White Day, guys! As I promise, the continuation of my valentine fic.

EDIT


Last fragment of memory – Xanxus

What was he to be able to do this to me? Humph. Only a simple trash from nowhere. It looks like a funny story.

I thought it would be funny to have some kind of human dog, an innocent entertainment for the adolescent I had been. They confided me a shark like pet instead. A loud-mouthed, good for nothing brat with almost white hair and way too grey eyes, and a boy above all.

Superbi Squalo.

What was I supposed to do with the idiot? He was younger and smaller than me. With only one blast he would fly away.

So I thought, but he didn't. On the contrary the trash was pretty tough and could never get tired of being beaten to death by me day after day. He kept on coming back, grinning like the bloody idiot he was. Seriously why did I have to deal with that raw-boned psychopath? That fool was making me lose my time with him, that's all.

I really have no idea how could we finally manage to tag along all those years. Squalo was the whiteness of a sword when I was the blackness of the powder. I was a constant boiling of rage and hatred; he was a glow of pride and patience. In a normal shaped world, we should have hated and destroyed each others.

'That's why this world is twisted.' I said as I was throwing petals of gardenia on the immobile form of the swordsman's body. He was already submerged by innumerable white flowers. Their tint was blending perfectly with the trash's pallid face and silver mane. My legs were carrying me from a spot to another of the main room of the old bastion. Pieces of glass were cracking under my feet.

He had been like that since I fetched him in his bedroom. Well, not exactly like that. Let's say that back then he was a bit more alive; enough to understand what I told him, at least.

Back then, therefore, the silver trash still was breathing in my arms. All softened and dizzy from all the blood I sucked from him, but relatively alive.

For some reason – namely the interruption of all of the scum's friends in his room – I didn't have the proper occasion to give the silver head the last blow. They all rushed in, sensing that the trash was in some sort of pinch or whatever. I didn't really care. The problem was that the low-life scums were interfering between me and my prey, and I didn't like that.

If it weren't for the shark trash soundly sleeping in my arms, I would have eviscerated all of them. But it would have also meant letting the other idiot fall from my arms, from the top of his balcony on the second floor, down in the nettles. Instead, I grasped firmly his lean waist and, like that, in one inhuman spring, we were off on the ground. It didn't take long to go out of sight of the inhabitants of my late father's castle.

Hell I didn't like that place. A castle in the middle of nowhere, although more sumptuous than most of those in the country, but totally isolated from the world. That wasn't the best means to fulfill my designs.

And I still would have been stuck to that rat's hole if it hadn't been for that beast I met in the woods.

In point of fact, that isn't worth talking over.

What I felt when I woke up, on the contrary, is.

Period.

I turned back. Didn't his head budged a little? Or was that my imagination? Shit, forget it.

"Ah? What the hell is this?" I know that isn't badass at all, but that's actually what I thought when I saw that wooden plank in front of me. It didn't take long for me to be passably pissed off because of my restraints. Fortunately a hard kick on it made the board move. One second after I was out. With mud on me.

Thinking that my life turned 180° was just… an overstatement.

Worthless trashes seemed to be as worthless as before, the useless worms that crawled on the ground were as noisy and irritating as before. Nothing changed. I was even about to go back home and tell the scums which buried me that they had been a bit/damn quick doing their job.

That was until I saw the dumb shark.

Something triggered in my head. I didn't know exactly what or why, but I did sense it. On that particular night when the image of Squalo came to my mind with no warning. It seemed that he was dreaming about me, the trash. I almost burst of laugh when I spotted at his discomfited face. It made me want to play him a prank.

The only hitch was my incredible talent of actor, because the shark took it rather seriously. So seriously that I myself got stuck in my role.

What a pain in the ass. Just because I am a good kisser (said humbly) didn't mean Squalo had to take me at my words.

And the problem was that I also took pleasure in that game. That part of the deal though wasn't welcome.

The way he sighed my name between two moans; the languorous lust printed in his ferric eyes; the way we would writhe under my touch… Thinking about him only would make my blood boil in my veins; so much that it was agonizing. Not even the most gorgeous women I had met during my lifetime had showed me such crave.

I smirked to the sleeping beauty. 'Hey? Did you hear me, trash? I've just said that you're a pretty good slut.' But he kept silent.

Damn it. I sighed and took a sit next to him. A strong, fruity scent was lingering in the air.

How did he do it? Really, what was he? A mage? A fairy? Or only a damn brat who I'd known for way to long? And who cares? He was pissing me off and I wouldn't tolerate it. I was wandering how to make him regret something he maybe hadn't started – but that I didn't give a damn.

That was when I decided on making him mine. Completely, all of him: his loud mouth, his ugly sneer, his sinuous features, his smooth skin, his impossible, velvety hair. Everything.

Oneiric meetings had been sweet and impious. For me those were the best occasions to torment the silver shark. Oh, how much the sight I got enticed my eyes. Squalo was moaning, pleading, squirming; and that hadn't even required me to move to him. But sometime – every time for me – dreams can be more convincing than reality.

Instead of healing me from my thirst of the silver haired man, they, quite the opposite, made me seek for more; much more than what I could get from those surreal banquets of madness. We were only children driven crazy in golden imaginings on a scene soaked in lust.

I grazed at the sleeping Squalo's velvety cheek. My hand slowly went down before I dug my nails in his throat. Petals fell down on the dusty ground.

Yes, I wanted more. In reality, nothing nourished me. Those damn scenes just starved me more; they were killing me, and I had only one way to quench my desire.

One thing: making for where I knew the shark was; looking for his warmth, the perfect touch of his neck I, oh so many times, dreamt about. One thing: tearing down any hindrance – walls, people, clothes – until I got the crimson view. He was watching at me with expectation, believing that it was another dream; he didn't do anything to stop me. One thing: brushing lovingly those silken locks; kissing ardently those thin, rosy lips; breathing each one of his sighs.

I wanted his blood and wanted him to give it to me, willingly or not; I wanted to test his cells, unconsciously. Everything was out of control.

At that time, Squalo was whimpering words of excitement I've never thought he would utter on day; and less probably to me: the sweetest depravity ever. My fingers still would tremble when thinking about them.

Damn trash. Even though his prettiness was matched by none (I admit it), this sweetness bound me to him for eternity, hurtfully. With his alluring body he lured me to him; with his fascinating moans, he trapped me in, embracing me in all desires.

I've held that body twice. The third should have been the last time…

I had just brought his weakened body to the fort where I had been staying since my "redemption". He was already departing this life. In the silvery moonlight, I watched with an abnormal interest his chest heaving up and down, slowly, and hardly.

It was only with a prodigious willpower that the silver head stood again on his bare feet. He somehow stood up, but needed to sustain himself on a disfigured armchair. From that spot he glanced at his reflect in a nearby full-length mirror. It looked like he didn't enjoy the sight since he frowned while closing his eyes.

"You're in a pitiful state." I noted.

"Who's fault?" He whispered. Everything he said after that never exceeded the level of a whisper.

I shrugged and neared the silver beauty. In some way, in the brink of death, his beauty was exploding with more fierceness. When I stretched my arm to grasp his neck, he backed a little. Like hell I would accept a rebellion from him at that time. I was one inch from making him totally mine; I wasn't going to stop so near from my goal, my hunger would have never allowed it. Swiftly, I hooked my hand at the back of his head, forcing him to clutch at me.

"Che. You selfish bastard."

I smirked. "I hadn't asked for your advice, stupid."

My body was burning, my blood thumping painfully on the skull. In that sacred moment, my mind could merely process one single idea: Come, it's time to rest; you don't have to do anything. So, I shall make you drown deeply, deeply, into the bottom of an indolent sleep. Words would whirl in my mind. Come on, while you are still warm I shall devour you. You shall become mine; you shall become a part of mine. I've been waiting to rip off both your wings, and trap you in my cage.

No will on earth could have stopped those thoughts. I realized I had to give up to them.

At a snail's pace, I brought my lips to touch lightly Squalo's neck. Two tiny red stains were already marring the ivory skin, giving proves of my previous assaults.

There wasn't much time left, yet it didn't matter. Seeing him that close and in an unusual stillness, it absolutely didn't matter. The instant was grave and solemn. With the shark, moments like that were rare.

Just like a shroud, I wrapped the shark with my stare. He was perfect at the moment. His skin usually pinky and smooth was now a bit more pallid and cold. Tiredness could be seen at those slightly bluish eyerings. Squalo had always been lean and light. But that day it was worse: it was almost as if I wasn't lifting anything on my arms. Now and then an icy wind would gush from nowhere, making the silvery mane undulate on bony shoulders, and whipping faintly at his back.

The mirror was reflecting every move we made. The ancient device was the only witness of that night's gathering. It was already out of condition – pieces of it were missing, and rust had attacked the remnants – yet it still was giving a pretty sight of both of us.

I, the vampire, kissed the human, chastely, vaguely. Squalo didn't rebuff the kiss. My hands gripped more tightly to his back when I sank to his nape. I hummed the familiar skin for a fraction of second, before pitilessly digging my fangs in.

Squalo hadn't even tensed.

One minute after I had drunk to satiety. I withdrew myself from the smaller man and remarked that he had passed out.

"Squalo…" I muttered against his ear. But from that time he hadn't said anything anymore, he hadn't moved anymore.

Hours later, a pang of doubt hurried in me as I recalled the shock I got when I saw the swordsman's actually immobile body. I looked down on him. The sight I got – the blood rushing back under the slowly turning pink skin, the softness back on the previously stone-like features – somehow reassured me.

'Wake up quickly.' Was all I could wish.


The End