Present time…
Lambo drags himself into the hotel room, locking the door behind him on reflex instead of actual thought; he's exhausted beyond imaginable and Reborn-less; it's enough to make it a really bad night for him.
He goes to make dinner, but he's not hungry – after lunch that day, he had been too distracted to do anything right… which is why he returns home now without the hitman. He, for the first time in years, lost his trail.
He sighs as he staggers into the bathroom; he takes a long, luxuriously hot shower, feeling the heat relax his tense muscles. When he's done, he dresses in his night clothes and leaves the bathroom.
He pauses in the hallway, his head hung low; he knows which way he should go – to the couch – but he just doesn't want to go there. He had been waking up in Reborn's bed for so long, it doesn't seem right to wake up anywhere else.
Damn that stingy bastard for destroying that comfort; before, he never worried about what it could escalate into or what it would mean – now that Reborn has done what he has done, it feels dirty. Like a bad secret he's been a part of but hasn't known until now.
He can't figure out why it feels dirty, but he just knows that is how he feels.
He pets one of the buttons of his cow print nightshirt; he steals a deep breath and turns towards the bedroom. Yare, yare, daring, wasn't he?
He slips into the bed and grabs Reborn's pillow, wrapping himself around it; so Reborn can't have it, of course. He doesn't care that it smells like smoke and coffee (just like Reborn). Really, he doesn't.
He's asleep in only moments. And awake in what feels like only moments later.
Reborn is as quiet as unsuspecting death; but Lambo had developed a third sense for the hitman and it is that sense that makes warning bells go off in his mind which seems to yell 'Reborn is staring at you, I think he is going to KILL you!'
His eyes flutter open and there is Reborn at the end of the bed, a cigarette in hand as he stares down at him with soulless eyes.
"Yare, yare, you've begun smoking heavily again." Lambo sits up, stretching his arms up over his head. "Where have you been this whole time-…" Yes, if he looks close enough, that is definitely a hickey on Reborn's neck.
His heart squeezes hard in his chest and tears mist his eyes. But Reborn had been seducing him, why had he been off with some other bimbo? Why does he care? He has always hated every one of Reborn's lovers, but this feels different; like betrayal or, or… jealousy – which is ridiculous because why would he be jealous? Sure, Reborn had molested him twice now, but that doesn't mean anything!
That dirty feeling Lambo had felt earlier suddenly makes sense: he is just a number among dozens who have lied in Reborn's bed(s) – a little play toy Reborn is amusing himself with.
It's quite a wake up shock; enough of one that Lambo doesn't feel the need to sleep… like, ever again. His eyes go from one corner of the room to the other and then bounces off of a few other surfaces before he sees the clock. He had slept for four hours.
He has to get out of their.
He leaps out of the bed and tries to pace quickly (run) pass the asshole, bastard, jack ass, cheater, man whore, STINGY REBORN, hitman.
An arm snatches him up by his waist and lifts him momentarily off of the ground before slamming him back into the center of the bed; Reborn is leaning over him, hands on either side of Lambo's head, one leg between his, staring down at him with unreadable dull black eyes.
"Hey, let me go, Reborn!" He shoves at the hitman's shoulders, his teeth clenched and the tears hot and thick down his cheeks. "Get off of me now!" He goes to throw a punch at the bastard's face –
But the fist is caught in one of Reborn's hands. Reborn only stares down at him, eyes roaming over Lambo's face, watching each tear fall, all with a… hollow expression on his face; not even blank, but void.
It's that look that frightens Lambo enough that his crying quiets into sniffles and then stops altogether. Reborn is still holding his hand. Carefully, the man shifts and then drifts his lips across Lambo's one cheek. He puts their combined hands to the mattress and balances on that while he uses his free hand to brush over the boy's jaw.
Lambo can only watch and feel, unable to fight against the look. Reborn kisses his pulse and then sighs against it. Even his smirk looks off as it bares his canines in a melancholy way.
He lifts his head, tilts Lambo's head up, and then his lips cover the guardian's.
He can taste cherry lipstick and smell perfume. That dirty feeling before escalates into complete self-loathing as Reborn steals his first kiss and he doesn't fight him. Reborn licks his bottom lip and then nips it, so Lambo opens his mouth, planning on sucking his bottom lip into it so Reborn can't get to it, only to welcome Reborn's tongue instead.
Whoever the woman was, she wore a lot of lipstick; the taste coats Reborn's tongue like a horrible second skin.
Lambo keeps his eye closed, unable to watch this. Does this make him no better than the whores Reborn busies himself with? He really should fight, no matter what look Reborn has on his face. It's not like Reborn ever cares about him, so why should he care about Reborn?
Alas, he can't stop himself from trying to get the taste to go away – the taste of thick, horrible lipstick – by trying to replace it with his own taste. His hands bunch in Reborn's yellow vest as he slides his tongue against the hitman's, shuddering as the taste thickens (it is disgust for the taste and something else he just can not admit to). He can feel a trail of saliva begin at the corner of his mouth and the taste of wax cherries seems to follow it out.
He can taste smoke, espressos, and grapes.
He tangles his free hand into Reborn's hair, disgraced at his self as he thrusts lightly his body up against the hitman's.
It's when he absolutely has to breathe that Lambo turns his head away, panting. His cheeks are flushed, but it's more than lust and has somewhat to do with his crying. His lips are bruised and there is a wet trail from one corner of them; he's a beautiful sight, but he doesn't know it. He's being used: that is what he knows.
Reborn uses his pointer finger and thumb to turn his face back to his, descending again. And, yet, just before their lips touch, Reborn stops… just… stops. Why, Lambo doesn't know. His eyes are closed, after all.
Reborn's hand slips from his and he's abruptly alone on the bed. "Go take a shower, you dump cow; you smell like a cheap whore."
"Says the man that just returned from one!" Lambo shoots back, sitting sharply up. His eye is alight with fury and disgust, but his hands are trembling and his legs are curling into his chest.
He must have been imagining when he had thought the hitman's smirk off earlier, because it's perfectly right now; complete with making Lambo feel as if Reborn could step on him and he would die beneath the damn loafer. "She wasn't cheap."
He sobs. He holds onto the lapels of his nightshirt and hits his forehead off of his knees. "So cruel, Reborn… Why are you so cruel? So evil…" He abandons the bed and the room and runs into the bathroom.
He doesn't go for the shower first; first, is the toothpaste and toothbrush and mouthwash and then repeat five more times. All he can taste is waxy cherries and menthol. Reborn smokes clove.
He retches into the toilet before he gets tiredly into the shower. When the hot water is beating against his skin, he crouches down and folds his hands tightly over his ears; he begins shaking all over again. "Cruel, cruel Reborn… Stupid, clever, cruel… Reborn…" He sobs and laughs in the same breath. "You will never change." He hides his face into the nest of his arms. "You will always be… Reborn." He chuckles dismally.
He'll have to kill him soon… If he doesn't… he'll have to leave him. He didn't chase Reborn for 11 years for this kind of abuse; he was able to keep up with the verbal and physical abuse and the ignorance, but… but…
"Cruel, cruel… Reborn."