"You would think people had never seen a lycanthrope before," Lambo murmured, finally, after a 10-minute rant of how pedestrians had gone into a mad frenzy at seeing Yamamoto in the downtown subway. "He was trying to save their lives… did I tell you that one of the civilians was so desperate to get away from Yamamoto, he actually threw himself in front of an incoming train?" The buttons on his evening shirt undone, he shrugged out of the silky green fabric and let it cascade messily to the black tiled floor. "Of course, I managed to save him in time from his suicide, but you should have seen how heartbroken Yamamoto was when he shifted back."
His mate stood up from their bed, the four-poster set decorated in white sheets and a black quilt, a sunny yellow canopy swooping overhead. With unheard footsteps, he swooped in behind Lambo, trailing his fingers across the tattoo stretching from the younger male's left shoulder blade down to his right hipbone. It depicted, in thick black ink, a bull with long gracing horns that touched Lambo's lower back, its thin and twining tail reaching over his shoulder so that the fine hairs of its switch circled his nipple. Its legs were cast in a motion that suggested tromping, head turned so that it was gouging, and back curved.
He couldn't remember the night he had gotten it… which was really the reason why he had sworn off alcohol.
He closed his eyes and let his mate's touch electrify his flesh, a pleasurable sizzle that ran to his scalp all the way down to his tippy toes…
"You haven't been listening at all to what I've been saying, have you?" He muttered almost crossly, 'almost' being the key word because his lover's skilled fingers had followed the bull's tail and was now fondling his painted nipple.
"I was listening. I just haven't been caring." Pale lips caressed the junction of his shoulder and neck, beige skin disappearing into his lover's sinful leer.
He shivered, despite himself. "B-but, goodness… you would have cared had you seen Yamamoto's expression… it was like someone ran over his puppy. Or worse, ran over Gokudera." Though, really, he thought, that would be entirely ineffective. As a matter of fact, that would only serve to piss off Gokudera. Hybrids usually had a terrible attitude to begin with because of confusion with their heritage, adding a hit-and-run to their list of misgivings just never went over well.
"Gokudera can help him get over it," his mate deadpanned against the curve of his throat, his pianist hands settling on Lambo's hips and then sliding their way around to tease his black leather pants off his torso, one tick of the zipper at a time. "You, on the other hand… you are going to suffer."
He was horribly distracted by the palm rubbing against his groin. "S-suffer?" He tried to rack his brain for anything he might have done lately to warrant a punishment of any sort. All he came up with was that, he hadn't done anything wrong.
His lover was just being an asshole. Like he usually was.
"I take the time to leave my post a three hours early so that we could have that date you've been pestering me about and you're off in the subway, fighting rogues. I'm not pleased, not pleased at all."
Oh, well, now that he brought it up… Lambo could vaguely remember such a date. That he had missed… Kind to think about it, his mate was actually back earlier than usual.
"Oops?"
"Beg for forgiveness."
He hissed as digits slipped into the hem of his pants and drummed along the hardening length of his desire. "I beg, I beg!" And he did too. He would rather lose his pride now than later. "P-please, do whatever you w-want with me but p-punish me…" Because, out of all the things that had nearly killed him in his lifetime, a punishment handed out by his lover might actually get the job done.
And, did he mention that his lover was very skilled with his hands?
With a pained sigh, he let himself fall limply into his mate, a shiver running along his skin as amazing things happened in his tight pants. His lover's mouth was kissing its way to the corner of his lips, nudging so that Lambo turned his head and accepted a brain-melting embrace of tongues. His senses were flooded, all too familiarly with the taste of copper, clover, and coffee (all c's, he realized with amusement), the scent of cool nights, a fresh shower, and something ultimately all his lover's.
Though he hate to say it, he was falling in love all over again. And, honestly, he did hate to say it.
He mewled into the kiss as his inner thighs trembled, knees threatening to give out as the oh-so wonderful things happening in the leather warned of great things soon to cum. So soon, too soon, why so soon? Oh, right… too long, far too long.
And he remembered Yamamoto.
"But, you know, he really was hurt by people screaming at him," he steadfastly continued the moment he could take his mouth back, albeit his tone was breathy and maybe with a slight shiver behind his words. "I'm really, really sorry for missing our date, but I can't say that I'm sorry that I went with him! Imagine if he had gone there alone…"
His lover stared at him with apathetic obsidian eyes, eyes that told Lambo that, honestly? He did not care.
In the next moment, he was lying in the bed, body wracked of all oxygen as he wheezed. He stared up into the face of his lover, all alabaster skin, all raven-black hair and eyes. Pale and dark at the same time, like a childhood's boogeyman. Beautiful. And yet very, very deadly.
In the pit of his eyes, Lambo could make out unmistakable hunger. His body turned to mush, caught in such a glower. And, with a shaky sigh, he gave into it.
Hadn't something gone wrong with Yamamoto? Oh, goodness, he couldn't even try to try to remember.
His lover's face came closer, his smoky breath soaking Lambo's mind. With calculated precision, he managed to narrowly avoid the younger's kiss and instead trail the tip of his nose down along the rise of his cheek to the lobe of his ear and then to the soft pulse beneath his jaw. His tongue flickered and tasted and, for a perverse moment, Lambo wondered how he tasted.
It only lasted a moment because that led to the question of how his lover tasted. The thick and heavy taste never ceased to surprise him.
Raven eyes met his electric green ones for a moment before Lambo's slid shut with drowsy pleasure. Raven eyes stared open – focused, as his mouth parted over the younger's jugular.
Lambo released a light groan as fangs sank into flesh, a heady sensation as endorphins and serotonin raced through his system at a dizzying speed. His hands came up and lazily braided into his lover's thick hair, legs restlessly rubbing against the older's sides, the older being situated between his thighs. His lover suckled at his vein, small, vacuuming motions of the mouth and throat that stole Lambo's life and swallowed it, scarlet blood beading at the corner of his lover's lips.
Seconds passed and then his lover pulled away, tongue swiping over his reddened throat to catch the last escaping droplets. Inquisitively, he leaned back, staring down at him. His tongue darted over his swollen lips, black eyes narrowed in thought.
"Did Yamamoto give you blood?"
He had to fight to remember. And then, finally, he recalled the nearly-getting-hit-by-a-train-to-save-an-idiot incident; where, in actuality, exertion had driven him to accept a direct transfusion from his dubbed older brother. He nodded.
"I can taste the wolf in your essence. Strong… but sour."
He could agree with that; he hadn't particularly enjoyed it either, but beggars, he supposed, couldn't be choosers. After all, he had completely forgotten about his supposed date.
And all this thinking was reminding him of a heartbroken Yamamoto. "Do you really think Gokudera will – " mentally, he cursed his lover out in three different languages. He did know three different languages – English, Italian, and Japanese. And every curse he knew in those three languages were directed at his mate.
He dared to have the gall to stop him midsentence with a hand slapped over his mouth, just in time for Lambo to bite the tip of his tongue.
His lover leaned forward, hand moving away so that his tongue could tease his unwilling lips open and dive towards the wounded pink muscle. "Just feed," he demanded.
In the sexiest move that could ever be accomplished, his lover shouldered his way out of his yellow evening shirt, slowly. The ripple of pale muscles shone beneath the hem of the button-down, the shiver of hipbones that stuck out above the waist of his slacks. His abs came to pectorals that were born from hard, earnest exercise, giving at a sharp collarbone that broke into powerful shoulders sloping into sinewy arms –
Goodness, he completely did not realize that his lover was watching him with wickedly amused eyes, that the shirt had already been cast off the bed to land exactly on top of Lambo's earlier discarded button-up.
His hands braced on his lover's shoulders, he brought him closer to his mouth. Behind his innate incisors, he felt the twinge as his fangs slid from the grooves in the roof of his orifice, as beads of poison clung to their tips – nothing lethal, only something to bring about a natural euphoria that made victims very happy.
Joyfully, his lips pulled over his lover's heart, fangs breaking pale skin. He whimpered as his mind was blown away. Again with that unmistakable taste, something so thick, it rested heavily on his tongue; and yet there was something to it, something dark and caffeinated that drove his very nerves into insanity… Oh, goodness, it tasted heavenly, as if he had found the wine only gods could drink and yet he was drinking it too, so smooth right down his throat…
With a gasp, he pulled away, tongue reflexively dancing over the puncture wound so it would seal faster, though such an action with his lover wasn't that necessary.
His lover flipped them over, Lambo now riding atop. His black, black, hungry eyes were trekking one slow inch at a time up the younger's frame, fingertips tickling up his back to tease the outline of his tattoo.
He braced his hands on his lover's chest, arching into the barely-there touch. His lover was looking up at him, taunting, wordlessly saying 'make me forgive you', and his devil's leer burned.
Hours later, he reached the brink of his third and (hopefully) final climax, on his hands and knees while his bastardly lover berated his prostate with his cock and whispered possessive, dirty things into his ear.
"Gnnn… R-Re-REBORNNN!" And, just like that, he died. He honestly, swear to GOD, died. No one could live through that much torture, that much sweet and unmerciful torture… Hours of it until their body couldn't even begin to function right ever again.
His lover followed some minutes later and Lambo wondered just how enjoyable it was to fuck a comatose body. Because, judging by the load bathing his inner walls, his lover had enjoyed it a lot.
He gasped and gagged as he tried to catch up with his own heart, a reckless force in his chest. He keened as his lover separated their bodies, both glad for the departure and hating how empty it made him feel, as if he was only half a person now.
Pitifully, he crawled up the soiled sheets till his heavy head touched one of the untainted pillows, arms weakly holding onto it. The shift of weight behind him said he was soon to be followed and he was, his lover's inhumanly cool body, thinly wrapped in a sheen of sweat, settling right. On. Top. Of him.
"G-ge'off…" His lover smirked against the curve of his throat.
"And if I don't want to?"
"Ge'off anyway." Soft kisses against the nape of his neck made his eyes flutter shut, exhausted and on the verge of sleep… well, except for the fact that his lover – his boogeyman, his devilish bastard, his Reborn – WAS SQUEEZING THE FUCKING LIFE OUT OF HIM! "G-Goodness…"
He pondered, for a second, which one of them was actually the youngest. In heart, anyway. Lambo's 25 was nothing compared to his 140.
"You'll live."
"Bashtard…" It was hard to talk with his face pressed into the pillow.
Reborn, for his part, made a considerate move and shifted just slightly, just enough so that Lambo could finally drag air back into his lungs. "The things I do for you."
Lambo wanted to glare at him, but he was already fading out – now that he didn't have to worry about suffocating to death.
And then a heartbroken, puppy dog expression haunted him. "Rrussshrr'boutYmmto?"
"What?"
"Yama… Yamamoto… really wazh hurt." His heavy eyes refused to open. "'Better go check 'n him…"
Elongated fangs nipped his shoulder when he began to shift towards the edge of the bed. "He's Gokudera's responsibility. Stop worrying about it."
"Nuuuu…" But he was already snuggling down. Even if it was something worth worrying about, he supposed it could wait till… wait till…
Yeah, it would just have to wait till whatever time he woke up.
Lips feathered over his temple, lulling him, finally, into a dream's embrace.
Author's Note: I know I didn't really get into the vampire's physiology and some of you might be wondering to yourselves, 'well, why didn't she just make it canon?'. The reason? I failed to get across all of the vampirism I was aiming for…
Reborn and Lambo are mates! YAY! And Reborn was somewhat OOC in this… I would like to think that it goes with the AU, however. After all, in this version, both have more experience. As for age, what I did was multiply their ages in the canon by five, so that's five years added onto every one year in KHR; which makes Lambo at 5 to be 25 and Reborn's age to be around 140 because I supposed him to be around 20 when he went in for the curse and another 28 or so years by the time Aria came into the picture during the anime (supposing that Aria was in her late 20's if the wiki was to be trusted). So in this alternate universe, just multiply the age of those in the canon by five to get how old they would be in this AU.
