[ooc log post] Squalo + Badou. ::: backdated to August ish. ::: Part 1.

[heyheywhat]

Who: Squalo and Badou.
When: Way back when in August. I failed at tagging the log so here's the final finished log.
Where: Varia Headquarters, Italy. Squalo's room.
What: Badou nearly drowning twice. Funsies and water damage in Squalo's bedroom.
Why: Because. And idk we like logging? WE NEED TO TAKE A "NORMAL SIZED LOG" COURSE SOMEWHERE FAST.
Note: Nobody saw this.

The evening air of Venice was cool and quiet, with a subtle nip of the first autumn chill. Outside the Varia mansion, it was calm and peaceful.

Except, of course, for the grunting and swearing and snarls of one irritated one-eyed hitman, scaling it's balcony by means of a knotted sheet. Right hand going over his left, he strained and climbed higher up the clean stone, ash spiraling down behind him. "Fucking uppity little bitch can't even fucking open a fucking door," he muttered viciously, cigarette clenched between his teeth.

And, of course, the other end of the knotted sheet tied over one of the columns that made up the fence. Squalo peered down at the redhead, his expression switching between half-amusement and half-anxiety (he didn't really believe that the idiot would actually do it- the lungpower alone was enough to make him doubt the redhead's prowess already). The swordsman leant over the edge of the balcony, the loose half-braid of pale hair falling down over his shoulder in a perfect damsel-in-distress style, if he even cared to pay attention. "You alright down there?"

"Fucking suck piss, asslover," grit the redhead back, oh so affectionately. His boots left smears of grime up the side of the balcony. As he got closer, he half-fell a little, the sheet burning against his scar as it zipped through his hand. He swore, re-grouped, and continued climbing. "Butt-fucker, you're soft! What head through yonder window am I gonna break? It is the east, and Juliet is the son of a bitch."

"Shut the hell up or it won't be just the moon that will be killed." Squalo snapped back, glad that the smoker could not see the grin that threatened to slip over his face. He pulled back from the edge and leant down to grip the other end of the sheet as well, wrapping it a couple of times around his left hand for good measure; he didn't think it'd be this fucking hard to sneak someone upstairs--the noise alone could wake the whole house--but then, it could just be because it was Badou.

More smacking of filthy boots against stone sounded. A gust of ash preceded Badou, curling up into the evening. Finally, he was close enough to reach out and grab at Squalo's hand. He got one foot on the edge of the balcony, and he tried to wedge it between the columns for stability. "Jesus fucking christ, next time I'm just breaking a window. A ground floor window. Hi, fuckface."

"Hi, shithead." Squalo relaxed slightly as Badou emerged over the edge of the marble columns and eased the sheet knotted tightly around his hand, stepping forward to help pull the other over to stable ground. "If you break any of the windows you'll have fifteen knives in your gut before you can say 'fuck'."

One foot on top of the columns, Badou rolled his eye. "Like you couldn't fucking replace that shit within three hours. Once a pigeon flew into my window so hard it cracked it. I think it had the mange. Anyway, I had to tape that shit up. Only there were all these feathers stuck in the-"

Just as he was about to clasp the other's shoulder, there was a noise of fabric swishing alarmingly quickly. Badou blinked, realising within a split second that Squalo could never be in the boyscouts, because that fucker couldn't tie knots for shit. He had to time to blurt "NO BADGE!" before he fell backwards, flailing madly.

Squalo was barely listening to what Badou was saying, the words being filtered through before being categorized as "Useless Ramble" in the wastebasket of his brain. (mind you, it was a big basket; Badou was long-winded more often than not-) when the other fell backwards, his hands grabbing empty air when Squalo rushed forwards, leaning precariously over the balcony to peer down into the darkness. "Badou?!" He hissed out, trying to keep his voice down but failing miserably.

Far, far below, there was a loud splash. After a few seconds, Badou came thrashing to the surface of the pool, howling bloody murder, and something about not having his swimmies.

The thrashing continued, and then became a long, frighteningly loud gurgle.

"Fuck," Squalo muttered out, squinting as he tried to make out the shape of Badou's head over the surface of the water. "FUCK."

He took a step back from the edge of the balcony, looking behind him and mentally gauging the amount of time it'll take for him to run down the stairs, or--

"Fuck," was the last word he uttered before he was clambering over the edge of the balcony, hardly thinking at all before he was jumping in after Badou.

He resurfaced only seconds later, irritably pushing the sodding wet mass of pale hair out of his face and searching for the dark shape in the water only a few metres away from him that could only be Badou. "Fucking- stupid- coat- What the fuck-" The Italian mumbled in between grunts as he hauled the redhead out of the pool as best as he could, 'accidentally' knocking the other down painfully on the tiles that lined the pool as he pushed Badou over the edge of the water.

"You're such a fucking retard!" Squalo hissed through gritted teeth (Italy or not, the evening air was chilly, and he could feel goosebumps come out along his bare arms as the cool air hit him) and rolled the other onto his side, the other hand pushing matted red hair to one side as he repeatedly thumped at the redhead's back. Who knows just what was in the pool-?

The redhead coughed and spluttered up water, making throw up noises for a few seconds, then struggling to say something. "Stop-" a hack, a cough, "STOP HITTING ME, ASSHOLE." He sneezed, hard, shivering and trying to squirm away from the violent barrage at his soggy back.

"Al... Alright there?" Squalo stopped with a halfhearted snort, though it was masked by the chattering teeth. He was not good with cold, not to mention his clothes weren't exactly meant to be worn sodding wet in the creeping chill.

Badou sat up, his huge, fuzzy green jacket completely saturated. He adjusted his eyepatch awkwardly, and sneezed again. "Th-that was the w-w-worst baywatch sh-shit I've ever seen. Where were the slow-mo t-t-tits?" He looked forlornly at the pool. "Fuck, I think I lost my s-smoke in there!"

"There was no time to call for Luss." Squalo's voice was more annoyed than anything else and he rubbed at his arms and looked back up at the house, scanning the windows for any signs of anyone waking up. Thankfully, it was quiet, and Squalo slowly got to his feet, reaching out to pull Badou up as well. "I have some in my room. Come on, it's fucking cold."

Badou huddled closer than he might've normally, stripping off his heavy coat when he realised just why he felt five times heavier. "Smokes," he nodded, stumbling after Squalo distractedly. "Did you know I can't swim?"

"You told me you were learning how to swim," Squalo grumbled but automatically reached out and took the coat, the other hand still clamped around Badou's upper arm as he pulled the redhead up the steps of the front door, then up the stairs, leaving a wet trail of footprints and dripping water behind them; somebody will clean that up tomorrow morning, if they didn't slip to their death on the marble floor. "I didn't know you were like a stone."

"I never said I was learning how to swim successfully," sniffed Badou, sliding a little on the slick floor at the top of the long stairs. He sneezed a third time, looking very much like a rat who had been drowned not once, but twice.

Squalo unlocked it and stepped in, pulling Badou in after him. "Retard," was all he said, before he dropped the coat on the floor by the door and closing it (it'll get taken care of, he reasoned; they had people to do these kind of things, after all). All that done, the Italian turned back to Badou, trying to push back the hair from sticking to the back of his neck and wring it at the same time. "I'll run you a bath."

A red eyebrow arched over Badou's eyepatch. "'Baby, let me get you out of those wet clothes-?'" He cast his eye around the other man's luxurious, yet tasteful room, feeling his fingers twitch, and not from the cold. "Smokes first, shitty, transparent plans to get into my pants later?"

Even before the other said it, Squalo was at his bedside table, leaning down to snatch up a pack and a lighter from the polished mahogany top. "Onto it already, shithead." He muttered and tossed them both towards the redhead's direction, pulling some dry clothing out from his closet next. "I don't want you giving me any fucking diseases, is all."

"You won't have to worry about gettin' any STDs, for at least five reasons. Mostly bein' I'll never let you score." Had Squalo thrown anything else, Badou would've fumbled the catch. However, by means of his nicotine-fix radar, the the redhead had caught both objects and was already lighting up within three seconds of the catch. He let out an embarassingly pleased noise as he took his first puff. "These are those fucking awesome expensive ones, shitttt, oh my goddd." Shivers and sneezes forgotten, he inhaled greedily and exhaled reluctantly, as if saddened that he had to let the smoke go. "Mmm. Fuuuck."

"One of these days I'll have to record you and play it back." Squalo spared a second to glance back at the redhead, before (almost embarrassedly) looking away and muttering some words under his breath that were really nothing more than nonsesical mumble. Dropping the dry clothes on top of his bed, he peeled off one of the spare blankets. "So did you want a fucking bath or not?" The swordsman dropped the bundle of blanket over Badou's head, the heavy weight of it almost smothering the other under its covers.

Just barely paying attention to the swordsman's words through his nicotine-bliss haze, Badou started to respond just as his world was suddenly gained a much higher thread count. He made a whiney noise that ended in the word cigarette, tugging it off. Meeting Squalo's eyes, he gave a wide, bright grin. "Yeah. I wanted to take a bath in that shit ever since you started braggin' about it. It really got claws?"

"Of fucking course it does." Squalo clicked his tongue in annoyance and shivered slightly, rubbing his upper arms and feeling the raised flesh of goosebumps across the cold skin. He turned around, gloved fingers pulling at the wet material of his shirt, sliding across clammy buttons and popping them open. "I'm fucking cold." He announced it unnecessarily, walking towards the bathroom and looking back at the other over one shoulder at the doorway.

Badou fixed a wry, amused look on Squalo as he made his way over to the bathroom, hip checking him non-too-gently as he wandered through the doorway. He whistled, seeing the spotless ivory tub, making a point to lavish much more attention on it than, say, Squalo. "Fuck, this tub is clearly part fuckin' tiger. Look at those claws. Now that's a reall goddamned tub. Does it have jets and shit?" He peered into it, absently trying to toe his boots off, wobbling unsteadily and catching himself on the edge. A quick glance around the bathroom revealed it was just like Squalo's room; tasteful, neat, and with an overbearing air of being really fucking posh. Sounded real familiar.

Squalo crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, glancing at the redhead with a grin that nearly bordered on smugness. "You like it, then?" He soon pushed himself off, stepping closer beside Badou and reaching out to turn the water, steam rising up into the air as hot water started pouring out. "No fucking jets. I hate that shit." His free hand reached out, closing around Badou's elbow and steadying him, glancing down once at the other's boots and wrinkling his nose slightly. "And buy yourself some new boots."

"What's wrong with my boots?" Badou looked down at the raggedy, broken articles in question, his cigarette drooping. They were so filthy they had one solid layer of scum, coming out the other side and looking almost clean. Clean, that is, if you didn't know they were a completely different shade of brown underneath. "I just got 'em nice and broken in." The fingers of Badou's scarred hand darted under the tap, flicking through water that was too hot. He absently noticed Squalo's hand, still on his elbow, and grinned again, breaking the contact to peel off his socks.

As the other broke contact between them (his elbow, his hand) to pull off his socks, Squalo moved to unbutton the rest of his shirt, grimacing at the feel of the cold material clinging to his skin. After he discarded them, however, his gloved hand came right back down, resting on the back of the redhead's neck, this time. "Everything's wrong with them. They're fucking disease-ridden." The swordsman bent forward to let a trickle of cold water run into the bath as well, the tub filled with almost scalding hot water.

"You're fucking disease ridden and I haven't gotten rid of you yet," countered Badou cheerfully, not moving away from the touch this time. "And there's probably a lot more wrong with you than a good pair of shitkickers. I could list it all, if you want." With quick fingers, Badou undid his fly, struggling to squirm out of the sopping denim. "Uuugh, wet jeans, uuugh."

Squalo snorted audibly, fingers tangling lazily into the hair at the nape of Badou's neck, eyeing the tub to see that it doesn't overflow. "I'm not made of some fucking cheap cardboard and PVC." He muttered, leaning down at the appropriate moment again to close the taps, coughing slightly at all the steam. "It can't be that bad," he glanced at Badou, once, eyeing the wet mass of denim almost thoughtfully before finally pulling away from the other to pull his shoes and socks off as well. "Can it?"

Fighting with the bottom of the second leg, the denim suckered onto his skinny white shin like a squid, Badou leveled another amused look at the swordsman. "The fuck do you mean, can it? Ain't you ever taken jeans outta the dryer and been like, UUUGH MY SENSES ARE NUMB. Even I can smell old wet jeans. And they're impossible to get outta, practically. Hate when they spray you with water at concerts and you're wearing jeans. You feel like you wet yourself for the next five hours."

With one final, vicious kick, Badou won the struggle, sending them flying into the air, to land on the back of the toilet. He eyed the steam above the water, liking how it curled and wove through the air like smoke. Like clean smoke. Turning around, he drew a giraffe on the large mirror behind him. After a moment's thought, he gave it a sunglasses and a laser gun.

"I've never worn jeans." Squalo retorted as he passes his hands over the waist of his pants, tinkering briefly with the heavy buckle of his belt before dropping it carefully on the small rug laid out on the floor, where it only made a muffled thumping noise instead of a loud clang on the tiles. The pants button and the zip were the next, though afterwards the swordsman reached back up to pull the soggy wet hairtie from the end of his tangled braid, wincing a little and muttering more sharp Italian curses as he prised off the elastic from hair caught into the rubber. "And stop that. It leaves stains."

Not turning around, Badou hummed a lazy assent, drawing the giraffe trampling a shark to death. A shark with a mullet. "How have you never worn jeans? That's fuckin' retarded." He signed his work, then shucked his t-shirt as he turned back around, automatically tugging the neck of the shirt wide at the last moment so as not to knock his eyepatch askew. "You act like you're sixty instead of. What are you again? Thirty-two? Fourty-six?" He tossed the sopping shirt at Squalo's face.

With an annoyed noise Squalo snatched the shirt off from his face, stalking forward towards the redhead and pulling him almost bodily away from the mirror by the wrist. "Twenty-two, you fucking shithead." His lips twisting into a frown, Squalo dropped the other's hand and pushed away the soggy, dripping material of his pants, the tan colour of it darkened to mahogany brown. "They're too heavy."

"That's stupid. You're stupid. I feel stupider for being in the same room with you." Badou closed the gap between them, purposefully trodding on the other man's discarded pants. It was just a light resting of his hand at Squalo's waist, but it was the first touch he'd initiated. "At least you look twenty-two, even if you act seventy-eight. 'Less you got some dentures I don't know about."

"That's because you are even more stupid." The swordsman shrugged, deliberately scowling and looking away from Badou as the other stepped closer, though one of his gloved hands rose to rest on the back of the redhead's neck once more; none too subtly trying to keep him there. "I've never had to wear them, that's all." Squalo tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow at the other, a sly twist of lips the only acknowledgement of the touch. "Would you like to check?"

Badou's pale, freckled nose wrinkled up in distaste. "Eugh. Mafia slobber. Not into it. It's got little bits of parmesean cheese in it, I hear." As soon as he properly registered the easy, comfortable hand on the back of his neck [it took him just a little too long], Badou slid out of Squalo's space again, laughter in the corners of his mouth. "Y'got towels?"

"And French have bit of frog legs and shit in theirs." The fingers let go of the other as Badou moved back away again, and Squalo turned his head, brushing the thumb of his hand across the corner of his lips to smother the twitch of grin found there. "In the cabinet right there."

After collecting two towels from the cabinet, Badou hung them up on the shiny hooks on the wall next to the bath. "Ribbit. Ribbit. Oops I didn't chew one enough." With that, he pushed his boxers down his hips, swiftly kicking them up into his hand, then balling them up and throwing them at Squalo's face, too. Collecting his damp hair to one side, he grinned, cigarette lolling jauntily from his lips. "Ready to get in?"

Squalo irritably snatched the boxers off his face and threw them to one corner of the room where the wet laundry was decidedly piling up, eyes narrowing as they landed on the redhead. "I'll fucking drown you." The swordsman muttered as he bent down to push his own boxers off, absently tucking a lock of pale hair behind one ear as he straightened up, tossing them off to join the mass of clothes on the floor.

Badou laughed, the sound echoing off the tiles slightly. He took a drag, whining forlornly even as he continued to grin, "I already almost drowned once tonight. You're a cruel motherfucker, you know that? That's not even funny. I could'a died. All soggy and shit, too. What kind of death is a soggy death." He exhaled his smoke as he looked back over his shoulder, lifting his leg to step into the tub. Yelping a little as his toes touched the surface of the water, the redhead pulled his foot back. "Shit, this is fucking hot!"

"I promise to make it quick and painless." Squalo stepped towards the bath also, but inadvertently snorted as Badou yelped and pulled away. "You're fucking impossible." He said with an exaggerated shake of the head, taking this opportunity to slide into the almost scalding hot bath with a sigh, and a quick flash of smirk up at the redhead. "Can't handle the heat?"

"Then get the SHUT THE FUCK UP," responded Badou curtly, attempting to get in again. It took three more foot dips before he gave up and just hopped in. "The water at my place runs barely luke-warm on good days. Oh, christ, hot hot hot-" he plunked down, sloshing water everywhere and sending a small wave towards Squalo. "Ahhhh!" he cringed. After a moment, he shifted, long legs brushing Squalo's. "Ahhhh," he sighed, releasing a content puff of smoke.

"Ahhh?" Another grin tugged at his lips that Squalo didn't bother hiding this time, reaching up to gather the wet tangle of pale hair over one shoulder so it draped down his chest, before leaning his elbows back against the rim of the bath; gloved fingertips barely brushing the water. "That's a good kind, I hope." Squalo tilted his head back, resting against the bath now, feeling rather more back to normal submerged up to his chest in scalding hot water, to drive the coming winter chill away.

"It could be a better kind," rasped Badou offhandedly, allowing himself to sink more. His eye distractedly followed the twirling line of Squalo's pale hair down the other man's chest, gaze shifting guiltily away after he realised what he was doing. He slumped even further into the heat of the water, his bony feet emerging at Squalo's end of the tub as he sunk down to his chin, hair floating like some odd kind of orange seaweed.

A barely-there twist at the corner of his lips, Squalo watched Badou through half-closed eyes, the foggy bathhouse-steam filling the bathroom to almost stifling degree. "How better?" He drawled out, leaning forward to absently, half-curiously run his fingers through the water, the redorange hair sliding against the leather.

Badou's smirk was unhidden apart from the steam, but he didn't answer the question, his bony foot shifting to push at the centre of Squalo's chest. "I bet," he rasped lightly, "that you take lavender-scented bubble baths in here. By candlelight. While you listen to Enya."

The swordsman grunted a little, partly at the foot, partly in annoyance, as he grudgingly leant back again, tilting his head back a little. "Peppermint," Squalo answered, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looked back across the length of the tub at the redhead. "Not lavender. And I don't listen to shit in the bath."

Badou didn't move his foot, his grin widening. "Ah, peppermint. I can't tell if you're joking or not but it doesn't matter. Do you put pickle slices on your eyes, too?" Noticing the ash collecting on the end of his cigarette, Badou tapped it absently over the side, eye never leaving Squalo's face.

"No." Squalo's eyes narrowed again as he wrapped his hand securely around Badou's ankle, a lingering threat, maybe (drowning imminent?) His gaze flickered from the other's face to the ash drifting towards the tiled floor, and back up again. "Don't set fire to the rug."

"I do what I want, I do what I want," replied Badou in a dry monotone. After one last drag, he crushed the cigarette out on the edge of the tub, the dark smear of ash the only spot on the flawless ivory. "And after the pickles," he continued, "you put your hair up in a cute little turban so you can put your face on in the vanity."

The swordsman said nothing but made a noise in his throat akin to a disapproving hmph, eyeing the dark stain of ash on the porcelain critically. Every single time that he had the redhead over, the smell of the cigarettes started to permeate everything within seconds unfailingly, taking weeks for the smell to dissipate. The random stains and burn marks on the furniture lasted even longer, of course. "Fuck you," he muttered, finally irritably pushing Badou's foot off himself and dropping it back into the water.

Badou laughed, and suddenly water was sloshing everywhere as the redhead moved forward, inserting himself up in Squalo's space, pushing his legs to either side. He pressed his two nicotine-stained fingers just behind Squalo's jaw, tilting his head and covering the swordsman's mouth with his own, kiss playful and insistant. Badou was patient, and Badou could hold out for quite a long time- but not always. Not with Squalo, at all.

Squalo laughed along, his fingers immediately resting back against the now familiar warmth of the skin at the back of Badou's neck, tangling the wet mass of redorange hair through his digits and tightening his grip just a fraction as he pulled the redhead closer. "You're fucking impossible," he pulled away for a moment, lips brushing against Badou's lightly, before he tilted his head and leant in once more.

Badou sighed, his other hand coming up to the other man's chest, fingers splaying on the damp skin. His mouth opened easily to Squalo's, allowing and provoking a slow, comfortable kiss, a slept-in-on-saturday kind of kiss. As he parted from the other man, he bodily slid even closer, if that were possible. "You know you like a challenge, pickleface," he rasped lowly, with a nicotine-sharp smirk.

"But I don't feel like it right now." The swordsman muttered, almost absently pulling at the other's hair and leaning up to press their mouths together again, tasting nicotine as sharp as Badou's grin on his tongue. "I don't feel like chasing."

"It would- mmf," Badou laughed against the other's lips, suddenly shoving the swordsman and banging his shoulderblades back against the tub. His eye was bright, mischevious, as he leant in to sample with sharp teeth and slow tongue at the bottom of Squalo's neck. "It would be more of a damp flail-after. Not exactly fuckin' dignified."

Squalo breathed in sharply, both from the cold porcelain against his back (fuck, that fucking hurt) and the teeth at his throat, sliding his hand down Badou's back and pulling them closer, the wet hair rough and lumpy against his gloved palm. "Leave a fucking mark," he grunted, eyes sliding shut almost even without him even thinking about it. "And today's your fucking death day."

The redhead's teeth dragged particularly hard after a pointed kiss to the wet skin. "Are you saying," he murmured easily, his tongue sliding up Squalo's throat after a water droplet, "that you want lots of marks, rather than just one?"

A noise escaped from his throat that wasn't quite anything (his heart almost skipping a beat) and Squalo scowled almost immediately afterwards, his hand moving back up to wrap around a shoulder as if to push the redhead away. "Badou,"

"Lots, got it," rasped the smoker in question, and with that he bit down hard on the pale skin. As he pulled back his tongue lavved over the bite, the air of smugness unmistakable. "You look so damn good all fucking marked up," he muttered, more to himself than anything else, and he leant back in and pressed a few hard kisses to the darkening bruise.

Squalo hissed in pain at the bite, almost feeling the bruise rise and darken on his skin but somehow weaving his fingers back into the darkened mass of redorange hair and holding Badou there. "Fuck you," the swordsman narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head back a little. "You're a fucking creep."

Against the bruise, Badou made a content noise, lips chapped and eager. "Says Signor Let Me Show You My Bath Tub Hurr Hurr..."

"If you don't fucking shut your mouth, Monsieur Nails," he began, the greyblue eyes narrowing a fraction (half with amusement, half with just sheer frustrated annoyance) as Squalo glanced down at the other. "I'm going to fucking shove the fucking soap up your fucking nose."

"As soap jokes go," hummed Badou cheerfully, unperturbed and impossible to silence as always, "that one was pretty bad, and you could've stooped a couple levels. If you get my meaning." Badou arms came up loosely around the other's shoulders, and he shifted forward again, deposting himself into Squalo's lap with a demented, perky smile. He brought two fingers to Squalo's forehead, smoothing out the crease between his eyebrows almost distractedly, as someone would tuck in a shirt or adjust a tie.

Squalo scowled even more and moved his hand to swat the other's hand away, before wrapping the arm around the other's neck while the other snaked around Badou's waist. "I don't know any fucking soap jokes." He said, tightening his grip just a fraction more and pulling the redhead closer, fingers pressing on the skin where the water lapped at. "Retard."

Letting his hand plop noisily in the water with an impish grin, Badou slowly slid his hips forward again. His sharp, quiet exhale disturbed the steam between them, sending into whirls and looking like the smoke that usually curled from his mouth. "I think," he said slowly, "you do." A pointy elbow jutted back, knocking the bar of soap on the side of the tub into the water with a sploosh. He arched an eyebrow, cheeky grin widening. "Gonna pick that up, you man-pretty motherfucker?"

Without saying a word Squalo leant forwards, tilting his head and nudging Badou's head back to nip at the skin just under his jaw. "Still debating on that." He muttered against the reddeningflushed skin. "Is it worth the trouble?" His arm around the redhead's waist tightened a fraction, the fingers brushing against the wet skin and curling around Badou's hip, the water sloshing slightly at the movement.

Instead of responding in a sassy, sexy manner, waggling eyebrows and all, Badou laughed, flushing a bit. "Dunno. Seems a little counter-productive. I mean, you'd have to bathe again right after." Wet hair slid off his shoulders as he leant his head back, letting Squalo's lips wander where they may. A goofy grin broke out on his face. "And then again and again and again and again."

"Well, I dunno either." The swordsman murmured as he gave the sallow skin light bites and nips, really nothing more than barely-there press of teeth and tongue. He paused and lifted his head for a moment, tangling his fingers into the wet hair again and tugging to bare the line of Badou's throat open, dipping his head and pressing light kisses along it. "But I wouldn't mind." He grinned sharply, before leaning in again to bite down on the swell of collarbone. Hard.

Badou jolted in the other's lap as the gentle ministrations suddenly stopped being so gentle, a rasping exclamation of surprise leaving his mouth. He clutched at Squalo's shoulder and chest, moving restlessly. "You fucking son of a cock bitch whore-" he managed, laughter still somehow making its way around the edges of the words. Water sloshed over the side of the tub onto the floor.

"Now we're fucking even," there was more than just a hint of laughter in the swordsman's voice, as he cupped the back of Badou's head and pulled him back down, brushing his nose against the other's before tilting his head to press their lips together.

The redhead kissed Squalo back slowly, deepening the kiss as languidly as a man on holiday. His fingernails scratched lightly down the other's chest, leaving faint red marks in their wake. "Squalo," he murmured, initiating an even deeper kiss.

Squalo took a shallow gasp of a breath in between the kisses, muscles jumping slightly under the nails scratching a path down his chest as his mouth opened slowly underagainst Badou's. "Mm," he muttered something unintelligible and arched up slightly, arm tightening around the other's waist.

Badou gave a small shiver in response, nails scratching harder as he shifted on top of Squalo. He bit into the kiss, more demanding, growling a raspy, "I need-"

One of his hands that was tangled into Badou's hair slowly trailed down the other's back, digging his fingertips hard along the line of his spine and tracing the vertebrae, inciting the redhead to arch against him before the hand - both hands - were wrapped securely around Badou's hips, holding him there. "I know," Squalo said, a little breathlessly, biting down on the other's lower lip and tugging at it. "Badou-"

"Ah-" breathed the redhead, hands abandoning Squalo's reddened chest to clutch at his shoulders for balance and leverage. The way Squalo's hands knew just where to touch, what to do to, and how to carefully peel off another layer of his inhibitions was fucking maddening. That thought fuzzily in mind, he kissed the other man with little coordination and a lot of enthusiasm. "No, I," he managed between kisses that had teeth as well as enthusiasm. "I need-"

"What," a gasp followed the question as Squalo's eyes slid shut halfway, watchinglooking up at the other man through loose strands of hair that started to fall across his eyes. They, however, closed completely as the swordsman leant in, returning the almost-clumsy kisses and bites just as hard as the other, his thumbs digging hard into the line where the thighs met the hips.

A soft noise of want left the redhead's throat, vibrating low against the other's lips. "I need-" Impatient hands pushed silver-white hair back to better kiss the other man, the shivers chasing up and down Badou's spine enticing, spurring him on. "-to get out before I prune," he finished, breaking the kiss [panting mildly].

"I-" Squalo's eyes narrowed and his lips twitched slightly, and he pulled Badou closer by the hips, pressing them almost flush together (feeling suddenly heady, suddenly breathless, not enough oxygen amid the heavy steam and the brushslide of skin against skin). "-don't care." He finished, leaning up (chasing up) to tug at the other's lower lip, one hand sliding around Badou's waist to press against the small of his back.

Badou's lips quirked, expression shifting from a foggy want to a focused mischeviousness, and his fingers wrapped around the other's shoulders again. As soon as he felt the pressure of Squalo's hand on his lower back, his thighs tightened and he raised himself up just enough- before grinding down hard right into the other's lap, the arch and movement almost serpentine in it's nature. He lapped at Squalo's open lips as he repeated the movement again, even slower and more intense.

A surprised expression flickering across his face, Squalo lifted his gaze up sharply to look at the other (sleepylanguid look in the half-closed eyes vanishing completely into a blatant surprise, maybe annoyance, maybe shock). "You fucking- aah-" An inadvertent, shaky sort of moan left Squalo's lips and he tightened his hand around the other's hip, head falling back against the edge of the tub.

After absently pushing his own hair back to one side, Badou leant down to kiss and suck at the other man's jumping adam's apple, exposed so nicely for him. His hand slid down Squalo's upper arm, up his forearm, and then covered the hand at his waist. As he leant back again, he pried said hand off his hip almost as an afterthought [he looked at it briefly, then let it drop into the water with a plunk]. Shoulders slumping down again, he gave Squalo another heated, biting kiss, ending it after an extremely intense few seconds. "I'm getting out now," he rasped brightly, thighs tightening around Squalo's lap for one split second. Then, grasp leaving the Italian's shoulders in favour of the sides of the tub, he started to get to his feet.

Squalo growled, lifting the arm back up from where it was dropped to hook around the back of Badou's knee, his other arm wrapping around the other's waist again to somewhat break the fall as he half-pushed, half-tilted the redhead backwards into the bath, but a loud slosh and flood of water onto the tiled floor still followed the motion. "Fuck you," he muttered against the side of the redhead's neck, reaching up to smooth back the clump of wet hair away from the skin as he gave a series of sharp bites over the muscles and tendon, pressing his tongue flat against the pulse of artery. "God fucking damned tease."

After letting out an awkward, indignified yelp [bony ass making a none-too-quiet thunk against the porcelin], the redhead made an entirely different kind of noise at the teeth and tongue working up and down his neck. Reflexively, his arm came up around Squalo's shoulders, clutching at the tight muscles. "Oh, shit," he breathed, the already quick pulse beneath Squalo's tongue quickening even further [his neck would always, always be his weakest spot]. "Don't pretend you don't- ah- like it." His hips gave a cocky, erratic sort of buck into Squalo's, and he laughed a little breathlessly. "I can tell you fuckin' like it-"

"I didn't say I didn't like it," he muttered, quick of lips against the wet skin kind of obvious as the swordsman pressed the other against the other end of the bath, an arm still hooked around the back of Badou's knee and brushing his fingers along the line of his thigh teasingly. "I said you're a fucking goddamned tease- (a hard dig of fingertips against the skin and Squalo dragged his teeth back down the length of Badou's neck, what's left of the water sloshing almost dangerously) -and I fucking hate that."

"Oh god," moaned Badou, fingernails dragging hard at Squalo's shoulderblade. Shivers rolled up and down his spine like the small waves in the tub sloshed, and he gave another erratic wiggle, half-trying to free himself, but mostly just to be a nuisance. The fingers at his thigh were causing him great interest. "That so. What...fuck yes, just like... would you prefer?"

Squalo lifted his head up slightly, grey eyes searching the other's expression for a second before he leant up, drawing Badou towards him and pressing their mouths together a little insistently. "Don't stray." his hand slid a little against the redhead's ass, the palm of his hand sliding decidedly against the skin and lips parting against the redhead's, Squalo drew back a little before muttering, "Stay here."

Badou made an embarassing noise into Squalo's mouth, gasping for air to swear with when they parted. "You-" he managed, but then seemed to hit a verbal roadblock, and it was no wonder; lips, hands, and words, Squalo was a goddamn tactical genius. It took him a few moments to manage to remember to breathe again, and when he did, he bit hard at Squalo's lips. Just so he didn't say something like, 'I will I promise', he said, "Hand."

"What about it?" Squalo ran his tongue over his lips at the stinging bite, eyes never quite leaving Badou's although it flickered, once, to take in the whole of the redhead's face, the expression. He shifted slightly, hand decidedly sure and pressingpushing Badou's hips up. The exhale of breath against the redhead's throat was definitely shaky at best, downright purr at its worst. "I don't see...anything."

"It's-" Badou inhaled, sharp and jagged, feeling heat beginning to twist and build in his stomach. He grit his teeth to stop the moan that threatened to escape at that hot press of skin against skin, the slide of hips against hips, the sound of Squalo's goddamned voice. "It's out of bounds," he managed, his own voice hoarse and a little frantic.

"Fuck that," Squalo murmured against the skin of the other's neck, somehow managing to leave several darkred marks spread and bloom across the pale skin even as he gasped for some semblance of even breathing. Almost dizzy from lack of oxygen and too much heat, Squalo (pressing close with lipstongueteeth and insistent but always careful ) cautiously, almost too slowly, rolled his hips against the other's, hissing a breath through gritted teeth. "Want you."

"Fuck," groaned Badou, single eye shuttering closed, flush blotchy and high on the bridge of his nose. The fingers not clenched like a vice around the swordsman's shoulder wound their way into Squalo's hair, almost yanking at the ivory strands. The Italian was fucking overwhelming his senses, making him unable to think beyond yes and more. Absently, he thought this may of been a problem, but that didn't stop him from pushing his hips back against Squalo's, the hot, hard contact making him gasp, "Oh, fucking hell..."

The corner of his lips twitched, wavering in between a grin and a smirk as Squalo nosed under the redhead's chin, running his tongue up the side of Badou's neck and grazing his teeth against the Adam's apple. "-Yes?" He panted out against the skin, shifting slightly to draw the redhead even closer, when the motion brought him within close proximity of the soap that Badou had oh so helpfully dropped it in the bath earlier. Right under his knee, that is.

He didn't even have the time to make a surprised noise before he was slipping forward, bringing the redhead down with him with his weight under the water, and banging his elbow sharply on the faucet as he flung an arm out for balance. "Fuck," he cursed, pulling back and alternatively trying to rub at the twinging spot at his elbow, and to wipe off the soapy water from his eyes. "Fuck, shit, fuck-"

"Hoomf-" Badou managed to get out as the older man's greater weight suddenly crashed down on him. Following this noise was an assortment of bewildered gurgles and the brief, frantic thrashing of the redhead's legs in the water, and then a loud gasp as Squalo pulled back and he surged to the surface. He, too, banged his [opposite] elbow on the faucet as he scrambled to sit back up, and his knee came very close to ensuring that the Italian's family line was going to stop with him [although a sharply angled kneecap was still quite painful to recieve in the upper thigh, truth be told].

After coughing wetly for a long few moments, Badou spat a dingy grey-purple mixture of ash, soap, and bathwater over the side of the tub, his thin chest heaving, and stared wide eyed at Squalo.

"-FUCK, oww, you fucking-" The pitch and volume of the swears rose a tiny fraction as Squalo flinched back to the other side of the tub, away from the other (-'s knee), the jab to his thigh smarting sharply and banging his elbow (again) on the porcelain.

"-Sorry?" He finally got out after a few bewildered seconds, pale hair dripping wet and plastered to his scalp and staring back at the redhead just as wide-eyed, face twisted slightly into a grimace at the pain.

Badou returned the stare for a good ten, silent seconds, before he dropped his head. For all appearences, he was going into some sort of eplileptic seizure, convulsing as if he'd swallowed the bar of soap that had done them wrong and it was not lodged in his throat. However, after a few more seconds of his bizarre fit, a wheezing, ridiculous sounding laugh escaped from between his lips.

Shoulders shaking, Badou's head fell back as he laughed, and laughed, and coughed, and laughed some more.

Squalo watched Badou with an expression that was increasingly bewildered, worried, horrified and then finally annoyed, finally leaning in and reaching out to firmly slap the other's back, much like what he had done back in the pool. "Shut up," he hissed, somehow having a grin twitch at his lips and trying desperately to not show it in his face over all the annoyance. "It's your goddamned fucking fault-"

"-that you keep drowning me?" laughed Badou, his laughter practically toppling over itself before falling into a tumbling cough. "That's my fault? You with your fucking- sexed up Italian bullshit, think you're so fucking smooth-" Badou pushed wet hair out of his own face, his eye scrunched up with peals of laughter. Absently, he reached up to his eyepatch, squishing the water out of it, his hand covering his damanged eye the entire time, and smoothly pushing the patch flat again with his palm when it was no longer saturated. When his eye met Squalo's, he redoubled with laughter, pressing Squalo's sodden hair out of his face, too."Jesus fucking christ, you retarded fuckass-"

"IT JUST KEEPS HAPPENING, HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW? MAYBE GOD HATES YOU." Squalo growled out, pointedly looking away from the redhead, eyes flickering down to stare hard at the cigarette stain on the pale porcelain that somehow miraculously survived all the water and still stood out glaringly from all the white. He looked up though, when the other's bony fingers pushed the clumps of wet sodden hair out of his face, and his brows furrowed even more as he snatched at the other's wrist, pulling the hand away from his face. "FUCK YOU, SHUT THE HELL UP-"

Caught in the other man's grip,Badou knew was treading on thin ice [with loud-mouthed sharks swimming below]. He knew that Squalo's pride was a very easily offended, fickle and dangerous creature, and that the other man was, during the average day, given to both preen and rage because of it on and off like the flipping of a switch. Squalo had that dignity crap, too, which made his male ego even more fragile, which in turn made the people around him at risk for spontaneous head trauma at any moment.

Even with all this in mind, Badou couldn't seem to stop himself. "Really," he rasped brightly, his other hand popping easily up to push at the darkened, silver-white hair, "you should've just got out when I said so."

Squalo's expression wavered slightly, flickered at the sight of the other's face, the bright tone of voice, and he slowly loosened his grip on Badou's wrist, not making a move to flick the other hand out of the way. His gaze moved from Badou's face to the scarred hand, muttering out in a decidedly quieter tone after a minute or so. "-You're pruning."

"Is it sexy? Does it make you hot? Tingly in all sorts of interesting places?" mumbled the redhead in that same cheerful rasp, squishing the water out of damp lock of Squalo's hair. He grinned, noting Squalo's [tense-awkward-oh-shit] expression, and he thumbed the other's cheekbone in an almost bashfully reassuring way. "You do keep threatening to fuckin' drown me. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised every time. Is the toilet next? Can it not be? I have this reoccurring nightmare where this asshole from primary school gives me a swirly and my hair gets stuck in the u-bend and I can't stand up and then a crocodile comes up the pipes at me."

The corner of Squalo's lips quirked, just a minute trembletwitch of muscles but still there, turning his head away from Badou's hand, bowing almost apologetically (almost unintentionally) over the hand still held loosely in his grasp. "Stop that," the Italian muttered, trying to keep the mad, idiotic grin threatening to burst open on his face. "It's fucking gross, and no- You have a fucking bony knee, did you fucking know that? There aren't any crocodiles, but I heard rats live in the toilet pipes-"

"I know I do. Did I get you in the rocks?" Although Badou had been grinning, there was now a subtle difference in it, a warmth suddenly hidden in the crooked corners. "Rats aren't so bad. Mostly because they can't snap your head up like a grape inside their mouths. Look, I definitely saw something on the television about toilet crocodiles. Like I'd make a serious threat like that up. I wouldn't want to be the little boy who cried toilet crocodile." The water, now calm around them, rippled gently as Badou leaned forward a bit, lightly knocking his head to Squalo's [still unperturbed about the grip around his wrist, doing nothing to break the contact].

"Too fucking close." Squalo muttered, the frown lines on his forehead easing out as his eyes flickered up to gauge Badou's expression, and he bowed his head even more, almost as if by curling up like this he could somehow push down the grin stretching his lips wide. "Rats are just as fucking bad. At least you'd know when a crocodile is fucking coming." He leant just a fraction into Badou, nothing more than a tilt of the head, another grin twitching at his lips, the way his fingers curled around the other's thin wrist.

Badou considered this near-miss, lips quirking. "Bad luck for you, in the long run, really," he decided absently, the fingers at his cheekbone sliding up into pale hair, rubbing in small, lazy circles at his head. He watched Squalo's slowly brightening features and the even slower thawing of his posture carefully [it was like the two were related, and there was no wonder as to why Badou made such of a fool of himself all the fucking time, really]. "And you might not know if it were a preteen crocodile."

At that, the Italian let out a small snort of amusement that he couldn't quite hold back, and Squalo finally looked up with a bemused gleam in his eyes that were now unmistakably there, tilting his head back as to keep the fingers in his hair (it just felt right, and Squalo had always been one for small comforts like this) "Preteen crocodile?" He murmured, grip tightening a fraction around the other's wrist and abruptly pullingtugging forward, leaning in to lightly brush his lips against the other's. "You're such a fucking retard I can't fucking stand you sometimes."

To his chagrin [and rather inexplicably at that, considering the position they had just been locked in, the high degree of comfort he felt, and the general lack of pants all around], Badou felt colour rising to his face again. Still, he held the gaze Squalo intiated, the amusement sparking in the icey blue irises opposing not going missed at all. At the gentle touch of lips on lips, he smiled, fingers still working slowly through the other man's hair [like a guilty fucking pleasure or something]. "Bedroom?" he rasped. When his internal tape recorder played that back at him, his expression contorted awkwardly and the scarlet across his nose deepened unflatteringly. "That. I mean. Prunes. Drowning. Y'know. Not. Whatever."

Squalo closed his eyes with another wide, stupidly big grin stretching at his lips (god, it was just like he couldn't fucking stop, maybe he was drugged or something) and leant his forehead against Badou's, just beneath the redhead's eyepatch, almost feeling the hot blush creeping on over the freckled skin. He let out a barely-there sigh at the touch to his hair, and then a slightly louder chuckle. "Retard." He pulled back to brush their noses together lightly, muttering low. "I know. Whatever."

Badou fought his awkwardness, trying to stop stupid blushing, but every light brush of skin against his [somehow feeling almost more intimate than when they were- er, being intimate] set him off all over again. Mumbling to himself schizophrenically about raisins, his fingers finally slid out of the older man's hair, and he got to his feet carefully, hand tugging Squalo up by the forearm. Unconsciously, he seemed to keep contact with the other man, even as he stepped out of the tub and made a grab for the towels he'd hung up earlier.

Within this time, he'd managed to overcome his awkwardness, apparently, as he lazily wrapped one towel around his waist, and used the other to scrabble through his wet hair, leaving Squalo dripping and exposed. He grinned.