, too.
Hell no.
Kawahira said something of the sort, on the day of reckoning. That Skull modified the curse somehow, that harmony gentled the curse’s biting vampiric fangs into something domesticated.
The others of his set sit in various places in the kitchen, taking no heed of the screaming cloud. Verde types away at his laptop, Viper reads a stock portfolio, while Fon is flipping scallion pancakes at the burner and Colonello is reaching for a snack. Lal is cleaning her pistols, gritting her teeth.
If a sub is screaming like this, there is only one solution. And Reborn has always been a generous dominant, a proactive alpha. If it’s attention the sub wants, he’ll lavish him with all the attention he could want, and more. “Il mio pasticcino.” Reborn stands up, stalking forward, abandoning his gun. “What’s got you so worked up, teroso?”
Skull stops screaming, gaping at him. Lal drops her pistol. Cololnello trips and falls over his snack. Verde looks up from his screen, and Viper lowers their hood to better look at Reborn.
“Now you’re quiet, amore?” Reborn crouches in front of Skull, gently closing the cloud’s open mouth with a knuckle below the chin. At the touch, Reborn sinks his sun flames into Skull’s skin, and instinctively, Skull’s pores drink it up, feeding. His voice lowers, deepening. “You have my full attention.”
Skull shakes in place, then inhales, eyes wild. Those purple eyes flit around Reborn’s face, to his gentle hands, to the soft transference of flames. And then Skull bolts.
Reborn grasps Skull’s wrist, but in a moment of cloud-enhanced strength, Skull breaks free, backing away.
“What the hell, what the hell, what the hell!” Skull panics under his breath, running away from the terrifyingly caring face of Reborn, a demon straight from hell, and into the nearest safe space- the under kitchen sink cabinet.
“Ho, so the sub wants to be caught? Run as far as you can, caro mio. I’ll catch you, and bring you to your knees.” Reborn doesn’t run, doesn’t reach for his gun, doesn’t do anything but watch with amused eyes. Like he knows he’s going to catch Skull, no matter what he does.
“Reborn!”
“What is happening?”
“Did you hit your head?!”
The others shout, unnerved.
Reborn smirks, waiting for Skull to give the signal. At a whimper, Reborn strides to the kitchen cabinet. When the hitman is only a meter away, Skull spills out in a mess of limbs, flailing before managing to make it onto all fours.
“What the fuck?! Reborn, stop!” Skull squeaks, scrambling onto his feet, running haphazardly, not looking where. Skull bumps a shoulder into the corner, and he hisses, cupping at the bruised bone as he drags himself around the disbelieving stares of the rest of the arcobaleno and climbs up the stairs to the bedrooms.
Reborn follows, strolling. “Such bad words for such a little boy. How naughty.”
“You’re not our Reborn.” Fon narrows his eyes, turning the burner off. He’s not holding any weapons, but he doesn’t need to.
“What gave it away?” Reborn chuckles, not even trying to deny it.
“That you’re batshit insane, kora!” Colonello starts loading a rifle. It looks comical compared to his toddler body.
“Ah. What’s insane is how you haven’t reversed the curse yet.” Reborn teases, a dark edge to his sun flames stretching into a shadow. In a blink, Reborn shifts into his adult form.
The silence stretches, the arcobaleno speechless.
“I may not be yours, but I still am a dominant, and alpha. I’m going to fullfill my sub’s needs.”
“Hold on! You can’t just drop that on us.” Lal stands, arms akimbo. “Reborn,-”
“Quiet, quinta.” Reborn lightly chastises.
Lal stutters. “Quinta?! How old-fashioned can you be? And I’ll be higher than fifth, you misogynist!”
“Interesting.” Verde tilts his head. “Your sun flames propagated and harmonized your entire core. You used cloud properties to cloak your own flames.”
“Hell.” Colonello shouts. “We can break the curse?!”
“My form is only temporary.” Reborn tuts. “If you want to truly break it, the answer lies within him .”
The arcobaleno look as Reborn’s finger points to Skull.
“The weakest?” Viper scoffs. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Just look at him!” Lal gestures to Reborn’s adult form. “It sounds unbelievable, but if it can break the curse, I’m down to try it.”
“Me?” Skull shakes his head, desperately. “I don’t even know how to use my own cloud flames, maybe because you guys never taught me how to! ”
“Are you complaining, kora?” Colonello idly threatens, eyes shadowed.
Skull swallows, suddenly at the center of attention. “No, sir.”
“Good. Because it would sound like someone was ungrateful for all the time and attention we gave to you, civilian.”
Reborn takes a step forward, and Skull stumbles backwards. For every step Reborn eats the distance between the two, Skull puts more distance, escaping with animal instinct blaring in his head.
“Don’t-” Skull stutters, eyes darting from face to face, finding no sympathy. “I don’t know what you want from me, Reborn, but I don’t think I can-”
Skull’s back hits the door, and Reborn takes the last step forward, bridging the gap between the two.
“Tesoro.” Reborn peers into those frightened, purple eyes, kneeling down. “You’re okay, little sub.”
“I’m.” Skull shakes his head, eyes blown and wide. “I’m not a sub.”
Reborn leans forward, lips brushing Skull’s ear. “Yes, you are.” The hitman places a gentle hand on Skull’s neck, encircling his throat, present but not putting pressure. “Trust me, caro mia.”
“Reborn.” Skull whispers, voice cracking.
“Trust me.” Reborn rubs a slow circle into Skull’s carotid artery, somehow quieting the anxiety in Skull’s brain. Calming the overwhelming fear into something exciting and warm. Comforting him like he’s an animal before the butcher’s.
But it works. By god, it works, and Skull can feel his body warming, his muscles distantly jittery, his focus on Reborn and nothing else. Skull swallows, trying to say something, but the word doesn’t come out.
“Good boy.” Reborn praises, genuine and soft. “Let your alpha take care of you. You need it bad, huh?”
They stay there like that, Reborn holding him to the door by his neck, gentling him through a kind of unreality on the hallway floor as the rest of them watch on, impatient. The rest of the pact and most of the hallway fade away, leaving only Reborn and Skull, Skull and Reborn, connected by some kind of intangible mutual experience.
The hitman expertly loosens a tendril of sun flames to tease at Skull’s core, and the cloud flames instinctively rise up, offering itself to balance the heat of the sun.
Reborn sucks in a roiling ball of purple flames, and Skull’s muscles slacken. The stuntman’s body drops, bursting into a full adult body that Reborn catches and carefully lowers to the floor as he saturates both their cores with soft cooling cloud.
And a tiny flicker of inverted cloud, emulating sky.
“What the fuck-“
“It can’t be. That’s the civilian we’re talking about-“
“Che cazzo!”
“My gods, that’s-“
“Do you believe me now?” Reborn intones, voice honeyed and dark.
Skull shifts, whining. Immediately, the hitman soothes the smaller man, murmuring sweet nothings. “It’s nothing, my dear. You’re okay. You’re so good for alpha, so, so good.”
As strange as it was to witness Reborn comforting Skull, it is stranger to watch Skull’s reaction. Because Skull unfurls under the praise, body language opening, lines of tension relaxing, attention redirecting fully on Reborn. There’s nothing in that purple haired head but the full experience of being desperate to please, of a burgeoning hesitant adoration for Reborn.
Colonello reaches to Skull with his rain, and Reborn slam kicks Colonello’s arm away with a burning shield of scorching sun, as fast as a viper.
“What the fuck, man? I want to be freed from the curse too!” Colonello seethes, grimacing.
Reborn casts a disdainful eye at the COMBUSIN member. “You dare ask from your sub when you have exposed him to threats and guns and violence?”
“We’re the mafia.” Fon furrows his eyebrows, confused. “The mafia spares no soul.”
“The mafia spares subs.” Reborn declares, matter of factly. “Because without subs, there’s nothing good left in this world.”
“Hold up. What the fuck is a sub?!” Lal interrupts.
Reborn looks at them strangely, evaluating. “You know of nothing designated as a submissive?”
“Submissive? What, like in bdsm, kora?”
Reborn shakes his head, the words coming out slow. “No. As in sociologically.”
At the crickets, Reborn blinks. Reconsiders. “Ho. Even though there is no societal structure to accommodate subs, there are subs.”
“Are you saying that you know for sure that Skull is a submissive?” Verde finally speaks up, pointing to the purple haired man on the ground, seemingly having an out of body experience.
Reborn snorts. “I can guarantee he’s a submissive, through and through.”
“But the posturing, the Skull- sama s, the screaming?” Colonello waves his hands, unconvinced.
“Dom baiting.” Reborn dismisses, like it’s obvious. “He wasn’t getting enough dominance. So he escalated.”
Viper tsks. “Oh, we dominate him enough-“
“Not in the way he needs, clearly. Look at him. It’s like this is the first time he’s been put down in his life.”
At the mention of him, Skull manages a slow whine, fluttering pupils blown to hell and back. He’s clearly out of his mind on something.
“Shhh, bambino mio. It’s okay. Be good and stay down there for a while longer for alpha. Yes, there you go. Good boy .”
Skull preens, shyly arching to expose his throat. His core opens too, presenting his cloud so thickly it distorts the air.
“Oh, gods.” Fon whispers. “He’s calling for harmony as a cloud.”
“As a cloud?! Is he insane? Only skies can handle the full weight of a harmony, and even then, some of them break! No way a cloud can-“
“Harmonize. That’s the way to break the curse.” Reborn narrows his eyes. “And, of course, dominate him regularly.”
The hitman casts an appraising glance at all the arcobaleno. “You clearly need it more than he does.”
And he disappears in a puff of smoke.
**
Reborn finds Fon in the closet, restocking the outrageous collection of dildos. “Second.” Reborn tries. He’s never done the whole hierarchy thing, but that approach is the most egotistical way to call for Fon, so that’s probably what his counterpart does.
Fon smiles. “I know you’re not my Reborn.”
Well, then. Reborn stops trying. “Why is Skull like this?”
Fon shrugs. “You’re not my Reborn. I don’t answer to you.”
Reborn grinds his teeth. “Why are you like this?”
Fon doesn’t pause. “Like what, alpha ?”
That’s it. Reborn fires a chaos shot of sun flames from the tip of his fingers, cloud propagating the flames so densely it shapes into a bullet. Fon, predictably, dodges, every strand of perfect hair in place.
“That wasn’t nice.” Fon comments, finishing restocking the cabinet now with a huge hole at the top. “You almost took out our sub’s favourite playmates.”
“Playmates.” Reborn repeats, lifting an eyebrow incredulously. The row of dildos are playmates . Like they’re stuffed animals, and Skull is a kid.
To them, Skull might as well be a disabled sex-addicted cockwarmer who conveniently negates the curse by taking dick. They talk to him like he can’t think or make decisions, and that he needs dick to function. Oh, they brush his hair and whisper sweet nothings and cuddle him for hours, but at the end of the day, he’s nothing more than a hole. A submissive, as they would say.
That’s Skull’s full-time job; submitting to the arcobaleno.
If Skull’s job is to submit, then surely he'll submit to Reborn’s questions.
“Yes.” Replies Fon. “They occupy him when we’re busy. Under supervision, of course.”
Of course. God forbid they leave Skull unfucked and unsupervised.
Finally, Fon places a huge yellow strap on in the front row, and closes the closet door. The yellow strap on has tinges of rain flames.
Lal. That’s Lal’s strap on, Reborn knows.
So everyone is in on fucking Skull until he seizes and his eyes roll back in his head.
“Knock knock?” Skull shuffles a foot at the doorway, in an absolutely sinfully innocent balletic outfit. All pastels and lace and ribbons, Skull wears a purple skin-tight leotard the same shade as his hair, embroidered with flowers. The skirt flows around his hips and thighs, the sheer tights emphasising his long legs. His hair is in a bun bound by ribbon, a few bangs framing his wide eyes and youthful face. The black arcobaleno collar contrasts sharply to the rest of the pastel.
He looks the picture of innocence. Of a nymph. Of sex on legs.
Reborn knew his Skull, as a trick biker, started off in acrobatics and ballet. No other foundation could have produced jumps that clean, lines that elegant in the air with the bike under like a partner. But seeing it in the flesh?
It awakens some primal sort of hunger Reborn didn’t know he had. Some protective, hunting instinct. Something that demands to possess the boy, to devour his body and soul.
“Little Claude.” Fon smiles, soft. “What is it, my sky?”
Reborn blinks. Skull’s name is Claude? Since when?
Claude keeps his eyes on the ground as he approaches, sandwiching himself under Fon’s armpit, needily nuzzling close. “Mmn.” The cloud groans.
The storm pets Claude’s hair, gentle and adoring. “Still a bit under, my sky?”
Claude nods. “Yes, gege. Thought I could go to class, but I’m not there yet.”
Fon sighs. “I told them you need to ride out sub space in a warm, quiet, and dark space. Not to force you to your feet the moment you form words again.”
“It’s not sir’s fault.” Skull shakes his head, clinging to Fon’s open affection.
“It’s not his fault, hm? Well, that doesn’t make sense since it’s never your fault. It’s his responsibility as dominant to care for you.”
“If it’s about responsibility, then why hasn’t alpha taken care of me?” Claude peers at Reborn from under Fon’s arm. Not judging. Just looking. Waiting.
“And how does alpha take care of you?” Reborn chimes in.
Skull hides a smile. “You didn’t fuck me when I was asleep, daddy .”
Daddy .
Skull knew all along that he wasn’t this world’s Reborn. He knew from the moment he landed in that outrageously large bed. Even half asleep, Skull clocked what must have happened, when the rest of the set didn’t know until much later.
That’s why Skull called him master , not daddy, at the kitchen table. Daddy must be what Skull calls his Reborn. Because master isn’t enough to encompass the forbidden temptation that is Skull. No. This world’s Reborn must have felt like a pervert, lusting so deeply after a nubile young man not yet grown into his height nor reputation. And by the signs, this Skull must have come to them before he learned stunt biking.
Before he was sixteen.
Master might control Skull’s body and mind, but daddy controls Skull’s soul. His entire life plays out in the palm of daddy’s hand. Because fathers control their sons, but daddies control their little boy’s lives from their first steps to their last breath. Slaves and servants can escape their masters. Little boys can never escape their daddies.
Complete and total domination. Daddy is this world’s Reborn staking the deepest claim there is.
It clicks, and Reborn can’t think of being called anything else. He never thought of himself as someone with a daddy kink (or any kinks), but it feels right, demanding this absolution of submission from Claude.
No. Not even demanding. Just taking, and expecting Claude to submit.
Because that’s what he is. The arcobaleno’s collared submissive. He’s Reborn’s collared submissive first and foremost.
Because Claude doesn’t sleep in his own room. He doesn’t have a room.
Claude sleeps with him, in Reborn’s room.
“You’re cute.” Reborn reaches for him with his sun flames, and Claude accepts them, open and willing. “You’re mine.”
“Yes, daddy.” Claude peers up at him from under his eyelashes. “And you’re mine .”