Author's Note: In an alternate dimension from the reality Tsuna knows, Reborn is a completely different person. COMPLETELY… different. And so is Lambo. The scariest part? Lambo turns Reborn on and Lambo is the one who has to fight him off.

The room is smoky, heavy with mint and opium, and in the center of the room on a king-sized bed made of Merino wool backed with thousand-count Egyptian sheet blankets and plush pillows, beautiful, giggling women and two ethereal, giggling men have created a human nest. One of the men is obviously in charge of the high mass, a cigarette in one hand, petting the golden locks of one of the girls with the other.

His raven hair is pulled back into a leather thong at the nape of his neck, wispy bangs hanging down to his jaw to curl beneath his chin, some strands sticking to his throat. The air is heavy and he has been doing strenuous activities with his bedfellows, so, obviously, he has been sweating. But, on his pallor skin, the salty gleam is appealing.

He is wearing an open yellow button-down, the sides apart to reveal his built chest and ribbed torso. His ripped leather plants have the fly open, a V of black pubic hair noticeable. His one hip is jutting, the other hidden by the head of the one other boy. Resting on the opposite glossy black thigh is one of the girls.

His raven eyes are glazed and focused distantly, an amused little grin on his rosy lips. He slips his cigarette to the closest lover. "3… 2… 1…"

The door to his den swing open, rather forcefully, and in its way stands a 5'10" fury, electric green eyes glinting. The creature sniffs the air delicately and then scowls. "You call me down here just to see you high… and in the middle of another orgy?" He eyeballs the small party gathered on his bed, visibly disgusted. He is possibly even the smallest bit hurt, but that could also be the misty atmosphere making his eyes teary.

"Are you jealous?" The raven purrs, pushing away the tangle of limbs and getting to his feet. Through the haze of mind-numbing smoke, he stalks the 16-year old business-minded child. "Please say you are, oh, please." His grin is too self-confident, his swagger slightly too lazy but still alluring. It inevitably brings attention to his undone-state of dress, his sagging leather raising the mental question whether or not he is going commando. "Otherwise, that just makes this whole night too dull."

He stops just inches from the teenager, leaning forward because the child is so much smaller than him. Their eyes meet and the boy glares, obviously unimpressed. With full conviction, he states, "no," but, at the last moment, he looks away. He slaps a manila folder against the man's chest, extending his arm with his hand still pressed to his pectoral. The distance between them grows as a result. "I don't do one-night stands, Reborn. And I don't have time for your orgies and drugs. When you're sober, you can come down and discuss this mission with Vongola. Until then… goodness, man, put on some underwear, at least."

He goes to leave, obviously thinking his duty done, except Reborn grabs him back with an arm around his waist. He glances at the contents of the folder before tossing it onto a nearby glass coffee table, making it a second priority. He snaps his fingers while he holds the squirming thunder guardian securely to his front, signaling out the tiny group of lovers who go willingly, though most not completely dressed.

There's a chance they will pass out from drugs and drinking and fatigue before they get to their cars… if they're lucky. Otherwise, a wreck on the road may occur.

Reborn doesn't care to give it any more thought than that before he slams the door shut behind them with a foot and tosses the cursing teenager over his shoulder. He crawls onto the Lawson couch on the other side of the room from the canopy bed because he does have some morality not to molest the little love on the juiced-up covers.

"I've never asked for a one-night stand from you." He draws the child down from his back where he is clawing holes through his shirt onto the cushions beneath him. The scowl he's given makes him chuckle. "I have you where I want you~"

"Listen, man-whore druggy, I'm actually doing something important. Stop playing your mind games and let me go…" but his muscles are already loosening, the heavy air weighing on his vulnerable senses. Some other factors are at play as well, but mostly the druggy oxygen.

"Your words hurt me." Reborn whispers his hands over the no-nonsense suit the child wears, feeling beneath familiar planes and warm skin.

He is closing in for a kiss, one that will feel like warm velvet and taste like tart grapes, except a palm slaps over his lips. "Reborn… let me go. Right now. Or I will shock your ass back to last Sunday in time to be cursed by the pope."

The hitman sighs and rubs his hips between the teen's thighs, letting his body lie on the boy. "Lambo, Lambo, Lambo…"

"Dead man, dead man, dead man…"

"You look good like this, beneath me, did you know that? You always look delicious like this."

"I am going to kill you if you don't get off of me. No, worse, I'm going to tell Vongola that you're molesting me… again."

"I'm just trying to show you how much I adore you."

Something hardens, freezes, and then dies in Lambo's sparkling green eyes. "You tell me to bring a file from Vongola's office to your bedroom just in time to see you having a mini-sex party… and then you tell me you adore me? Your version of adoration is fucked up."

"So it's the other lovers that bother you?" Reborn ponders this with heavy-lidded eyes. Finally, he grins again, good-naturedly. "My body has nothing to do with my commitment to you."

The look on the teen's face is almost tortured. "Then your body has nothing to do with my body… Let me go now before you hurt me, Reborn. Well, before you hurt me anymore than you already have."

With deft fingers, Lambo's coat and undershirt are unbuttoned and torn off, the wife beater beneath pulled up and behind the teen's head. He does it all before Lambo's opium-addled mind can register it. Reborn is, after all, a very dangerous man. What would he be if he couldn't strip a child in record time? Rather pathetic, that's what.

The skin now open to his eyes is unblemished, gorgeous. It is a pale coffee crème and he is tempted to know if the vast expanse still tastes like salt and thunderstorms. Like it did the last time he trapped the calf in his room and had his way with him. Like the last three times he had the calf in his embrace. The child is an addiction, his emotions, his heart, his trembling flesh… Reborn can never really get enough of him.

He fancies he is either obsessed or in love with Lambo. Maybe both or neither, but he knows the relationship he has with the teen at the moment isn't so healthy. Luckily, he has never claimed to be a love guru. He just knows that this makes him feel good, his heart a little lighter.

"You selfish, stupid, stoned, son of a bitch…" The tears glittering on feminine eyelashes definitely are not entirely the fault of the smoke.

His hands shoot out, aiming straight for Reborn's face, but he grabs both wrists and clamps them above the teen's head as he finally steals the kiss he has been wanting all night, for two weeks since the last time he tasted them. Reality serves to be better than memory yet again, catching on his tongue the taste of white wine and olives. Reborn vaguely remembers that to have been announced to be some small part of dinner earlier…

He also vaguely remembers that he didn't make it to dinner because of his little party.

"Why don't you just shock me, calf? You can make me go away."

"… I hate you."

"I think I love you." He grasps Lambo's hips tight and grinds against him, biting Lambo's bottom lip. He worries the delicate flesh between his teeth. "I don't think I've loved anyone before."

"Of course you wouldn't remember… since when haven't you been high?" Lambo's voice is bitter and muffled due to Reborn's interference.

The teen's pants come undone with gentle persuasion, the body within them easing with a more determined tactic. At last, he slips into the heat of his lover's body, eyes at half mast and glistening lips parted on a contented sigh. Lambo cries out beneath him, shame and anger and want and need and something else in his dazed green gaze.

Reborn consents that he might actually be able to get the child to return his love. That, maybe, if he turns his life around, he can have the thunder guardian in his bed where he belongs, at his side where he belongs, always with him like he has been since he was a five-year old naivety case. Except he knows he won't and he knows Lambo knows he won't.

He hasn't lived for so long, been the best hitman in the world, become the strongest arcobaleno, break the arcobaleno curse, remain the best hitman in the world, and be the Vongola's most trusted (even when stoned off his ass, thank you very much, because he is that good) advisor, to change his ways now.

And the child knows this. They pant as one, Lambo because the air is too thick for his lungs, Reborn because he feels amazingly good where he is. The teen writhes from side to the side, hands clawing at Reborn's barely clad shoulders. He rears up and bites down on the man's chest, whimpering around the mark, as Reborn strikes his prostate. His body shivers and jerks. Slowly but surely, he begins to rock with Reborn, heightening their pleasure, making the moment flesh slaps against flesh explosive in the humid room.

From just pure penetration, Lambo orgasms. His inner walls tighten and tremor around Reborn's cock, dragging him in deeper and milking him dry of his essence. Lambo releases a small sob that is muted by the pectoral in his mouth, but Reborn's pleased cry of 'Calf!' is unhindered – purely a sound of bliss and worship.

After a moment posing in climax, Reborn melts into the side of the couch. He runs a hand through his hair, consequently freeing it from its tie, and only leers as raven strands fall around his ruggedly handsome face. Lambo is lax against him, KO'd from his rapid inhaling of opium… and sex, obviously.

The hitman hums, pleased with his work, and pulls the teen flush to him, resting the child's head on his chest where the boy whimpers and then squirms closer.

Reborn tilts his head back on the arm of the couch and stares at the far-back gothic window, wondering if he can open it with the power of his mind. Now that is he officially intoxicated, both by drugs, sex, and love, he feels that maybe he can air his room out a bit. There is no reason to overdose his lover.

As he speculates this, his cellphone goes off, tightly compacted into the leather pants that are strewn on the tiled floor. With some interest, though not much, he snags it and peers at the contact revealed on the screen. With growing interest, he receives the call. "Tsuna, baby, what's up?" He lazes back into the couch, Lambo now half on top of him.

Five minutes pass in which the don explains a mission he needs Reborn to go on, the same one that is detailed in the manila folder that he should have gone over with Tsuna at his office earlier. Kill this dude in this certain way at this certain time at this certain place or else you will ensure the wrath of this certain person who will do this certain thing that will do this certain thing to the family… All technical stuff. Nothing he hasn't been through before. Most of it really isn't necessary.

"Tsuna, baby, have you ever thought of calming down?" Reborn murmurs towards the end of the boring, repetitive conversation that is more one-sided than anything else. "Eleven years and that stick too thick for your ass is still kicking the shit out of your prostate. You know, your right-hand man could definitely help you with that issue – Oh, Tsuna, baby… if you just hung up on me, I will send you to hell." An annoying beeping is his answer. "That's it, no Gokudera for you this week… you bad, bad baby."

He ends the message and throws his phone wherever-the-hell it decides to land somewhere over his shoulder.

Lambo's eyes are partially open and his body is stretched-thin-wire tense. "I hate you. Goodness, I hate you… so much…"

"But, calf," Reborn fakes a hurt tone, "you're the only person in the world I don't want hating me." He smirks. "Damn, I guess I am going to have to make love to you again till you can't get enough of me!"

Electric green eyes look sourly up at him. "Go die in a ditch somewhere."

"This coming from the child who is stroking my hair."

"Go die in a hooker's ass."

"Become a hooker and I'll think about it." But he is pretty sure that Lambo might actually care for him… after all, who sticks around an asshole like him for eleven years of their own free will?

...

Reborn knows everything there is to know about himself. He isn't a man who can be tricked into pondering his own existence, or how he has lived his life, or if he is truly happy with how he has lived. He knows all of the answers to any question that can be asked about him. If he chooses not to answer those questions – well, that's a different story.

He knows he isn't an addict. He has his drug and sex flings, but, really, he can stop it all on a dime. And that isn't a lie from the mouth of an addict, it's the truth. He has done it before. He has put away the booze and the remedies for months at a time, lovers nonexistent, as he carries out various orders or simply loses interest in the simple things in life. It doesn't impair his abilities as a hitman, genius, or advisor in the least, whether he's clean or not. Not even his personality changes, he always seems to be high. Truly, the bad habits are a thing. A thing that isn't a problem, but he likes to sometime imagine that they individualize him.

They individualize him as in they make him that much stronger. All of the substances and flesh that are said to ruin men, he rises above them and he shows the world that there is nothing that can chain him down. The underworld and the world of publicity can suck his cock and wag their little asses in the air, but no trick they can do will get him to lie and say that he has a weakness.

Because he is goddamned motherfucking Reborn. Whether or not he is grinning and about to slit your throat or grinning and about to fuck you hard. Reborn is Reborn and he hasn't found a single thing in the galaxy (because he has been to the moon and the mars once consecutively, y'know) that draws him to his knees in absolute dependency.

Well, that is, not until Lambo started going through puberty at thirteen years old. Did it make Reborn a pedophile that he had once walked in on the child masturbating anally and had instantly left to get high and have filthy thoughts that were luckily so fogged with hash that they couldn't reach his cock? Most likely, but Lambo had looked at him differently after that – like potential meat on the roast, in all honesty.

The kid knew what he wanted. Except, in hind sight, Lambo had always been a strange kid with a strangely effeminate appearance, so Reborn should have guessed that he had been thinking like a woman with his heart instead of his dick. Reborn suspected that he broke the young teenager's heart after their first night when Reborn only hours later brought back a threesome. Hell, how was he supposed to know that the child believed in love?

It would be two years before he would get to make love to Lambo again and those were the two most torturous years of his life without him understanding why. There had been this itch that he couldn't scratch, no matter what he used or screwed or tried to forget or pretended to remember. It had only gotten itchier with time, openly mocking his inability to reach and soothe it. He had even tried voyeurism, exhibitionism, bestiality (well, he had thought about trying bestiality, but after seeing the potential bedmate, he had decided against it; seriously, the dog had terrible breath to begin with and smelled like… well, wet, filthy dog, and she had liked to dirty talk, which hadn't been that exciting, at least coming from a bitch), crack, brown brown, S&M (from both sides and he had definitely been more pleased with the former than the latter) – all things he usually avoided for the sake of what was left of his dignity.

It hadn't been until he and the teen had gotten into a row while in Russia that he finally satisfied his unnamable cravings, throwing Lambo into the bed and screwing him there. It had lasted for hours, but it had only happened once. Because the moment he went to prepare for round two, Lambo had run away…

It was after that that the business suit was introduced. Subsequently, Lambo regarded Reborn with cold, distant eyes. Actually, that could have been because of their second time in bed or the fact that, in lieu of preparing them for a second round, he had actually been calling up a few acquaintances to joint in for the second round… Oops.

The third time had been when Lambo was sixteen and that time Reborn had fully been aware of what would happen. He instigated the fight, took all the right sidesteps and retreats, and eventually led Lambo right into his arms in the privacy of his bedroom. It had been fast and hard and he hadn't even had time to pull out before Lambo had been staggering out the door.

He sometimes felt that maybe he was torturing the kid… but then he remembers that he wasn't sympathetic in the least, so it didn't matter. All he knew was that Lambo felt great all around him and it was somehow, annoyingly so, rejuvenating to fight with him.

And, now, in the middle of Iraq on a homicidal mission, he is amused to find out that he has a boner while being shot at. He can't help it, the bullets are ricocheting off the crumbling stone walls around him and it reminds him of Lambo on a temper tantrum when he pulls out his own pistols. Of course, there is one specific pistol he never pulls out that Reborn rather wishes he would, but he doesn't actually have to focus on those thoughts. He has to kill someone, thank you very much.

After he massacres this little nobody, he can head back to base and begin the fifth seduction. He suspects that, one year, he will finally have the right to brag about ten mind-blowing rounds of love making with the thunder guardian… hopefully, he won't have to brag about it from his grave because he believes that, one of these times, Lambo really is going to shock him to last Sunday in time for the pope to curse him.

Someone fires something strong enough to blow a few chunks of rock free, unnervingly close to his head, but he keeps his cool and dusts his shoulder free of stone particles. He dresses all traditionally for this outburst, his dishdasha hoisted up to his waist and loose black fitting trousers going to his ankles. And they want to ruin it?

…

…

Okay. He doesn't mind at all. He had actually wanted to come in his leather, but, well, middle of the desert plus commando in tight pants never equals a good time.

He manages to avoid fire for another three buildings before he finds a mirror that is directed straight at his shooters. He doesn't have a clear shot at them, but he has a chance to rebound a bullet and take them all out at once like an arcade game. He grins and takes it, pointing behind him at a pot innocently desolate on the floor halfway between him and the people trying to kill him. Aiming just right, he shoots, and a dent is formed in the side of the pot nearly at the same moment three gasps of surprise sound. And then beautiful, beautiful silence.

He whistles loudly, just to see if he draws any (living) attention. Nothing. He waits a little while longer.

Yep, they're dead.

He hums as he slips out of his hiding spot and saunters over to the fallen. It's his lucky day that the man he came the distance to kill is among them. Then again, he doesn't believe in luck. His target is most likely part of the mob because he more than likely seduced his child… his male child. What could he say, he respected women too much to take their virginity for a one-night stand… and, well, his son wasn't too hard on the eyes. That, and he was definitely willing.

How sad, that homophobia is still so violent in some places.

Speaking of gays, his mind turns to Lambo. How is his little calf doing?

He burns the bodies, does a triple-sweep of the area for any traps or hidden enemy, and then he erases his steps as he walks backwards out of there. He is many things, most of them bad, but careless he is not.

He makes it home in time for Lambo to head to bed. And he had changed on the jet, so he's in his boat-neck black sweater with his ripped leather pants, thick hair down to his shoulders to disobediently weave and flare around his devilishly handsome features.

The moment he gets to the guardian's bedroom door, he realizes three things: one, he has no drugs on him. Two, he has no plans on calling anyone else once he gets into Lambo's bed. And, three, if he doesn't feel Lambo in the next two minutes, he will take his frustrations out on his former student and make him cry like the bitch he used to be.

Obviously, it takes coercion to get into Lambo's room, much less his bed, much less in him, but he finally manages. Hours later, he is boneless on the bed with a passed out teen against his side.

Strangely, he is completely content to just lie there. He likes to think that he only cuddles when he's too high to actually do anything about it, but he's been clean since leaving for Iraq a week ago. So why does he let the child cling to him like a teddy bear?

… He guesses it's because he just looks too damned cute when he stops with his cold, not-going-to-acknowledge-our-explosive-chemistry attitude and lets himself relax.

And then Lambo says something.

Reborn isn't too startled – not by Lambo talking in his sleep, anyway. The child has been doing that for years, the only difference now being that his dreams are different and he dreams less often. No, his words make Reborn raise an eyebrow and then waggle his eyebrows, quite pleased with himself.

He knew Lambo loved him. Ah, but now how is Reborn going to prove to him that he loves him?

He thinks on it. At last, he comes up with an answer.

He waits till Lambo wakes up to tell him.

The teen stares incredulously at him for the longest of minutes. "You're going to prove that you love me… by quitting all of your bad habits for an entire year?"

"I'm not an addict, so as long as I have you, it won't be difficult."

"…" Surprisingly, Lambo grins. "You said all of your bad habits."

Reborn feels an unfamiliar moment of wanting to kill the kid. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been harassing and molesting me for the best part of three years now. I'm a bad habit of yours. You made me a bad habit." Lambo leans forward, endearing with his wide green eyes, knowing grin, and cow-print covers pooled around his dainty waist. "You have to quit me for a year. And all of your other bad habits. You're not allowed to seduce me."

The hitman considers this. "Deal."

Lambo's grin dissipates. "D-deal? What?"

"I won't seduce you or anyone else for a year and there will be no drugs or booze or nicotene."

"What?"

Reborn kisses Lambo quickly and with heart, stealing his breath away and snatching a taste of milk and lasagna. "Starting…" He watches the bedside clock, the time 11:59, a few seconds from midnight. "Now."

Reborn's grin becomes cruel and sharp. He lies back on the bed and spreads his limbs wide, erection bobbing against his belly. "Do your worst, calf."

Lambo is staring wide-eyed at him, both pale and blushing madly at the same time. "H-hey, we said no seducing…"

"No, you said I wasn't allowed to seduce anyone… you're the one seducing me here. I know I didn't seduce myself into this state."

The teen releases a keening wail in the back of his throat like a bird crying. "You… You expect me t-to do something…?"

"And I expect you to fully enjoy it." Reborn's smirk is feral. "Come on, calf. You're the bad habit I just won't drop. Feed my addiction."

And Lambo, whether completely aware of himself or not, does.

In a year's time, Reborn proves that he does love Lambo. By that time, however, everyone else has figured as much.

Reborn is far from afraid of public displays of affection. And he is even less afraid of exhibitionism.

Author's Note: THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE, OMFG!