Lambo has a secret.
It's a very dirty secret. It's a naughty secret. It's a bad secret. So don't tell, because secrets are secrets and secrets stay secrets till the grave and back. Ssshhhh. Don't say it. Don't whisper it. It's a secret. A dirty, naughty, bad secret.
It's a sexy secret. It's a secret that makes virgins moan like whores and whores blush like virgins. It's a secret that makes the old want to be young and the young feel old. It's a hush hush secret. Don't utter it. Don't think about it.
It's a secret secret.
Do you want to know the secret?
Lambo wants to tell you his secret.
So Lambo will.
Ssshhhh. But don't tell anyone about it. Because it's a secret.
As far as July goes in Italy, Lambo isn't even really sure what the weather is like outside. He's busy with… other things. Other matters, more important matters, the sorts of matters that Italy is known for.
Not pasta. Nice guess, though.
If this were the Titanic, they would be at the car scene in storage. Windows fogging up, a hand comes out of nowhere, smacks against the glass, and trails away, leaving a mark of passion in the heat, a reminder whenever the next person will press their lips to the surface and blow a breath to it only to reveal the smudges of lovers that had been and gone.
Except this isn't tragic like the Titanic. Rose and Jack aren't real. There is no car and the closest window leads to the balcony caped in silk green drapes and the tassels of its golden ties dance in the slightest breeze that Lambo can't be bothered to know is refreshing or repressing. There is no handprint.
There is Lambo's fist tangled in the bed sheets, other hand tight in thick blonde hair, and the silence that existed in the Titanic is nonexistent. He is screaming like his body is on fire – because that's how it feels. He's panting, he's sobbing, he's begging, he's pleading, he's cursing, he's saying so many things and if his lover asks him to repeat himself later on, he won't remember a word of what had spewed out of his bruised, pouty mouth.
All he knows, and cares about, is Colonnello.
Colonnello…
"C-Colonnello!" The hand in blonde hair tightens and twists, desperate to redirect his lover's attention. The other relocates to the massive man's hip, claws digging in, finding purchase, never letting go, trying to move.
But Colonnello only chuckles and grins, like he does, and thrusts shallowly inside of him, just barely breaching him, and Lambo's feels his cock at his entrance like the tickle of rain in the desert, like a laugh in despair, like so many wonderful things that happen at the most desperate of times, and he cries because he wants the rain to wash over him, for the laughter to boil in his gut. He wants it so badly and his lover is a cruel tease.
He should be put in jail for the things he does to Lambo. Or, more truthfully, the things he doesn't do.
But Lambo loves him. So he forgives him. Time and time and time again…
His mouth hovers over Lambo's chest, finding twin, hard buds that protrude for his attention like jealous siblings, perky and swollen and just as wanton as Lambo.
Colonnello licks his lips, just as swollen as Lambo's and even redder. "Hey, which one do I want to taste first?"
"Mmmmm b-both of them… N-now, please, PLEASE, C-Colone-lloooo!" He arches off the bed. Gravity can't even hold him down. He balances, almost perfectly, on the tips of his toes and the scalp of his head, waist held in a vice-like grip by his lover who continues his fake, unsatisfying, maddening thrusts.
Colonnello smirks. "Hey, did I surprise you?" He moves his hand, the hand that isn't holding him to earth, slowly. Just as slowly as he moves himself. And he knows just how to please Lambo, just how to stroke him, just how he not only likes it, but loves it, wants it, can't stop thinking about it for days. Colonnello molests his nipples with a skilled tongue, battling them as if they can fight back, sucking them till they all but glow a coral red.
Lambo shivers. He stutters. He doesn't know what to do with his mouth but make wild keening cries that are composed of no words but every demand that the history of Mankind has ever uttered.
"C-Colonnello! PLEASE! Per favore, per amore di Dio, fottimi, scopami, scopami!"
"Hey, Non ho finito con voi ma. Si può prendere di più, baby, molto di più."
He drags Colonnello up his body, to his lips, and gives him all of his screams, all of his wants and needs, and forces them down his throat with a long, abandoned groan. "Much more… later. Want… Want you now."
This isn't working.
It obviously isn't working.
So Lambo smiles – demon in disguise. Incubus. And he leans forward into Colonnello, arms wrapping around his shoulders, and he drags his tongue along the shell of his ear. "Don't you want me…? Colonnello, I'm so horny, I want you so badly. Mi sento vuota. Per favore, mi si riempiono? Per favore, cazzo il mio cervello con quello grande, grosso, cazzo lungo del tuo…"
Colonnello stops.
He just… stops. Like he can do that. But Lambo has been through this before. He falls back on the bed and stretches, all pale olive skin stretched over lean muscle and smooth planes. "Sì?"
His nails create grooves in the headboard and he screams till his voice dies as Colonnello is suddenly all there. All inside of him, sac deep, and Lambo knows because he's suddenly too full, too wide; Colonnello is too deep, so thick, so hard, and Lambo feels the velvet-wrapped steel dick resting heavily on his prostate, still for a second.
And then he's being fucked like he's a criminal, like he's done something wrong, like he's being punished, and he cries because it hurts, because it's too much, because he wants more, and he knows the sight of his tears makes Colonnello go wild.
Blue eyes focus on green, the tropics and the forests meet, and Colonnello licks away the crystalline, salty drops, panting hot air on his cheeks, growling beneath his breath as his hips piston. Lambo can see, with the half of his mind that somehow retains the ability to see anything, Colonnello's abs flexing, clenching, relaxing, and then flexing, clenching, relaxing again in a beautiful show of muscle work and his chest is inflating and deflating as rapidly as Lambo's and it's too hot, too fast, too hard, too much, too good.
He holds onto his blonde lover, the haven in his stormy world, a rock when he needs steadying, a quiet place when he can't stand the noise, and right now he's stealing him away from reality and tossing him into the greatest, most frightening turmoil he knows there to be.
A knot of tension coils in his gut. His cock throbs and bounces in time with Colonnello's pace, his prostate is sure to remind him that it's practically being murdered with sensations.
Green eyes focus on blue for a very, very short moment. And then Lambo cums. Orgasms. The big moment. The French little death. He explodes… all over them, him and his lover, streams of white against their torsos and on the sheets, and he would have wondered if it would ever end had he been conscious to see it.
The moment the knot of tension snaps, he passes out. It's too much. It's too good.
And he still wants more.
Lambo wakes up with the sort of sore, tired body that is both gratifying and painful. A prominent throb comes from down below.
A heavy weight is across his upper back, unmovable and not entirely unwelcomed as it resonates heat, much like his strange and uncomfortable pillow that moves endlessly beneath him with a rhythmic up-and-down pattern. He frowns and wishes it would stay still, so he thumps a fist against it and grumbles a command that his pillow dares to ignore. It laughs instead, softly, with a deep timbre, and Lambo's eyes snap open.
Colonnello has an arm over his shoulders, Lambo's ear pressed to his heart, and he smiles lazily down at him. "Hey, how was your nap?"
"Mio dio… not long enough."
"Then go back to sleep."
"But then you'll just keep staring at me…"
"Is that a problem?"
"Yeah, it's creepy."
"Hey!"
Lambo stifles a chuckle as Colonnello cuffs him upside the head. "I lie, I lie… Please don't hurt me."
Colonnello flips them over… gently. Carefully. Lambo still feels a pang of agony down his spine but Colonnello kisses away the hurt with his lips on Lambo's lips and it's a decent apology if that is what Lambo can guess it to be.
When Colonnello is done conquering his mouth, reclaiming every depth and hallow and raping his tongue, he presses smaller, lighter kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his throat, his collarbone… going down, down, down. Slowly. Not excitedly, not teasingly, but comfortingly, warmly. Lambo is aware of that immortal thrill of lust that is always with him whenever he is with his lover, but it's not overpowering. Not like earlier. He can ignore it easily enough. He closes his eyes and hums drowsily as Colonnello caresses his body.
"Colonnello…?"
"Hey?"
"Ti amo."
The blonde smiles. Lambo stares because he has an amazing smile; that is, when Lambo happens to notice it beyond other things. "Anch'io ti amo."
Work is hard.
Lambo isn't a hard-worker.
Lambo isn't good at working.
The math is easy, yes?
He lounges in the Vongola boss's den, more practically known as his office, and watches his big brother work the way Lambo can't. He looks so determined and serious, as if the paper he is signing could mean life or death for thousands.
Lambo is the one who brought those papers in for the don. He knows what's on them. Quite honestly, making certain that Hibari Kyouya has his own private jet in the seven countries he frequents most is a life-or-death situation. Especially when his license is being tested in three of said countries for… unorthodox methods.
Airline officials take unkindly to having a bombardier annihilate more than half of their airport terminals. Of course, Hibari's reason was, and always will be, that there was too much crowding going on and he had only done what he could to remedy the situation.
Tsuna's pen scribbles over the parchment. Lambo listens to the scratchy hints of a signature being born.
"America as a country has legalized gay marriages, did you know that?"
Lambo jerks and pales, but Tsuna isn't looking at him as he talks.
"The middle eastern countries are coming around too."
More scribbling. Lambo listens, heart going crazy.
"But the whole time everyone else is changing… the mafia is still as stubborn about it now as they were twelve years ago. I guess we're even getting worse. I know someone tried to kill Gokudera a few weeks back because they thought he was in a gay relationship with Yamamoto… Some families are even transpiring a rebellion against our family because of rumors that I'm having sex with nine of male acquaintances."
"What are you getting at?" Lambo's voice sounds too high-pitched to his ears. He sounds panicked. He doesn't like it.
"Are you in a gay relationship, Lambo?" Tsuna looks up, finally, and Lambo wishes he had just kept staring at his work.
Lambo can't lie to those eyes.
Lambo doesn't want to lie to those eyes.
Lambo is going to lie to those eyes anyway. But not directly to them. He sidles his gaze down and to the left. "No, big brother."
They both know it's not true. Tsuna smiles anyway. "Good. I wouldn't want you to be in danger."
Silence, except for the pen. Lambo is shaking in his skin.
"Lambo?"
"Yes, Vongola?"
"Colonnello has warned me that he has an overdue vacation coming up."
"… Is that so?"
"The strangest thing… he requested that he come stay here at HQ."
"Is that so terrible?"
"No, not really. But here's the thing; he wants you to be his guide. I wouldn't have minded a guide when I first came here either, I got lost second corridor in…"
Lambo swallows thickly.
"He wants his room right next to yours in case he has a question at any point of the day… or night."
"W-well, you know how he is." He is going to kill Colonnello.
"I do," Tsuna agrees softly. "But, as long as you two aren't in any sort of relationship…?"
It takes a moment for him to catch onto the question. "Of course not!"
Tsuna nods. "Then I guess I have no grounds to deny his request."
Lambo's heart flies out of his chest and he just barely catches it in time to stuff it back where it belongs before his big brother pins him with his amber stare again. Tsuna smiles, secretively, protectively, and presses his pointer finger to his pursed lips.
Ssshhhhh…
Tsuna winks.
It's our little secret.
Translations:
Per favore, per amore di Dio, fottimi, scopami, scopami! – Please, for God's sake, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!
Non ho finito con voi ma. Si può prendere di più, baby, molto di più. – But I have not finished with you. You can take more, baby, much more.
Mi sento vuota. Per favore, mi si riempiono? Per favore, cazzo il mio cervello con quello grande, grosso, cazzo lungo del tuo…– I feel empty. Please fill me? Please, fuck my brains with that great big, long cock of yours.
Sì? – Yes?
Mio dio. – Dear me. (Italian playoff of Lambo's usual yare, yare, which means about the same thing)
Ti amo – I love you.
Anch'io ti amo. – I love you too.
Author's Note: Happy two-hundredth story! I wanted this to be special… Goodness, did it work?