GET READY FOR XMAS!
.
.
.
IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
All the main characters of the future tragedy are now gathered in NYC. What direction will their life take?
"It stinks." Belphegor whined out loud.
"Well, sorry it smells like piss, kiddo, but it can't be helped." A random stranger who had been walking past him when the young man voiced his thoughts literally yelled at him.
"I wasn't talking about that. But it sure stinks too."
With his usual brat prince air, Belphegor wrinkled the bridge of his nose and grimaced with disgust. There, on that street like many others in NYC, he was standing like one of the hundreds of peasants who were passing by, that day's newspaper open in his hands and a cherry bubblegum in his mouth.
Squalo had always wondered how the blond could read with his bangs practically forming a veil in front of his eyes. Well, it wasn't as if Bel needed to read anything anyway, plus the news were always boring for him. He'd rather read comics. Why didn't he buy one instead again? Ah, because Bel had succumbed to the charm of old gangster movies where the mobsters would be spying on their target, hiding behind newspapers like that one.
However, no one did that anymore. So Bel just felt quite stupid at the moment.
At any rate, none of that was relevant, right now. Instead, please pay attention to that strip club across the street. It was a creepy building with just the words "Girls! Girls! Girls!" written in big flashy red letter above the entrance.
True, there was nothing very interesting in the club itself. What had caught Bel's attention was more all the coming and going. At some point, the prince could understand that a popular night club would be very crowded at night, which would have explained why he had noticed at least two dozens of weird looking guys going inside within the last ten minutes.
But it was 10 in the morning.
"French… No. Eastern Europeans… And Russians." Belphegor counted, his eyes never leaving his newspaper (or so it seemed behind his bangs). "Shishishi. You even have Chinese… That tattoo… Mmmh… That's from Hong Kong. Oh, and here come the Italians. Tomaso, Evocatore… I guess that's all. Ushishi. That's already a lot. And of course, no heads. Only tails."
Belphegor yawned. There was nothing interesting to see anymore. The prince already had a more or less precise idea what they were going to talk about; and if there were any changes, he would get the recordings later anyway.
In fact, few days ago, Belphegor succeeded in wiretapping all the main meeting spots of the local families, and after crosschecking, he finally learned about that soi-disant "big" gathering that morning, at that strip club. The club, as Belphegor heard, was a neutral territory held by some former Sicilian assassin, and it was simply the only place in the whole city where you could have both Russian mafia and Triad representatives sitting next to each other without causing any trouble.
No, not on Lal Mirch's watch.
Something had got all those families riled up. And just like a chemical reaction, all kind of shit started to foam out from the gaping mouth of that rotten city. Seemed like, when a man like Xanxus Vongola was involved, no matter in what part of the world, it would always cause a big ruckus.
Ah, that's right, the young man recalled. If he hurried, he could meet with the silverette before his first appointment of the day (or between the first and the second one).
After throwing the newspaper in a nearby bin, Belphegor decided to leave. He was grinning when he looked back at the club.
"Shishishi! It would be so easy to burn that place down and have all the ants die. But Squalo would get mad."
…
The night before, Lambo didn't sleep at all.
It wasn't for lack of trying, though. He did the best he could with Abby Cadabby (the pink haired girl was so high she forgot to give him her name), and when the overexcited college girl finally fell asleep – with an expression of complete satisfaction on her face, Lambo has to precise – the young Bovino was left lying on a bed again, with nothing but utterly unwanted thoughts as his only companions.
So why couldn't he fall asleep, you ask. Well, if you rewind the tape about three or four hours ago, you'll understand:
Lambo was doing his duty, very thoughtfully like every time a sweet young lady would invite him in her bed. They were both naked in Abby Cadabby's bed, bare naked and kissing and lasciviously intertwining their limbs together. His lips were running on the pink head girl's chest (her breast weren't very huge), gradually heading to her navel then to her even lower parts.
All that time she was giggling and shaking uncontrollably, her hands firmly gripping the young man's dark locks, the mouth of her arousal getting wetter and wetter with every lick from Lambo's tongue. The latter, judging that she was more than ready to accept him, got on top of Princess Bubblegum and swiftly thrust his own arousal inside.
Against all odds, she was a pretty quiet lover. Apart from breathing loudly and clinging at Lambo's shoulders, she wasn't doing anything in particular. Lambo was kind of disappointed. But, oh! He was already deep in it, he wasn't going to stop just because that female human version of Patrick Starfish wasn't shouting herself hoarse when she was doing it.
But just a little bit of it, maybe? Even only whispering his name while he was pumping in and out… Just like that…
"Lambo…"
The dark haired man froze. It wasn't Amy Rose's voice. Heck, that wasn't even a woman's voice. Lambo rose from his partner's neck and his heart skipped a bit when the vision of Squalo's gorgeous features and his moon river hair flashed in emerald eyes, as though a car lights had just lighted the small room for a split second.
His body wasn't his own anymore. His movements grew more vigorous, more desperate; his hands came to caress thin and cold thighs, spreading them apart as his teeth dug in the silverette's breast.
"Aah! It hurts!" The other male moaned, yet Lambo could feel the furnace around his cock growing hotter and moister.
At that point, Lambo's brains was basically shut off. He could clearly see that unearthly face torn with pleasure, he could undoubtedly hear the deep and whimpery voice; he could feel the firm yet soft grip of Squalo's legs locking behind his back, he could even feel the pulsating muscles wrapping his painful erection…
Everything seemed unreal, irrational, completely idiotic. Still, Lamb couldn't stop it. He let himself get drowned, more and more and more, diving into that abyss of sensations…
And, without him knowing, it was already morning and Lambo hadn't slept a wink the whole night.
"I'm fucked." He grunted. For a usually extremely well-mannered fellow, it looks like spending so much time with Squalo made him get some very bad habits.
And very bad thoughts.
He was still lying on Abby Cadabby/Princess Bubblegum/Patrick Starfish /Amy Rose's bed (he just couldn't decide how he should call the girl). She was happily clinging to his arm.
"Darling? Honey? Sweety?" Lambo softly murmured in her ears. "I have to go now."
"Mmnh yup!" She replied in her sleep.
Good, now Lambo felt less guilt for harshly pulling his arm to him, getting dressed as fast as if the girl's father was running after him to get him to marry his daughter, and quietly left Amy Rose's apartment.
The morning air was chilly; Lambo regretted he didn't put on more layers of clothes when he left his apartment. However, Princess Bubblegum didn't lie: her flat truly wasn't that far from his building. It didn't even take ten minutes to get back there.
"Crap. I hope Xanxus has left, already." Lambo sighed when thinking about what he might see in his apartment. Talking with Squalo was fun, but Xanxus… was something else. Ugh . At least, he wanted to waste some time outside before going home.
As per usual, the café was open, and Lambo knew he needed a strong dose of robusta coffee to get him through that day. And fortunately, that place got some Death Wish.
The young man came in, ordered and was about to pay when he was reminded about the silverette upstairs. He ordered another one, just in case. If he wasn't mistaken, Squalo likes his coffee bitter too. Two cups of the bitterest coffee ever and a paper bag full of pastries.
Lambo bumped on Xanxus when he was leaving the coffee.
"Boss, good morning." He tensed yet politely greeted the Vongola heir, who didn't reply anything. The raven just lit up a cigarette and said, after a puff,
"You're the Bovino, right?"
"Yessir."
Silently, Xanxus glared at him from head to toe. It was a pretty unpleasant scanning Lambo was going through, as enjoyable as a colonoscopy. Finally, Xanxus che-ed and threw his cigarette on the pavement.
Xanxus eyed at Lambo's hands. "What is that? Gimme that."
That was the extent of politeness the raven could show when asking for food. The young Bovino gave him his cup of coffee (still untouched). Xanxus took a sip of it and nearly choked.
"The fuck is that?" Xanxus angrily inquired, still coughing.
"It's just coffee…"
"Fuck you, you motherfucking scum! This ain't no fucking coffee! Are you fucking trying to poison me with that shit?"
'I didn't even know you'd take it, Boss...' Lambo wanted to say. Of course, he refrained from doing so.
"And what's that?" Once he had caught his breath, Xanxus asked again, this time his eyes on the paper bag. He didn't wait for the answer and just yanked it out of the Bovino's fingers. Two seconds later, the younger man had to be forced to watch his Boss binge eating the content of the bag – tart, pudding, brioche, brownie and éclairs, Xanxus ate them all.
"Boss, you sure were hungry."
"Huuuh?"
Suddenly a honking resounded from behind them. The same limousine as the day before (a Chrysler 300, Lambo noticed) was waiting for him, like a coach for its prince.
"Tell the trash I had to leave early." Xanxus Vongola spat.
The car got to them and Xanxus got in before Lambo even had any time to tell him "Got it."
And there he was gone. Lambo sighed; talking with that guy was always so difficult. And now he had to go back to the shop again.
Anyway, let's just skip to few minutes later, when Lambo Bovino finally is welcomed by the renewed mess in his flat. Guess the silver haired man had to put up with it for now.
"Mr. Squalo? Are you here?" He called. A low Mmmh from Squalo's bedroom was the only answer he got. "I hope you're still alive. If you aren't awake yet, please wake up. Yesterday you told me you don't want to be late for your meeting. Mr. Squalo?…"
Lambo entered the bedroom, only to meet with a strong scent of sex and expensive cologne. Only the usual stuff for the young Bovino. The curtains were still closed and only timid sun rays were filtering through the thick dark grey linen, creating strips of light and shadow all over the room.
As expected, Squalo was still in bed. There, hidden under layers of blankets and sheets and more sheets and with his slender and perfectly shaped legs only sticking out, the silverette shifted slightly then, slowly, very slowly, rose up.
His expression was priceless: it wasn't neither Squalo's usual 'I so am gonna beat your sorry ass' face, nor that overly worried expression he got the day before in the car.
It was a light, sulking face framed by long messy shiny hair. It reminded Lambo of something very similar he had dreamt about the day before but- Oooh stop, he didn't need that. Not that morning.
He could be a damn adult and act normally when in the same room as someone he just had a wet dream about, couldn't he? Even if said dream seriously made him have doubts about his sexual preferences. But he could do that, couldn't he?
"Is that coffee?" The long haired man groaned. Just like Xanxus, he didn't wait for an answer and just got up and walked to the younger male, with only a navy blue drape the silver haired male was holding from beneath, covering his nakedness. His bare feet made a light and dull sound on the carpeted floor.
Now facing the Bovino youth, Squalo inhaled the pleasant smell of the warm beverage and quickly gulped it down. The very same Death Wish Xanxus had spat out in disgust earlier. He sighed. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Lambo smiled. "Do you think you can make it for today's meet? Or should I cancel it?"
"Hell no. That old Thomas trash is going to bitch about it when we'll ask for another rendezvous." Squalo plunged his hand inside the paper bag Lambo was presenting him, taking out a Chou à la crème. "What time is it?"
"A quarter past nine."
Squalo scratch his scalp with his free hand. "Perfect. I'll be ready within twenty minutes. Shit… I'll go take a shower now."
"Roger."
After finishing his breakfast, Squalo headed to the bathroom, the drape lasciviously flopping behind him, like a royal cape. On his way, the sheet faintly slipped from narrow shoulders, revealing a swan-like neck, pale and bruised with dark red hickeys.
The skin looked kind of rosy in contrast with the dark blue of the sheet, kind of fragile as the nape connected to the top of the back. The bones of the spine were angular under the thin skin, and the shoulder blades were sticking out, just enough to create a tempting curve between them, which the long strands of silvery hair would lightly whip with each one of Squalo's step.
And now, Squalo was no more the only one who did need a shower.
TBC
