At the End of a Wait: A Palenque Escapade, a katekyo hitman reborn! fanfic

Title: At the End of a Wait

Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn is Amano Akira's

Warnings: pseudo-AU; the usual swearing; amnesiac Squalo; reversible seme-uke roles (if the notion of an uke Xanxus is too abhorrent for you, now is a good time to turn back)

Timeline: 6 years in the future; Mammon/Viper is alive, therefore Fran doesn't join the Varia

Credit: many thanks to selenas_magick for beta reading and Aubreyvamp for the consultation regarding the Mexican culture

Author's Note: This fanfic uses British English (some spelling and punctuation differences, such as single quotations for normal speech)

Vongole and famiglie are the plural forms of 'Vongola' and 'famiglia', respectively.

Gesto dell'ombrello [lit. 'umbrella gesture'] is the Italian obscene gesture done by swinging one's fist as though making an uppercut to the opponent's jaw, and then hooking the swinging arm's joint with another arm. It means: 'Take this arm up the arse!'—in other words, a bigger scale of 'Fuck you!' done by a raised middle finger.

Kasuzame = Japanese angel shark; that's how Xanxus called Squalo in the canon manga.

Prego has multiple meanings in Italian, but the ones suitable for the context below are: 'please', 'I beg', 'I pray'.

'… then I declare you bonded for life. You may kiss the bride.'

Xanxus turned to the figure standing next to him. On his bride's far right was a Palladian-style shopping arcade girded by clusters of verdant trees. The turquoise river in front of the trees shimmered in the gentle autumn sun. The wedding was held outdoors, by the river. The only ones who were present were the Vongole and some representatives from their allied famiglie, who were seated in rows behind a pyramidal stack of champagne glasses. Since the ceremony took place in the afternoon, there was no songbird to brighten the atmosphere, but the groom did not mind. The waft of wind that blithely blew Squalo's long silver hair convinced him that he was marrying the most beautiful man in the world.

Xanxus tilted his second-in-command in Varia—now also his legitimate partner in bed—by the chin and shoved his tongue inside the other man's mouth. It was not his style to play modest even in the presence of seventy-nine witnesses. Nor was Squalo's; the frictions between the sleeves of the bride's black suit and the same fabric that covered his back confirmed that. There was urgency in the way the younger man clawed him, as though the kiss might be their last kiss, as though they would have to go to war afterwards. And yet, Squalo's mouth tasted strange. There was no teeth, no tongue, no saliva; in fact, it was so dry … like cotton.

Xanxus woke up and found himself smooching the pillow of his private jet's seat. He'd had plenty of sex with Squalo, but to dream of actually marrying his second-in-command…?

Shit!

Throwing the guiltless pillow aside, he rose from his seat and helped himself to a whole decanter of single malt whisky. He had drunk alcohol far too frequently to feel it burn in his throat, but his current 40,000 feet above sea level altitude and mental state reminded him of the old sensation.

Nothing felt right during the last six weeks. The streets were dull; the buildings were colourless; the meals were insipid. He had drunk gallons, had sex with various partners, entertained himself in every possible way and laughed a lot—on the surface. Still, nothing could fill the hollowness inside him … not until the Vongola's private satellite located Superbia Squalo among the Mayan ruins in Palenque, Mexico, earlier that morning.

'That trash has guts for still being alive and not returning,' roared Xanxus, much like a panther being disturbed from his sleep, when the report reached his ears. Squalo had last been sent on an assassination mission before he went missing. His target was found dead, but there had been no sighting of Squalo himself before today then that everybody assumed the worst-case scenario: The Varia Rain Guardian was no more.

The rest of the Varia stepped back; their leader clenched his fist so hard that the glass in his hand shattered and the vodka burst into wild splashes. Wrath was Xanxus' trait and they had seen their boss getting angry on daily basis, but there was something in the gleam of his eyes today that alerted them to a danger far greater than usual.

'I'm off to Mexico,' declared the Varia leader. Albeit calmer and deeper, his voice grew more vicious now.

Four pairs of eyes stared at him cautiously. There were not many things in the world that Xanxus would do in person when plenty of subordinates were available at his disposal.

Lussuria's voice lost a large portion of its femininity when the utterance of 'The Basso Famiglia is currently waiting for more ammunition. They're likely to attack our headquarters within four or five days. Can't someone else fetch Squalo?' slipped from his mouth.

'Who can handle him?' Xanxus asked back with narrowed eyes.

Him. Not them. The Varia members fell quiet at the sound of their boss' voice. Ironic as it might be, not a single soul in that room was unaware that Xanxus regarded Squalo's strength alone to be greater than that of the entire Basso Famiglia. Nobody in the élite assassination squad, even with combined forces, ever defeated Squalo, bar Xanxus himself—such was the strength of their strategic captain.

Belphegor was still twirling his knives playfully, but Mammon did not fail to notice that the blond did so only to make the sound of his gulp less audible.

'Boss, why don't you order Mammon to create an illusion of you to lure Squalo here?' suggested Leviathan.

'For a price,' added the parsimonious Arcobaleno.

Xanxus shot them an angry glare, so Lussuria decided to interpret the scarred man's fury. 'That scum Squalo has known us for too many years to fall for such illusion.'

Silent fell among them. No one dared as much as heaved a sigh. They all knew that Xanxus could—and did—get his wine glasses, upholstery and even furniture replaced quite often, thanks to combined strength of his tantrum and flame of wrath. The Varia boss even changed the women he dated in every single occasion. However, there was a whole new level of indispensability when it came to a certain shark.

In the end, nobody dared to oppose their leader.

'Trash,' Xanxus beckoned to Lussuria, 'If I don't return within four days, you know what to do.'

The epicene nodded, realising his duty to lead the defence against the Basso Famiglia and perhaps even beyond. Yet, when Xanxus strode to the door, he heard Lussuria speaking exasperatedly to his colleagues, 'Oh well, let's cross our fingers that the overgrown brat may get his babysitter back. I knew he wouldn't trade Squalo for the world, but going alone is still too reckless.'

'Damn weather!'

At the parking area of the Mayan palace ruins, Xanxus stepped out from an old red Chevy Monza, feeling nauseous and dizzy—that served him right for consuming such a large amount of diuretic drinks during a long distance flight. Not that he had any problem in driving, for the driver sat on the left side of the car and drove on the right-hand side of the road in both Italy and Mexico, but he was still pissed off by the car's meagreness (compared to his own Maserati back home, that is). One of the officers at the tiny Palenque International Airport had told him that no car rental agency existed in town; the nearest one was in Villahermosa, which was about 93 miles away from where he was. Thus, the impatient Varia leader wasted no time convincing the officer with a gun in hand and the words: 'If you lend me your car for three days, I'll pay you the same price as when you bought it.'their leader

As expected from such a small town, its best hotel lacked carpeting, even though it was equipped with air conditioners and a swimming pool. After checking-in, Xanxus began his search for Squalo without any further delay.

The main entrance to the archaeological site—along with the parking lot, a ticket booth, refreshment stands and several shops, mostly selling souvenirs such as the imitation of Quetzal Bird tail feathers and tee shirts depicting Mayan glyphs—was located at the end of the paved highway. Upon noticing the scars on Xanxus' face, the ticket vendor used a very timid voice while asking the tourist whether he brought a video camera, since this would make him a subject to an additional fifty-peso charge. Barely three seconds had passed since Xanxus' annoyed 'no' reached her ears when she handed him the ticket with trembling fingers.

There were several guides around the entrance; some officially trained and could speak English, others were freelancers who were typically proficient in Spanish only. Almost half of them beckoned to the two female tourists who entered the precinct right before Xanxus, but only three of them dared to speak to the scarred tourist, all of whom were men with sturdy builds. The lone raven ignored them nonetheless.

Meanwhile, one of the local cicerones began explaining in Spanish to a family of four, 'Perhaps it is this positioning between two worlds that gives Palenque a mystical charm that enchants scientist and tourist alike. Lying on a lush green shelf sculpted into the first rise of the Tumbalá Mountains, at the edge of a praecipe, Palenque commanded a northern view of eighty miles of savannah and swampland of the Grijalva River drainage stretching northwards to the Gulf of Mexico, which provided natural protection in the olden times. At the back of the central nuclear plaza the mountains spin upwards into clouds of dense soaring Sierra de Chiapas Rainforest which conceal endless levels of man-made terraces decked with myriads of edifices.

Yet, equally impressive as this landscape is the architecture. Originality, elegance and harmony shine out of the mellow limestone. Its intemperately overhung roofs and cornices surmounted by the exquisite panache of roof comb echo the curtain of mountains for over twelve hundred years.'

One of the perks of being an Italian speaker was the fact that Xanxus could probe some of the Spanish words through rough guesswork even though he couldn't speak the language. The Varia leader did not hear the rest of the explanation, for he trod very rapidly. He was not in the mood for sightseeing; he was sweltering from the strong Mexican September sun, which was hotter than a summer in Italy. What in the name of hell made him deserve this? The sticky feel of perspiration on his skin vexed him even more. Wiping his sweat with the back of his hand, he cursed. He had consumed a large amount of water while having his lunch at the hotel, but the stinking hot air temperature just dehydrated him all over again and stirred the dormant anger inside him.

How dare that trash Squalo make me walk in this scorching heat! He's going to pay dearly for not showing up after finishing a mission.

The first edifice that Xanxus encountered was the Temple of the Skull or Templo de Calavera, although some preferred to call it the 'Temple of the Dying Moon'. In spite of the grass which covered some parts of the stairs, the teocallis was quite an easy climb, compared to the neighbouring temples, of which the number of stone steps easily eclipsed this one. One of the tourists behind the Mafioso drew the sketch of a skull shaped stucco relief on the temple exterior, while his companion taped the trapezoid-shaped entryway with his mini video camera.

Heck! Xanxus huffed, What's so good from a place without Squalo, anyway?

The landmark structure of Palenque, the Temple of Inscription or Templo de las Inscripciones was the next imposing edifice. However, it was prohibited to climb atop this structure due to a past accident resulting in a tourist's death. A little boy whined to his parents to be allowed to enter, for he wished to see the tomb of Pakal the Great. Only after his mother had explained that there was no mummy inside, only the king's sarcophagus, was the boy pacified. His father, on the contrary, tried his best to adjust the setting of his Leica camera lenses to capture the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the temple's limestone panels. Assuming that Squalo wouldn't be there anyway, Xanxus chose to leave instead of trespassing in the temple.

Xanxus then approached the platform yonder. It comprised a complex of several connected and adjacent buildings and courtyards built up over several generations on a wide artificial terrace serving as an administrative centre for the once bustling city. On it, a fortress-like palace that hosted many fine sculptures and bas-relief carvings in addition to the distinctive four-story astronomical observatory tower, stood majestically, untouched by the shadows of the towering trees that girded the site, although its glorious paintings had been wiped away by the ravaging hands of Time.

While ascending the broad stone steps, Xanxus heard another local guide flirting with a female tourist of mid-twenty's.

'The name "Palenque", which means "Palisade" in Spanish has no relation to the city's true Mayan name: Nah Chan Kaan, which means "House of the Serpent in the Infinite", and was symbolised by the tree cross. Figuratively speaking, in the olden times, when visitors arrived in Palenque, they would be transformed into serpents and thus enabling them to receive the sacred wisdom of the city. Notwithstanding, thanks to the abundance of water—plenty of rains in addition to numerous springs, rivers and streams running in the urban area—controlled by means of an elaborate aqueduct system, the city became more widely known by its epithet: Lakam Há which means "Great Water".

Today, scenic pyramids break through the thick blankets of green, as an exuberant rainforest shrouds this Mayan metropolis. Opulent temples conceal some of the most sublime examples of Mayan art ever found. Sculptures, stone carvings, ornaments, pottery and hieroglyphic tablets are all contained at this astonishing archaeological site. A sense of the lost, grandiose world of the Maya lingered in these tranquil ruins. Truly, the ancient city of Palenque is an enigma.' The local guide ended his explanation with a smile, a dimple on each cheek complimented his white teeth.

'Wow, you know a lot.' Even though the young woman's tone indicated that she was interested in the man's knowledge, the gleam in her eyes indicated that she longed to run her tongue down his tanned body.

'Then, it follows that I am obliged to escort you, Señorita.' The guide was apparently aware of the wavy-haired tourist's intention and held her hand in pretence to help her climb the stairs.

The palatial crumbling walls and terraces concealed a large, inner courtyard that wasseparated by long rooms and corridors. The west gallery, atop a long bank of stairs facing the main plaza, was composed of six corpulent pillars, four of which were still embellished with large stucco reliefs. A plaque at one end described the depictions, such as a man holding a serpent and dancing with a woman dressed in a traditional huipil and an incarnation of Chaac, the god of rain, while decapitating the captives of war.

The majority of the tourists flooded the central plaza, the heart of this Classic Maya site. Here, underneath the floor of the southeast side of the palace, lay one of the city's aqueducts that subterraneanly channelled the water from the Arroyo Otolum—the main stream that ran through Palenque's core. The aqueduct was reachable through a labyrinthine network of underground passages; all of which were led by arches and stairs, and were faintly lit. This aqueduct was originally constructed with stone blocks with a three-metre-high vault, but its walls of corbelled stones had crumbled and most of its parts were exposed to the sun. The stone on the eastern side at the end of the aqueduct's walled channel was carved with the depiction of a caiman, which was believed to guard the perennial water flow.

After being channelled to run under the plaza, the water of the Otolum flowed down the slope of the hill, forming a series of picturesque cascades and pools, including one that was called the Queen's Bath or Baño de la Reina, where vines overhung, whilst the rushing clear blue water had moulded the rocks into smooth wondrous shapes. Xanxus walked further, past the residential quarter called the Bat Group, also known as Grupo de Los Murciélagos, deliberating to promenade on the paths that were shaded by pervasive palms, mahogany, sapodilla and ceiba trees as well as exotic flowers of fuchsia and gold. To agitate his tantrum even more, in addition to the extremely humid and hot temperature, the jungle mosquitoes took delight in feasting on him. Only then did he realize that the shops near the entrance did not sell insect repellent for a mere show.

III

Downpour came without warning when the Varia leader arrived at the Bat Bridge—the suspension wooden footbridge that stretched over the Otolum Stream. With another blasphemous curse, he crossed Puente Murciélagos in a run.

After reaching the other side of the river, Xanxus took refuge under a nearby Weeping Blue Atlas Cedar tree, of which rich foliage sheltered him from most of the rainwater. Since no other human was within sight, he took off his shirt, wrung it briefly and then donned it onto his body again in precaution for further mosquito invasion.

The minutes dawdled by. The thirty-year-old man had nothing to do but to watch water dripping from the drooping, convolute helical powdery blue-needled branches of the evergreen Glauca pendula conifer, spilling with unbridled luxuriance, like … the cascade of Squalo's long hair.

Fuck!

Xanxus punched the tree trunk hard enough to create a vibration, sending a plethora of leaf-cutter ants to swarm about the humongous gnarly tree roots. Xanxus cast a scathing look at the hanging leaves again. Their colour was not even close to silver … so why must everything lead back to that man?

This was not the first time the Varia leader remembered his second-in-command. The strategic captain used to be so close to him that the older man took his subordinate's presence for granted. And yet, when the shark was not there beside him, how torturing it was for Xanxus to touch an empty bed, deficit of Squalo's warmth, and see the missing man's reflection on the water when he washed his face each morning.

The rain had not ceased yet, but patience was never Xanxus' trait, especially not when the desperation to find Squalo haunted him so. Parting the veil of rain, the raven went on his way. After a short distance of running under the canopy of the lush foliages of the jungle, he burst into the nearest building, which happened to be the Palenque Museum.

The Italian man realised the dismayed look of the security guard, as with every step he took, his boots left mud prints on the floor. He threw the Mexican a piercing glare until the latter turned away and settled down with his cup of coffee.

Albeit modest in size, the museum was filled with many wonders that had made a considerable numbers of archaeologists squeal with delight—worship, human sacrifice, trade, astronomy, art, mathematics and other aspects of their daily life are explored through a superlative collection of artefacts. Nonetheless, to Xanxus, the most enchanting treasure did not lie in totem incense burners, obsidian knives, jade funerary masks, stucco murals or statues of warriors.

Some six metres from where Xanxus was, stood a man with long, cascading silver hair. The Mexican sun might have bestowed the Varia strategic commander darker complexion with its constant tanning, but it hadn't changed the shark's other features enough to remove them from his boss' memory. His hoarse voice weaved fluent Japanese words, directed to a slender, yellow-skinned woman around his age, who was standing next to him. (There were plaques with the description for each item, but they were written only in Spanish and English.)

'This limestone tablet bears the carving of the name of the Palenque ruler K'inich Ahkal Mo' Nahb III, whose depiction we saw in another tablet a few minutes ago. This one was discovered in fragments in front of the hieroglyphic platform in Temple XIX. The top hieroglyph has the head of a turtle, which is "ahk" in Mayan; the glyphic elements just below the turtle's head are phonetic "la", linguistically reversed to make the "al" in Ahkal; the macaw beak to the right of the turtle's head provides the "mo"; while the water lily blossom on top is read as "nahb". Since the Palenque emblem glyph below identifies the ruler as a "Holy Palenque Lord", archaeologists have then concluded that Temple XIX was built under his command. I can take you there, if you like. There are gorgeous fine relief carvings, particularly on the south and west platforms of the temple. The hieroglyphics alone are a priceless addition to what can be recovered of Maya history and cosmology.'

'Yes, I'd love to,' beamed his speaking adversary.

Nevertheless, the leader of the Vongola's élite assassination squad accosted them, demanding imperiously in Japanese, 'Get lost, cunt!'

The Japanese museumgoer turned to look at Xanxus disdainfully. For a split second, her mouth opened to utter a reproach, but she dared not oppose the scarred Mafioso. She scrambled away without a second glance.

'Hey, you can't just scare away my customer like that! I want compensation.' Standing akimbo, the cicerone reproached, still in Japanese.

Xanxus peered at him incredulously, trying to decide whether he should punch the Varia strategic captain in the face or extract any information from the shark's mouth first. Finally, the scar-faced tourist spoke in Italian, 'For nine weeks the entire Vongola was looking for you and here you are taking your sweet time with a fucking woman!'

The silver head kicked his speaking adversary while replying, in Italian this time, 'It's my livelihood. Now pay me and get the hell out of here! You're talking nonsense; why would a clam look for me?'

Until that day, Xanxus had not known that mere words could make him feel the bones in his legs liquefy and no longer support him to stand: Why did Squalo treat him as if they had never met before?

'Any problem there?' The security guard, who had disapproved at Xanxus muddy boots earlier, craned his neck at them, rose from his seat and adjusting his unbelted trousers.

'No, everything's fine, officer.' The reply came in Spanish, complying with the question.

As the security guard returned to his seat and resumed his newspaper reading, the tourist guide grabbed Xanxus by one wrist. In a much lower voice, he urged the scarred man, 'Come here.'

A mishmash of shock, fury and grief flickered in Xanxus' eyes as he let himself to be led to the exit. He chose to avoid confrontation with a mere museum guard? Who's this stranger in Squalo's skin and voice?

Outside, the longhaired man cornered the raven into a clump of trees of the dense rainforest and, baring his teeth, demanded, 'Well?'

His adversary snarled, 'Pay you I will, but not without your service, scum!'

Gripping the younger man's skull firmly with one hand to push his head down, bum sticking up, the Varia leader yanked the victim's trousers out of the way with his other hand, earning himself a reproach. 'Snap out of it!'

The raven mocked, 'What's the matter? Isn't this your livelihood?'

'I don't swing that way, bastard! All of my customers are women.'

'Then why don't you experience being the bitch for a change?' The seducer's hand was now on the other man's dick, stroking and squeezing mercilessly through the denim material of the harassed man's trousers.

'Go fuck yourself, fennel!' the long-haired man swore with a gesto dell'ombrello after freeing himself from Xanxus' confinement. 'My payment ain't cheap.'

Xanxus pulled a wallet from his pocket, took out a thousand Euro and dropped the money onto the ground.

There was a shred of hesitation in the shorter man's expression, but at last, he bent to pick the scattered bank notes and examined them one by one in precaution of a fraud; Xanxus suspected that none of the female customers paid more than a quarter of that amount hitherto.

'They don't seem to be counterfeits.' The cicerone deduced with a satisfied sneer. 'Fine. I can make an exception.' Just then, he caught a glimpse of three travellers at yonder and gestured to Xanxus to follow him, 'Follow me. I'll show you where tourists won't see us.'

The man in Squalo's appearance took the Varia leader deeper into the jungle, where trees were as thick as mammal's fur. The frequent sounds from spider monkeys crashing through the thick foliage became nature's music, though these were nothing significant to those produced by myriads of birds and cicadas, which saturated the air to the point of deafening.

'Quite a convincing guide you gave that woman, scum,' uttered the Varia leader derisively, 'Nice service too.'

But when the guide answered, he was swelling with pride, unaware of the intended sarcasm. 'How d'you expect to get a cent from saying, "Hey bitch, gimme your cash and get the hell out of my face!," eh?'

Just then, they heard a persistent wheezing 'jweeee' from above. On a tree branch a few steps in front of them, was a small bird with slender conical bill. At first, its entire body seemed to be just glossy black, but after a closer look with the help of the playful sunrays, blue colour also appeared among its black feathers. Even though this bird was perching on the branch, each time it emitted its jweeee call, it leapt into the air a good foot and a half, only to return to its former spot. The same act repeated itself every five to ten seconds. The most curious thing remained, however, that it sounded as if this bird had been a ventriloquist of which voice originating from somewhere further back.

'What a nutter!'

Yet, Squalo—or the man who looked like him—chuckled, 'The Blue-black Grassquit? Yeah, that's one funny bird, that is.'

Just ten metres after they left the Volatinia jacarina, the longhaired man's steps broke into a halt, right before a bunch of upright plant about the same height as his waist and smelt like a mixture of sweet basil, tarragon, mint and citrus. Bending, he picked two stalks of pinnate green leaves and small pale yellow flowers: Tagetes minuta.

Xanxus only stared indignantly when the freshly picked Mexican Marigold was presented to him. Did the other man think he needed the same treatment as that given to female tourists?

When the guide presented the freshly picked Mexican Marigold to Xanxus, the older man glared at him. 'Don't fucking treat me like your usual female tourists! Do I look like some freaking pansy who'll happily accept flowers from a guy?'

Hand still extended while holding the Marigold stalks, the cicerone explained, though not without indignation, 'Here, keep them in your pockets; I've already got some myself. Insects hate this plant's scent. Some mosquitoes targeted you while we were talking about the Grassquit earlier.'

Xanxus accepted the two stalks without a word. Squalo had always taken the initiative to take care of him properly—in battle, in bed and in his general daily affairs. And now, this man who looked just like Squalo did the same.

'Who are you?' The impulsive words came out from the older man's mouth as the silver head resumed walking.

'My name's Carlos. I'm the son of a shoemaker, but I'm more cut out to be a tourist guide, as you can see.' The longhaired man replied in a light tone without stopping his pace or looking back.

Xanxus strode past him and gripped him by the shoulders. The distance between their faces was less than five inches.

'Who are you?' he repeated with a more demanding growl. The look in his gaze was more intense than the glaring tropical sun. The shadow from the tree higher up was projected on his scarred face, causing his skin to become somewhat reminiscent of a map.

The shorter man hesitated. For the briefest moment, he seemed to be about to insist on his claim, but then he inhaled and spoke, 'I can't tell you something I don't know, can I?'

Seeing Xanxus' eyes narrowed, he continued, 'Some eight weeks ago, I woke up in a vast, unknown room that smelt like dentist practitioners', laid on the floor, along with around fifty other men, women and children, the majority of which were unconscious. At one end of the room was a pedestal operating table equipped with swivel-mounted shadow-free operating lamp, tables ladened with various scissors, scalpels, forceps and other instruments … you know, stuff you'd normally see in a surgical unit. There, some creepy people in uniform were slicing up the unconscious victims one by one. They stored the organs in jars filled with green liquid and put these jars on the shelf-mounted wall.

By then, I realised that I've been caught by some illegal organ traders and escaped as soon as I could by killing those who were on my way and ran outside. They must have chopped my left hand earlier, though; it's missing.

Anyway, as soon as the other illegal traders found their partners-in-crime's corpses, they pursued me. I had to jump into the nearest river in order to evade their bullets. I swam until exhaustion mixed with the effect from the soporific drugs blackened me out. When I came to, I was drifting along the water of Agua Clara—the closest river to Palenque, just fifty-five kilometres west of the town.

As a man with no memory and no ID, I could only learn to survive by watching how local guides got along with tourists. I'm lucky enough to have arrived here during tourist season; I can't imagine how I would have survived had I arrived in February. And there's also the language thing. Most locals don't speak any language other than Spanish and English. My very basic Spanish isn't enough to guide the tourists, but my English and Japanese are decent. You're the first Italian speaker I've met here, by the way, and you haven't introduced yourself.'

Xanxus' face shifted even closer to Squalo's, and the younger man had to try his best not to gulp. The mingled scent of sweat and rain which permeated from the tourist silently threatened to ravage him out of his senses. Unexpectedly, the raven head stepped back a second later. 'For now,' he said quietly while turning away from the other man, 'I'm just one of your clients. Call me Xanxus.'

There was just no way the real Squalo would accept Xanxus' sudden cold and distant attitude. Not without asking what went wrong. Not with something concerning Xanxus.

Then, it came.

'Why are you squirming back?' asked the silver head.

'I'm not squirming, scum,' came the answer, 'Are you blind?'

'Vooi, can you not be a git for one goddamn second? I was nice enough to ask about your state of comfort. And what I meant by squirming, in case you didn't get it, dickhead, was mental, rather than physical.'

Although Xanxus' reply of 'Shut up and mind your own business!' sounded convincingly annoyed, the corner of his lips curled upwards. The man who was his second in command could have never left him alone and he could not do so still.

They advanced further westwards, strolling far beyond the well-groomed tourist-loaded spots, into the consuming darkness of the jungle. The ancient buildings were crumbling and unrestored, with twisting roots around blackened blocks, shattering terraces and splitting walls. The paths take twisting routes into it, descending plateaux precariously, ascending faces haphazardly.

Xanxus heard the sound of running water from distances, first from the Motiepa River's partial dam and heavily calcified aqueduct, then from the Piedras Bolas River's complex drain and aqueduct combination, and, at last, from the Picota River's, which was also equipped with an aqueduct. Since his impatience demanded Squalo to take a shortcut, however, they did not pass any of these fascinating rivers.

Xanxus' endurance was tested further when he perceived Squalo's hands swing back and forth as the shark strode in front of him. If he could just reach it … wait, what was he? A lovesick teenage girl? Biting his lip, the older man inserted his hands into his pockets. The thoughts that he—the leader of the fearsome assassination squad—yearned to snatch another man's hand was beyond humiliating, yet delirious at the same time.

The lay of the land of Palenque's western settlement was built upon a flat, east-west running plateau, the same plateau utilized by the structures of the city's central precinct, where the palace and the Temple of Inscription were. Further settlement extends above and below the plateau, built upon platforms and massive terraces protruding from the hillsides.

The highlight here was the first temple built on Pakal's order, known as the Temple Olvidado, which was highly admired due to its tribulated vaults and the double room interior with a thin supporting wall. Archaeologists had begun documenting about the two temples directly to the west of the Olvidado; the Picota Complex comprising a plaza, an aqueduct and a stela not too far from the river bearing the same name; and the Escondido Platform—which altogether formed the theory of another administrative centre, possibly even older than the other one, existed at ancient Palenque. Even so, the fact remained that the western part of Palenque had not been the area tourists frequently ventured yet, thanks to the number of the unexcavated temples hidden in the thickness of the jungle. Archaeologists had only unearthed thirty-two percent of all Palenque ruins thus far.

It had never crossed Xanxus' mind before that his right hand man would take him to one of these temples. Buried under the tortuous, gigantic roots of a banyan tree and the parasitic weeds that grew on them, were limestone rubbles of a temple which was still a stranger to public view.

Squalo heaved a particularly large stone, rolled it out of the way, and then parted the leaves that curtained the now gaping hole. He closed the entryway once both of them were inside.

The first thing Xanxus noticed in that pitch-black vestibule was a foetor of chiropteran guano in the thick humidity of the musty air. He felt Squalo's hand on his, guiding him to advance through the embalmed darkness. Perfectly aware that the usual Varia's strategic general would not entwine hands with him under normal circumstances and that the reason for the currently amnesiac man to do so must have been the one thousand euro he had paid earlier, the scared man still found difficulties in suppressing the ridiculous elation inside his stomach.

Only after the taller man's eyes had grown accustomed to the inadequate light, was he able to make out the shapes of sleeping bats, hanging upside-down from the trough vault of the tunnel-like corridor ahead, while wrapping their bodies cosily with inky, membranous wings. The forsaken temple was veiled by absolute silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps.

Squalo let go of Xanxus' hand when the two men reached a chamber of which one side of the walls were mostly covered with tracheophytes. The shark yanked a few stems of the vascular plants and knotted them aside, revealing an austere T-shaped wall opening, as what was common with the pre-Hispanic Mayan windows, and hence enabling sunlight to illuminate the room.

With this new source of light, the room was then revealed. Its walls of ancient stone knew no plastering. The high ceiling hosted many a spider web, sombre with rain stains and humidity. The floor of large multi-coloured slabs, cracked in many places and served as a natural habitat for weeds as it endured the course of time. The murals on two sides of the walls and reliefs on the others, decayed through the touch of the aged moss; and a stone table—the only furniture within sight. Atop this table lay a flashlight, a thin book called 'Spanish for Beginners', a sleeping bag and a rucksack of which side pocket bulging with a sticking up toothpaste box.

The same sunlight also gave the tourist guide to view. It shone upon his handsome face and accentuated his curvatures. His features looked no different than when he entered Xanxus' room—with or without invitation—and snuggled in bed. He was Xanxus' right hand, his sword, his protector, his sparring partner and his best friend. But above all, he was his lover. He had been on his side since their teenage years, served him, fought with him, rebuked him, comforted him and been unwilling to break the routine through the years. In Xanxus' eyes, Squalo was never a man he could truly leave alone.

The Varia leader inserted his fists into the pocket of his trousers, clenching them. 'So this is how you lived during the last eight weeks? Using the tourists' payment to buy a few clothes and other basic necessities, but always eat out?'

'Yup,' confirmed the shorter man while unbuttoning his shirt.

'What about toilet and shower?'

Peeling the garment from his torso, Squalo replied, 'The temple has already contained a large amount of animal scat; my excretion won't make any difference. At night, I usually do it in the basement. I use the toilets in the tourist attraction sites during the day, though. I bathe in any of the streams in the forest past the archaeological zone's closing hour.'

'How long do you plan to carry on with that shitty lifestyle?'

'Until I have enough money to cover all the necessary fake documents to start a proper business and the transportation fee, I guess. I'm thinking about selling and leasing real estate in some place with more agreeable weather, like the USA, Italy or Japan.' The silver head shrugged, and then slid his trousers downwards.

That scar. Xanxus' eyes scanned Squalo's left inner thigh, reminding himself of the same scar he himself carved onto the Varia's strategic general in a dispute in their mid-teenage years, just a couple of months before the Cradle Affair.

After putting his clothing on top of the rucksack, Squalo squatted in front of Xanxus, condom in hand.

'Either we do it raw or the deal's off, scum!'

At Xanxus' words, Squalo cast one hesitant look. No doubt he was trying to decide whether or not this client carried a disease or two. Nevertheless, he complied in the end, throwing the wrapped rubber to the side.

'This is so weird. I never dealt with a male customer before.' The tourist guide unzipped the taller man's trousers and pulled out the dick concealed behind it. He took a sharp intake of breath upon perceiving that the flesh had already been harder than expected. 'How long have you—'

The raven-haired man would not let him finish the sentence. 'If your mouth's free, suck!'

Hesitant, yet obedient, Squalo nestled his cascading hair behind both ears and licked a part of his client's balls. He sensed Xanxus' abdominal abs contracting and, smirking, continued the ministration of his tongue. He heard the older man panting when he took one full scrotum inside his mouth, nibbling the sack playfully. He dared not remove the trousers from Xanxus, but repeatedly caressed the fabric where it covered the taller man's crotch and inner thighs.

Xanxus' biggest mistake was to inspect Squalo's work. The moment he found the man he had missed for weeks now fully tending his erection, he did not know for much longer his knees could support him standing. He had to chafe the shark; his pride wouldn't allow anyone to perceive him to be thoroughly enjoying the whole process.

'Shameful slut!' He pulled the cascading silver hair upwards.

To which Squalo retaliated with a couple of unverbalised Italian swearwords, pronounced merely by the swirls and strokes of his tongue at Xanxus' coronal ridge. He listened closely and was delighted to learn that the haughty raven had to hold his breath throughout the duration of the unspoken words.

Although Squalo had no recollection of working his way along the length of another man's shaft, his masculine instinct told him to spend extra time pressing his tongue along the underside of the penis. Eventually, he greeted the dick head with his warm breath before wrapping it with the even warmer interior walls of his mouth.

It had been so long since the last time they fucked. Barely a minute had passed from when Squalo's tongue landed on Xanxus' genitalia than everything went white. Before he knew it, the tourist had made a spasmodic jerk against the guide's mouth with his back fully arching and his legs flanking the younger man's head in a tight lock.

'You came? Already?' Semen dangled from Squalo's mouth as it emanated amusement and mockery in a single laughter.

It was a poor guess if Xanxus assumed that in this place he could easily buried his blushing complexion amongst the cool, echoing shadows of the wall of stone. Not failing to catch the glower of Xanxus' eyes, the cicerone quickly enveloped the temperamental man's deflating flesh again with his mouth. Recovery did not take long once the shorter man flicked the tip of his tongue against the client's fraenulum.

'Enough!' commanded the Varia leader, withdrawing himself from his right hand man's mouth. 'Stand up!'

Once Squalo was back on his feet, Xanxus pushed him against a wall, his back fully exposed to the Varia leader's edacious eyes. Hands spreading the younger man's nether cheeks apart, the raven made his way in. He knew, by the shark's groan and clenched fist, that his initial attempt must have been agonising. Even though his manhood was well coated with Squalo's saliva, the rear fissure it entered was unprepared.

The constricting resistance of Squalo's orifice proved that its owner did not engage sex with any other man for months. Patience at an end, Xanxus plunged himself with a raw desire, while his hands held his partner's hips so tightly that they left bruises. He remembered the silver-haired man's body temperature so well. Too well.

Xanxus hated heat; it was swelteringly uncomfortable and made his temper rise. Yet, this particular heat was an exception. This was the presence he had lost for weeks. This was the man he trusted above others. This was the one he loved.

Squalo! How he wanted to scream that name. His Shark.

Xanxus intended to take his time in reacquainting himself with each angle and plane, in remapping the terrain, in indulging himself with taste of the man in his arms, but self-control was never his forte. Instead, he smelled his partner through flaring nostrils, lips parted, famished for more of skin contacts. He wanted to rip the other open to envelop himself within skin and flesh, until their hearts beat in sync, inseparable.

'Alive…' Xanxus hoarsely murmured against Squalo's back, breathless while clinging to the body in front of him, devouring. Squalo was truly there, not just his torturing imagination.

He had guessed that finding the strategic captain would be gratifying, but never had hoped for the contentment of soul that currently possessed him. He panted, moving with no interference from his brain whatsoever, reaching blindly for Squalo's hips, just touching him there with his fingertips, groaning and allowing the sensations to wash through him. He'd do anything, commit any crime, just to be with this man.

It was fortunate that his second-in-command stood backing him, for Xanxus was aware that sweat was not the only liquid that currently trickled down his face. No matter what he had said and done, he missed Squalo's swordplay in their spar, Squalo's silken hair, Squalo's horse voice, Squalo's slender body, Squalo's bicker … everything about Superbia Squalo. Through watery eyes, the older man shoved himself into the other man's pliant flesh with such ferocity that his partner swore aloud.

Xanxus remained silent. It did not matter to hear profanities dumped at him; Squalo spoke, here, to him, after had forced himself to live on in emptiness for weeks, believing that he could never hear that voice forevermore. Although the raven had been holding the other man like a captive he would not let go, when it came to a certain brand of opium named 'Superbia Squalo', how could he ever get enough? He had to mark him, to leave something that could remind his memory that they had indeed been together. Using his incisors, the Varia leader carved his second-in-command's fair skin.

With the other man's moans vibrating inside his head, nothing he did could extinguish the lust that flowed through his veins. Each penetration was filled with escalating vehemence. Squalo was his rain, the only one that quenched his thirst of solitariness and extinguished his flame of wrath. Rather than having such water perfectly still in a container, he wanted to agitate the container until the water shook violently. After all, what could have tasted better than a man who was the embodiment of pride succumbed to his subjugation?

The past nine weeks were reduced to a blur of memories and emotions, gone, erased, washed away with the crashing surf that erupted from loin to mind, and all through his body; nothing else mattered but the here and now. Synapses fired desire across his brain until he was hardly able to think at all. Arduously, steadily, their bodies combined. No wild, insane coupling of voracity like the preceding minutes, but years' worth of devotions manifested in lust, moving further towards orgasm. This, then, was bliss. He had forgotten what it felt like, this sense of completeness.

Here in an abandoned temple, nothing was sacred, nothing reminded them of god or the spirits of the dead, nothing hampered the two men from joining in flesh under the canopy of antediluvian limestone. Here in the dark, impetuous thrusts met undeniable passion.

Squalo's fingers clawed the wall, upon which letters that had been carved in the likeness of divinities and nature. He recognised one of the Mayan glyphs as 'caan'—the sky—although he was incognisant that another 'sky' was crushing him, pounding him arduously.

'You look like a house lizard,' sneered the taller man upon seeing how Squalo's arms were pressed flat against the wall.

The shorter man was too busy to retort—gasping and groaning and grunting.

Thrusting more erratically still, Xanxus anchored his torso onto Squalo's, using his arms to hook the other man's shoulders, knowing he was not going to last much longer.

There was one question Xanxus never asked Squalo, one thing he could not have mentioned. Now that they were no longer in superior-subordinate relationship, there would never be a better chance to go for it. 'Hey, do you like having sex with me?'

For at least two full seconds, the shark's moans paused, and when they resumed, the proud right hand man's ring of flesh squeezed him tighter than before.

It was the feeling of the younger man's pulsating around his erection that pushed the scarred man over the edge. The Varia leader was the first to come, constricted by his second-in-command's unbearably tight sheath of heated flesh. Pushing down one last time, he emptied himself inside his partner, hands clutching the silver-haired man's waist firmly. His eyes were scrunched shut as he felt himself drained and elevated at the same time, deeply embedded in the lethally beautiful being that was all his and his alone.

As a wave of warmth flooded Squalo, he instinctively tightened his inner muscles more around the other man, whose member still nudged his prostate. He cried rampantly as his hips swayed back and forth of their own volition. Everything was water now, drowning every part of them. The shark's cries alternated between pleasure and pain, but he was lost in the torrent. A fountain of white burst through him as he climaxed although his shaft remained untouched.

With his member still pulsating inside the man he held, and his bodily fluid seeping out of his partner's rear fissure, Xanxus said, 'Scum, tell me where you want to be seduced.'

'Find them out yourself,' the tourist guide taunted, his voice rang through the raw and rheumy damp air inside the temple detritus.

Xanxus stared at Squalo's shadowy back for a while, and then shifted closer. The right earlobe were the first to be claimed. The jaw line came next. The side of the neck, he did not pass without a series of small bites, and so was the crook between it and the shoulder. He took delight in clinging on the silver-haired man's hair.

'Voi, hands off my hair!'

'Why?' the other man hissed. He knew exactly why: fourteen years before, Superbia Squalo vowed that he would never cut his hair until Xanxus became the Vongola leader.

The swordless sword emperor wheezed, 'It's important.'

'Why is it important?' the older man urged.

'I don't know …' his voice faltered for a moment, but then he insisted, 'I just feel I am obliged to keep it well-treated.'

'You're such a pansy.' But Xanxus grinned. Broader than ever.

Xanxus' hands then travelled down the plane of Squalo's stomach, along Squalo's ribs, the sturdy built of Squalo's thighs and the roundness of Squalo's buttocks, sinking into the younger man's body like a potter moulding his clay. He parted the shorter man's thighs before his fingers slipped past Squalo's crotch and slowly worked against the part that was demanded his attention most.

'Heh, you didn't seem to be the type who likes to cuddle after sex,' panted the silver head mockingly.

Xanxus slowly withdrew, enjoying the view of how his seminal fluid oozed from the other man's sphincter, and then, without a warning, slammed his revived rod back into Squalo, resulting in the shorter man's gasp. Wet slapping noises filled the musty room each time their two bodies met. The taller man changed the angle of his thrusts to slide the length of his cock against his partner's prostate.

Shuddering at the sensation, Squalo ground his rear against Xanxus' bucking hips. They copulated again and again and again until they became depleted of stamina. By then, night's shadowy hand had long smeared the sun with its tarlike paint.

'Meet me at the main entrance tomorrow at eleven, scum,' ordered Xanxus when Squalo showed him the nearest way out.

VII

Nevertheless, at eleven o' clock the next day, the Varia's Rain Guardian was nowhere to be seen at and around the main entrance. At eleven fifteen, Xanxus was still waiting alone like an idiot under the fulgent sun. At eleven thirty, the Varia leader ran out of patience and began searching every nook and cranny within sight.

Just when he almost gave up an hour and a half later, he spotted the silver head near the museum exit.

'Shit!' Squalo grumbled and hurried to hop on into a colectivo—the shuttle bus than ran every 10 minutes from six am to six pm between the Palenque town centre and the archaeological zone.

More furious than ever, Xanxus tailed the colectivo with his rent car.

The moment Squalo hopped off the bus at Parque Central, he frantically ran into alleyways in a desperate attempt to avoid Xanxus, who parked his car and chased him on foot. The shark would have stood a better chance in such a footrace if his lower half had not been in pain from the previous day's sex, but as he was now, it was only a matter of time until the older man cornered him.

'Why were you trying to shake me off?' Squalo heard the question leaving the taller man's mouth as his arms were held overhead, pinned to a wall with worn-out paint by the speaker. They were in an alleyway between the back of a church and a restaurant. The narrow street was quite deserted, save from a few rats that concerned themselves with the bins.

'Look! My arse is still hurt from yesterday's excessive fucking. Find someone else to attend to your crazy sex dive!'

Xanxus drew his face closer that for a moment, Squalo suspected the taller man was about to kiss him. Instead, the raven seemed to be content enough listening to the longhaired man's accelerated heartbeat and whispered to the younger man's ear, 'Then it'll be no problem as long as I don't screw your sorry arse today?'

There was a flicker of suspicion in Squalo's eyes when he landed the next question, 'Why does it have to be me?'

Xanxus did not answer, but released his grip from Squalo's arms.

Squalo's eyes lucidly said that he found Xanxus' persistent obsession about him creepy, but he obviously could not provide any good reason to object. He did not even bother to hide his reluctance while accepting the older man's request. 'Fine. If it's just normal sightseeing tour today, I can handle that much.'

The scarred man gave him no reply in words, but dropped a car key into Squalo's hand.

'Have you had lunch?' The silver head asked as they walked out of the alleyway into a wider street full of pedestrians.

'Do I look like I've had lunch?'

The look on Squalo's expression indicated that he was seriously considering smacking Xanxus, but changed his mind after reminding himself of a more urgent question. 'Since we're not going to have sex today, how much are you prepared to pay me?'

'The same as yesterday.' With that, the Italian tourist pulled a total of 1,000 euro from his wallet.

Before Squalo reached for the bank notes, however, a local boy, around seventeen years old, snatched them from Xanxus' hand and ran away. Squalo set his feet to pursue the thief at once, but stopped on his third step. The young thief collapsed onto the ground with blood trickling from his skull. The next sound was Xanxus' voice talking over his mobile phone in Italian, 'Get the spring cleaners to work.'

Squalo turned to the tourist. Xanxus was still holding the gun with a silencer in one hand and the phone in the other. There was no trace of shock in his face, as though this had been his routine.

'The police will be here soon,' the tourist guide glimpsed worriedly at the curious onlookers. Some of the women and children had started screaming at the sight of the pooling blood around the boy's head. 'We have to go real quick.'

The raven head calmly answered. 'Those fucktard scums won't lift a finger against us.'

'But they still will interrogate us.' Squalo's tone grew more urgent still; by the sound of it, there was no way he had faith in Xanxus' prediction.

Xanxus held his gun playfully so that its metal surface glinted in the sun. 'Let them try.'

Squalo shook his head threw his arms upwards in exasperation. 'You're rich but twisted. Alright, I get it. You can handle the entire police force by yourself if you want to, but it's not worth it. You're on vacation. You want relaxation. So, let's go!'

Nevertheless, Xanxus was more concerned with a pang in his heart than with the movement of his feet. The Superbia Squalo he used to know was no pacifist. Why must this Superbia 'Carlos' Squalo be so different?

A police car arrived before Squalo managed to get Xanxus away from the scene. As though the fact that it approached without sounding any siren when the murdered was still free roaming had not been questionable enough, the three police officers that came out from the car just took the corpse quietly and left. More than a hundred witnesses on the street did not exist to them. They did not even bother documenting, putting up safety lines or go through the standard procedure. In fact, they acted more like they had merely been scooping some garbage and cleaning up the street.

VIII

'What … How … Did you expect this … wait, did you arrange this? But … you live in Italy and this is Mexico.' Squalo stared unbelievingly at the figure standing next to him. The question was clearly rhetorical; he had even asked another before Xanxus opened his mouth to answer. 'What about the mass media?'

'Are you stupid or what? The spring cleaning team personnel are stationed all over the world. If there's a publication of any sort, I will have them killed within 24 hours.'

But Squalo's tone sounded even more sceptical. 'Even if your so-called "spring cleaning team" can give the governments some hush money, what about the internet? Surely they can't stop zillions of individual across the globe posting a report in their personal websites or through social medias.'

'Do you think I hire incompetent scum as hackers and programmers? They can even prevent a president's official announcement from being broadcast, if necessary. How difficult can it get to spread virus and worms into the Interpol's base or shut down the world-famed FuckBook? Only very few people enjoy technology that's on par with the Vongola Famiglia.'

Seeing that the shark was about to bombard him with even more questions, Xanxus cut him off, growling with his usual impatience, 'Now, are we having the fucking lunch or not?'

'Yeah, follow me.' The cicerone resigned, though not without an annoyed look on his face.

Squalo walked onto the next block and took a turn to the left. After passing a hilly alleyway, they were back into the larger street again. Although Palenque was not particularly charming, it was colourful enough, with cinder-block buildings gussied up in coats of vivid blue, yellow and orange paints. Looking sideways, Xanxus could even see the mountains spearing the sky with their magnanimous trees.

'Why are the locals so hyped up about shoes?' The scarred tourist asked upon noticing there was at least one shoe shop on nearly every street they passed.

'Beats me.'

They walked further, passing the walls with worn-out paints in their strides. Five minutes later, Squalo brought up the subject that vexed his boss again. 'I still think the boy didn't need to die. I killed people too, but they kidnapped and killed random passers-by, just to take their organs and leave the victims die. That boy was only—'

'Ruining my vacation.' Xanxus spoke with finality in his tone.

Yet, Squalo's instinct was not to be taken too lightly. 'That can't be what it's all about. There's something else you haven't told me.'

Xanxus eyed the Varia strategic captain with an irritated look for a while. He could not say, 'If you are sharp enough to detect this, how can you be so dense in realising why I care?!That thief ruined the rare opportunity I get to spend with you alone, and now you stand up for that worthless scumbag? And what's more, there's no way I'd lament helplessly over the loss of my money and appear so lame in front of you, of all people.'Hence, the bad tempered man adjusted his shirt and said with a huff, 'I have no obligation to report everything to you, scum.' He almost let his tongue slip, 'Besides, you never whined about whom I chose to kill before,' but withheld at the last second.

The only thing that made Squalo put up with Xanxus' unpleasantness for the next several minutes was that the tourist handed him another 1,000 euro payment, since the 1,000 euro that had been snatched by the thief were now distributed among the police officers as hush money.

'Hey, d'you fancy visiting the ruins of Bonampak? It's only 113 miles southeast of Palenque along the Rio Lacanja and is famous for its well-preserved stelae and murals from the 800's,' offered Squalo as they passed another alleyway; being a tourist guide meant that he knew many shortcuts that others didn't.

'I saw nothing but ruins yesterday, and now you offer to show me more ruins?' the raven head replied incredulously.

'Okay, no ruins then. Fancy a swim in a lush, rainforest environment? There are three waterfalls not far from this town, but Agua Azul, located 69 km off Palenque, is the best one. Just as its name indicates, "Blue Water", Agua Azul refers to the fresh, blue water of the river, of which colour was caused by erosion; water flowing past the rocks causes small particles of lime containing magnesium salts and other chlorides to break off and dissolve.

June through October aren't the best months to visit because during the rainy season, silt turns the waters brown; the beginning of the year is the when the eye-dazzling turquoise-blue colour appears. If one were to capture it into a picture, the result would be blue enough even without any photographic enhancement. However, the last rain stopped about twenty-two hours ago, so we may as well try our luck.

Agua Azul features a series of torrential cascades and fast flowing waters rolling down a limestone ridge to form pools and small streams. The water descends the travertine bed in steps forming approximately 500 picturesque waterfalls, ranging from just a few feet to several storeys high, which create natural pools contained by limestone levees known as "rimstone".

Some of these pools are so small that they can only fit up to half a dozen people and work like nature-made jacuzzis. Some of the falls are natural water slides. You can swim, stroll along the shore, view the panoramic landscape various miradores vista points, ride on horseback, snag some souvenirs, and enjoy fresh, locally made coconut milk, juice and empanadas. I can take you to the quieter parts of the site so that you can enjoy your visit to the fullest extent unhindered by the overcrowding tourists,' explained the silver-haired tourist guide.

'Yeah, whatever.'

Xanxus did not fail to notice Squalo's jaw clenching because of this unenthusiastic answer, but the younger man seemed to console himself by touching his pocket, now containing a thousand euro bank notes.

Their mood had not exactly improved when the guide announced that they had arrived at the intended pub. Its exterior was nothing special. A wooden door with peeling paints stood at the mercy of the weather, flanked by potted palms. A dog without a collar was lying next to one of the plant pots, scratching its side with its hind leg. Two bicycles leaned against the sordid wall of which the colour had transformed from its original white into its current yellowish beige as well as bearing cracks here and there. The sign 'OPEN' that hung on the door was carelessly placed and slanted to one side, while its plank was covered with dust thick enough to write a word, though its dust was not nearly as thick as that on the cobwebbed signboard with the bar's name above the entryway.

The moment they walked through the arched doorway, Xanxus asked, 'What music is this?'—though by the sound of it, the question was more likely to say 'What kind of shitty music is this?'.

'Marimba, ocarina, drum and whistle quartet,' Squalo answered matter-of-factly.

After asking Xanxus to wait for him at one of the vacant dining tables, Squalo proceeded to address the bartender.

'Sup, Juan! What's today's special?' (The bar only provided four or five items in the menu, which was changed on daily basis.)

The so-called Juan smiled, but before he could answer, his colleague, a waiter, appeared from the kitchen and beat him into it, 'Yo Carlos, your friend certainly has a funny way of asking things. I even thought he was insulting the music.'

To this, Squalo, whom the local knew by the name 'Carlos', dropped his volume drastically. 'Yeah, he's a downright jerk, but he pays well. Listen, pal, this Italian freak here has difficult taste buds. He complained he hadn't eaten any decent food since he arrived in this country. That's why I brought him here.' Squalo turned to Juan again, with a grave expression this time. 'I know I can count on your wife's fabulous cooking.'

Juan smiled even wider. 'You're in luck. My mother has stayed over since yesterday. Her cooking is even more fantastic than my wife's. Just ask your problematic friend to sit back, relax, and we'll bring him the masterpiece of authentic Mexican cuisine.'

'Splendid! Can I have the same?'

'Sure.' Juan headed towards the kitchen, but then turned back as he reached the doorway. 'By the way, he doesn't have any nut allergy or something like that?'

'Dunno, he didn't tell me. We can blame his luck if he does. I'd love to see him suffer from itches or upset stomach, for a change.' Squalo chuckled and Juan laughed with him, unaware of Xanxus' jealous glare.

Juan's assistant, Rueben, reappeared from the kitchen. 'Can I get you something to drink?'

'A jug of fruit punch for the two of us…' Squalo paused, the gleam in his eyes danced maleficently, '… and while that bastard's here, why not have him try mezcal as well?'

Rueben beamed in tacit understanding and returned to the kitchen, while Squalo approached Xanxus.

At least the little chat with those scums cheered him up, thought Xanxus on seeing the change in Squalo's mood as he pulled the chair directly opposite Xanxus'.

Squalo said, 'I frequently take tourists to lunch and dinner, you know. The restaurant in the ruins is expensive and unsatisfying. The ones in the lodgings on the road leading to the ruins offer cheaper, better quality meals, but they still won't suffice for you. Of all the places I've ever been, this one has the best meal. The place may put you off, but rest assured, I've made sure that the chef will bring you a proper dish.'

He frequently takes tourists to meals? Trying not to imagine how Squalo took a female tourist to a candlelit dinner, holding hands under the table and continued whatever they did not do in public once they reached the hotel, Xanxus grunted.

'By the way, when you said you haven't eaten any decent food, which restaurants are they?'

'Those in the bloody hotel.'

Rueben arrived with a tray of drinks and feigned a smile while facing Xanxus. After placing the jug of iced fruit punch and two empty glasses on the table, he introduced the tiny glass containing a single shot of mezcal to the overbearing diner. 'This is mezcal, a distilled alcoholic beverage made from the maguey plant, which is native to Mexico. It is generally drunk straight, not mixed in a cocktail. There are a couple of rituals associated with it, especially in Oaxaca, where it is produced. One says, "Pa'rriba, pa'bajo, al centro y pa´dentro" (up, down, centre and in) before the first shot. The other involves spilling a small portion onto the ground as an offering to the Mayahuel, the goddess of maguey and the fertility of the earth.'

'What a ridiculous practice!' Xanxus lifted the tiny glass, emptied its content down his throat at one gulp and slammed the empty glass back to the table.

Both Squalo and Rueben were anticipatively waiting for Xanxus to cough or at least cringe, as first-timers often found its overly smoky flavour to be disagreeable, harsh and even cause coughing. On the contrary what came out of his mouth was, 'Bring me a full bottle of mezcal!'

This Rueben did, with Squalo's translation, and Xanxus drank the liquid straight from its bottle. All who were present in that shabby bar stared at the Italian tourist in undisguised awe. Not many people could gulp down mezcal as easily as water.

As soon as the raven head finished with the mezcal bottle, his eyes darted from bottle to bottle on the shelves behind the counter. 'Bring me sloe gin, ogogoro, soju, rakia, pisco, cachaça …' and then continued his list of distilled beverages with those of wines and ales until Rueben's block note was filled with the names of all different sorts of alcoholic drinks for a good page and a half, though these he ordered by the glass rather than by the bottle.

'Aren't you going to have something to drink as well?' Rueben asked Squalo.

'Nah, I'm driving.'

Xanxus cast another annoyed look at his supposed-to-be right hand man. Since when had his shark become so uptight about rules and regulations?

Juan personally delivered his mother's masterpiece to Xanxus and Squalo. 'These are called "Chiles en nogada". They consist of poblano chiles filled with "picadillo"—a mixture containing chopped or ground meat, panochera apple (manzana panochera), sweet-butter pear (pera de mantequilla) and criollo peach (durazno criollo), and spices—topped with a walnut-based cream sauce and pomegranate seeds. You see their three colours stand for those of the Mexican flag: green for the chilli, white for the nut sauce and red for the pomegranate. They are popular in the northern Mexico, where my mother came from. It is traditional to eat this dish in August and first half of September.'

'It's passable' remained Xanxus' only comment regarding the food. However, since this came from a gastronomist who did not complain about any element of the dish, it was worth a compliment.

Just when Squalo began to think that things seemed to be right at last, the door creaked open to reveal a group of five attractive girls, heavily loaded with shopping bags. One of these girls was Squalo's acquaintance.

'Carlos!' Smiling, a girl in her early twenties threw her arms around the silver-haired man's neck and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Nevertheless, Xanxus did not miss how her curvaceous breasts brushed against Squalo's chest.

'Are you taking them for a shopping tour?' Squalo greeted the female guide in English with such a cordial tone Xanxus painfully aware the Varia strategic general had never used against him.

'Yeah. And you?'

'I'm showing this bloke the Agua Azul.'

'Ooh, you're a guide too,' another girl exclaimed in English, unmistakably using an Oklahoma dialect.

'You should join us,' another girl with shorter hair invited them, 'We're going to the Agua Azul ourselves after lunch.'

'Yeah, the more the merrier,' yet another girl supported.

He began, 'Sorry girls—'

'We'd rather be on our own for now.' While finishing Squalo's sentence, Xanxus slipped a hand into Squalo's shirt, pinching one of the nipples as he stated the words in English. The girls' coquettish giggles when they had been talking to the silver head got on his nerves.

There was a definite stillness as well as awkward glances in the crowded room before the two men left the bar for the street where Xanxus had parked his rent car earlier. Once they entered the car, Squalo yelled at Xanxus.

'WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO THAT IN FRONT OF THEM?!'

Xanxus grinned; not a trace of guilt lingered in his face. 'That'll teach them.'

'Teach them what?! That I'm supposed to be a fag for you, even though I'm not interested in men?!' Fury was all over Squalo's voice; the gritting of his teeth was audible enough through the roar of the newly started engine.

The scarred face grew smugger still. 'Not to lay their hand on my property.'

Something in Xanxus' authoritative tone would make an ordinary man shut up in an instant. It was not, however, the case with the Varia Rain Guardian. 'I'm not your property!'

'You are today. For a thousand euro in cash.'

To reach Agua Azul, they took a long and winding road southwards, across the tropical jungle of Chiapas mountains, where the greens hills blended into the distant blue sky.

Still seething with anger, Squalo threw Xanxus a scathing look. He remained silent for a few seconds, and then punched the window on his left as he lamented, 'Great! Just great! Now that my reputation is ruined, how can I ever face them again? The next time I get a tourist to guide, they'll inform her and I may not get another client all my life.'

'You needn't see them again.'

Letting go of the steering wheel, Squalo grabbed the collar of Xanxus' shirt. 'Don't tell me you're going to kill them, you crazy son of a bitch?!'

'All I'm saying,' interrupted Xanxus, clamping Squalo's mouth with his fingers to prevent the younger man temporarily from speaking, 'is that you can get another job in Italy with fifty thousand euro salary per month, sleep in a castle, eat whatever you like and kill whomever I order to kill.'

Only three seconds had lapsed before Squalo retorted, 'Do you think I'll seriously fall for that fishy plan of yours? There's no way I'll associate myself with a dumbshit like you after today!'

Fortunately for Xanxus, Squalo went back to concentrate on the road for his driving, so that the younger man did not notice his expression, in which no word could describe it better than 'looking hurt'. He managed, however, to mask his voice to sound quite unbothered. 'Then I might as well enjoy you while it lasts.'

With that, Xanxus leaned toward Squalo. His fingers trailed Squalo's mouth, ghosting their tips downwards onto the younger man's abdomen over his shirt, while his breath spilled evenly upon the silver-haired man's shoulder. This movement weakened the longhaired man significantly, but the proud man still held his ground, refusing to give into the temptation.

The scarred man laughed, a japing husky sound, before he bit into the crook of his subordinate's neck. He made no true attempt to break the skin, but the younger man's gasp resounded throughout the little space that the car offered. Finally, Squalo struggled to catch his breath. 'Vooiii, you agreed no fucking around today!'

'Is pain the only thing you feel when I'm inside you?' The whisper approached Squalo's ears soft like the flutter of a feather in the breeze, but it cut acutely like a sharpened dagger. Against his will, a tint of blush made its appearance on his cheeks.

His suitor smirked in triumph. 'You enjoyed the sex with me, didn't you?'

'I said nothing of that sort!'

'Not with this mouth,' Xanxus placed his thumb and index finger on Squalo's chin to tilt it. He then leisurely, tantalisingly trailed Squalo's clothed back with his other hand, culminating on the crevice between the younger man's rear. 'But with that one.'

'Stay away from m—'

The yell discontinued. Thanks to Xanxus' diversion, Squalo driving went off the course. He nearly hit the shrubbery on the side of the road and the sound of a car horn came from behind.

'Remove your goddamn hand from my pants, you bitchfuck manwhore! Can't you see I'm driving?! Geez!'

'Pull over then!'

There was not slightest regret in the raven's tone. His action grew even bolder and he found his adversary's nylon briefs stretching nicely at the insertion of his hand. However, the younger man quickly gripped his forearm with a dire warning.

'I told you, lecherous sodomist: no more shagging; my arse hurts!'

Xanxus cackled. Very loudly.

'I mean it!'

At that precise moment, the car hit something small. Squalo hushed Xanxus and nervously checked the rear-view mirror, in case he had just flattened a stray kitten. He could not exhale in relief until he made sure it was not an animal, but a plastic drinking bottle—probably fallen from a tourist's backpack—that now laid planate, its content irrigating the otherwise dry asphalt.

It was then they realised that everything around them had fallen into complete silence, except for the song from the car radio. And during this moment of silence, the current song lyrics caught their attention: 'I learn what beauty is when I look at you.'

Instinctively, the two passengers looked at each other. Squalo flinched a second later, and then changed the broadcasting station. On the other hand, Xanxus directed his gaze to the pasturing llamas outside the window, fists clenched tight. They exchanged no more word for the remainder of the journey.

The Agua Azul waterfalls poured forth a complex of rapids, cascades and pools on a branch of the Tulijá River. Surrounded by such dazzling vegetation the beauty of the river was captivating, like a teal ribbon stretching over the land … though personally, Xanxus suspected the fact that things appeared to be so might have anything to do with the man standing next to him.

After buying swimsuits and bathing equipments from one of the thatch-roofed market stalls near the entrance, the two of them proceeded to the changing room, and then hiked uphill. As they climbed, on their left were the glittering cascades, white water and deep, semi-sienna semi-viridian pools, rushed through deep green jungle, coursing over kilometres of lush valleys in the Sierra Madre de Chiapas Mountains. Occasionally along the banks, commemorative crosses for ones that had drowned in this lethal beauty stood erect.

The path leading from the parking area up alongside the waterfalls was crammed with food and souvenir stalls and smaller trails leading to the observation points and designated swimming areas. After about a kilometre from the entrance, the wide paved path turned to soil.

The further they went, the quieter the area became. In fact, they only came across a few handfuls of tourists and fewer still natives along the way. Three of the natives were young siblings, each carrying their load of fruits to sell by the traditional Mayan tumpline method—a band of fabric ladened with the load was wrapped over the front of the person's head as it was carried on the back.

Unexpectedly, Xanxus stopped the three siblings, asking, 'Got apples?'

The eldest child opened up his bundle as soon as Squalo translated Xanxus' question into Spanish.

The payment Xanxus handed the child was generous enough for ten apples even though he only bought two. Prior to Vongola IX's adoption, Xanxus had lived with his single mother in such a poverty that he had sometimes been asked to help her sell vegetables in the marketplace. None of the Varia members knew that this was why he had a soft spot for child labour.

As Xanxus threw one of the apples to Squalo, the youngest fruit seller giggled. When Xanxus—with Squalo's Spanish translation—asked what was so funny, she answered, 'Granny said that apples were the fruit of love. By eating them together, you two look like lovers.'

The other two children broke into laughter at the joke, but Squalo's expression hardened, alerting the eldest child who then quickly hushed his siblings and excused themselves. Xanxus could guess some of the vocabularies, but chose to display no sign of awareness.

After about an hour's hike through the jungle and across a sugar cane farm, they reached beyond El Cañon—The Canyon—where the valley narrowed and a number of additional cascades were located. Yet, they did not stop walking until they arrived at a pool where no other tourist was basking in the splendour of the mist rising over the cascades. The water surface here was even bluer than the rest of the pools they had passed on the way; its celadon colour centripetally gradated into a deeper shade of aquamarine.

'The water is not for timid swimmers,' the silver head warned, 'The current is deceptively strong in many places, even in those that seem placid. Drowning did occur; you saw those grave markers earlier. Just hang on until I show you where we can dive into white water rapids and speed downriver to a calm, shallow pool.'

Even so, Xanxus being Xanxus, challenged this warning. He attempted to approach the rocks in mid-river while the guide had not finished undressing—the missing left hand did not allow Squalo to do certain things at the same speed as those who had both hands intact.

The water was cold, yet invigorating after an hour of hiking under the scorching sun. The older man had barely touched a rock when suddenly he shot downstream in a roaring world of surging foam and bubbles. He opened his eyes to blinding white colours and stampeding gurgles, which filled his ears with an incredible thunder.

Squalo laughed aloud when Xanxus managed to stride ashore, tottering to his feet. 'It was like riding a roller coaster, wasn't it?'

The raven head grinned—not because of his guide's words, but because of the younger man's appearance: his neck and upper back bore red tooth marks from the previous day's carnal activity. No wonder the Varia strategic captain opted to swim in private.

As soon as Squalo was within reach, Xanxus pulled the shorter man into his arms.

'Don't tell me you've become afraid of the water torrent?'

It was meant to be a joke, and Squalo did expect a denial; and yet, no word fell from Xanxus' mouth for a good ten minutes. If a temporary potamophobia could buy a lonely man an excuse to hold the gorgeous creature before him, why not? As much as the tourist enjoyed standing in the river, doing nothing but encircling his arms around the back of the man he had craved for so long, the guide felt discomforted by the awkward silence.

'If you're … uh … uncomfortable with the river, we can always end our swimming session,' Squalo spoke at last after swallowing thickly, keeping his gaze fixed to the lapping of water.

Only then did Xanxus' arms shift from Squalo's body. The very next second, however, the older man returned with a punch.

XII

'Voi, what the hell was that for?!' Squalo flinched just in time to evade the blow. 'I was just asking; why did you get offended so easily?'

The taller man struck again.

Then, Squalo did what he thought he couldn't: he jumped into the air, twelve feet above, and landed atop the cascading waterfall. His opponent did not pursue him, but landed his punch on the fall itself. Some intense flame glowing from his empty hand, vaporising the water as it diffused into air.

Squalo stood open mouthed as the glory of the sun accumulated in the other man's hand and the rain of from the disturbed surrounding water embellished him as though he had been an otherworldly being: the god of the battlefield, exalted by the Flame of Wrath and adorned by scars throughout his body.

The battle god, however, did not stay idle. With another blow, he destroyed the rocks where Squalo was standing. All twelve-feet-high limestone crumbled into rubbles and the water splashed around them.

Squalo leapt away, landing on another limestone for his footing. The distance between them was no more than two metres in width now. He charged at Xanxus, not because he was confident he could tackle his opponent, but because he was sure the other party would launch another crazy attack regardless.

Streaks of sweat laved his brow as much as fear intoxicated his heart. As a stranger who initially could not speak Spanish but became a tourist guide, he had attracted the locals' envy and faced a couple of fights. None of those men who had challenged him was this strong, even though they attacked him en masse. The natives had not dared to challenge him ever since. Yet this man, if not god, was different; Xanxus was not someone he could overcome empty-handed. How the silver head wished he had a sword at times like this, but since there was nothing he could employ other than his own bare hand, the battle evolved into an exchange of fists and kicks.

So great was his desire that no persuasion of fear deterred him from attacking the war god. Surging forward, he increased the ferocity of his attack. Even so, no matter what he did—jabs, feints, uppercuts, sidesteps, roundhouse blows—none of his movements took his opponent by surprise. Much to Squalo's annoyance, the raven head had anticipated all of his attacks and counterattacks as accurately as if Xanxus had been familiar with all of his techniques through past battles.

At last he felt his fist connect with muscled flesh, but this was not an achievement that came without a sacrifice. The sound of bone cracking and the searing pain that came without warning into his ribs could only mean that he received more damage than his adversary did. Wincing, Squalo lunged again with infinitely more power than his previous punch. Yet, Xanxus would not let his second-in-command land a second blow onto his body.

When one of Xanxus' hand gripped Squalo's forearm, the other hand was about to deliver a punch, their eyes met. The taller man only allowed himself two full seconds to bask in the droplets of water that glistened on Squalo's long silvery hair and smooth skin, adorning the younger man like diamonds. For a fresh desire arose within Xanxus and he wasted no time to unclench his fist, executing his fingers to pull the other man into him in a crash—lips against lips.

Squalo's eyes widened. The kiss was horrible. It was as though all egos in the world gathered in one place and conveyed through a single action. Each tongue invasion was coloured by dominance and each intake of breath was heavy with demand. But the worst thing was: it felt good.

Before Squalo realised it, Xanxus' hands had slid into his swimsuit, groping the fleshy mounds of his buttocks.

'Voi, didn't you agree on no more fucking?!' Squalo forcefully removed Xanxus hands from his body, and then strode to the water's edge in a great haste. There, he got dressed as quickly as he could, minimising the view of his exposed skin from Xanxus.

'You've grown weak, kasuzame,' hissed the tourist, who approached his own clothes. 'You used to be the only one within the Varia who stood almost with equal power to mine. You came to my bed every night and to think that I even plan to build a bedroom underneath a shark tank…'

'What are you talking about?!'

Xanxus shoved a wrinkled sheet of paper from his pocket onto Squalo's face.

'Hey, what the h…'

But silver head choked at his own words. The paper bore a report which included a photograph of a figure which looked exactly like himself wearing a black uniform with a sword attached to his body, in place of his left hand. Below the picture were the words as follow:

Name: Superbia Squalo

Age: 28

Position: Varia's strategic captain

Status: Missing in action

Mission: Tracking Don Esposito VII's activity in Ecuador and kill him if necessary

Last Contact: 16 July 2010

He had awoken in the organ trader's headquarters on 19 July. Three days was a reasonable transporting time from Ecuador to Mexico. Or it could take less, but he was drugged unconscious, so he wouldn't have known anyway. If the enemy had discovered his espionage, drugged him unconscious, removed his sword and disposed of him through the organ traders, and a few days gap covered the time to locate Don Esposito VII as well as the shipment of is unconscious body, it all fitted into place.

XIII

Squalo looked at the paper again. On the letterhead was a gold coat of arms bearing the name of 'Vongola'.

'And what is this "Vongola" thing?'

'A costa nostra famiglia,' Xanxus answered simply.

'What about this "Varia" then?'

'That's the Vongola's independent assassination squad.'

'You claimed that I used to work there … that I killed people?' Squalo turned to Xanxus with a growing suspicion. 'How do I know that this isn't a manipulated photo … a fake document created on your order … you easily de-authorised the police to apprehend you even after that murder, so why couldn't you produce something this simple?'

'I can,' the older man replied without a hint of surprise, as though he had expected the silver head not to believe his word from the beginning, 'But what for?'

'To … to confuse me!' Even though hesitation was apparent in Squalo's voice, he remained adamant not to trust the other man, 'You just wanted me to follow you quietly and then human traffic me in some far away country or something.'

'If you think I couldn't have taken you by force, scum,' Xanxus scowled, 'you're dead wrong.' With that, another orange flame appeared from his hand, blasting a nearby rock into smithereens.

Squalo seemed to be thinking of another logical excuse, but Xanxus had run out of patience. He stormed off, back to the car, declaring, 'I have no use for a sword emperor whose skills have grown rusty.'

The cirrus clouds that decorated the sky earlier that afternoon had long darkened into cumulonimbi. The silver head sank to his knees, immersing himself the drizzles of rain, the crumpled paper of identity remained clutched tight in his hand. He stayed there until Agua Azul's closing hour.

Xanxus returned to the car and drove back to the hotel. He noticed a church at one edge of the highway. How he detested the so-called 'God' for making him fall for another man past the point of curability and then making this man walk away from his life!

Wait, what was he? Aeneas or some ancestral heroes who blamed their calamity on the power of divinity?

Xanxus stepped down on the accelerator pedal hard, sounding the horn for every vehicle in front and received lots of angry curses from different drivers. The farther the car glided on, the busier the highway became; most people hurried home due to the infamous robbery on the streets after sundown.

The Varia leader did not even want to think about Superbia Squalo, but with all these spare time while stuck in such busy traffic, what other choice did he have?

Maybe it'd be better this way.

Xanxus made up his mind to fly back to Italy empty-handed the next day. He had planned to bring back Squalo by any means, initially, but if they had never met, Squalo would have undoubtedly done different things. He could have chosen a profession which did not require him to dirty his hands with others' blood.

He'd be safe and sound if he never knew me.

The raven still remembered as though it had only been yesterday that fourteen years before, Squalo had told him, 'The day will surely come when you'll be thankful you made me your ally.'

The day had actually come. Many times. Day by day. Since Superbia Squalo had entered his life, never once he regretted of having such an ally. The current Xanxus grabbed his own hair and laughed. His laughter sounded rather hysterical—he knew that. He started to doubt his own sanity. Without Squalo, how could anything feel right anyway?

'Why "Angel Shark"?' Xanxus remembered the fifteen-year-old Squalo asking when he called him by that moniker. 'Don't I deserve a more intimidating nickname such as "Great White Shark" or "Tiger Shark" who immediately traces my prey at the slightest scent of blood and who isn't afraid of hunting preys larger than myself?'

'Shut the fuck up, dickhead! Thanks to your flashy arrival, those scums

fled,' replied the Varia leader when the name 'Varia' itself had still been an alien to their ears; neither had they crossed paths with Lussuria, Belphegor, Leviathan or Mammon. It had only been Xanxus and Squalo's second mission together. The main targets, the leader of the Giaudrone Famiglia and some of his bodyguards, managed to escape when Squalo openly attacked the other bodyguards.

Unlike the great white sharks or tiger sharks of which attacks were not necessarily provoked, angel sharks buried themselves in sand or mud lying in wait for prey. Even though their forward part was so broad and flat that they appeared somewhat similar to skates and rays; however, their rear part retained a muscular appearance more typical of other sharks and they possessed extensible, powerful jaws and long, needle-like teeth that could snap upwards to capture their target in an instant.

Back then, Xanxus and Squalo had been young, reckless teenagers who knew no fear in accomplishing their ambitions. It took awhile for the teenage Squalo to understand what his superior meant, viz. if he had behaved more surreptitiously, they would have achieved a greater result. And yet, Xanxus did not mind. Together with him, his second-in-command learnt from mistakes and became a better man.

There was no use in reminiscing how sweet the old time passing was. Xanxus felt old, decades older than he had been minutes before. His bones were heavy as lead. Chill crept inside his skin, flowing throughout his veins. He felt weak. So damn weak.

How did a single scum named Superbia Squalo made him undergo all these? How could he?

Xanxus honked the car horn, but it was no use; the cars and trucks in front of and behind him were still not moving.

A visualisation of the silver head talking to the Japanese tourist in the museum came to Xanxus' mind. Squalo, that Squalo, actually knew how to use his mouth other than to swear and…

Fuck!

The scarred man clenched the steering wheel as the memory of his last blowjob visited his mind uninvited.

XIV

Xanxus was packing his clothes back into his suitcase in the hotel room when he heard the doorbell ringing. When he answered the door, the look in his eyes was unmistakably that of a surprise. Nevertheless, he kept his voice calm. 'Want do you want, scum?'

The raven never told the silver head about his lodging, but that hotel was the best there was in the area. Then, it would not be a problem to acquire the information about the room he was staying from the reception.

On the contrary, it was Squalo who was fired up. Pushing the door ajar, he barged in. 'You can't just waltz into my life and then disappear as you please!'

Xanxus only looked at him as though he had just heard some bland joke.

'That's your money from yesterday and the day before it, minus the taxi fee to get here.' Squalo threw the bundles of bank notes he had just drawn from his pocket onto one of the bedside tables. 'I'm buying you.'

'Do I look like some fuckin' merchandise?' the older man growled, readying his fist.

'I'm saying I'll follow you for the rest of my life to Italy, to the end of the world or anywhere you want if you give yourself to me tonight.' This remark made Xanxus lowered his hand. His subordinate's impudence was beyond tolerance, but fury and humiliation were more manageable than emptiness. How was he—in all honesty—supposed to live the years ahead without Superbia Squalo before either alcoholic cirrhosis or one of his enemies ended his life?

'I will get what I want with or without your consent.' With that, Squalo, not failing to notice Xanxus' moment of weakness, lunged at the taller man, tongue wrestling with tongue, and the rustle of their clothes became their audience's applause. The silver head's shirt and trousers were still drenched from the rain, and their wetness seeped into the older man's skin, but he was not in a state for complaining.

The kiss was perfection—an art Squalo had honed for years with Xanxus himself as the most frequent practice target. He started slowly, barely touching, hovering, lingering, soft breath. Then he glided so smooth, so fluid, his tongue dancing along Xanxus' before teasing and tantalising in every way even beyond the older man's imagination.

From pride's point of view, moaning at times like this was definitely not the best option. Fact, however, could be crueller than any man could, and at the moment, it did. With Squalo's tongue poking, stroking, teasing, entwining with his own, did Xanxus have a choice?

The long-haired man's promiscuity escalated because of that single noise … that accursed slip of control. He wanted more of that moan—a proof that Xanxus wanted him so badly. The younger man pressed his thighs against the other man's, urging the taller man's legs further apart as well as letting him know how hard he had become in the juncture.

As the minutes rolled by, and their heated kisses had passed the point of no return, Squalo started to undress Xanxus. When he almost unzipped the older man's trousers, five fingers grabbed his wrist tightly, forcing his movement to halt. A whispery, husky warning penetrated his ears, 'My price comes with your lifelong devotion and loyalty.'

Squalo looked Xanxus in the eyes. There was neither sense of humour nor deceit in those sooty orbs. 'Hmph, fine by me,' the silver head replied as he resumed his finger work and Xanxus' pants soon slid down their owner's thighs. 'But before the dawn breaks the horizon, you're mine.'

Glowering with acrimony, Xanxus allowed himself to be pushed down to the bed. He had purposely ordered a double bed for fucking with Squalo, and the bed performed its function tonight—except that he was not going to do the screwing.

For the first half a minute, Squalo seemed impatient, like a shark marking territories over his body with bites that was both ferocious and voracious. But then, the younger man's pace slowed down, realising that he could indulge himself even more if he humiliated his superior with gentler kisses and lighter bites. Unfortunately, he was right.

'Don't you dare to treat me like a girl, you fucking scum!'

Squalo only grinned and teased the scarred man's body more tenderly still.

He's fucking enjoying this! the taller man cursed inwardly.

There was nothing Xanxus could do but wait—almost too patiently for his usual standard—for Squalo to hover above him. This man, the sword emperor, was not merely gorgeous, but a work of art, a unique entity that can only be made once through the infinite space and illimitable time. He was the solid proof that a higher being called 'God' must truly have existed; for how could a human, any human, create something so pleasing to behold? This creature's eyes were mesmerising … a lustrous grey, a lush green, or an exotic brown—an unadulterated hazel. His cheekbones were debonair, his jawbones prominent, his nose to the perfect point. And those lips of his…

Xanxus held his breath, savouring the sensation when Squalo's long, silky hair fell upon his chest when the locks of silver loomed over. When the other man hoisted his hips, the raven averted his eyes—more of subconsciousness than deliberation—but Squalo tilted his turned face back with a humiliatingly sweet rapacious kiss. Until then, Xanxus had never realised how beautiful the sharp definition of Squalo's clavicle and the pale hollow of Squalo's throat were, compared to his tanned skin over the weeks under the strong Mexican sun. Pity and pride swelled within him when he noticed the purplish blue bruises around the younger man's ribs; the former, because he maimed the living sculpture, while the latter, because not anyone had that privilege.

Even though the Varia leader hardly made any sound, his body writhed when the sword emperor's hungry tongue explored it. The younger man purposely lingered on his scars to lure him to growl, and when he did, a complacent smirk graced his partner's face. Slowly, Squalo's hands began to pull Xanxus onto him, exploring the scarred man's back with a new unquenched thirst. Squalo's previously impatient fingers stroked him slower and groped him at certain spots.

'Tell me, when I worked for you, was I a butt-licker?' the shorter man wheedled.

Without waiting for his boss' confirmation, Squalo encircled his arms to haul Xanxus' lower back, while his tongue explored the ring of Xanxus' rear flesh, continued by a series of delves. What appalled the raven more, however, was his own action, rather than his partner's: he lifted one of his legs higher to facilitate a wider access for his seducer.

The disconcerted man saw another of his subordinate's smiles before those insolent lips ghosted their way along the imaginary line of his parted thighs. The touches were lighter than that of morning mist, but the scared man felt them no less vividly than that of a mortal enemy's deadly weapon, and his skin quivered at each of the shark's touches. All those years they had been together, it was him who seduced the other man, and never the other way round. If he only had known that the pleasure that coursed from the shorter man's body was enough to make the last bit of control slip away from him; if he only had known that this was what Squalo had felt whenever they were together; if…

The Varia leader came with some imperceptible words on his lips, a cheesy line or perhaps something else—things he'd never willingly admit when he was not drowned in his own lust, things he'd never say unless it was in a moment like this.

As Squalo's fingers entered his nether hole, Xanxus entered a strange new world where agony and ecstasy coexisted. Judging from his partner's smug grin, the older man must have made a promiscuous expression. The raven closed his eyes, not wishing to see his defeat any further, but his ravisher was aware of such concern and the baritone command of "Look at me" came, not even a second too late.

He shot the damn seducer a murderous glare, although this only encouraged the younger man to caress the dimples of his buttocks. His legs splayed and elevated, Xanxus was compelled to witness the shoving of Squalo's manhood into his body. Not unexpectedly, his muscles contracted at the invasion. This was not a pain he was accustomed to; in fact this was the first time he experienced such pain. And yet, the leader of the Varia refused to cringe.

The shorter man was standing on the bed, connected to him by their crotches. He rested Xanxus's head against the white satin sheet, but lifted the rest of his boss' body slanting in the air to meet his own, hanging from his waist with his head down. He made his entry deep and thorough, as though wanting the raven to burn for him. Pushing deeper, one painstakingly slow inch after another, the younger man filled him with the full length of his manhood until he could feel twin balls jiggle against his partner's crotch. The flesh on the Varia leader's stomach folded into tiered vales at his subordinate's pounding.

Through clenched jaw, Xanxus rebuked his partner, 'For fuck's sake, stop staring!'

From the curve of Squalo's mouth, Xanxus could measure how much his own eyebrows knitted. A sudden urge roused within the Varia leader to bite those impertinent lips, but the younger man was too far above him. He needed to claw Squalo's back, to pull the shorter man's body until it ground against his own, to moan…

Now Xanxus knew why Squalo had always been very vocal while being screwed. Much though he wanted to deny it, his skin quivered at each of Squalo's touches and the sensation of another man's flesh inside him made him—a world-class assassin—shudder. He had to remind himself constantly that he would be the laughing stock among the Mafiosi and men in general if he yielded now.

I'm not a girl; I'm not some fucking girl.

'Xanxus…' Squalo's voice was laced with concern, too compassionate indeed, and there was nothing Xanxus loathed more than being treated like some fragile innocent maid.

'What?' the older man snarled so sharply that his subordinate decided to change his tone completely.

'How does it feel to be held by someone you hate, eh?' Squalo sneered, hands on Xanxus' calves.

Xanxus gritted his teeth; he could not admit that he felt he could have molten by the sense alone, could he? 'I never once said that I hated you.'

Stunned, Squalo stopped moving. He bent lower, bringing his own face closer to Xanxus' and found the truth in the taller man's eyes.

'Well then, I don't need to hold back against one who doesn't actually hate me, do I?' The grin on Squalo's face widened as he shoved his heated flesh into the raven even deeper. Hitting Xanxus' prostate on almost every thrust, he could sense the scarred man's body trembling so violently directly beneath his own that he could almost hear the Varia leader groan—almost.

Squalo's movements were now driven by desperation to hurt Xanxus, to force moans of pain and pleasure out of his mouth, to make him feel… Yet, he could go no further, for his manhood was already buried to the hilt. Hence, he resorted to biting his partner. However, leaving as many tooth marks as possible could hardly count as a consolation. The more he did it, the fiercer his desire flared.

'Tell me…,' Squalo panted, '… what am I to you?'

Refusing to admit defeat even in his twitch, the Varia leader declared, 'You're trash.'

My special trash.

The shark claimed his boss' lips once more, deciding that those lips were better for sucking than for speaking. Below, Squalo's thrusts grew more vehement, like a greedy excavator drilling over zealously to draw out every squirt of oil underground.

XVI

A portion of the wall on Xanxus' right hand side was decorated with obscured glass, which, although not as clearly as a mirror would, displayed their reflection. Why did those muscles working beneath Squalo's skin at his shoulder have to look so goddamn sexy? Xanxus tried to switch his mind to something else, anything else—some random date partners, salmon carpaccio, the latest model in the gun shop he had browsed the previous week … even the imaginary bill for his Maserati's upcoming service. The image of Squalo's body invaded his mind over and over nevertheless. It was so damn unfair. His mind automatically switched back to Squalo whenever he mated with someone else; why couldn't he think of anyone else when he was with this shark?

And yet, the reflection of the two sweating bodies connected on their crotches was not the only thing that was present on the tinted glass. Xanxus noticed the door on the opposite end of the room slowly, soundlessly opened and a dark attired figure entered. Grabbing the gun on the bedside cabinet, the Varia leader wasted no time shooting.

Squalo's eyes widened as the bullet went past him, less than an inch away from his flank. He turned his head the next few seconds, when a thudding sound reached his ears. On the floor lay a female body, no more than twenty years old, clad in black, gun in hand, hair spilling in disarray, eyes bulging even in death.

'I was wondering why you stayed in this room instead of choosing another room with a better view … so it was for this. You've deliberately chosen a location that makes it difficult for snipers to get you and so those who target you have no choice but to confront you face-to-face.' Squalo commented as he turned his head back to the gunslinger he rode and started moving his hips again.

Xanxus made no attempt to deny Squalo's deduction. It was true that he had been give a different room upon check-in, but insisted upon a room swap instead. Besides, right now it what really mattered was that even in such an amnesiac state, the man before him did not chicken out after such a scene.

'Mafiosi … always become targets no matter where they go!' he heard Squalo mutter, 'Aren't you going to call that spring cleaning team of yours again?'

'That can wait until later,' grumbled the taller man. It was very 'considerate' of his partner to mouth that question when their bodies were still connected to each other.

'Voi, do you get uninvited guests often?'

'It's part of your job to take care of those scums too,' replied the older man as he returned the gun to the cabinet.

In a few seconds when he took his eyes off the silver head, Xanxus felt Squalo's pelvic bones jerking hard against his groin and spurts of liquid journeying inside his body. 'Who gave you permission to come inside me, idiot?!'

A spasm of agony contorted Squalo's face, and his entire being stiffened. Another series of profanity came out from Xanxus' mouth; it was bad enough that he let his subordinate conquer his body, but now the said man's semen was even flowing inside him.

'Get off me!' yelled the scarred Varia leader.

Still, Squalo offered no word of explanation. Instead, he threw each hand on either side of his head, guarding it as though it might come off. Then, with a hoarse cry, his body slumped onto the one below him, chest crushing against chest, and hips flanked by the bottom man's legs. His operose breathing blanketed Xanxus' neck. His manhood remained buried within Xanxus' body, pulsating wildly.

'AARGH!'

'Why are you crying out now, eh, scum?' Xanxus shouted back. If anyone's in pain, wouldn't it be my arse?

The hazel-eyed man continued to press his hands fiercely against his throbbing head. The pain, it appeared, had become madness. His unfocused pupils showed an agony that persistently pounded his neurotic system. He stayed like that for a while, but then, gradually, the insensate pounding in his head seemed to abate.

In a less frantic tone, he began to speak, 'I remember … I cut off my left hand in order to defeat the former sword emperor Tyr … I swore my fealty to you … We formed the Varia … You were confined in ice after the Cradle Affair … I lost the duel against the Tenth's Rain Guardian, that cheeky katana brat … I'm in the middle of challenging a hundred swordsmen all over the world…'

Xanxus fell speechless. His fingers reached for the bed sheet and gripped it arduously. Focusing his mind as hard as he could, he dared not to breathe, in case the sound of his respiration disrupted any word that might come out next from Squalo.

Whatever it may be, let it not be a revocation of his previous words.

Xanxus was at the verge of what he had not been doing for decades: begging. The word 'prego' had been lurking at the tip of his tongue and would dash the moment he opened his mouth—he knew that.

'I remember now. I used to be your sword…' Squalo gazed into the man underneath him. It might be the trick of the light but Xanxus' eyes seemed glassier than before. '… and I still am.'

Xanxus wanted to scream and kick and punch—anything, anything at all to break through the onslaught of emotions, but uninvited wrenching sensations were gathering deep in his guts, searingly diffusing through his veins. The non-stop chant of Squalo's name hammered through his being. Nine weeks of loss and grief and confusion, all culminating in this. That very moment, there was no past, no future; just present. Here and now, his Superbia Squalo once more. His partner at work and in bed. Forever and always his.

So elated was the dark-haired leader of the Varia that he could have burst out from pure exultation. Although dignity disallowed him to bring such a thought to realisation, it did not stop Xanxus' clenching jaw from relaxing. A short exhalation burst through the raven's parted lips, initiating the resume of his breathing, and his grips on the bed sheet loosened.

People said that amnesia was curable through a state of shock. Does this mean, Xanxus wondered—hoped—that despite his façade of carefreeness, Squalo was actually quite worried when that bitch nearly finished me off?

The sword emperor eyed his superior from head to toe and a flame in his eyes danced at the sight of the dripping semen on Xanxus' thighs. Now that memories flooded back to him, he appreciated his access into his employer's body even more; before today, he had not considered something like this to be feasible in the slightest.

'But I have no recollection of you making this sort of face.' Sniggering, Squalo moved slowly, creating numerous frictions between his skin and Xanxus'. 'Did you come all the way down to Mexico just to find me…,' he purred, '… boss?'

'I'm on vacation,' Xanxus growled, well aware that the other man's flesh inside him started hardening again.

'So, you've developed a sudden interest in Mesoamerican archaeology and just have to bring my documentation along in your vacation?' The grin on the debonair silver head grew even wider.

Xanxus gritted his teeth. What a feeling it must be for Squalo—his boss was now at the mercy of his cock!

'Shaddup! You wanna die?'

'For you?' Squalo smirked and grabbed his boss' hands, knotting his fingers through his superior's. 'That doesn't sound too bad.'

With that, their lips met in a kiss and their two bodies continued moving in tandem again. No more weeks with Squalo's empty shadow for Xanxus; his long waiting had finally been rewarded.

OWARI

OMAKE

'Boss, are you all right? It sounded like someone was in pain…' The pilot of Xanxus' private jet burst from the cockpit. He stopped dead in his track, however, upon seeing what his boss was doing. 'So-sorry!' With a gasp and reddened cheeks, he returned to the cockpit, praying hard that Xanxus would not kill him later, after they landed in Italy.

'Did you hear a noise?' Squalo withdrew his mouth from Xanxus' cock.

'Don't know. Don't care.' Xanxus was still sitting on the extra wide adjustable seat, with Squalo's body leaning upside down against his own. His face emerged very briefly from the depression of Squalo's crotch, only to dive again, squeezing the twin mounds younger man's buttocks. The Varia strategic captain's sprawled thighs made a tiny jerk against his boss' chin, continued by occasional stirs when the raven's tongue rimming his hole.

'Mm … mmmhh…' were all Squalo could pronounce when his boss' dick plugged his mouth. Yet, Xanxus did not mind with his temporal speech impediment. Ten minutes before, it was Squalo who came up with a question to disrupt Xanxus, 'Hey boss, didn't you say you were going to build a shark tank in my room?'

'I said I considered that option.'

'But it sure will be nice to look at the sharks swimming overhead while you fuck me as hard as you can on a huge round bed.' Squalo whispered to Xanxus' ear, and then raked the earlobe gently with his teeth. Noticing the inflation on the middle part of his boss' pants, he smirked. 'Hey boss, wanna try to do it at a 50,000 feet altitude?'

FINE