
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/956262.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Dangan_Ronpa
  Relationship:
      Ikusaba_Mukuro/Naegi_Makoto
  Character:
      Ikusaba_Mukuro, Naegi_Makoto
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Canon, Initially_Consensual, Light_Bondage
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-06 Words: 2878
****** This Is Not Guilt ******
by futuresoon
Summary
     Mukuro does not have time for this.
He was always smiling at her.
Mukuro was accustomed to needing little and receiving less. Junko was ever the
one who asked for more, and she got it, too; Mukuro stayed silent, and
sometimes Junko shared, but mostly she didn’t.
Perhaps if Mukuro had ever been the one to speak first--
--but she wasn’t, and things were the way they were.
Her time with Fenrir should have kept her from Junko’s influence. Instead,
every battle was a thousand whispers in her head, that bullet in that heart
makes for a cavalcade of despair, dear sister, and it’s all from you, but I was
the one who drove you to this, so it’s all from me, everything is from me, you
only exist because of me and isn’t the despair of knowing that delightful, dear
sister, and she returned home with Junko twisted up inside her even more.
So anything that was hers was Junko’s, really. And Mukuro did not have much.
Weaponry, textbooks, uniforms--
--and smiles.
Junko did not have those, yet.
It would be a lie to say no one besides Naegi was ever kind to her. Most
everyone at Hope’s Peak was helpful in their own way. Oogami trained with her
sometimes. When she had brief struggles in math, Fujisaki would gladly help
her. Even Celes offered to teach her poker. Her face, Celes said, was made for
it.
Perhaps it was because he had nothing else to offer. His lack of skills in any
particular area gave him no particular use. All he could do was help in small
ways--holding doors open when someone’s arms were full, taking over cleaning
duties when someone was sick, picking up pencils someone had accidentally
dropped. Sometimes Mukuro wondered if he even thought he was as important as
they were. If he knew.
Did she even need a reason? People did things with no explanation all the time;
feelings, in particular, were widely accepted as capricious. Wondering about a
boy who had nice eyes and smiled at her wasn’t unthinkable. If she had more
time--
--but she did not have more time.
The plan was almost ready. Tomorrow, their beautiful game would begin. The
other students were training, or reading, or talking amongst themselves; any
number of ordinary things, in their own extraordinary life. Only she and Junko
knew what was about to happen.
Mukuro took a deep breath, and knocked on Naegi’s door.
He opened it with a “Hello?” and his eyes widened slightly as he saw her. Did
that mean something? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
“Naegi-kun,” she said. “Good evening. Are you well?”
“Ah, yes, I am,” he said. “And how are you?”
“I am fine,” she said. She glanced inside his room. “May I come in?”
“--sure! Okay!” Naegi said, opening the door further to let her in. She stepped
inside and looked around. There was nothing remarkable about it; she hadn’t
expected there to be. A few books strewn across a desk. An open bathroom door.
An unmade bed.
She pointed at the bag she was carrying. “Is there somewhere I may put this?”
she asked.
“Um, the desk is fine,” Naegi said, rushing towards it to move the books out of
the way. She put her bag down and looked at him.
Mukuro knew the value of silence. Silence on the battlefield gave you time to
plan your next move; and, in turn, for the enemy to plan theirs. Silence in a
classroom was a sign that it was time to work. Silence in any room with Junko
was a rare and precious gift. Awkward silences, too, were in her repertoire.
This one was a remarkable example.
Eventually, Naegi said, “Was there something you wanted, Ikusaba-san?”
That was the key, wasn’t it. Want. It was always Junko who wanted, and Junko
who got. But tonight was the last night before their work began, and Mukuro--
--Mukuro wanted.
Efficiency was important. She closed the door behind them and pushed Naegi
against it. There was only enough time for him to make a startled noise before
she pressed in and kissed him, pinning his wrists to the wall. She closed her
eyes and thought about how pathetic Junko would call this, that she could
luxuriate so with a boy who had never kissed or been kissed before and knew
very little of the theory. But he was soft and warm and there was not much in
her life that was soft, and his body relaxed against hers and it felt like her
first kill.
Mukuro opened her mouth and slid her tongue past his lips. There was only a
moment of hesitation before he joined her. It wasn’t a kiss for the ages, but
Mukuro had never expected one anyway and it was already a better experience
than most of her others. The slight widening of his eyes had meant something,
she was sure of it, and perhaps the smiles--he smiled at everyone else, yes,
but as often as he did her? Or with as much happiness? Naegi was not a
complicated person, or at least he did not seem like one. Honesty did not come
hard to him. Even if he tried to hide anything, he would not do a very good job
of it.
She released his wrists and moved her hands to his hair, stroking it and
parting it with her fingers. It was as soft as the rest of him. She wanted to
move her mouth to his neck, but leaving any marks would only cause problems.
She made up for it by sliding one of her legs between his and enjoying the
small noise that slipped from his mouth. Oh, but Mukuro wanted this; a boy who
had nice eyes and smiled at her and melted under her touch, and made no sign of
thinking about Junko. Naegi was in many ways the least of all the students
here, but for this, for her, he was perfect.
Now that his hands were free, they settled on her hips, and she almost wanted
to smile at that--was he even sure where to put them? She considered telling
him to touch her breasts, but she didn’t have time for that. Instead, she moved
one of her hands down from his hair, and down further, skimming across his
torso, until she slipped down the waistband of his pants.
That earned a noise, and Mukuro opened her eyes to see that he had already
opened his, staring wide-eyed at her. She pulled back her head and whispered
into his mouth, “Do you want this?”
Naegi looked unsure. The moment grew too long. She didn’t have time for this--
and then he nodded just a little bit, and swallowed, and closed his eyes again.
That was all Mukuro needed. She dropped to her knees and unbuckled his belt
with a speed that might have impressed even Junko, and Naegi’s immediate yelp
as she pulled out his cock was reward enough.
As she took it into her mouth, one of his hands scrabbled at her hair. If he
hadn’t known where to put them while she was kissing him, he certainly didn’t
know what to do with them now. His frantic breathing provided a suitable
soundtrack. She swirled her tongue across the head of his cock and tried to
remember the last time she had enjoyed having sex; had she ever done it just
for the pleasure of it, actually? Always there had been a greater purpose for
her actions. Very little in her life was done for the sake of pleasure. So
this, now, this--her and a boy and nothing else necessary, this was
simultaneously a highlight and a reminder that her life was pathetic indeed for
this being a highlight. It made for a wonderful despair.
Or that was what Junko would think--
--that was what they would think. Super High School-Level Despair was not one
person. She and Junko were intertwined in all ways possible; if Junko had a
thought, she did too. And Junko would shiver at the despair.
Right now, though, it was Mukuro who was bringing Naegi apart and listening to
his breathy wordless moans, not Junko.
Mukuro was suddenly filled with the desperate need for Junko to never find out
about this. Junko knew everything about her, knew everything about so many
things, but this was Mukuro’s, this was hers. Nothing had ever belonged to her
before, and in all likelihood nothing would ever belong to her again, but if
she could just have this, one thing that was unquestionably hers--
--and Naegi’s, yes, of course.
He didn’t last very long, but she hadn’t expected him to. She swallowed, wiped
the remaining saliva off with the back of her hand, and stood up to look at
him. His wide eyes were dazed and his face was pale. They were the same age,
but Mukuro was so much older than her age, and it struck her that he was very
young, compared to her. He’d never done this before. If Mukuro was capable of
feeling guilt, she might have felt some now. He didn’t look unhappy, and he’d
nodded, but--
--but she wasn’t, and she didn’t, so it didn’t matter.
Without another word, she grabbed his hand and pulled him over towards the bed.
Once there, she let go of his hand and instead clenched the bottom of his
jacket and pulled it over his head. The shirt underneath it, too; his alarmed
“Ikusaba-san?” was unimportant right now. Once that was done she moved to his
pants, his underwear, his shoes, his socks, all with military--mercenary--
precision. She didn’t give him time to react. He had already stumbled onto the
bed when she’d started on his feet, which made it easier to push him down onto
it after she’d fully divested him of his clothes. His head thumped against the
pillow, but she didn’t look at it; she wasn’t sure she could look at his face,
right now.
With fast, long steps she went back across the room to open her bag. Out of it
she pulled a length of rope and walked back just as quickly. She glanced at the
headboard of the bed--of course there weren’t any slats or posts, of course,
but the desk on the wall behind it was close, and the chair closer, and it was
already short, and that would work.
Naegi was sitting up on the bed; she pushed him back down, pulled the chair up
against the headboard, grabbed his hands, and pushed them together in front of
it. He was saying something, not very quietly, but she didn’t pay attention.
With one of her hands she grabbed the rope off the bed, and tied his wrists to
one of the slats of the chair behind them. There.
Mukuro stepped back and looked. His eyes weren’t wide from surprise any more.
She’d seen that look many times--on the faces of those she was about to kill.
Did he think she was going to kill him? No, surely not.
“Ikusaba-san, what are you doing?” Naegi said, his voice trembling. He wasn’t
stupid; he must know by now. Maybe he was clinging to the slightest shred of
hope that this was a game or a joke and she’d laugh and let him go. He’d never
seen her make a joke, though.
She didn’t reply. Instead she unbuttoned her own jacket and shirt, and pulled
them off, adding them to the small pile of clothes by the bed. Her skirt, bra,
and underwear followed, and she was as naked as he was.
Naegi wasn’t saying anything, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Was he too
scared to talk? That wasn’t--no. Mukuro put that thought aside as she moved to
the bed and sat, straddling his thighs.
There was a benefit of his age--it didn’t take much to make him harden again.
His cock was still slick from her mouth. Mukuro ran her hands across his chest,
just to feel, just to see how skinny he was without his clothes. His breath
sharpened as she did. They were the same size, but he seemed small like this,
small and young and fragile and she wasn’t capable of guilt, she wasn’t. Junko
had always liked to break nice things. She’d blame it on something else,
sometimes Mukuro, and she always looked like miserable about it until later,
when she’d confide in Mukuro about how wonderful it had felt. Mukuro had never
felt that. She briefly thought about how wonderful Junko would find this, but
crushed the thought, buried it down and deep. Junko was not here. This was
hers.
Hers to break?
It didn’t matter. She lifted herself up, positioned Naegi’s cock with one hand,
and slowly slid down onto it.
Naegi made a muffled cry at that; she glanced and saw that he was biting his
lip so hard it bled, no marks but maybe it would heal by tomorrow?
Having him inside her was a pure and honest feeling. She’d never had sex with
someone she genuinely liked before, only for duty, and Naegi--her boy who
smiled at her and had nice eyes--she did like him, she wouldn’t be doing this
if she didn’t. And he’d liked her, hadn’t he? Did he still? Of course not. The
paleness on his face and the blood on his lips and his eyes still shut tight
were proof enough of that. But it didn’t matter. This still felt good,
wonderful--
--good.
She raised and lowered herself at a quick pace, knowing he wouldn’t last long
this time either. Her breath came fast and heavy. It seemed like Naegi’s breath
was the same, but through clenched teeth it was hard to tell.
It didn’t take long. She managed to reach her own climax seconds before, and
was thankful for it. He spilled inside her, but that was no worry; she and
Junko both had been born sterile, and once they had seen that as despair, but
then they had realized they didn’t want to bring more of themselves into the
world and it didn’t seem so bad. Certainly it was useful.
She pulled herself off him and lay by his side. She would need a towel. Right
now she wanted to be still for a moment. After the moment, she moved onto her
side and put a hand on his chest. Sweat clung to it like on a hot day. She
rested her head on his chest, too, and listened to his heart beat rabbit-fast.
He was still trembling.
Why hadn’t she asked? He might have said no, he might not have been ready. And
Mukuro had no more time. If she had done this months ago, if she’d had time to
wait, maybe right now he’d be smiling at her, maybe--
--his nice eyes were full of fear, and he would never smile at her again.
Mukuro pulled away from him and off the bed. She put back on her clothes, still
efficient, and untied his wrists. He drew his arms back to his body and stared
at her, started to prop himself up, and she couldn’t look at those eyes, she
couldn’t. She wasn’t capable of feeling guilt. She wasn’t, she wasn’t--
In all likelihood he wouldn’t last the month, or even the week; her boy with
nice eyes was too trusting, too ready to believe the best of someone (too ready
to believe the best of her), and it would be so easy for anyone to lure him
away and make him the first victim. Could she prevent that? But why would she
want to? She wasn’t supposed to. She was prepared for all of them to die.
But there was the catch-22 that was starting to consume her: wouldn’t her
despair be even greater if she wasn’t?
She had to crush it. There was no room in her rotten heart for emotions such as
these. And it wouldn’t even be hard; all she had to do was ruin it so deeply
the thought of it would make her sick. She looked back at Naegi.
“Did you think this meant anything?” she said. “You’re not even worth my time.
You don’t mean anything either--you were just convenient. Did you really think
you had any kind of importance to me? If you did, you’re even more pathetic
than I thought. And that would be impressive, let me tell you.”
For all that she was looking at him, Mukuro couldn’t see his face. She wondered
what her own looked like.
With a dismissive sigh, she walked back across the room and picked up her bag,
dropping the rope back into it. When she closed the door behind her, she closed
it with an utmost finality--the next time she saw him conscious would be after
none of this had happened.
She would see him again, though. And she would have to pretend it hadn’t
happened to her, either.
She could do that, couldn’t she?
The next day, a girl in a blonde wig put on someone else’s face and became
someone who did not have to worry about caring.
“Yoohoo! My name’s Junko Enoshima! Great to meet you!”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
