Bend over, here it comes again.
This one was written with the prompt "seduced and abandoned" in mind. Its title is taken from the 31 Days theme for September 11, 2008.
Squalo tastes blood when they kiss, but he knows that it's coming from the cut on his bottom lip and not from any other, more questionable source. Xanxus has him up against a wall streaked with splatters of the same shade of red as the liquid filling his mouth, choking him nearly as much as the lack of air is. Xanxus kisses the way he kills people: quickly, brutally and forcefully, pouring every bit of who he was into a single area of his body and directing it at full force against his target of choice.
"Boss," Squalo mutters when Xanxus finally decides to disengage, "we have to—"
"We don't have to do a fucking thing."
And Xanxus emphasizes his words by taking Squalo by the hair and shoving his head back further, forcing the latter to crane his neck, exposing more of the flesh to his teeth and his tongue; he moves his knee between Squalo's legs, nudging them apart, pressing against the bulge in his pants. They reek of sweat, death and gunpowder but somehow it turns them both on to smell that sort of stench on each other's skin, to rub it in deeper through the cotton and leather of their uniforms.
"Bend over and spread it, trash." Given the way Xanxus is now pinning Squalo between his body and the wall and pressing his hands and arms over the younger man's, the insult sounds sweet, almost like a term of endearment. Squalo can do little else but move the lower half of his body given the position he is in, and he knows that this is exactly the way Xanxus likes him. He obeys, gives in to the thrill, because as much as Xanxus fucking scares him he also loves the man's rage, loves the way it reminds him he's alive through making him painfully aware of the fact that he could bleed.
That battle is their marriage; the fucking while surrounded by the bodies of their victims, their honeymoon. Squalo wakes up the morning after with a headache painful enough to give a sledgehammer blow to the jaw a run for its money and sore in places where the sun don't shine; he returns to headquarters to his boss chewing out some sorry son of a bitch and demanding for more wine. Giving any indication of the other night's frivolities earns him nothing but a smoldering look and a kick to the stomach. Squalo decides to keep his mouth shut and wait for the next mission to come around, so that they can do it all over again.