I'm sure there are hundreds of naïve people worldwide who have never stopped to consider the actual standards of professionals. That's the thing with people nowadays, they hear the world 'professional' and they're all in a hurry to kowtow to someone (probably wearing a black fedora with a vomit-orange ribbon tied around it, but this is all totally unbiased speculation) and their supposed skill in a trade.

To be honest, I think the whole practice makes no sense.

You can't just slap a P-R-O-F-E-S-S-I-O-N-A-L sticker on any idiot in the street and presume that his supposed talent will meet the high standards of modern day society. So say, you hire one professional plumber who manages to unclog your toilet. There's probably another professional plumber out there who'll unclog your toilet in addition to expertly casting some voodoo plumber magic on the chunk of boring porcelain so that it smells like Kyoko-san's tropical shampoo, no matter what unspeakable things you do to it.

The same goes for hitmen. You get some guys who are so ridiculously powerful that when you come within a twenty meter radius of them, you automatically shit yourself. Then there are other curly-sideburned idiots who just think they're ridiculously powerful.

Now, being a professional hitman of the former standard, I ate guys of the latter on a day to day basis. The fact that I had never been given an assignment showed that Vongola understood my capabilities, and that he was actually waiting for one that would suit my enormous talent. I could see him now, batting aside assignment after assignment with a world-weary look in his scotch eyes, When will I ever find a mission good enough for Bovino Lambo, my most trusted and powerful guardian-

"Lambo, I want you to accompany Gokudera and Yamamoto on their assignment to assassinate the Lorenzo Famiglia's drug dealer," Vongola's calm voice pierced me like a gunshot.

I stared at him in shock.

Unaware of my minor mental breakdown, he continued, "His name is Paolo Lorenzo and he's surrounded by a team of elite bodyguards at all times. You'll be going to a butchery in Venice which he uses as a cover to store his drugs, and then you'll assassinate him when he comes to check on his goods-"

"Juudaime, I really think you should reconsider," a ghastly voice interrupted.

It belonged to a pathetic lower being, with limp white hair and watery blue eyes that screamed pansy. Gokudera Hayato was a prime example of an incompetent hitman. He directly contrasted his partner, Yamamoto (aka. the man who can do no wrong) who stood beside him.

Gokudera blurted hotly, "Firstly, we need to take into consideration that the stupid cow is more or less useless in battle. Secondly, he can't control his Dying Will flames or his box weapon and he's more likely to fry us than do us any good. And thirdly, he's a pain in the ass."

"Maa, maa, Gokudera, that's not nice," Yamamoto interrupted, his trademark smile matching his crinkled crescent moon eyes.

It took me a moment to realise that he had not disagreed with Gokudera.

Bristling, Gokudera snapped, "I don't remember Juudaime asking your opinion, baseball idiot."

Yeah, well I didn't remember anyone asking his either.

Ignoring the squabbling couple, Vongola addressed me directly and asked, "Are you comfortable with this assignment, Lambo?"

I paused to think this over. A hitman of my ability shouldn't take any wily-nily mission thrown at him, a professional hitman like myself would let other lesser hitmen take the job to earn more experience. My decision to refuse Vongola's kind offer was completely unrelated to the fact that:

- I was as subtle as Ryohei when he had too much alcohol.

- The word 'assassinate' unfortunately did not exist in my dictionary. Neither did the words 'drug dealer' and 'spicy tofu'.

- The assignment would take place in a butchery: a place where cows were hacked to gory pieces by big, sharp, pointy things.

I ventured evasively, "What about I-Pin? She's got the whole crouching tiger hidden dragon thing going on and that's really what this assignment requires, right?"

"You're the last resort, cow. She's on a mission with Chrome," Gokudera supplied nastily.

Yamamoto winked winningly. He reassured me, "Don't worry, our mission's twice as fun as theirs."

I tried to prevent my eyeballs from leaping out of their sockets. "Maybe Gokudera's right, maybe I shouldn't go with you guys-"

Yamamoto flashed me one of his super smiles. "If Tsuna believes you can do it Lambo, then I believe you can do it too. Just have a little faith in yourself. And if anything goes wrong, you have the two of us to help you out."

I could feel my resolve cracking with the weight of his awesomeness. His words and his blinding smile were all too much for me. The choice I'd made began to uncertainly sway between yes and no, yes and no, yes and no-

Vongola delivered the finishing blow, "I trust you, Lambo."

All three pairs of eyes in the room were fixed on me- I ignored Gokudera's spiteful glare of death and focused on the trusting, hopeful eyes of Yamamoto and Vongola. The two of them really believed in me. I couldn't let them down.

"I…I'll do it," I told them a little breathlessly.

A starburst smile split across Vongola's gentle face. "It's settled then. I'll be waiting for your report."

Gokudera began, "I'm telling you, this is a huge mistake-"

Yamamoto began carting us out of the Vongola's simple study, throwing another super smile over his shoulder at Vongola. "Bye, Tsuna!"

"Good luck!"

The gigantic study door boomed shut behind us.

Thus commenced my very first assignment. The nervous flutter of anticipation and excitement that came with the thrill of a new adventure committed ritual suicide the moment I laid eyes on Yamamoto's car early the next morning.

Nausea set in my stomach quickly. "We're…driving to Venice?"

Gokudera guffawed, "What, you think the Juudaime would really waste his money on plane tickets?"

Weakly, I asked, "How long is the drive?"

"About eight hours. If we drive fast, we should be there in time for dinner," Gokudera explained, a malicious smile forming on his lips.

Yamamoto noticed that I had turned a very unearthly shade of green at the mention of food and driving in the same sentence. He quietly proffered me a handful of plastic bags and I had never been so thankful for his thoughtfulness.

It wasn't that I suffered from motion sickness. I was a talented hitman with only one flaw- that I didn't know the extent of my own strength. Something as stupid as a car journey did not frighten me in the least.

The moment the engine roared like a wild beast, I pressed myself deep into the cheap, grey velvet car seat as though I would sink into it and never come out again. With a loud sigh, Gokudera cranked a hidden lever on the side of his chair and it collapsed suddenly on my knees, causing me to start nervously. Yamamoto adjusted his rear view mirror and flashed a super smile at me; it soothed me fractionally.

Then, he began to drive.

Like everything he did, he drove amazingly well. But even if he'd been my chauffeur in a limousine, I still would have felt just as ill as I did now. I had always suffered from motion sickness, it was no secret in the Famiglia after an incident involving Gokudera, Haru's tuna casserole and inhuman amounts of Lysol. I resisted looking out of the window, knowing the moving scenery would only make me feel even worse. The plastic bag Yamamoto had given me was clenched in my right hand like a lifeline.

Gokudera sighed again and rolled down his window. I winced as the cold air smacked me across the cheeks, but he remained deliberately oblivious. He tapped out a slender cigarette from a leather case and then proceeded to light it. He took an inhumanely long drag from it before releasing it all expertly in a jet of bluish white smoke. The bitter smell reached me in the back of the car and I nearly gagged into the plastic bag.

"If you fuck this up cow, I'll make sure you're blacklisted by every Famiglia and that you never go on another mission again," Gokudera threatened, tapping his cigarette ash outside the open window. The tiny, glowing particles were ripped away by the wind, much like my resolve.

"Maa, maa, Gokudera, I told you to stop bullying Lambo," Yamamoto chided him, turning the steering wheel with one finger.

"I'm not bullying him, I'm just reminding him how important this assignment is. If you screw it up and we don't get the reward money, I'll make sure you pay through the nose for it for the rest of your life. Got it?"

The car shuddered as we started to drive along an ill-maintained road. I inhaled sharply as I felt my breakfast tango in my stomach.

Yamamoto immediately noticed something was wrong. "You okay back there?"

"I'm…fine-"

The car spasmed as we struck a pothole. I veered forwards violently and retched.

"In the bag, stupid cow! Vomit in the bag!"

After a chaotic eight hour car ride and an extra pack of cigarettes on Gokudera's behalf, we somehow managed to come to a stop in front of our assigned five star hotel, La Senza. The car smelled strongly of ramen flavoured vomit. Gokudera looked as though he had aged twenty years. I didn't think there was any fluid left in my body.

Meanwhile, Yamamoto laughed brightly.

Gokudera glared at him, got out of the car and slammed the door furiously behind him. We watched as he stormed away towards the revolving doors and smashed through them, causing them to spin violently in a mini tornado. He had left his bags for us to carry and somehow, I wasn't surprised. Yamamoto sighed and unbuckled his seatbelt with a loud click.

I shifted and the heavy, putrid liquid in the plastic bag slosh, slosh, sloshed. "I'm really sorry, Yamamoto-san. I'll buy you an air freshener and pay for a hazardous materials team to come in."

He blinked in surprise. "Huh? Oh, it's fine. I've got a whole stash of those in the glove compartment already."

"Wow, I didn't think your glove compartment was habitable."

His eyes crinkled and he grinned. "I meant the air fresheners. I keep them to get rid of the smell of Gokudera's cigarettes."

"Are you a typical pine-scented kind of guy?"

"Nah, they're jasmine."

"…isn't that a bit feminine?"

"Really? Gokudera chose them for me," he said offhandedly.

Before I could wrap my head around why Gokudera would do such a thing, the Yamamoto was out of the car and opening the boot of the car. I tagged along behind him, my plastic bag gripped in my right hand, and we stared at the masses of suitcases crammed into it like refugees.

Only the small leather duffel bag trapped beneath a massive, sleek black one belonged to me. "Are those all ours?"

"Well, most of them are Gokudera's."

My eyes narrowed at the suitcase crushing mine in suspicion. "So many?"

"Yeah. He likes bringing clothes around."

"Yare, yare. I know it's horribly prejudiced for people to associate well dressed men with homosexuality, but do you ever wonder if Gokudera swings that way sometimes?"

"I can't explain the girly scents, but I do think he cares too much about the way he dresses."

"Yeah. It's not like he has anyone to look good for anyways," I reasoned, grinning.

The smile Yamamoto directed at me was one I'd never seen on him; a sly, amused one. It transformed him from a comic book superhero to something darker, more dangerous. The glint of his teeth through his smirk seemed almost predatory and sexual all at the same time. I could feel an army of goosebumps rising defensively all over my exposed arms and back of my neck.

He bent over the array of bags then, leaving me to wonder if he was actually a rapist in disguise.

Now that I thought about it, it would make sense. Up until now, I thought that rage, danger and sensuality were things that Yamamoto was totally incapable of expressing. But now I realised that all of it had to go somewhere- beneath his awesome exterior and nonchalant laugh lay a beastly porn star in waiting.

Yamamoto swung three bags onto each shoulder (including mine) and then dragged two suitcases big enough to fit eight toddlers into behind him. He kicked his foot up high and brought it down on the top of the open boot; it shut with a loud, satisfying click. This explained the numerous dents in the metal that I'd been too afraid to ask about before.

As he began to stride towards the hotel lobby effortlessly, I ran to catch up with him. "You know, I can take some of those."

"Nah, it's fine Lambo. Just go inside and – um – find a place to throw out that plastic bag."

I flushed involuntarily and the smell of dead dinosaur wafted up from the plastic bag on cue. We both stared at the sludgy liquid for a couple of seconds before I eventually tore my devastated eyes away from it and entered the revolving doors of doom.

As I stepped into it, the doors seemed to suddenly move faster and my left leg was left trapped on the other side. I swore loudly and flailed like a chicken with my sick bag, trying to yank it back out, but I only succeeded in twisting my ankle. After a few more minutes of a sadistic game of push and pull, a bemused bell boy came over and eventually helped me free myself. He said something to me, but it wouldn't have mattered even if he'd told me I left two toes behind on the other side of the door.

I had walked into paradise. I limped gingerly forwards as my brain dissolved into slush. I craned my neck upwards, walking around with my mouth hanging open as I stared at the high ceiling that was painted to look just like the sky outside. At the moment, it was clouded over with the colours of midnight and twinkling stars winked down at me as they simmered in their hydrogen casings.

Smoky marble pillars arced up to the sky, each carved to perfection, and men and women dressed in the latest high street fashion glided through the lobby. Jewels glistened, brogues gleamed and perfectly painted lips curved into Hollywood smiles. I stared down at my own embarrassing black slacks and cow-print shirt. If I'd known there was a dress code for this whole shindig, I would've come more prepared.

After discarding my vomit in a silver bin, I scanned the area for Yamamoto and Gokudera. Past the antique tea house and its lattice chairs, past the artificial oasis and the colourful ornament shop stood an impressive counter, inlaid with white and gold decorations. A huge sign, Concierge, hung over it and I approached one end where Yamamoto was using his charms to knock the receptionist off her size 37 feet. Strangely enough, Gokudera looked even angrier than he had back in the car.

Yamamoto turned to me and held up a pristine card key like the Olympic torch, but Gokudera snatched it from him and stormed ahead again. He let out a loud 'oomph' as Gokudera smashed all the air out of his lungs in a not-so-accidental bash against his shoulder on his departure.

"You know, I didn't think it was possible for a man to be so menstrual," I observed.

Yamamoto didn't laugh. "He'll be fine once the assignment is over. It's just a matter of holding out until then."

The low din of a blaring TV was clearly audible through our thick room door and we finally entered, bemused. Although Gokudera had only been ahead of us by a couple of seconds, the room already smelled like cigarettes, he had claimed the massive sofa and was enraptured with the latest developments on the Discovery Channel.

I noticed with a shudder that it was a documentary about bull fighting.

The hotel room was a super duper deluxe suite (courtesy of Yamamoto's people skills) and there were a series of doors that led off in various directions. Everything seemed so modern and I was terrified to touch anything- I didn't think I could even afford the toilet paper.

"Stupid cow," Gokudera called my name and my head cracked in his direction. "You're taking the bedroom next to the bathroom."

I glanced towards it, making out the corner of my new bed through the crack of the door. That was actually a better deal than I'd expected, I thought I'd be getting the couch.

Yamamoto put the masses of bags down and the couch supported him as he rested on it. "Where am I sleeping then, Gokudera?"

"You're sleeping on the couch."

"What about you?"

"I'm sleeping in the king-sized bed."

Yamamoto looked like someone had kicked his puppy. I almost felt like giving him my bed.

The tension between them was so thick, you could have cut it with Yamamoto's razor sharp teeth. I swallowed, wishing I had an air raid shelter to dive into, but did the next best thing.

I cleared my throat. "I'm going to take a dump."

Neither Gokudera nor Yamamoto responded. Gokudera was too busy glaring at (not watching) the TV screen, while Yamamoto eyed Gokudera with a worried frown.

Realising I wouldn't get an answer from either of them, I retreated into the bathroom. I had learned through years of experience that pretending to need the bathroom was the most effective way to avoid awkward situations. As I shut the bathroom door, I glimpsed my own reflection in the mirror and realised there was a zit on my chin.

Where the hell had that come from?

I leaned forwards, beginning to press it as the intense dilemma not three metres away from me faded into the recesses of my mind. My brow furrowed in concentration and I grit my teeth to help me withstand the pain as my nails bit into the raw red skin.

Yamamoto's voice filtered through the door, "What's the matter with you?"

I nearly scratched my chin off in surprise at his gentle tone.

"Nothing. Why?" Gokudera asked in a tight voice. I could hear the buttons on the remote scream as he crushed them beneath his thumb.

"Look I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I'm sorry."

"There's no point in apologising if you don't know what you're apologising for."

"Well then, can you help me out please?"

"Why don't you call the concierge and ask that receptionist for the answer? I'm sure she'd fucking know."

"Is that what this is about?"

A sharp pause followed.

"Look, Hayato, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to get her to bump us up to a better room."

"You know what, just fuck off."

I pressed my ear against the door and strained to listen to their argument. It wasn't making that much sense right now, I was waiting for some kind of clue-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

I winced at the loud, sudden banging on the door and took a step backwards. There was a shrieking slap as the bare ball of my foot came into heavy contact with the marble flooring and then a devastatingly short silence.

Gokudera snarled, "Get the hell out of there and stop eavesdropping, stupid cow."

I had been exiled from the hotel room until further notice; Gokudera and Yamamoto were supposedly planning our strategy for tomorrow. In bitter retaliation, I managed to convince a waitress in the restaurant downstairs that I was eighteen and charge an entire stupidly expensive bottle of Moet & Chambrandt champagne to our room tab. She didn't need that much convincing (this was Italy after all), but it was only afterwards that I realised glumly that Gokudera probably wouldn't be paying for the room- Vongola would be.

Before I could raise my hand to cancel the order, she appeared like the invisible man at my side with a newly opened bottle. I cursed her efficiency, but somehow managed to keep the smile on my face as she poured the diamond liquid into an impressive cylindrical glass.

"Would you like anything else, sir?" she asked me with a polite, obviously trained, smile.

I smiled back at her. "A hug would be nice right about now, but I guess the sexual harassment case isn't worth it, huh?"

Her artificial waitress smile morphed into one of genuine sympathy. "Having a bad day?"

I leaned back in my chair. "Yeah. The assholes up in my room decided to throw me out while they practise witchcraft and sacrifice babies to Satan. I guess it's probably better for me in the long run, but still, I would've liked to watch."

Her painted pink lips twitched in amusement. "Probably, but you look like you'd be too young to handle something of that level."

"According to the sign over there that says 'No alcohol for persons under the age of 18' and this glass of champagne here that you poured me personally, I'm apparently eighteen years old."

"How old are you really, kid?"

"Will you take away my alcohol if I tell you?"

She pulled out the empty chair beside me and sat down, throwing her onyx hair over one shoulder. All signs of her professional reservation were gone and I was now sitting across from a confident, sexy, older woman. "I don't know. Try to persuade me."

"Yare, yare. That sounds risky."

"Humour me. I've been working since nine this morning and served twelve people in ten hours, eleven of whom I wanted to throttle. You're the only person in this entire place who seems remotely human."

"Well, since you asked so nicely, I'm turning seventeen. And I'm called Lambo, by the way."

"So you're sixteen, Lambo."

"Please don't take my booze. Age means nothing when it comes to true love."

She laughed at that and I took another drag from my glass, enjoying our banter. I didn't think my alcohol was in danger any time soon, but I still gripped the glass protectively.

I asked her, "So tell me, what's your name and how old are you?"

"Sorry, I don't date younger guys."

"Yeah, because knowing your name and age practically constitutes sex," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

She laughed again and tucked her hair behind one ear. She relented, "My name's Isabella and I'm nineteen. You know, you're quite mature for your age, Lambo."

"Tell that to the guys upstairs. The only reason I'm drinking this is because they're paying the bill."

There was a quiet swish as an elderly couple entered the restaurant, fur coats sweeping the floor as they seated themselves beside the lavish buffet table. Isabelle rose to her feet reluctantly and hesitated, glancing down at me. After a few seconds, she bent down and wrapped her arms around me. As she did so, she slipped the champagne bottle to me beneath the table.

"Maybe dating a younger man wouldn't be so bad," she murmured into my ear.

Then she rose again, the suggestion of a smirk on her lips. "Thank you for your service, sir."

As she sashayed away, I stared at the bottle of champagne in my lap in disbelief. Then, I downed what was left of my glass and refilled it with a grin.

After another half an hour in the restaurant, I returned to the hotel room with a half-full bottle of champagne. Luckily for me, I'd been born with natural Italian tolerance for alcohol so I could still walk properly. My nerves were buzzing pleasantly beneath my skin and I could feel the happy glow of free wine radiating from me like UV rays. I hummed tunelessly along to the elevator music, tapping my foot in time even when other guests joined me. I pulled out my room key when I reached my door, sliding it into the narrow slit and sliding it out again dramatically. The light blinked green like a traffic light and I entered.

The sitting room was deserted. Traces of Gokudera's cigarettes lingered in the ash tray. Neither Yamamoto nor Gokudera were anywhere to be found. I set the bottle down on the coffee table and glanced around.

There was a muffled noise emanating from behind Gokudera's shut bedroom door. I ventured forwards, wondering if I should crash their strategic discussion. My fingers wrapped around the doorknob and I frowned. I was a part of the team, wasn't I? I had all the right to be a part of any planning, in fact, I should have been there from the start.

Still, Gokudera could be fucking scary sometimes.

I decided to be cautious and quietly turned the doorknob. I spent all of ten seconds rotating it to be certain of no sound.

…seven. Eight. Nine. Ten-

A sliver of light emerged from a crack in the door and I peered through it. I couldn't see anything, but the noises were growing louder and louder, clearer and clearer. The sound of panting was unmistakable and punctured the silence of the sitting room, so did the jarring sound of slapping wet flesh. Then came a voice I recognised.

"Fucking hell, you're so tight."

I pushed open the door another inch. Just to make sure Gokudera wasn't in trouble or anything.

At first, the bright lights from the window blinded me and I couldn't make out what was happening inside the room. The visual wall of white eventually faded into a scene I don't think any amount of pornography would have prepared me for.

A thin sheen of sweat had formed on the tan, rippling muscles of a corded back and pale hands were clenched in the bed sheets like a lifeline until its knuckles bled white from the pleasure. Dark washboard abs tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed as hips pounded mercilessly forwards into the curve of a flawless ass. I stared as a bead of lucid sweat streamed from the strong cut of a collarbone, over an erect coffee nipple and all the way down to rest in a thatch of dark, curled hair. I swallowed.

Yamamoto was fucking Gokudera deep into his mattress.

Gokudera let out a long moan as he threw his head back, silver strands plastered to his face with perspiration as his lips parted hungrily for air. He gasped, "It's your fault, you went on that month long mission and I-"

He was cut off as Yamamoto ground his hips into his ass hard. He instinctively cried out and then bit viciously into his pillow, his hands wringing themselves in the sheets. The fleeting smirk I'd seen on Yamamoto's face earlier returned but in full force, his mouth curving upwards into cruel satisfaction.

His long, calloused fingers wrapped themselves one by one around Gokudera's throbbing length and Gokudera's entire body tensed as he fought not to moan. Low grunts slipped from Yamamoto's lips as his hands tightened on Gokudera's hips, pulling them back to him with every thrust forwards, until he finally threw his head backwards.

For a split second, there was perfect silence and stillness; as though every molecule in the room had stopped moving. The sweat on Yamamoto's face caught the light and glimmered, nearly blinding me as he gritted his teeth and his eyes shut in a state of unbridled ecstasy. The moment seemed to last an eternity and I couldn't tear my gaze away from his hypnotic expression.

Then Gokudera moved his arm. There was a rustle of fabric as he jostled the sheets and I returned to reality. As quickly and as silently as I could, I shut their bedroom door and glanced down at my painfully tight pants.

It was clearly time for a cold shower.

Gokudera's eyes - no longer clouded over as his head slid back in ecstasy - were as clear and as sharp as cut aquamarine and one slender finger stroked the bridge of his nose before pushing his glasses further up his nose. The tip of his tongue traced the outline of his mouth, leaving a translucent sheen on his bruised lips.

Yamamoto shifted and his tight dress shirt clung to his body like a second skin, rippling as his toned muscles flexed. I could make out the vaguest outline of his defined abs, but tore my eyes away and tried not to look down at the now blatantly obvious bulge in his pants.

It was impossible to look at Yamamoto and Gokudera and not think about the two of them screwing like bunnies. All of my efforts were directed towards maintaining a straight face and it was draining me of all my energy.

I had spent the past hour and a half in the shower trying to scrub the memory out of me, but then Gokudera (with his slender white fingers that had last been wrapped around a-) knocked on the door and had shouted at me to come out for an assignment briefing. In between the fucking and the screaming, Gokudera and Yamamoto had managed to find time to come up with an actual plan. I would have been impressed by this, if I had actually been listening to what they were telling me and not imagining Gokudera bent over the table.

"Oi. Stupid cow. Are you listening?" Gokudera's livid voice cut through my thoughts.

- fuck – Takeshi – not there as he hissed and twisted and moaned -

Quicker than was necessary, I blurted, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm listening."

"Oh yeah? Then what's your role in the mission?" he quizzed me, fully expecting me to fail.

"I have to give you the signal when the target comes around the cock. I mean, the corner."

It took me all of my willpower not to dive for the window.

Gokudera raised an eyebrow, but ignored my slip up. "And how are you going to do that?"

"You're going to be hiding in a freezer in the storage room of the butchery. So I'm going to go to the back and bang you hard," I finished.

"What?"

I corrected myself hurriedly, "Bang on the freezer door hard. I'm going to bang on the freezer door hard to let you know the target is coming. But not coming as in coming, as in releasing sperm, but as in walking around the cock –corner -"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gokudera demanded, unamused.

I flushed bright red in embarrassment. "I don't know."

Gokudera took off his sexretary glasses and glared pointedly at me. He snapped, "If you're not taking this seriously, you can just stay in the hotel room."

"No! No, I'm taking this very seriously. I'm sorry," I apologised hastily, fidgeting.

"Come on, Gokudera. He's a teenage boy, he's probably just sexually frustrated. I'm sure you remember what that was like when we were younger," Yamamoto defended me.

His smile had never scared me more.

For a reason I unfortunately knew all too well, Gokudera seemed to have become miles more agreeable in the past three hours. He sighed loudly and relented, "Fine, stupid cow. Just don't do it again."

"Got it. No more screwing anyone. I mean, around."

…it was going to be a long day.

I had found my sexual deterrent.

Huge slabs of dead cow dripped as they dangled from the metal pins they had been speared with. I couldn't drag my eyes away from the blood as it oozed out of them in thick, crimson trickles. Symbolism was such a pain in the ass.

We were in position at the butchery. The way the assassination was going to work was like this: Yamamoto was going to pose as a butcher and let Paolo Lorenzo and his cronies into the store. He was then going to lead them into the backroom (I would have already alerted Gokudera at this point and returned to the car outside) where the freezer was situated. Gokudera would be hiding in the freezer so the moment Paolo opened the freezer, he would be surrounded by Gokudera and Yamamoto on either side. Yamamoto would then samurai slash them into the underworld, then we'd all leave and live happily ever after.

I was a bit miffed that I wouldn't be able to join in the action. I'd been training for a while now and I sincerely believed I was ready to participate in a proper fight. As I sulked, Yamamoto (already clad in his disguise) smiled at me.

"Why don't you go out back and check on Gokudera?" he suggested.

He pulled on a plastic glove and it snapped with a crack as he released it, ricocheting against his skin. He didn't flinch because Yamamoto didn't feel pain.

I trudged into the backroom reluctantly. The place really freaked me out, I had never seen an execution chamber before but I was absolutely certain this was a prime example. The walls, ceiling and floor were made of stainless steel and an array of butcher's knives hung from the walls. A series of pots glared at me from their position on a massive operating-table-like-structure in the centre of the room and I approached the open freezer door.

"What the hell are you doing here? Get back in front," Gokudera snapped at me irritably.

He was sitting on one of the many piles of white boxes that crowded the tiny cold room. It was a wonder Gokudera had any room. I was guessing that Paolo Lorenzo was funding his next swimming pool project in four different countries with the money from this stash.

My eyes roved over the boxes as I wondered what was mainly inside them: hash, cocaine, LSD-

-oh my god, hickey.

At the base of Gokudera's collarbone was a purpling love bite the size of a one Euro coin. I didn't know how I'd manage to miss it, or (my eyes were widening to dinner plates) the small trail of marks that followed it. It was like following the yellow brick road to the Emerald City, only the road was a terrifying shade of purple and led to the inevitable meltdown of my brain.

I followed them down his long neck, along his delicate clavicle, beneath the open collar of his shirt and I thought of Yamamoto's hot mouth on all of those places, sucking and biting and licking the flawless porcelain skin-

"Oi, are you listening to me? I said get back in the front," Gokudera's annoying voice dragged me from my reverie.

A sudden draft of icy air from the freezer shocked me into functional, sarcastic thought. "I wouldn't be here if Yamamoto hadn't asked me to come keep you company. He seems to think you're lonely, but clearly, you're doing quite fine on your own."

Gokudera scoffed, "Tell that baseball idiot I don't need his pity and that all I want is a fucking cigarette."

"Then smoke one."

"I can't smoke here, stupid cow. If I did, the target and his bodyguards would smell it and get suspicious. Nobody's meant to be back here."

My mouth fell into an understanding 'oh'. Then an awkward silence fell between us.

You know, Gokudera could have been a supermodel, if the whole assassinating thing hadn't worked out for him. He definitely had the face for it; skin as unflawed as ice, sharp cheekbones that invited wandering gazes to trace their elegant angles, eyes the shade of antifreeze-

A voice called out from the front of the shop, "Lambo?"

I jerked at the sound of Yamamoto shouting my name and shuddered as I remembered he'd been shouting a very different name just a few hours earlier. It took me a couple of seconds to realise that that was my cue to tell Gokudera that Paolo Lorenzo was near.

There was an electrifying crackle and a shower of red light as Gokudera illuminated his Vongola ring. He pulled out his dilapidated looking white box, holding it out with the confident air of someone who'd done so hundreds of times before, and punched the ring into it. A huge metal contraption materialised on his right arm, climbing up his forearm and humming with Dying Will flames as he smirked in excitement.

"Get out of here, stupid cow," Gokudera murmured to me, his eyes bright with the light of his storm flames.

I stared at his Dying Will flames and box weapon. I felt like shrinking into a ball and kicking myself all the way to Japan; it was all kinds of mortifying to watch someone control their Dying Will flames with such ease. Although I was obviously omega competent and didn't need Dying Will flames to break a man's back across my bony knee, I had spent years trying to learn how to control my thunder flames to no success.

I shook my head free of depression and glanced up at Gokudera. He had forgotten about me already and was completely absorbed in his right arm, his eyes taking on a darker sheen that I had only seen in his and Yamamoto's shared bedroom. I instinctively swallowed as the memory swarmed me and my mind dove into the gutter.

Gokudera ran one long fingered hand over his box weapon, tracing the fine dials and intricacies of it with the tenderness and experience of an old lover. He brought it closer to his face for further inspection and I watched as it began to sweat as he exhaled onto it slowly, slowly. A slow smirk spread across his face and his hand closed over the thickest part of it, fingers curling confidently-

"I said, get out of here," he snarled, shattering my illusion.

I jolted and stumbled backwards. Gokudera's arm stretched out to grab me by the front of my shirt and missed, so I careened downwards. At the last minute, I grabbed the handle of the freezer door and yanked it wide open as I balanced myself. Gokudera glared at me as I let out a sigh of relief and I released the door handle.

"Lambo? What are you doing?" Yamamoto called from the front of the shop.

I accidentally smashed my shoulder into the door. It began to swing backwards in slow motion.

My hands lunged out for the door handle but it was too late, the cold metal grazed my fingers and escaped me. Gokudera and I both exchanged looks of complete horror on either side of the doorway and then the door crashed shut.

The room was silent.

"Open the door, stupid cow," Gokudera's muffled voice threatened me from the other side of the thick, metal door.

My hands reached out for the handle and I tested it. I regretted never making a will.

"It's locked."

"What do you mean 'it's locked'?"

"I meant exactly what I meant. I meant that the door's locked."

Silence.

"...Gokudera? Are you still there?"

"OF COURSE I'M STILL HERE, YOU FUCKING COW. WHERE ELSE COULD I POSSIBLY GO?"

"Alright, maybe that was a stupid question. Just, calm down-"

"THE DRUG DEALER IS GOING TO BE HERE IN LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES AND THE DOOR IS LOCKED. HOW DO WE KILL HIM IF HIS ASSASSIN IS LOCKED IN A MEAT FREEZER?"

"Yeah, but Yamamoto could also-"

"FUCK YAMAMOTO! GET THIS DOOR OPEN NOW!"

I retreated from the locked freezer and looked around frantically for a key. There was nothing on the metal table, nothing on the shelves, nothing on the-

Tinkle tinkle tinkle.

My body went completely rigid as the entrance bell rang. I stared through the doorway connected to the front of the store. Someone had entered the butchery and I caught a glance of four beefy men who looked like they could have built the pyramids with their bare hands. My throat dropped into my stomach and I ran to the freezer door, panicking.

"Gokudera, they're here. Gokudera, what do we do?"

"Go hide now. If they see you, then Takeshi's cover is blown-"

Yamamoto's bright, cheerful voice reached us in the storage room, "…and I'll just lead you to the back…"

My gaze wildly ravaged the storage room. There was absolutely nowhere to hide, there was no space underneath the table, there were no cupboards to hide in, there was nothing to hide behind. I thought of the meat slabs hanging from hooks outside and began to panic again.

The loud slap of footsteps paralysed me to the ground in fear. I watched like a deer caught in headlights as Yamamoto entered the storage room, the four massive bodyguards and a tiny little man in tow. His expression melted from a smile to a horrified stare.

The tiny man (Paolo Lorenzo, I assumed) squeaked, "Who is this?"

His four bodyguards began cracking their knuckles. I threw my hands up in the air and improvised frantically, "I'm a new employee and I was just checking if everything was alright back here."

Paolo snarled, "You look too weedy and pathetic to work in a place like this. What are you doing back here?"

Yamamoto looked like he was on the verge of smacking himself in the forehead.

"W-well, that's a funny story really-"

"Shoot him," Paolo ordered his bodyguards.

His bodyguards all reached for their guns in perfect synchronisation. My eyes went impossibly wide and I stared at Yamamoto in horror.

People say that the moment before you die, you see your entire life flash before your eyes. This isn't true. The only thing that flashed before my eyes was Reborn's knowing smirk.

I hardly registered that Yamamoto had moved until one of the bodyguards collapsed on the ground. He had drawn his sword in a split second and slashed through the back of his knees, slicing through muscles required to stand. I stared down at the fallen giant in shock.

"What are you standing around for? Start fighting!" Yamamoto shouted at me.

Thankfully, I obeyed my instincts and dove behind the metal table. Bullets ricocheted against the steel ground where I had been standing mere seconds ago. Yamamoto began to face off against three of the bodyguards, his sword whipping through the air like greased lightning as icy flames raced up it.

One of the bodyguards began to lead Paolo towards the entrance of the butchery. They were getting away and I couldn't let that happen. I reached for the first thing I could find on top of the table and threw it as hard as I could at the bodyguard, letting loose a loud battle cry as I did so.

Unfortunately, I missed.

The massive cooking pot hit the doorframe instead and the bodyguard stared down at it in surprise. He bent down and picked it up, inspecting it. He looked up at me and I tensed, prepared for what would come next. Then he threw it at Yamamoto, who was preoccupied with the other three bodyguards, and it smashed him in the back of the head.

Yamamoto fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Shit, Yamamoto!" I shouted.

Then came an anguished scream from the other side of the locked freezer door. "TAAAKESSSHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

The freezer door exploded forwards, sailing through the air. It smashed against the open doorway, sealing it off and trapping Paolo Lorenzo inside the storage room. A heady, sweet smell wafted from inside the freezer and I began to feel light-headed; I gripped the side of the table for support. Smoke spilled out of the freezer and through it, I made out the dark silhouette of Gokudera's figure and the crackling, red lightning that surrounded him.

Gokudera had set the meat freezer on fire. Boxes of marijuana lay upended on the ground and they were burning merrily. Gokudera was dangerously high.

I dove to the ground as Gokudera let loose a torrent of storm-flames-missiles upon the bodyguards and they fell like dominoes. A black pistol skidded across the floor and I grabbed it, pulling back the safety and aiming for one of the bodyguards who was about to shoot Yamamoto in the head. I pulled the trigger and my entire body jerked with the sensation as pain ripped up my arm and the bullet smashed into the man's gun, sending it flying away from him. I scrambled over to Yamamoto, dragging him to safety in a safe corner of the room. He began to stir as the sickeningly sweet smell registered in his brain and his eyes fluttered open blurrily.

"Lambo? Wh-what's happening?" he slurred.

Without any warning, I began to laugh uncontrollably. The look on his face was too much, his eyes were half lidded and his mouth was opening and closing, opening and closing wide enough to swallow three countries and everything was so funny, the drugs were burning and nothing was going according to plan and Gokudera was so high-

"Lambo? What's wrong?" he asked, shaking me.

Through my fit of hysterical laughter, I managed, "I think- I think I'm high. Not as high as Gokudera though, but I think I'm pretty damn hiiigh-"

"Lambo, snap out of it. We need to get out of here-"

I burst into laughter as Gokudera jumped onto the metal table and his head collided with a rack of hanging pots. CLANG CLANG CLANG and his silver hair whirled like helicopter propellers as his arms flailed out like chicken wings and everything was hilarious-

"You're such an idiot! How could you hit your head?" I laughed.

He started laughing then too and waved his box weapon around wildly. "Shut up, stupid cow!"

Then he aimed his box weapon right at me. I burst into fits of giggles at the sight of the white leering skulls, long nozzle and the impish red disco lights racing up his arm.

"Your box weapon looks like a penis!" I shouted at him, unable to keep myself from laughing.

Gokudera looked down at it in surprise and then he started grinning, his eyes wide. "You're right! It does!"

The two of us dissolved into fits of hysterics and Yamamoto (the only one totally unaffected by the marijuana because he was soooperr) rose to his feet. One of the bodyguards was crawling towards him and I snickered as I aimed my stolen pistol at him, prepared to take him out before he smashed Yamamoto to the floor. As I pulled the trigger, Gokudera threw a cooking pot at my head as hard as he could and my arm went flying.

BANG.

I looked around blearily. My head was throbbing and Gokudera's shrill laughter filled the room. Then my vision cleared.

"Yamamoto? What're you doing on the floor?"

Yamamoto was groaning in pain, gripping his bleeding thigh. How'd that happen? How could he be such a silly-billy-willy?

I demanded, "Who hurt you, Super Samurai? Don't worry, I'll get him-"

Yamamoto clenched his teeth and grabbed the pistol from my hand. Then he mercilessly shot Paolo Lorenzo in the head.

Next chapter preview:
hunt for the kateikyoushi!

"He said that I'm not allowed to go on another assignment until I can come up with a suitable definition for 'teamwork'. I didn't think Vongola was such a corny, clichéd bastard."

"What if I do decide to get a home tutor? Who would I ask?"

"Reborn, my sworn archrival! It is I, Bovino Lambo-"

"You have five seconds before I shoot you from my window."

"Do you think it's alright for two men to fuck each other up the ass?"

Author's note:

Hiya, I hope you liked the prologue! I know this was crazily long (20 pages long in size 10 century gothic, if you want to get into specifics) but the following chapters won't be nearly as long. In fact, they'll probably less than half the length of the prologue each.

This is my first time writing for the KHR fandom, but I've been thinking about this story for a while. I don't intend to let it reach an epic length, I'm trying to keep it under 20 chapters. I'll probably update once every three weeks or so. There are going to be lots of lemons in this fic - we're talking about the sex gods Reborn and Colonello here after all - so please brace yourself.

The smexeh scene with Yamamoto and Gokudera was actually meant to be a lot more explicit, but I didn't think ff net would appreciate that. :S If enough people insist, I'll put up harder versions of following lemons on aff net. We get to see a lot more characters in the next chapter, in particular I-Pin and REBORN. :)

If you liked what you read or have any questions, please drop me a review!

- selandora