[ooc log post] Squalo + Badou. ::: backdated to August ish. ::: Part 2.
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 Italian made a noise (half-growl, half-tsk, mixed in generously with the tight line of his jaw so his teeth didn't start to chatter) in annoyance, pulling irritably at his hair and glowering at the redhead; hell, it was dripping down his back, the coldcooling trail of water making him shiver uncomfortably. His frown deepened a fraction.
"Heeey, what the fuuck, Badou." Squalo drawled out, waving a hand to blow away some of the choking steam that'd gathered in the bathroom while they were in here, as he stepped closer towards the other. His movements were careful though, but that could always have been because of the sheer amount of water on the tiles. "Common fucking courtesy - no fucking towel hogging, asshole."
The redhead laughed, putting a hand to Squalo's chest as he approached to keep him back, and dangling the towel just out of reach. He took the oppourtunity to oggle slightly, eye flicking up and down quickly over the other's frame [all hard planes of muscle and a strength he was, in a lackadaisical fashion, getting to know pretty intimately]. He swallowed a bit, deciding he needed a smoke soon. "Air dry, bitch, air dry!"
Squalo's eyes narrowed a fraction and he leant in, trying to snatch the towel with no success. After a few attempts, though, his eyes flickered up to Badou's face, searching for the other's expression, maybe, and he wrapped his fingers around the other's forearm with the sort of smile that was nothing but subtle. "Blow me."
The redhead almost lost his grip on the towel at that [damn steam was fucking making him overheat, was there a window in this place to open? escape out of?], but regained his footing gracefully. "No," he retorted promptly, "you suck."
The greyblue eyes flickered and slowly ran down the length of Badou's torso, the grin bleeding into a near smirk as he raised his gaze back up to stare squarely at the redhead again. He shifted his grip around the other's arm slightly, ignoring the chill starting to creep in despite the almost suffocating steam, his tone casual. "You said you're better."
Feeling his flush beginning to creep back, Badou internally scrambled, came up with nothing, and pitched the towel in the other's face with a whomp. "And I know you're fuckin' bad," he replied in a rasp that tried too hard not to sound amused. Then, he strode with Great Dignity past the other, shoulder checking him for the second time. The display of solidarity would have been more impressive, a few inches from the door, if he didn't slip on the floor jerkily. He caught himself on the doorframe before he fell, but did not catch his towel.
The towel fluttered down, slowly as if in some sort of a slo-mo scene, the kind that people used to film people jumping off the buildings and skidding on the banana peels. Squalo watched, more amused than anything else, as Badou was left clinging half-desperately on bathroom door. It perhaps, wouldn't have been so funny if the said redhead hadn't been sashaying past him just a few seconds ago.
"You alright there?" He asked blandly as he carefully made his way across the tiled floor towards the redhead, bending down to pick up the towel and nonchalantly drape it over his shoulders.
Righting himself, Badou set his shoulders back straight [which cracked loudly, as they were unused to that kind of treatment]. His eye flickered from Squalo's [smug smarmy slimey bastard] face, to his thieved towel, and back. Sticking his freckled nose in the air, his mouth opened- and stayed open for a good 12 seconds straight with no sound being produced. He snapped it shut again, put his hands on his bony hips laid bare, and declared confidently, "Right, I'm going to drip on everything you own."
With that, he turned heel, and made a dash.
Squalo stared after the other, uncomprehending, for a few seconds before dashing across the bathroom, clutching hard at the doorframe like what Badou had done before, the slippery tiles proving to be still trecherous on the way out. "Fuck," the Italian muttered to himself, as he pushed himself out of the bathroom, a hand clutching almost neurotically at the knot of the towel around his waist. "BADOU!"
The redhead let out a completely ridiculous manical laugh [it was much better when he was actually manic; this just sounded like he a donkey on ecstasy]. He shook like a dog, water streaming from the ends of his hair [spotting the expensive chest of drawers, the luxurious wooden bedset, a painting on the wall-]. His feet left big, soggy imprints in the plush carpet [marking the trail of soggy chaos].
Squalo stepped(half-slidstumbled) into the bedroom and growled at the trail of destruction and water stains left on the carpet and the furniture by the happily frolicking (and very, very naked) redhead. Fuck, fuck, it was probably going to need cleaning and all the rest of the tiny little crap that he really didn't fucking need-
"Badou-" He hissed as he skirted around the bed, half-chasing after Badou, perfectly aware that it was the middle of the night and he could fucking wake someone up with that fucking donkey laugh. "BADOU, FUCKING SHUT UP-"
The very, very naked redhead in question laughed all the more at Squalo's frustration [he'd just never really got over the point in his life where he pulled pigtails to get the pretty girls' attentions, probably]. He backtracked hurriedly away from the other man, and his bony ass came in sudden and painful contact with the other's bedside table. He winced, but remembered said bedside table drawers were where Squalo stashed his cigarettes. This knowledge gave Badou the courage [or perhaps the lack of self-preservation] to flip all his hair to one side, wrap both hands around the dangling, sopping red strands, and squeeze- right over the older man's crisp, clean, and previously very dry and cozy pillow.
The Italian watched in stunned horror, the laughter quite forgotten as Badou collided with the bedside table (ha, he fucking deserved it, the-) as whatever water that was still left in Badou's hair came dripping down, leaving a big wet stain on the down pillow. His down pillow. "Oh no you fucking did not just do that-" Squalo growled, reaching down and grabbing a cushion that was lying at the foot of the bed, before throwing it as hard as he could at Badou's face.
Badou made a deranged whooping noise, making a frantic dive over the sodden pillow onto the bed. The thrown cushion ploughed it's way through a lamp, knocking it to the floor with a heavy thunk and a worrisome tinkling noise. Badou hesitated- possibly to see if the lamp had broken? possibly to see if Squalo's forehead had burst a blood vessel?- no, to fling his body backwards, yank open the drawers, and snatch up a pack of cigarettes.
His eye flickered briefly over a streak of water marring a very carefully painted heron's face, and he clutched the carton tighter as he attempted to scramle off the bed and away. He'd earned these smokes.
Squalo took one look at the lamp, now on the floor in pieces (probably couldn't fix it either, by the looks of it) and just as quickly surveyed the damage done on the watercolour on the wall. Outcome: not fucking good at all for one Badou Nails. With a growl, the Italian was crawling up on to the bed too, nearly falling flat on his face on the bed if not for a hand reaching out to (for the lack of any other hold on the skin-and-bones physique) graba fistful of the wet hair, the ends still dripping even after all the flailing. "You'll fucking pay for that."
Head yanked back, Badou let out a indigant yelp which tapered off into an irritated whine. He twisted around, leaning back on his elbow, trying to pry off the hand- "oh you fucker ow ow ow ow owww!" -of pure steel that was fisting itself in his damp hair. His foot scrambled and shot out, smacking a glancing blow alone the side of the Italian's ribcage.
"Stop that," Squalo grunted, reaching out with the other arm to unsuccessfully grab hold of the offending ankle. Failing that, he practically threw his weight over the other's legs, immobilising Badou from the knee down. The other hand maintained a firm grip on the hair, some parts aware that the water was now dripping onto his sheets now, but mostly preoccupied with not getting any more kicks aimed at him, either with a foot or a knee, anywhere.
"Maybe I will if you let the fuu-OWW-ck go!" Still attempting to pry the metal fingers up [and failing miserably], Badou was surprised by the mad laugh that escaped his lips. He tried to stop any further laughter, and ended up giving himself hiccups, which was actually more embarassing in the long run [but so was the life of Badou Nails]. A mad chuckle preceded the redhead's last fitful, spastic sort of lash before he went slack. Chest rising a falling a bit quickly, a bemused and irritated expression on his face, Badou's eye stared.
He hiccuped.
After waiting a moment longer and watching Badou carefully (as if he were some wild bird or a trapped animal that could bolt away and cause an unimaginable chaos once more), Squalo cautiously let go of the hair, though the arm still lay by the other's side.
A corner of his lips twitched slightly at the half-mad chucklelaugh, threatened to widen at the hiccups, but the swordsman managed to push it down, shifting to make himself comfortable and resting his chin on his forearm thrown over the other's thigh. "Are you quite done now?" Squalo asked, the tone of his voice wavering between irritation and amusement.
"Motherfucker I'll be done when- hic!- I'm- hic!- good and done." He paused, hiccuping to himself a few times. "Which is- hic!.........right now. Not because you said so. Hic!" The redhead shoved his palm into the other's forehead, not actually hard enough to dislodge the swordsman, but still a good hit nevertheless. His expression was warm and amused, his scarred hand trailing absently up the forearm enclosing him. "Hic."
The bridge of his nose wrinkling slightly, Squalo turned his head to one side and swatted the redhead's hand away, though the arm curled right back to it's previous position afterwards. "Will you stop hitting me already? It's bad enough you got water all over the fucking room-" His eyes flickered once, to the hand on his forearm, then back up to Badou's face. "Retard," he barked out instead, anything to mask the grin on his face, though he didn't move away.
"Like fuck I'll stop hitting you. Payback's a- hic!- bitch," mumbled a pleased Badou, fingers still stroking absently along the clean, unmarred skin. His other hand curled on his own bare stomach, which jumped with every spasm of his diaphragm. "Owww. Hic! Hic! Make them stop, I hate you so hic-ing much."
At that, the Italian shifted so that he was half-leaning over the other, his good arm moving from the other's thigh to steady his weight against the sheets. "I don't fucking know how to stop hiccups," Squalo muttered out, his eyes flickering from the other's expression (the lips the eye the fingers warm against his arm) with a half-bemused, half-annoyed (more annoyed) expression, like it's a joke that somehow he's missing out on. (but then, everything with Badou was already halfway to a joke from the start) Then, out of some sheer impulse than anything else more coherent, Squalo leant down and blew a (sloppy, loud) raspberry on Badou's stomach, just above where his hand was resting.
"What the f-" Badou let out a bastard mix of a loud shout and a [totally unbelieving did he really just do that oh my god he did oh my god] laugh, a laugh that pealed off and continued. "Holy shit you're- hic! hic! so fucking- insane-" His speech dissolved into hilarity interpersed with hiccups, and his hands came up to hide his face, which was turning bright red [half from oxygen deprivation, half from not oxygen deprivation jesus christ Squalo was so- so-]. He kept laughing behind his hands, body trying to writhe away from Squalo [but not going anywhere, not really, why would he].
Squalo didn't dare to look up as the redhead positively exploded into even more hiccups and mad laughter above him and he ducked, leaning his (burning) forehead against the other's upper stomach and none-too-gently punching the other on the side at the same time. His face felt oddly hot and Squalo hunced his shoulders defensively, his other arm tightening around Badou's waist a fraction when he felt the other shaking and trying to squirm away from him. "Shut up, I don't fucking know-"
"-I fucking know! I know you're a fucking-" Badou's breathless laughter was still winding down here, "-a fucking crazy as shit retard idiot pasta-dicking whoreson motherfucker-" He laughed again as the Italian's grip held him in place, barely even flinching away from the punch in his mirth. As his mad cackles finally trailed off into the odd chuckle, he looked down at the pool of white hair on his stomach, looking soft and clean. Instinct had him burying his fingers deeply in it, easily tilting Squalo's face back up. Mouth curving into a wide, satisfied smirk at the colour in the other's face, Badou gave a subtle tug to the other man's hair. "Up, or down," he rasped, voice rough with smoke and too much laughter [had he ever had a reason to laugh this much, before?].
As Badou lifted his head up, the aforementioned Italian scowled even more heavily, if only to (poorly) disguise the grin-grimace on his lips. That unfortunately did nothing to help with the flush, now very prominently visible on Squalo's normally pale face. "I'll fucking bite you." He muttered, shifting his weight slightly to plunk his arm right back down on the other's chest, though he didn't draw away from the grip to his hair. (maybe because of the grip to his hair, perhaps)
"Bullshit," smiled a bemused Badou, carding fingers slowly through those pale strands, half-damp and full feeling. The colour on Squalo's face was extremely distracting, and the fingers of one of his hands, nearly of their own violition, slid out of Squalo's hair to brush along the heated skin, the touch tentative, exploratory, knowing just to know rather than anything overtly sensual. "Total bullshit. You'll just make sillybitch noises on me." His smile turned a shade wicked, and he pulled again [was always pulling, it felt like- he could never get that motherfucker close enough]. "I thought I told you up or down. I mean, I could'a sworn."
"I can too." Squalo narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked up at Badou, trying to ignore the light touches along his skin, his face; it didn't quite work. (he would have done better in ignoring a loud, annoying fly in a room) Almost involuntarily, partly because the touch of thinbony nicotine-stained fingers were cool against his face, the Italian tilted his head slightly against it, a split second of a grinsmile(smilegrin?) flitting across his face. He reached up slowly, grasping the other's wrist with his good hand and pulling it away from his face, and (almost as an afterthought) sliding closer against the other. "What do you want?"
"A smoke," purred Badou readily, with a nicotine-sharp smirk. He practically melted into the bed at the very thought, wrist caught in Squalo's grasp going slack. The eye fluttering he executed to further prove his point was, perhaps, a bit over the top.
There was a moment of silence, mostly stunned on Squalo's part. No matter how fucking long he's known (getting to know?) the redhead, he had the feeling that somehow, he'd never really win (an endless hide-and-seek, ducking into a maze of dense hedge and almost-invisible passageways). That realisation didn't help with the simmering annoyance any one bit, though, and Squalo almost angrily leant up and pressed his lips against Badou's, muttering a 'you fucking shithead' into the kiss.
Badou's quiet laughter was muffled in the abrupt press of mouths, the hard bump of which his lips parted comfortably to, easily to. He kissed back slowly but fully, meeting every movement Squalo made with his own.
Behind the other's back, there was the sound of a cigarette being shaken out of a carton.
Squalo lifted his head at the sound, raising an eyebrow rather skeptically, disbelievingly as his eyes met Badou's, finally growling out after a few seconds. "-Not in the fucking bedroom."
"In the fucking bedroom," rasped Badou, voice purposefully low and suggestive, eyebrows arched. He licked at the other's lips, still parted in a growl. "In your fucking bedroom, on your fucking bed."
Eyes closing shut halfway, Squalo tilted his head to lean towards the other, another low, annoyed growl rising from his throat. His gloved fingers smoothed over the other's chest, pushing away the few locks of wet hair that still clung to the pale skin. "It's my fucking bed," Squalo muttered out when their chests were pressed almost flush together, eyes flickering from the other's eye to his lips, and back.
A grin twisted the corner of his lips, suddenly, and he used the newfound position they were in to physically roll the other off the bed, barely wincing as the redhead went over the side.
THUD.
After a few long, long moments of silence, the clicking of a lighter sounded, and a cheerful line of smoke floated up from the floor.
"Out." Squalo barked out as he rolled onto his back on the bed, attempting to ignore the acrid smell of smoke and staring up at the draped top of the four-poster.
One black patch and one murky green eye appeared just over the edge of the bed. "I can't. You broke my tail bone. Good luck trying to score any poon tonight."
The Italian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head, not even sparing a glance at the eye peering over the edge. "Outside to smoke or you're getting another fracture in your tail bone."
A pair of bony shoulders and two arms appeared, followed by Badou's grinning face, a cigarette protruding from his lips. "It's fuckin' cold out there," he whined, then dropped his voice to a private tone used exclusively for revealing embarassing things in public. "And," he revealed in a voice just above a whisper, eye wide and concerned, "I'm nudie." With that, he ungainfully clambered back on the bed, straddling the other in one fluid motion and sitting on towel-clad thighs as if it were his usual seat in a diner. With two very sophisticated fingers, he withdrew the cigarette from his mouth, tilting his head back a bit and breathing a small cloud of ash up into the very canopy of the bed Squalo had been fixated on. He then grinned down at the Italian. "Come up with some classy-ass bathrobes and some wine, and we can fuckin' compromise."
"Get off me, then." Squalo drawled out, as he shifted to prop his torso up with an elbow, reaching out with the other to pluck the cigarette from Badou's hand. His eyes flickered up to the fine murky cloud of smoke and tar in the air around them, and Squalo resisted the urge to fling the cigarette away, instead holding it at a pretty much arms length away from the redhead. "You know I hate this shit."
"You know I love that shit," mumbled Badou with a sly expression, leaning down to brush his lips briefly to Squalo's, teeth just barely dragging. "You don't respect my interests, we never do anything I wanna do, blah blah blah, fuck you I'm staying at my mother's."
"No wonder I hate it," the Italian tilted his head slightly, letting out a tiny exhale of breath at the teeth, but didn't move away. The hand holding the cigarette away from Badou wavered slightly, making him (attempt to? strive for? try?) to maintain his scowl. "I'm not your fucking mother."
"Who said I was staying here?" laughed Badou, giving the older man a playful, fleeting kiss. He leant back up, touching the marks already darkening and becoming sore on his neck bemusedly. "Not the sort of place I'd wanna stick around, I think. All these anti-smoking sentiments."
Squalo frowned as his gaze came to rest on the dark marks spread across the other's skin, turning his head away almost awkwardly after a brief moment of silence. "Only in the bedroom."
The redhead laughed again, hands suddenly grabbing at Squalo's hair like reins, yanking him up for a hard, impulsive kiss. Still holding the Italian's hair, he shimmied gracelessly off the other's thighs and the bed, tugging the other man after him. "You'll change your mind. I can be persistant."
"You fucking- ow! Fuck you, stop that-" Squalo yelped as he hastily scrambled off the bed after the redhead, dropping the cigarette in a hurry as his hands tried to untangle Badou's hands from his hair, much like the other had done before.
Still grinning, Badou let go with one hand, scooping up the dropped cigarette cheerfully in the other. After he'd taken a short drag, he pulled Squalo to him with a final yank, and let go. The only contact he had with the older man was a light hand on his hip. "I bet that by October, I'll have won your shit over on it."
The Italian looked down to survey the damage done on the light-coloured carpet, pursing his lips at the unsightly grey streak the ash left on it. "Never," he replied simply, the gaze shifting to the hand resting on his hip before moving up.
Badou's smile widened, and he leaned in just so, head angling in for a soft but definitely persuasive kiss. He seemed uneager to part, but eventually did, with a gentle nip and a low, content noise.
Then, he wrenched the towel from off the other man's waist, wrapped it securely around his own waist, and was barely a second later already loping quickly to the door and opening it. Slipping out of the room, he leant his head back in, red hair swinging. "Oh, I'm picking the wine. Find me some fuzzy-ass Italian loungin' threads, motherfucker."
The door shut, a cloud of ash being cut in two.
The barely-heard yelp at the loss of the towel (and the almost painful introduction to the cold air, goosebumps breaking across the skin) was followed by a roar of anger, as Squalo resisted urge to throw something at the closed door. "SEE IF I FUCKING JUMP IN AFTER YOU AGAIN!"
~*~THE END~*~
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 Italian made a noise (half-growl, half-tsk, mixed in generously with the tight line of his jaw so his teeth didn't start to chatter) in annoyance, pulling irritably at his hair and glowering at the redhead; hell, it was dripping down his back, the coldcooling trail of water making him shiver uncomfortably. His frown deepened a fraction.
"Heeey, what the fuuck, Badou." Squalo drawled out, waving a hand to blow away some of the choking steam that'd gathered in the bathroom while they were in here, as he stepped closer towards the other. His movements were careful though, but that could always have been because of the sheer amount of water on the tiles. "Common fucking courtesy - no fucking towel hogging, asshole."
The redhead laughed, putting a hand to Squalo's chest as he approached to keep him back, and dangling the towel just out of reach. He took the oppourtunity to oggle slightly, eye flicking up and down quickly over the other's frame [all hard planes of muscle and a strength he was, in a lackadaisical fashion, getting to know pretty intimately]. He swallowed a bit, deciding he needed a smoke soon. "Air dry, bitch, air dry!"
Squalo's eyes narrowed a fraction and he leant in, trying to snatch the towel with no success. After a few attempts, though, his eyes flickered up to Badou's face, searching for the other's expression, maybe, and he wrapped his fingers around the other's forearm with the sort of smile that was nothing but subtle. "Blow me."
The redhead almost lost his grip on the towel at that [damn steam was fucking making him overheat, was there a window in this place to open? escape out of?], but regained his footing gracefully. "No," he retorted promptly, "you suck."
The greyblue eyes flickered and slowly ran down the length of Badou's torso, the grin bleeding into a near smirk as he raised his gaze back up to stare squarely at the redhead again. He shifted his grip around the other's arm slightly, ignoring the chill starting to creep in despite the almost suffocating steam, his tone casual. "You said you're better."
Feeling his flush beginning to creep back, Badou internally scrambled, came up with nothing, and pitched the towel in the other's face with a whomp. "And I know you're fuckin' bad," he replied in a rasp that tried too hard not to sound amused. Then, he strode with Great Dignity past the other, shoulder checking him for the second time. The display of solidarity would have been more impressive, a few inches from the door, if he didn't slip on the floor jerkily. He caught himself on the doorframe before he fell, but did not catch his towel.
The towel fluttered down, slowly as if in some sort of a slo-mo scene, the kind that people used to film people jumping off the buildings and skidding on the banana peels. Squalo watched, more amused than anything else, as Badou was left clinging half-desperately on bathroom door. It perhaps, wouldn't have been so funny if the said redhead hadn't been sashaying past him just a few seconds ago.
"You alright there?" He asked blandly as he carefully made his way across the tiled floor towards the redhead, bending down to pick up the towel and nonchalantly drape it over his shoulders.
Righting himself, Badou set his shoulders back straight [which cracked loudly, as they were unused to that kind of treatment]. His eye flickered from Squalo's [smug smarmy slimey bastard] face, to his thieved towel, and back. Sticking his freckled nose in the air, his mouth opened- and stayed open for a good 12 seconds straight with no sound being produced. He snapped it shut again, put his hands on his bony hips laid bare, and declared confidently, "Right, I'm going to drip on everything you own."
With that, he turned heel, and made a dash.
Squalo stared after the other, uncomprehending, for a few seconds before dashing across the bathroom, clutching hard at the doorframe like what Badou had done before, the slippery tiles proving to be still trecherous on the way out. "Fuck," the Italian muttered to himself, as he pushed himself out of the bathroom, a hand clutching almost neurotically at the knot of the towel around his waist. "BADOU!"
The redhead let out a completely ridiculous manical laugh [it was much better when he was actually manic; this just sounded like he a donkey on ecstasy]. He shook like a dog, water streaming from the ends of his hair [spotting the expensive chest of drawers, the luxurious wooden bedset, a painting on the wall-]. His feet left big, soggy imprints in the plush carpet [marking the trail of soggy chaos].
Squalo stepped(half-slidstumbled) into the bedroom and growled at the trail of destruction and water stains left on the carpet and the furniture by the happily frolicking (and very, very naked) redhead. Fuck, fuck, it was probably going to need cleaning and all the rest of the tiny little crap that he really didn't fucking need-
"Badou-" He hissed as he skirted around the bed, half-chasing after Badou, perfectly aware that it was the middle of the night and he could fucking wake someone up with that fucking donkey laugh. "BADOU, FUCKING SHUT UP-"
The very, very naked redhead in question laughed all the more at Squalo's frustration [he'd just never really got over the point in his life where he pulled pigtails to get the pretty girls' attentions, probably]. He backtracked hurriedly away from the other man, and his bony ass came in sudden and painful contact with the other's bedside table. He winced, but remembered said bedside table drawers were where Squalo stashed his cigarettes. This knowledge gave Badou the courage [or perhaps the lack of self-preservation] to flip all his hair to one side, wrap both hands around the dangling, sopping red strands, and squeeze- right over the older man's crisp, clean, and previously very dry and cozy pillow.
The Italian watched in stunned horror, the laughter quite forgotten as Badou collided with the bedside table (ha, he fucking deserved it, the-) as whatever water that was still left in Badou's hair came dripping down, leaving a big wet stain on the down pillow. His down pillow. "Oh no you fucking did not just do that-" Squalo growled, reaching down and grabbing a cushion that was lying at the foot of the bed, before throwing it as hard as he could at Badou's face.
Badou made a deranged whooping noise, making a frantic dive over the sodden pillow onto the bed. The thrown cushion ploughed it's way through a lamp, knocking it to the floor with a heavy thunk and a worrisome tinkling noise. Badou hesitated- possibly to see if the lamp had broken? possibly to see if Squalo's forehead had burst a blood vessel?- no, to fling his body backwards, yank open the drawers, and snatch up a pack of cigarettes.
His eye flickered briefly over a streak of water marring a very carefully painted heron's face, and he clutched the carton tighter as he attempted to scramle off the bed and away. He'd earned these smokes.
Squalo took one look at the lamp, now on the floor in pieces (probably couldn't fix it either, by the looks of it) and just as quickly surveyed the damage done on the watercolour on the wall. Outcome: not fucking good at all for one Badou Nails. With a growl, the Italian was crawling up on to the bed too, nearly falling flat on his face on the bed if not for a hand reaching out to (for the lack of any other hold on the skin-and-bones physique) graba fistful of the wet hair, the ends still dripping even after all the flailing. "You'll fucking pay for that."
Head yanked back, Badou let out a indigant yelp which tapered off into an irritated whine. He twisted around, leaning back on his elbow, trying to pry off the hand- "oh you fucker ow ow ow ow owww!" -of pure steel that was fisting itself in his damp hair. His foot scrambled and shot out, smacking a glancing blow alone the side of the Italian's ribcage.
"Stop that," Squalo grunted, reaching out with the other arm to unsuccessfully grab hold of the offending ankle. Failing that, he practically threw his weight over the other's legs, immobilising Badou from the knee down. The other hand maintained a firm grip on the hair, some parts aware that the water was now dripping onto his sheets now, but mostly preoccupied with not getting any more kicks aimed at him, either with a foot or a knee, anywhere.
"Maybe I will if you let the fuu-OWW-ck go!" Still attempting to pry the metal fingers up [and failing miserably], Badou was surprised by the mad laugh that escaped his lips. He tried to stop any further laughter, and ended up giving himself hiccups, which was actually more embarassing in the long run [but so was the life of Badou Nails]. A mad chuckle preceded the redhead's last fitful, spastic sort of lash before he went slack. Chest rising a falling a bit quickly, a bemused and irritated expression on his face, Badou's eye stared.
He hiccuped.
After waiting a moment longer and watching Badou carefully (as if he were some wild bird or a trapped animal that could bolt away and cause an unimaginable chaos once more), Squalo cautiously let go of the hair, though the arm still lay by the other's side.
A corner of his lips twitched slightly at the half-mad chucklelaugh, threatened to widen at the hiccups, but the swordsman managed to push it down, shifting to make himself comfortable and resting his chin on his forearm thrown over the other's thigh. "Are you quite done now?" Squalo asked, the tone of his voice wavering between irritation and amusement.
"Motherfucker I'll be done when- hic!- I'm- hic!- good and done." He paused, hiccuping to himself a few times. "Which is- hic!.........right now. Not because you said so. Hic!" The redhead shoved his palm into the other's forehead, not actually hard enough to dislodge the swordsman, but still a good hit nevertheless. His expression was warm and amused, his scarred hand trailing absently up the forearm enclosing him. "Hic."
The bridge of his nose wrinkling slightly, Squalo turned his head to one side and swatted the redhead's hand away, though the arm curled right back to it's previous position afterwards. "Will you stop hitting me already? It's bad enough you got water all over the fucking room-" His eyes flickered once, to the hand on his forearm, then back up to Badou's face. "Retard," he barked out instead, anything to mask the grin on his face, though he didn't move away.
"Like fuck I'll stop hitting you. Payback's a- hic!- bitch," mumbled a pleased Badou, fingers still stroking absently along the clean, unmarred skin. His other hand curled on his own bare stomach, which jumped with every spasm of his diaphragm. "Owww. Hic! Hic! Make them stop, I hate you so hic-ing much."
At that, the Italian shifted so that he was half-leaning over the other, his good arm moving from the other's thigh to steady his weight against the sheets. "I don't fucking know how to stop hiccups," Squalo muttered out, his eyes flickering from the other's expression (the lips the eye the fingers warm against his arm) with a half-bemused, half-annoyed (more annoyed) expression, like it's a joke that somehow he's missing out on. (but then, everything with Badou was already halfway to a joke from the start) Then, out of some sheer impulse than anything else more coherent, Squalo leant down and blew a (sloppy, loud) raspberry on Badou's stomach, just above where his hand was resting.
"What the f-" Badou let out a bastard mix of a loud shout and a [totally unbelieving did he really just do that oh my god he did oh my god] laugh, a laugh that pealed off and continued. "Holy shit you're- hic! hic! so fucking- insane-" His speech dissolved into hilarity interpersed with hiccups, and his hands came up to hide his face, which was turning bright red [half from oxygen deprivation, half from not oxygen deprivation jesus christ Squalo was so- so-]. He kept laughing behind his hands, body trying to writhe away from Squalo [but not going anywhere, not really, why would he].
Squalo didn't dare to look up as the redhead positively exploded into even more hiccups and mad laughter above him and he ducked, leaning his (burning) forehead against the other's upper stomach and none-too-gently punching the other on the side at the same time. His face felt oddly hot and Squalo hunced his shoulders defensively, his other arm tightening around Badou's waist a fraction when he felt the other shaking and trying to squirm away from him. "Shut up, I don't fucking know-"
"-I fucking know! I know you're a fucking-" Badou's breathless laughter was still winding down here, "-a fucking crazy as shit retard idiot pasta-dicking whoreson motherfucker-" He laughed again as the Italian's grip held him in place, barely even flinching away from the punch in his mirth. As his mad cackles finally trailed off into the odd chuckle, he looked down at the pool of white hair on his stomach, looking soft and clean. Instinct had him burying his fingers deeply in it, easily tilting Squalo's face back up. Mouth curving into a wide, satisfied smirk at the colour in the other's face, Badou gave a subtle tug to the other man's hair. "Up, or down," he rasped, voice rough with smoke and too much laughter [had he ever had a reason to laugh this much, before?].
As Badou lifted his head up, the aforementioned Italian scowled even more heavily, if only to (poorly) disguise the grin-grimace on his lips. That unfortunately did nothing to help with the flush, now very prominently visible on Squalo's normally pale face. "I'll fucking bite you." He muttered, shifting his weight slightly to plunk his arm right back down on the other's chest, though he didn't draw away from the grip to his hair. (maybe because of the grip to his hair, perhaps)
"Bullshit," smiled a bemused Badou, carding fingers slowly through those pale strands, half-damp and full feeling. The colour on Squalo's face was extremely distracting, and the fingers of one of his hands, nearly of their own violition, slid out of Squalo's hair to brush along the heated skin, the touch tentative, exploratory, knowing just to know rather than anything overtly sensual. "Total bullshit. You'll just make sillybitch noises on me." His smile turned a shade wicked, and he pulled again [was always pulling, it felt like- he could never get that motherfucker close enough]. "I thought I told you up or down. I mean, I could'a sworn."
"I can too." Squalo narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked up at Badou, trying to ignore the light touches along his skin, his face; it didn't quite work. (he would have done better in ignoring a loud, annoying fly in a room) Almost involuntarily, partly because the touch of thinbony nicotine-stained fingers were cool against his face, the Italian tilted his head slightly against it, a split second of a grinsmile(smilegrin?) flitting across his face. He reached up slowly, grasping the other's wrist with his good hand and pulling it away from his face, and (almost as an afterthought) sliding closer against the other. "What do you want?"
"A smoke," purred Badou readily, with a nicotine-sharp smirk. He practically melted into the bed at the very thought, wrist caught in Squalo's grasp going slack. The eye fluttering he executed to further prove his point was, perhaps, a bit over the top.
There was a moment of silence, mostly stunned on Squalo's part. No matter how fucking long he's known (getting to know?) the redhead, he had the feeling that somehow, he'd never really win (an endless hide-and-seek, ducking into a maze of dense hedge and almost-invisible passageways). That realisation didn't help with the simmering annoyance any one bit, though, and Squalo almost angrily leant up and pressed his lips against Badou's, muttering a 'you fucking shithead' into the kiss.
Badou's quiet laughter was muffled in the abrupt press of mouths, the hard bump of which his lips parted comfortably to, easily to. He kissed back slowly but fully, meeting every movement Squalo made with his own.
Behind the other's back, there was the sound of a cigarette being shaken out of a carton.
Squalo lifted his head at the sound, raising an eyebrow rather skeptically, disbelievingly as his eyes met Badou's, finally growling out after a few seconds. "-Not in the fucking bedroom."
"In the fucking bedroom," rasped Badou, voice purposefully low and suggestive, eyebrows arched. He licked at the other's lips, still parted in a growl. "In your fucking bedroom, on your fucking bed."
Eyes closing shut halfway, Squalo tilted his head to lean towards the other, another low, annoyed growl rising from his throat. His gloved fingers smoothed over the other's chest, pushing away the few locks of wet hair that still clung to the pale skin. "It's my fucking bed," Squalo muttered out when their chests were pressed almost flush together, eyes flickering from the other's eye to his lips, and back.
A grin twisted the corner of his lips, suddenly, and he used the newfound position they were in to physically roll the other off the bed, barely wincing as the redhead went over the side.
THUD.
After a few long, long moments of silence, the clicking of a lighter sounded, and a cheerful line of smoke floated up from the floor.
"Out." Squalo barked out as he rolled onto his back on the bed, attempting to ignore the acrid smell of smoke and staring up at the draped top of the four-poster.
One black patch and one murky green eye appeared just over the edge of the bed. "I can't. You broke my tail bone. Good luck trying to score any poon tonight."
The Italian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head, not even sparing a glance at the eye peering over the edge. "Outside to smoke or you're getting another fracture in your tail bone."
A pair of bony shoulders and two arms appeared, followed by Badou's grinning face, a cigarette protruding from his lips. "It's fuckin' cold out there," he whined, then dropped his voice to a private tone used exclusively for revealing embarassing things in public. "And," he revealed in a voice just above a whisper, eye wide and concerned, "I'm nudie." With that, he ungainfully clambered back on the bed, straddling the other in one fluid motion and sitting on towel-clad thighs as if it were his usual seat in a diner. With two very sophisticated fingers, he withdrew the cigarette from his mouth, tilting his head back a bit and breathing a small cloud of ash up into the very canopy of the bed Squalo had been fixated on. He then grinned down at the Italian. "Come up with some classy-ass bathrobes and some wine, and we can fuckin' compromise."
"Get off me, then." Squalo drawled out, as he shifted to prop his torso up with an elbow, reaching out with the other to pluck the cigarette from Badou's hand. His eyes flickered up to the fine murky cloud of smoke and tar in the air around them, and Squalo resisted the urge to fling the cigarette away, instead holding it at a pretty much arms length away from the redhead. "You know I hate this shit."
"You know I love that shit," mumbled Badou with a sly expression, leaning down to brush his lips briefly to Squalo's, teeth just barely dragging. "You don't respect my interests, we never do anything I wanna do, blah blah blah, fuck you I'm staying at my mother's."
"No wonder I hate it," the Italian tilted his head slightly, letting out a tiny exhale of breath at the teeth, but didn't move away. The hand holding the cigarette away from Badou wavered slightly, making him (attempt to? strive for? try?) to maintain his scowl. "I'm not your fucking mother."
"Who said I was staying here?" laughed Badou, giving the older man a playful, fleeting kiss. He leant back up, touching the marks already darkening and becoming sore on his neck bemusedly. "Not the sort of place I'd wanna stick around, I think. All these anti-smoking sentiments."
Squalo frowned as his gaze came to rest on the dark marks spread across the other's skin, turning his head away almost awkwardly after a brief moment of silence. "Only in the bedroom."
The redhead laughed again, hands suddenly grabbing at Squalo's hair like reins, yanking him up for a hard, impulsive kiss. Still holding the Italian's hair, he shimmied gracelessly off the other's thighs and the bed, tugging the other man after him. "You'll change your mind. I can be persistant."
"You fucking- ow! Fuck you, stop that-" Squalo yelped as he hastily scrambled off the bed after the redhead, dropping the cigarette in a hurry as his hands tried to untangle Badou's hands from his hair, much like the other had done before.
Still grinning, Badou let go with one hand, scooping up the dropped cigarette cheerfully in the other. After he'd taken a short drag, he pulled Squalo to him with a final yank, and let go. The only contact he had with the older man was a light hand on his hip. "I bet that by October, I'll have won your shit over on it."
The Italian looked down to survey the damage done on the light-coloured carpet, pursing his lips at the unsightly grey streak the ash left on it. "Never," he replied simply, the gaze shifting to the hand resting on his hip before moving up.
Badou's smile widened, and he leaned in just so, head angling in for a soft but definitely persuasive kiss. He seemed uneager to part, but eventually did, with a gentle nip and a low, content noise.
Then, he wrenched the towel from off the other man's waist, wrapped it securely around his own waist, and was barely a second later already loping quickly to the door and opening it. Slipping out of the room, he leant his head back in, red hair swinging. "Oh, I'm picking the wine. Find me some fuzzy-ass Italian loungin' threads, motherfucker."
The door shut, a cloud of ash being cut in two.
The barely-heard yelp at the loss of the towel (and the almost painful introduction to the cold air, goosebumps breaking across the skin) was followed by a roar of anger, as Squalo resisted urge to throw something at the closed door. "SEE IF I FUCKING JUMP IN AFTER YOU AGAIN!"
~*~THE END~*~