1) He couldn't understand why he woke up with a splitting headache, and couldn't remember getting that drunk the night before. But it seemed the only logical explanation as to why there was a sweaty, painfully naked young man currently lying between his thighs. The man grunted, eyes moving from the body of his former student to his ceiling, mind slowly piecing together the previous nights' happenings. Gokudera, being the royal pain-in-the-ass he was, had ruined one of Shamal's dates in order to complain about one angsty teenage problem after another that, more often than not, centered around the Vongola Tenth. Shamal, great influence that he was, offered the boy the wine that he'd opened for his date, and not long after, they'd cracked into the beer in his fridge. Shamal was a little fuzzy on the details after that, but if the current sleeping arrangements were anything to go by, he could be sure of one thing having transpired between them. A sigh on his lips, he slid out from beneath the sleeping boy, trying not to jostle him much, and headed for the attached bathroom for a shower, making sure to return with aspirin and a glass of water to leave for the likely-sore teenager.
When the doctor emerged from his shower, the aspirin and water were gone, as were all traces of the silvery-haired Italian ever being there, save an imprint in the mussed sheets. Clucking to himself about the manners of a brat that could just up-and-leave without so much as a 'thank you', he dressed and took his bedsheets to the wash.
V. 2~ (Because I wrote two versions and couldn't decide which was better)
Belphegor couldn't recall the last time he'd woken with such a horrid ache in his head, right behind his eyes, beating away at the inside of his skull. He brought a hand to his face, shielding it from the bits of sunlight that crept through the curtains at the far end of his room. He couldn't remember getting as drunk as he felt he'd been – because drinking dulled the senses, made him uncoordinated, and was unbecoming of a prince such as himself. He'd usually have stuck to red wine – colorful, like blood, flavorful enough to suit his palate, and sophisticated enough for a man of his standing. But his recent failure (though he'd never admit that it was so, he'd slipped, made a small error in judgment.) made him angry, and his wine had been smashed by one of Xanxus's rages. It left him with few options and, being contained to the castle as he was, even fewer outlets. Picking on the frog could only be amusing for so long, and the boy was quite aggravating in the meantime.
He remembers the first drink – the bitter, burning taste of raw alcohol down his throat. The second drink was less so, and the third started to perk his mood. Beyond that was a haze – after all, he wasn't accustomed to such heavy drinks in such quick succession, and he was quite thin in frame.
And here he lay, cringing from the sunlight in his own bed, and becoming more aware of an unfamiliar weight draped over his lower stomach and thighs, something soft brushing his ankles. He dared a look down his bared torso, and held his breath for just a moment at the sight… His small froggy companion, wearing not a stitch, asleep and draped over the prince's pelvis, the silken sheet draped over his lower body being the only saving grace. Cuts spiderwebbed across the boy's back in some intricate pattern that Bel surely had thought pretty at the time, blood since dried to a dark red. Colorful bruises added another dimension of color, and if it weren't for the mild confusion of finding this boy lying with him, the prince may have declared the designs to be artwork of the highest grade.
There was no doubt what had transpired, with the sweat and fluids as such, however the prince's gut reaction called for him to question his tastes. The smart-mouthed frog-boy, of all options open to him? Surely he could have whisked away one of the prettier handmaidens, and then merely disposed of her upon waking.
Finally, he decided that there was no point to thinking. What had been done had been done and, perhaps, the frog boy did not appear wholly unattractive, so long as his mouth was kept to more resourceful purposes than smarting off to those far his superior. Disentangling himself from sheets and boy, he went about his morning rituals, dressing and bathing, feeling as if he'd done his companion a favor. After all, it is not every day that one is granted the good fortune to lay with a Prince such as himself.
And when finally the boy stirred, and his first words were a sly remark that offended the blonde and a complaint about the abuse done to his body, he was speared with several knives that were careful to not destroy the artwork decorating his back.