Warning: Minor Spoiler Alert for anyone who has not seen episode 153 (or 152) of the anime.
Reborn had, once upon a time, told Luce that he did not believe in destiny, some time before they had taken upon themselves the arcobaleno curse.
Some years before that particular night, an aged crone had pulled Reborn aside and told him 'The one that is weakest will turn out to be your mortal weakness. But, remember, the one who is weakest, is not weak, but merely not the strongest. That is your destiny.' And then she had left him alone, tottering by in her worn out body while he had watched after her in amusement, certain that she was merely another fluke or someone paid by one of his enemies to make him uncertain.
He had, for years on end since that day, not given thought to it. It was now, so many years later with Byakuran silently defeated, the arcobaleno curse broken, and his two most successful students now boss's of each their respective families, that Reborn is forced to remember those damnable words.
Lambo is staring up at him, obvious need in his eyes as his hand comes out slowly – with the curiosity of one so young – and rests against his naked breast, his fingers splaying over his heart as his other hand follows nervously to touch his abdomen.
He can hear the teenager breathe; can almost hear his heartbeat thundering. There is a flush to his cheeks and a quiver to his fingers. He comes a little closer, his bare feet bumping against Reborn's before he seems satisfied that the distance between them is small enough. He leans forward until their hips graze each other and tilts his head further back to watch his expression.
Damn the cow for walking into his private room just as he was getting dressed from the shower.
The hand on his abs comes up, twitching uncertainly as fingers weave into his hair, stroking back the wet spikes with almost childish awe. The hand on his breast begins to wander, trailing from one pale nipple to the other before tracking down his belly to trace his washboard abs, his thumb feathering over the skin.
He lifts his head and, in a touch lighter than that of his whispering hand, brushes his lips with his own, standing on the tips of his toes to do so. He lowers his hand from his hair and instead wraps his arm around his shoulders, kissing more deeply now with the sheepish inexperience of a first kiss.
His plan to remain immobile comes to naught, and he wraps a hand around his delicate chin and tilts it just so, opens his mouth just this much, and – damn it – is swept away. On his tongue are tart grapes and melting chocolate, blending and mixing into something sinful on his tongue as he explores this new cavern, as he teases Lambo's tongue into a dance with his. As he caresses the pink muscle, tangles with it, he can taste himself; it stops him cold, tenses his shoulders. His own taste is not sinful, it is a sin, period. He can taste the clove of his favored cigarettes, but, also, the copper taste that had so become a part of his everyday life, not a sickness of his own body, but the death he had brought upon hundreds of others.
They haunt him now while he holds someone innocent and new in his arms, someone who would never actually understand bloodshed and death, despite his so relished threats.
He is still just a boy, and Reborn is sick for letting this get so far. Let him taint the world with his presence, let him accompany Bianchi (because she is just as murderous as he is, just as guilty) wherever they may go, and let him beat his students over the head (a wonderful training method), but this is disgusting.
So why was he baring this man-child to him? His hands were catching on articles of clothing and dragging them off, all without releasing his lips. His palms ran over soft, warm skin – skin the color of a pale mocha.
So, why was he urging the boy onto his bed, teasing his body until he squirms and moans into their kiss? Why would he do something so heinous as to dirty the last clean spot in the Vongola family? That last trace of innocence not even Tsuna or Yamamoto had retained?
And, yet, he does so anyway; after who knows how long of teasing this young, virginal body, he enters it. Abruptly, it is no longer virginal; it is now violated and – for this moment in time – his.
Lambo, that fucking, stupid cow… is now at his will in a way he had never been before; now, instead of inflicting pain upon the hapless guardian, his strive is to pleasure him. Now, instead of mocking his brainless actions, he taunts his body until it spills its essence… over and over again. He violated their last light not once, not twice, but three times.
Perhaps it would have been acceptable had those three times been short bursts of passion, except he was not that selfless. He knew he should make this hasty and then never repeat it again (he should not have done this at all, but he could not turn back time), but he was an expert on the body. He made Lambo last as long as his small, quivering body could last, taking his time with this new lover.
By the time he could finally stop, the sun was rising somewhere outside when, as they had been just beginning, it had been at its lowest. But he stopped far too late; the deed was done.
Lambo lay beneath him, a tainted soul with scarred innocence. His emerald green eyes stared up at him with adoration, love, and need and he tried to kiss him again.
This, Reborn could not allow. His mind swept through dozens of ways he could salvage the situation, return the lost light, and act as if nothing had been damaged. In the end, every idea that came to mind would only kill that light; he knew it without a doubt.
So, how was it exactly, that Lambo could grin up at him in his idiotically confident way, and make him laugh with relief? "Yare, yare, are you being shy, Reborn? I thought I was the virgin." And that reassures Reborn that no innocence is dirtied, and no soul traumatized. Because that is such a Lambo thing to say after such a night to one such as Reborn, his sworn rival.
Lambo uses his surprise to flip them over, the boy now straddling his waist, his hands on his chest. He is given a cheeky grin from the man-child as he grinds his hips down. "Reborn is getting old~ I bet you can't do it again." As strange as it is, he is coming to realize that… it is impossible for him to break that last bit of innocence.
He stares down at him as if sex were a natural occurrence in his life, but Reborn can feel the trembling of his inner thighs, the flush to his cheeks, the awkwardness in his eyes, and the wistfulness to the tilt of his lips. And, besides that, Lambo is mocking him, such as he would always do. No light was lost to darkness here, Reborn realizes as he stares up at this boy, but perhaps gained.
He had assumed that the muck that was ever a part of his damned soul would spread and destroy the light that was Lambo's; what he had not expected was the light that was Lambo's soul to rinse away at the muck and brush away at the shadows.
And the words the crone had told him so long ago return, an echo in his mind. 'The one that is weakest will turn out to be your mortal weakness. But, remember, the one who is weakest, is not weak, but merely not the strongest. That is your destiny.' Though, he still does not believe in destiny, this… he can believe in.
Author's Note: I am on episode 152 of the anime, but, in the last episode (or the one before that), they did a flashback to before the arcobaleno curse where Luce (or Luche, I don't know which it is yet, people keep spelling it differently) and Reborn were talking. And when Reborn said 'I don't believe in destiny', I HAD to write something about it!