A/N: Oh, man. This is what happens when I rush and want to go to sleep... -_-"

*Dies a little bit*

It's 2:22 a.m., and I've officially finished my promise~ Here is the new chapter for Curriculum Vitae, starring our beloved Bel and Fran!

...No XS in this one. Sorry folks.

For Bel, who apparently craves Squalo/Bel and Jill/Bel. Which is exactly why I wrote you a BelFran chapter.

Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! does not belong to- *Snore*

G-G-F-F*-G-F-F*-G-F

"Shishi~ Is that supposed to be a song, Froggy~?"

Fran sighed mutedly and looked up blankly at the singer laying on top of his piano. "Bel-sempai... You do realize this song has to be done in five minutes, correct?"

Belphegor's grin turned into a small frown as his hand slipped dangerously into his pocket, slender fingers no doubt clasping around the handle of one of the knives he kept hidden all over his body. 'Self-protection', he said they were for, and what could Japan do to an international rock star? If he wanted to carry knives, he'll carry knives. If he wanted to stab somebody, he'll stab somebody. Hell, if he wanted to mutilate a corpse and skin it from head to toe, companies all over Tokyo will probably compete for the spot. Anything for fame, those worthless idiots.

"The Prince doesn't feel like writing a song," Bel loudly declared, sitting up from his stomach-down position. "You can't rush genius, Froggy."

This time, the pianist's sigh was out loud. "It's not my decision, you fake prince, it's the corp's, and if they order me to tell you to do something and you don't do what they told me to tell you to do then-"

There was a loud sucking sound when the knife struck Fran's hat, making Fran wonder exactly what the hat was made of. It was ugly as it is, big and green-black and frog-shaped. Fran didn't understand why Bel wouldn't allow his presence in the continent he's on unless Fran was wearing the hat. Nobody did. It was just one of the many strange fetishes of the man nobody cared little enough about their lives to really mind. As long as it didn't trouble them, of course.

Selfish bastards of the society.

"Shut up, Froggy," the prince ordered, twirling another knife expertly between his fingers. "And get back to work, shishishi~"

"I can't work if you don't give me lyrics," the pianist countered, fingers poised easily in graceful arches above the keys. He was an aspiring pianist, second only to the famous/infamous Mukuro, but that was The Mukuro. There's hardly a way to beat him. With a harsh stream of air through his nose, Fran took the sheet music from their rest and handed them to Bel. "Write, will you? Fake Prince probably can't even spell his own name, much less write a song. I'll be the company just wrote it for him and gave him all the credit-"

"Ara... Froggy didn't seem to hear the Prince when I spoke first... I said, shut up."

Several more knives found their home sheathed deeply in the frog hat, and Fran didn't even cringe. His hands steadily gave the papers to Bel, and after a moment of tense silence, the prince took it with a disgusted grunt. He snatched at the pressed papers, instantly wrinkling them between harsh clutches, and Fran would like to think, underneath the golden bangs, there's a look of surprise in Bel's eyes at the large amount of work the pianist had managed to finish within such a short period of time.

"Ushishishi~ What the hell is this, Froggy~? You expect the Prince to sing this load of crap~?"

He would like to think.

"Yes, actually," Fran muttered. "Unless you've got something better up your sleeve, genius sempai?"

The singer's grin grew wider, which Fran learned was never good. Somewhat hurriedly, the pianist backed away into his seat, and his fingers found their positions hovering over the right keys again.

"I have something up my sleeve, Froggy," Bel decided to announce after a minute or two. Or five. Or thirty. They could be well over their time limit, and nobody would dare come in and tell Belphegor that time was up and he had something to give them. After all, that's the reason he's such a spoiled brat in the first place, huh? His manager was too scared of him, his knives, and his attitude sharper than those. Instead, all the workload was piled on Fran.

Hello there, karma. When are you going to work in my favor, huh?

"I have something up my sleeve," the singer repeated, grabbing the front of Fran's collar and yanking him upwards towards him, until their faces were centimeters - millimeters apart. "It just depends on what you plan on doing to get it."

Fran kept a mellow expression, though his heart was probably half dead from pounding into his ribcage too much now. He knew what Bel wanted, what he's always wanted. He wanted toys. He wanted entertainment, and unfortunately, the spoiled prince had his eyes set on a certain frog, and won't stop until he gets what he wants. So what's easier than simply giving in? The pianist didn't like extra trouble, so the easiest way out is usually his answer.

Plus, sex with the prince wasn't all that bad. Inn fact, he usually enjoyed it, to a certain degree. That's why Fran didn't stop Bel when he reeled him in, closer and closer, until their noses pressed together, and their breaths mixed, and their lips were right across from each other's, and-

The pianist closed his eyes and leaned forward, taking the initiative and fixing their mouths together, like they had often done so before. Ah. He almost missed the feeling, Fran thought. The prince had a bloody sort of comfort around his aura - like an insane, abusive psychopath you know will protect you through thick and thin. Actually, that was more literal than Fran ever meant it to be. Bel was an insane, abusive psychopath - extremely possessive, on top of that. He didn't like people touching his toys, and won't hesitate to hurt the bastards that do. More than hurt. Murder. Kill. Massacre. Genocide.

Heat.

The sudden tongue pressing at his lips made Fran lose his train of thoughts on synonyms of homicide, and a little sound like a mix between a moan and a gasp surfaced from his throat. He could feel Bel's grin against his mouth and taste his smugness on the tongue sliding along his, and Fran almost frowned. If he wanted to win this thing, he had to focus, and that meant his thoughts couldn't be trailing off into the middle of nowhere in the middle of-

Oh God, a hand.

All through his life, Fran remained relatively foreign to sex. He understood the concepts and their meaning, of course, but not attending public schools and instead home-schooled by private teachers certainly would put a damper on anybody's sex life. He would never let Bel know, but before he met the singer, he was a complete virgin, just minus the "blushing" virtue. Or rather more of a vice, in his sense. Bel's whole game with the pianist was to get a reaction. The more poker-faced Fran was, the more Bel would want to be close to him.

And it almost scared Fran to realize that made him erase his emotions even more around the prince.

Unbuttoning. Flowing south.

The pianist gulped, and restrained his hand from grabbing at Bel's and yanking it away from him. He had to give the prince what he wanted, he told himself. He definitely did not want this. He didn't want nor need this, even after three months of not seeing the singer due to an impromptu concert in Venice. He didn't want sex. he didn't need se-

A hard yank.

Oh, fuck it. He wanted this. Wanted this so badly, he wasn't going to lie to his body. Not this time around, anyways. Fran knew where that will get him. Instead, he loosened his inhibitions and arched into the touch, and maybe moaned a little bit while he was at it. He could sense Bel's gaze on him, raking up his body, up and down, like a predator surveying his prey before taking the first bite. With his trademark grin, Bel leaned in, and nibbled gently on the outer shell of Fran's ear.

"Good Froggy, shishishi..."

Soft strokes. Not enough.

"S-sempai..."

"What does the Froggy want~?"

Pressure. Agonizing pressure. Too much.

Fran gave a keening whine, and leaned forward, grabbing wildly at the singer's clothes, searching for a handhold.

"Tell me," Bel whispered in his overly sensitive ear. "What do you want, Fran?"

With a startled gasp, orgasm surged through the pianists's unprepared body, cum spurting out in irregular surges as Fran leaned forward, breath momentarily gone, clinging onto Bel for dear life. In the midst of white hot bliss, there was no way for Fran to have felt the hands supporting him from behind so he didn't fall back onto the tiled floor. He didn't hear the tender whispers of sweet nothings into his ear every time Bel breathed. Didn't feel the warmth holding him close until he was done, panting shakily from his finish. All Fran was aware of was Bel setting him down sideways on the piano bench and throwing his trench coat over him, grabbing the sheet music on top of the piano, and marching out the door with a satisfied grin. A few minutes later, when the pianist managed to compose himself to some degree, he got up and pulled the coat over his body, and followed in the prince's footsteps.

"Just gonna stand there and watch me burn... But that's alright, because I like the way it hurts..."

Fran's eyes widened an infinitesimal amount at the sound of a familiar voice and a familiar melody being sung from the recording studio. Could the prince be actually telling the truth at that time? Did he actually have the lyrics in mind already?

"Just gonna stand there and hear me cry... But that's alright, because I love the way you lie... I love the way you lie..."

All the breath was stolen from the pianists's body at the perfection of the tune and lyrics by the time he reached the studio, and Bel's manager was the first to greet him when he went in.

"Voooiiiii, took you long enough...!" Squalo whisper-yelled. "What the hell were you two doing in there for three damn hours?"

"It's all the fake prince's fault, really," Fran murmured, looking up at the imposing height of the long-haired manager. "See, he was telling me about how-"

"VOOII! I DON'T GIVE A DAMN!" he interrupted, turning around and switching his glare to the man in the recording room. "Damn brat... Always dragging schedule behind like this..."

Before Squalo and Bel left the studio for the evening, though, the manager called Fran aside for a moment, causing a look of irritation and suspicion to flash across the singer's face, promising hours of torture on the limo ride back to their hotel in the next province over, and handed him a large envelope.

"Thanks," Squalo grudgingly muttered. "You're the only one he does work around now, vooiii..."

While Squalo walked away, shaking his head, then opening Bel's car door for him, Fran stared at the prince. The only one Bel would work around? Well, he should be flattered, most definitely, and perhaps rethink this little obstinate hatred he held for the singer. But the guy... He was rude and spoiled and arrogant and such a jackass...! How could Fran possible live around such a pompous prick for long?

Then Bel grinned at him over the limo's open window, and Fran found his answer. Sure, Bel was rude, spoiled, arrogant, and a total jackass, but... he was Bel. How could you possibly hate Bel? Suddenly, the prospect of working for Varia Entertainments wasn't so dark and gloomy anymore, lit up with a giant Cheshire grin of pearly white teeth.

And the stack of euros in the envelope would certainly play an important part in his happy mood for the rest of the day.

A/N: ...I'm so sorry if that's totally retarded, and you want to murder me so badly for ruining everything for you.

Fact: I'm sleepy. And when I'm sleepy, my capability to think goes down.

I'll definitely edit this tomorrow morning... *Yawn*

Please review~! They make my day/noon/night~! And make me more confident about writing in general.