"I can't leave him – he has always been my everything." A hand trailed along the lip of the bathtub, dragging through wayward water drops and creating tiny streams. The hand was attached to a bruised wrist which led to a black and blue arm that connected to a body overcome with painful-looking marks.

"Well, you can't change him. He's too fucking stubborn for that! What the hell can you do? Just keep going through hell to please him and still end up being cast aside like last night's trash every day?" Silver-grey eyes are aflame with rage and hatred. He, this man with doom radiating from his brawn frame, trails a soapy sponge down the back of the wounded boy, careful and stroking lightly.

A painful hiss escaped the broken boy nonetheless, despite the gentleness. "I wouldn't want to change him if I could. And I don't care what he does to me. As long as he lets me be with him, I can't ask for anything more."

"Idiot!" The sponge hit the wall with a wet 'squish' and then fell to the ground, a puddle of water and white suds forming beneath it. "You can ask for more, you can ask to be treated like a fucking human being!" The man pointed a finger accusingly at the shut eye of the boy, its' twin an unharmed emerald orb. "Did you forget who did this to you? And yet you still crawl back to him like a damn dog!"

The boy raised a hand and grasped the offending appendage. It pried the fingers from the palm; soft, full lips press to the center of it. "I'm sorry that I'm such an inconvenience to you." His voice was not sarcastic, was not angry or even sad; it was apologetic and accepting – too tired to fight. "Thank you for helping me anyway."

The man flushed darkly in the face, silver-grey eyes looking away. "Idiot, I'll always help you." He looked back, eyes fierce. "Unlike him, I do love you!" Two arms, ropes of muscle and tan skin, come out and around the abused boy. Despite the wetness of the damaged body, the boy is dragged to the solid chest of the man and held warmly – not too tight, but close.

"…I know… I'm sorry." The defiled body rested limply against the man's chest.

"Don't say that. You sound like you're going to cry every time you say that." He sighed deeply.

"Well, I am a crybaby." The boy admitted, black sable curls hiding his expression as he ducked into the cotton silver short-sleeved shirt the man wore. "It's kind of expected."

"Lambo…" The man breathed. He rested his chin on top of the damp strands, taking in the scent of grapes and cotton candy. "Do you want to stay with me until he cools down?" There was a begging tone to his voice.

The boy lifted his head, tears trickling from his eye. He smiled – fake, but still a gentle smile. "No, it's okay. I would rather face him now than later." He looked away.

"I should stop you." The man muttered darkly. "As someone who actually loves you, I should stop you. You aren't strong enough to fight me and this is one of the worst choices you have ever made, going back to him." He gripped the boy's shoulders – Lambo's. "Give me an actual reason except for this sick obsession you have with him!"

Silence…

"… Because… he does this… because he loves me." He rested his hands on each of the man's and pushed them away. "It's strange, but it's true." He stood, water sloshing over the edge of the bath and a waterfall coming off of his body.

A flush came to the man's cheeks for the immodesty of the teenager, as well as the fact that he was face to face with the boy's manhood.

There was no such flush to the teenager's face. He quivered in the cold air, shook slightly from the discomfort his body felt. He wrapped a towel around his shoulders – it draped to his thighs.

"Tito." The boy rested a hand on springy bleach blonde locks. "Thank you for being a friend." He stepped out of the bath and swayed out of the room, leaving the man on his knees.

Slowly, the man's jaw clenched as did his fists. His eyes lit up with anew hatred and rage. "Reborn…" He growled, left alone to himself. "I'm going to kill you if it's the last thing I do."

He slips on his cowprint shirt; buttons his pale crème cutoffs. He steps into his sandals and walks out the door.

And for the life of him, he can't. Stop. Crying.

He stares at his wrists – black and blue, streaks of sickish yellow. There was a bite mark over one inner wrist, meant as a sick joke. He hadn't found it funny and still has not. He could only adore the wound for who had given it to him.

"Reborn…" He breathes longingly. His fingers curl into a fist and he rests his forehead to it. "Reborn." He sobs.

"Calling my name, cow?"

"Reborn!" He spins on his heel.

He visually worships the tall, dark man before him; cold obsidian eyes, pale ivory skin, raven-black hair and elegant, large hands. A black Armani suit hides a solid, sinewy body and a black fedora wrapped with a yellow ribbon slopes over one eye. His rose petal pink lips are pressed thin and firm-looking.

"Reborn…" He grips the collar of his shirt protectively. "I was about to come looking for you." He casts his gaze to the ground, lips turn down.

"Of course you were." The hitman saunters closer; his body crowds Lambo's smaller one. "You will always come looking for me, won't you?" He lifts a hand, rests it with uncharacteristic fondness against Lambo's cheek; his thumb pets over Lambo's shut eye.

"Yes." Lambo turns his head, resting against the hand. "I have to – you are my archrival. I can never leave you be." His arms come up and wind around the hitman's shoulders; he leans against him. So tired… he feels so broken – everything hurt. He sags against Reborn. He can't hold himself up any longer.

"Am I expected to hold you up?"

"… No… but I hope that you will." He won't be able to catch himself. He silently thinks to himself: 'This is his fault anyway' but doesn't dare say it aloud.

Nonetheless, Reborn hears his unvoiced accusation. "Had you not kissed that man, none of this would have ever happened." He sneers superiorly. "Only I'm allowed to touch you." His teeth bite down on Lambo's earlobe.

Lambo has the thought: 'I never kissed him, he kissed me' but it doesn't matter because Reborn is already kissing him. Compared to the night before, his lips are gentle and warm; his tongue parts his lips and tangles with his, sliding and slipping erotically.

The kiss ends abruptly. "Uwaah!" Reborn sweeps him off his feet and holds him high to his chest – the warmth and wall of muscle is different from Tito's if only because it's Reborn. "Yare, yare, you couldn't have asked?" Regardless, his head lolls onto the hitman's shoulder, his eyelids drooping.

If he is lucky, Reborn won't drop him out of spite.

Reborn says nothing. His strides are long and swift, yet also lazy. Lambo was hardly jarred in the cradle of his arms.

This was how he knew Reborn loved him – how he knew he could never leave him. Tito was wrong even though he was also right; Reborn would never settle for just one lover. He would never stop hurting Lambo in one way or another. His words would sting, his blows would harm, and his actions would wound; but then he would do these things, these small things and create these small moments where he treated Lambo like something precious, fragile… beautiful.

Perhaps Tito was right; perhaps this was a sick relationship and Reborn was only using him. But Reborn was straightforward and bold. He never told Lambo that they would have a happily ever after and he never lied about them having a perfect relationship. Certainly he had other lovers, but he never forced himself on Lambo unless he could feel his resolve not to have sex wavering; though honestly that was nearly always.

He was selfish, cruel, callous, murderous, and on top of all that he had a gallows humor; yet he was handsome and he cared in his own way – he shoved Lambo into danger, but he never put him through something he knew without a doubt Lambo could not handle. He defiled and humiliated him, but never to the point where Lambo could never forgive him. On most occasions he was the reason for Lambo being hospitalized, but he always sent a chartreuse chrysanthemum to his room – his favorite flower – that had had some sort of booby trap attached that only he and a doctor of his choice would know how to disengage.

It was surprising how often that came into use.

For every terrible thing he did, he did something so endearing and protective that Lambo would have no choice but fall deeper in love with him.

So even though his body hurt because of Reborn, Reborn was the one holding him now with the utmost tenderness.

His eyes flicker open and he stares at the sharp, chiseled jaw before him; he can see Reborn's stony black eyes staring straight ahead, looking seemingly distant but fully alert.

Reborn cared for his public appearance, but he wasn't ashamed of himself or Lambo.

He took the streets fearlessly – people are being careful not to stare or whisper because they know who Reborn is and they know what famiglia Lambo belongs to (referring to Vongola because most did not care for Bovino).

He raises a hand – Reborn's gaze flickers to him and stays. His fingers trail from his temple to the corner of his lips and the hitman's eyelids flag. He curls a hand around the nape of Reborn's neck and the hitman dips his head to his. Their lips touch and hold for one ground-trembling moment.

They are shameless, aren't they?

Lambo smiles and nuzzles his face into Reborn's throat – cruel, stony Reborn loves him in his own way. And, with all of his heart, body, and soul, Lambo loves him back.

His hand curls into Reborn's yellow dress shirt in the gap of the lapels of his sleek back jacket. Consciousness slips away like a dream within itself.

Tito may have been right – what they have might be sick, but it is still theirs. It will always be theirs…

Always.

Tito has a SIG SG551-2 Neuhausen machine gun trained on the back of Reborn's skull – his hand is steady and his eye is focused. Cold fury holds his frame tense.

He had had his rifle trained on Reborn since just before the hitman had lifted Lambo into his arms. His instant thought had been that he had been found out.

And then they had kissed. He had almost open fired. Lambo, adorable, innocent Lambo, then curled up like a contented cat against him.

Tito almost turned away, almost decided to leave and kill the bastard another day so as not to endanger Lambo's life. Ensuingly, his target pauses and looks over Lambo's head at him. Pink lips curve into a self-righteous smirk.

Across the distance, Tito can still read lips; Reborn's say 'mine' as he plays a hand along Lambo's swanlike neck.

He lifts his gun back up, clicks off the safety, and points. Lambo will be better off without him – he was only being used as a shield, Reborn knew he wouldn't be shot by him as long as he held his heart's beloved.

Change of plans – he could shoot among the best; the worst that would happen to Lambo was that he will fall to the ground and maybe gain a scratch or two. Reborn might fall down on him, but that won't kill him.

The hitman watches him as he does this, his face expressionless. As he points, the uncaring frown turns into a sardonic grin.

He… can't do it. What if he is cruel enough to have Lambo take the shot? Lambo is so defenseless, so unprepared in this moment. What if he kills Lambo in spite just as he shoots at him?

The rifle trembles.

He abandons the rooftop, gun tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Some day, he will kill his beloved's tormentor. Some day.

Just not this day. Not this day…

Author's Note: I'm scared T.T I don't like when I can go days without having a story idea that I can write down and finish. This is my first in a while, isn't it?

Tito is an OC I made – his main purpose was to be in love in Lambo and for Lambo to view as only a good friend with a one-sided love. I think he did rather well, didn't he?

Question to my viewers (Blessed, I'm asking a lot of you guys, aren't I? No worries, it's optional), do you think Lambo was right in that Reborn was holding him because of love or do you believe in Tito and his theory that he was only using Lambo as a shield?