[ooc log post] Squalo + Badou. ::: backdated to Alaskan Trip. ::: Part 2.
Who: Squalo and Badou.
When: During the Alaskan trip.
Where: Their hotel.
What: Badou is Badou. Squalo is Very Italian. All maitre-dees of the world must die.
Why: We wanted a cracky log of Badou in a dress, and we honestly don't know how it turned out to be this two-parter monster. LYNCH MOB NOT APPRECIATED.
Note: None of you saw this unless you were in Alaska at that time, and were in Badou and Squalo's hotel. I take no responsibility in the tacky restaurant and/or hotel suite names - all product of Rabid Inc.
More note:
Red x Friday: I wont be here to defend myself
Red x Friday: release this statement at will: ITS NOT MY FAULT EITHER.
Red x Friday: <3
It's all his fault, really. :|
Instead of replying, Squalo shifted again, hot gaspair of breath against the redhead's chin before he leant in and bit Badou's lip for him, running his tongue over the lower lip before pressing even closer, slowly relaxing his hand, and letting his fingers idly skim over the other's inner thigh, running over the line of where the hip met the thigh. His tongue slid past Badou's teeth next, tasting sharp nicotine and poison (fucking addicted, that's what it was, this entire business).
If Badou had any last dregs of cheek left in him, Squalo's painstakingly slow exploration with fingers and tongue stamped it out. He hadn't realised he'd moaned until the echo of it was ringing in his ears. Feeling like he was losing control, and wanting to do something to regain some [somehow, this logic made sense] his hands slipped back to Squalo's waist, clumsily doing away with the other man's belt, dropping it to the floor.
Squalo positively held his breath, letting it out in a shaky half-noise that was barely louder than the dull thud of belt hitting the floor. The desperation wasn't there anymore, though the actual desire still was (justasstrong justashot hotter, even).
This wasn't about taking anymore, it wasn't like anything they ever did(sharedhad) before, and it made the swordsman duck his head and bite down on the collarbone. Not too hard, but not too lightly either, just enough to leave a faint mark only a shade or two darker than the redhead's skin. "Badou," Squalo murmured, his hand slipping back out of the smoker's boxers to tug at his own pants, the tan material sliding easily off despite the shakiness of his hands.
The redhead swallowed, not quite knowing what to do with his hands. "Present, y-eees," he rasped weakly, his collarbone stinging fantastically.
Squalo laughed, a breathy sound that showed (oh, fuck, but not even half that, not even a quarter) just how nervous he was with this, too. The pants now out of his way, the swordsman's hands travelled up the smoker's sides again, splaying themselves over the other's chest, the tips of fingers tracing the jut of shoulders. "Good?" He murmured, leaning in to lick hotly over the smoker's Adam's apple.
"I'm not a fucking girl," rasped Badou irritably, trying not to arch into the other man's touch. Colour rising to his face, he bared his throat a little more. His hands toyed with the waistband of Squalo's boxers, uncertain [impatient]. "Can I take off your..."
The swordsman merely grinned sharply against the other's throat, lips and teeth finding the sensitive spots out again and making very good use out of them. "You don't have to be a girl to feel good, you know..."
The words trailed off at what Badou had said, and there was the first hint of colour on Squalo's face, the flush too easily evident on the pale complexion. He glanced up quickly, grey meeting green, swallowing dryly. "...Please."
Breath hitching, Badou pulled at the other man's boxers, sliding them off toned hips and down his thighs. "Oh, christ," he rasped, not missing the colour rising to Squalo's cheeks, nor- other things. Both aroused him much more than he'd ever say. "Oh christ."
The colour on Squalo's cheeks deepend(darkened), eyes sliding shut with a breathy exhale of air (the brush of nicotine-stained fingers against his skin like hotcold, making him shiver slightly) before he leant away silently (his throat seemed to have dried up completely by this point) from the redhead a little, pushing the boxers down and off the rest of the way.
He sat back on his heels for a minute, his gaze moving from Badou's face and down before moving back up again (seeing all that palesallowness of the smoker's thin frame), meeting the redhead's eye. Squalo tilted his head to one side, a slight twisting of lips (almost a smile, almost not) showing for a second and he carefully tugged at the glove of his right hand, loosening the soft leather with his teeth before pulling it off.
Badou felt seared by the heat in Squalo's gaze, but found he couldn't break it, didn't want to break it. "Mine too," he rasped, barely audible. His admittedly poor heart was beating rapidly, and his mind swirled in a haze of lust and nervousness and- more lust. "I... want to feel you."
Almost even before Badou said it, Squalo's hands were back on the other's waist, fingers (smoothcold leather and warm skin and all) pressing against the jutting hipbones. He stopped, rested there for a moment (heart beating almost too loud) before sucking in a quick breath of air and (ohgod, he almost couldn't stand this anymore, not anymore) tugging the boxers off, only looking back up at Badou when it was pulled off and tossed away, the dark grey eyes intent, not even wanting to miss a single second of this.
However, the maitre dee of the expensive restaurant downstairs was equally determined that a Mr Superbi did not miss a single second of the exceedingly costly dinner he had reserved a table for.
Badou was entirely unaware of this as he began to slide his fingers down Squalo's stomach, exploring where he hadn't before. Just as his hand began to dip lower, the hotel telephone let loose a blaring ring. Badou's hand snapped back in startlement, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. "Oh fucking shit-"
Squalo's words were a bit more colourful than Badou's (for once, this was going on the fucking record or something--) as his eyes snapped back open. "Don't fucking bother," he muttered under his breath as he leant in again, a hand sliding back into the other's red hair.
Flushed, Badou sheepishly nodded, closing the small gap between them to initiate a deep, hard kiss. Of course, the telephone continued to blare, RING-A-RING-A-RINGGGG. Finally, Badou's eyebrows knit in irritation as he pulled back. "Whoever it fucking is wants to talk to you as much as I want your mouth to do other shit," he snapped, colouring deeply almost immediately after, and resolutely beginning to do multiplication tables in his head.
A low growl tore itself out from Squalo's throat as the smoker pulled back once more, and his other hand tightened slightly in the bed sheet, creasing it even more. Badou was right; better to get the phonecall finished and done with, before getting to the more important things.
The swordsman reluctantly released the other's hair (which was, to note, getting to be far from the perfectly coiffed ringlets it had been previously) and leaned over to snatch the phone from the bedside table. "Yes?" He practically hissed the word out, grip tight on the phone.
"Mr S. Superbi? Room 702, the Outlook Point Suite?"
"Yes. What. Leave me alone."
The maitre dee pressed onwards, despite the rude behaviour. The rich could often be very callous. "Hello, and good evening, sir. Our books say you have made a dinner reservation down here in the Sparkling Icicle Ballroom for seven thirty-five? I simply am calling to inform you that if you do not wish to hold this reservation any longer, we shall cancel and reschedule. However, company policy does not offer refunds on down payments."
Squalo turned to glance over his shoulder at the clock and cursed softly under his breath, but still loud enough to be heard over the phone. "Hang on." Covering the mouth of the phone with his hand, the swordsman (finally) looked back at Badou again, trying not to glance anywhere but the other's face. "Do you still-"
Badou hadn't been idle. As Squalo looked around, his flushed expression widened guiltily, looking very much like someone who might have just been caught in the act. Sitting back on his elbows, one knee cocked, his hand tried to wander inconspicuously back up from where it was between his legs. "Uh. W-what?"
It took a few seconds before Squalo's mind caught up with the rest of his body, but the phone was slammed back down onto the holder and his tongue was burning hot licking trail on the palm of the other's hand, feeling the slight raised scar-tissue under his lips. "Nevermind," Squalo muttered, grazing his teeth against the pad of the other's thumb, the wrist caught fast in his own hand. "Doesn't matter."
Badou shivered intensely, eye locked on the place where the other man's pink tongue lapped at his hand, at his scar, which he was previously unaware had a direct line to more nether regions. "You- oh fuck, Jesus fucking Christ," he rasped in a shaky tone, one of his legs sliding over Squalo's thigh. "On fire, is the building on- fire- or- that could be important oh fuck please."
"No," Squalo's voice was low, husky, even, as he licked at each of the other's fingers--biting down lightly on the tips, now lapping between the digits, being careful to not miss anything. His other hand found its way down, the gloves coolcoldwarmsmooth against the pale skin of the other's torso and side, curling around the hip and pulling them closer. "The dinner-"
"Fuck the dinner." Badou gasped as they made contact, glorious goddamned fucking contact, after all this damn time of orbiting eachother like some pair of fucking stupid celestial bodies [bodies, fucking yes]. He spread his fingers wide for Squalo, still feeling that there had to be a goddamned fire somewhere in this place or else he wouldn't be so fucking hot.
The gloved fingers traced the sharp angles of Badou's body, the juts and dips of bones stretched over sallowpapery skin tasting of nicotine. Skimming over the rise of the ribcage, tips of his fingers knocking against the barely-there bumps, now splaying out over the other's upper stomach and dipping down-
RIIIIIIIIIIING
"God fucking DAMN IT!" Squalo roared, breaking both his concentration and the contact (though he didn't let go of the other's wrist this time, as he reached out for the phone again). "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE."
"We seem to have gotten disconnected," chirped the maitre dee. Yanked practically sideways, Badou swore loudly. The persistant employee went on. "It happens up here, in the mountains. As I was saying, your table has been ready for a half hour, sir, and if you remain absent but do not cancel or confirm your reservation the seven hundred dollars will still be charged to your bill."
The redhead squirmed, trying to create some friction, anywhere, he was gonna die soon, just die. "Christ. Just tell them to fuck off. Squalo."
Squalo tilted his head slightly, wedging the phone between one shoulder and the side of his head as he irritably swatted at the redhead with his now-free hand, moving to rake his fingers through his (messed and tangled and oh fucking god would they just shut up) hair. "Ten minutes," he finally spat the words out into the receiver, biting down on his lower lip as he attempted to keep track of both the conversation and just what Badou was attempting to do. "Or else I swear I will come after your fucking head."
"Have a good evening, sir!" trilled the maitre dee, hanging up with an amiable click.
Hair likewise mussed, skin hot to the touch, Badou stared at Squalo like he wanted to eat him. He hadn't been listening to anything but the pounding in his ears. He shifted closer, lips trailing warmly along the other man's ear, with the odd impatient nip. "I want you."
A soft noise, maybe a half-whimper (somethingnothing I want you, the word burning against his skin, his ear) left his throat before he could stop, and Squalo clenched his hand around the phone tightly even as his eyes slid shut from the feel of this..entire situation, really. "Badou..." He breathed out, practically shaking with the effort to just stay still.
The almost-nothing noise did nothing but stir the embers of the fire. The fingers of Badou's free hand slid up the planes Squalo's firm chest, posessive and tenuous all at once. "Please," he rasped, and if his lips hadn't been against the older man's ear, it probably wouldn't have been heard.
"Badou," a shaky exhale followed and Squalo finally let go of the other's wrist, eyes sliding shut. But the same hand came to close around the hand trailingpressing against his chest, pulling away from whatever contact that still really remained between them. The please, raspedrough sound barely there barely anywhere (except Squalo could somehow see Badou even with his eyes closed) burned him, made the heat coiling in his stomach that much hotter. "Stop."
Badou froze, lust and confusion warring for dominance, both to be immediately rejected for paralysing self-doubt. "W-what? Did I do something- wrong- I- oh fuck cock balls damnit." He began to withdraw from the other man, to the other side of the bed, covering himself as if he'd caught modesty like a summer cold.
Except the swordsman wasn't likely to let go of the other yet. At least, not when Badou was like that. (somehow it amazed him how he could cut through skin and flesh and bone as easily as breathing, the blood sticky on his face wiped away with hardly a blink of an eye, yet not be able to look at him full in the face)
Squalo leant forward, crawled forward on his hands and knees even as the other withdrew, almost as if they were attached by invisible ties or something as equally as tangible as that. With hardly a sound he reached out to take the other's scarred hand with his own, warm skin against skin (and maybe that's what made him tighten his grip slightly). "Badou," the fall of pale hair hid most of half of his face and Squalo gulped slightly, pulling the other back towards him. "Not yet." A hint of question was in the voice, before the swordsman slowly(shyly) pressed their lips together again.
At first, Badou was stiff against Squalo, the tension outlined in locked joints and a drawn, indescribable expression. Slowly, like thawing ice, the redhead began to respond, mouth moving against the other man's in small motions. "I'm sorry-" he burst, the bridge of his nose practically aflame with shame.
"Don't be." Squalo interrupeted, pulling away a centimetre or two to murmur out, though his lips brushed against Badou's with every breath, every syllable. A slight grin tugged at his lips and he tilted his head just that fraction of an angle, and pressed his lips against the pinkred flush on the other's face, the bridge of his nose, the temperature practically burning against his lips (it felt like he caught a bloody fever or something-). "Not yet."
A wrinkle of frustration appeared between Badou's eyebrows. "Then why did you say-"
The half-grin, half-something didn't dissipate, as Squalo leant still further upwards and pressed his lips against the wrinkle there too. "Because you still owe me the bet."
Badou's mouth slowly thinned into a wide line, his murky green eye widening.
Then, with a subtle grace, he grasped and bent Squalo's arm at a backwards 30 degree angle.
The reaction from the other man, as expected, was explosive, as Squalo yelled out some choice words and lashed out with his still injury-free arm, attempting to pushing the other away and back down onto the bed. "OW--SHIT, YOU FUCKING FUCK!"
Keeping a firm hold on the other man, apparently nonplussed about being pinned, Badou headbutted Squalo's forehead. "You stupid fucking asshole! Are you serious?! Really fucking serious!? Gonna give me a shitfucking goddamned son of a bitch complex-" With the intake of breath, he slammed his palm up into Squalo's face.
Squalo grunted in pain (black spots lingering in his vision from both the headbutt and from the other's hand) but swept the other's hand away to pin it against the bed too, grimacing slightly as the motion jolted the painfully bent-back angle of his arm. "You agreed to it. Don't fucking back out like a goddamned sissy."
"That's not what I'm talking about!" shouted Badou, letting go of Squalo's arm to punch him in the head.
"Then what the fuck are you talking about?!" With the arm now being freed, Squalo ducked and the blow glanced off the side of his head, the impact not hard enough to prevent him from making a grab for that arm also, to effectively pin the other man to the bed.
To his horror, Badou found himself getting flustered. Naked skirmishes with the object of one's lust often did that. "That's what you put the brakes on for? It couldn't have waited? I thought I- I thought I fucked up or-" Badou bucked a little. "WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS SITTING ON ME."
"That's not it." Squalo ducked, bent his head, and rested his forehead against the other's collarbone. His form relaxed just slightly, though the grip on the other's arms were still tight enough to prevent him from doing any more drastic things involving violence. The swordsman took a moment to catch his breath, finally glancing up quickly at the smoker, blatantly ignoring the bucking except for the slight flexing in his grip. "I want to take you out, and not just for room service."
Badou did some quick mental hoop jumps. "...You want to take me out to some BS fancy dinner," he said slowly, piecing it out, "more than you want to touch me innapropriately? Or be touched innapropriately by me?"
Squalo almost(almost) absently grazed his teeth against the redhead's collarbone, the mark that he left still fresh on the pale skin. "Rain check?"
Finally, finally, the redhead grinned. "Maybe. Could be raining for a while though. Or there could be a sudden drought tommorrow. Or could be only short spring showers. You really wanna risk it?"
The note of smugness was unmistakeable in Squalo's voice as he laid light, open-mouthed kisses against the side of Badou's neck, trailing back up to the other's jaw again. "I heard you, Badou Nails." He swept back a few locks of red hair from the other's ear and leant in even closer, lips brushing against the shell of one ear. "I want you."
Badou's mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments. When nothing worthwhile appeared to be forthcoming, he snapped it shut, and coloured furiously.
Squalo laughed, a quiet, quick sound that wasn't even really anything, and pulled back slightly to look down at Badou again, the silverypale hair in some serious need of brushing. "Shall we go, then?"
Badou sighed, resigned, but perked up a little to clarify. "And not have possibly fucking mind-blowing orgasms that you might never get the oppourtunity to have again, because christ knows I'm not going to make it easy for you?"
"You never were, anyway." Squalo glanced back after (rather reluctantly, despite his words previously) letting go of the smoker and sitting up on the bed, sweeping the mass of pale hair back to one shoulder, but grimacing slightly when his fingers caught in a snag somwehre. "It's not like that's any different."
"Maybe." An odd sort of smile on his lips, Badou sat up too. He fumbled at the bedside table, coming up with a brush, inching closer and beginning to pull it through Squalo's mussed hair. He wasn't always gentle with the knots, but managed to untangle them efficiently, brushing from crown to tip.
Squalo closed his eyes for a few seconds, once all of the stubborn tangles were out of the way but it wasn't yet enough to warranty Badou to stop. "Yes." He bent his head slightly forwards, the feel of the brush cool and pleasant against his scalp, the back of his neck. "You don't agree?"
The redhead made an ambiguous noise in response, continuing to run the brush through Squalo's long hair. He segmented it over Squalo's shoulders; his eye drifted along the elegant slope of the other man's neck for a few moments, before remembering he didn't do that kind of shit. Bringing himself back to the task at hand was harder than it should have been.
No more words followed that half-question of sort of and Squalo fell silent, an uncommon characteristic for him even at the best of times. He merely tilted his head a little sideways and hummed something as the tangles and knots in his hair were smoothed out piece by piece, eyes sliding shut even without him really even realising it. "Thanks."
Badou's odd little smile twisted into a grin, and he pulled back on the pale curve of Squalo's shoulder. He himself leant forward over the lowered shoulder, and gently fit their lips together for a kiss, his scarred hand cupping the line of Squalo's jaw. "No worries," he mumbled, smiling.
Squalo leant into the kiss with a barely-there shudderintake of breath, only opening his eyes back up again when their lips parted once more. The corner of his lips twitched, quirked (a grin a smile a frown maybe something that wasn't even that) and Squalo silently reached out, a finger tracing the curve of the other's eyebrow. "Okay."
Badou leant into the touch, sighing a little. "I need a smoke. I was planning on having a post-orgasm one, y'know. With the whole 'Was it good for you?' and everything. Last chance."
The back of his hand brushing back a stray lock of redorange hair off the smoker's face, Squalo leant in a fraction closer, the warmth from the other's body somehow strangely reassuring. "It was good for me."
Badou laughed, shoving Squalo away. "You're a goddamned fucking idiot. You must be a masochist."
Squalo turned and got to his feet as he was shoved away, glancing back down over his shoulder at the redhead. "I just don't like giving up easily."
"So it's all about the challenge?" murmured Badou slyly. Trying to be sneaky and failing, his eye flickered up and down Squalo's body. "Once something finally happens, are you off onto the next thing?"
The slight quirking of lips were turned into a full-blown smirk as the older man stretched a little, rolling his shoulders slightly. "But something hasn't happened yet, has it?" He held out a hand towards the smoker, glancing back at the clock once more. "No worries - I'm gonna stick around for a while longer."
"I wasn't worried." Badou ignored the hand, getting to his feet on his own, looking sort of absently determined. He stepped into Squalo's space, initiating a soft, closed mouth kiss.
His scarred hand was a lot less timid, however, in the way it slunk straight down south, and firmly gripped.
Squalo gasped slightly, fingers clamping down on the other's forearm (but pushing or pulling, he didn't know ). "Badou-"
"There," nodded the redhead, nipping gently at Squalo's bottom lip. "Something, over and done with." His hand gave one more heartfelt, teasing grope before withdrawing entirely. Uncurling Squalo's fingers from his forearm, the corners of Badou's mouth twitched. "Can't fucking put up with the damn dramatics."
"I hate you." The words were muttered out in a breathy growl and Squalo narrowed his eyes slightly. His other hand curled around low on Badou's hip, still maintaining the close proximity between them.
Laughing, Badou placed a stupid, wet smack of a kiss on Squalo's nose. His eye flicked down again, his lips curving into a mischevious smile. "I guess it ain't bad. I wouldn't call it the most impressive gondola I've ever seen, but..."
Scowling and stepping back (not much, half a pace or so, but his hand was still a warm press against Badou's hip) Squalo rubbed at his nose, trying not to colour faintly despite the slight annoyance. It didn't really work. "You haven't seen anything yet."
"I'm pretty sure, without doing anything fucking invasive, I've seen most of it," argued Badou with another laugh, rasping and amused. His grin widened madly at the faint signs of red on Squalo's face.
As Badou's grin widened, Squalo's frown deepened even more, the swordman finally stepping back another pace and dropping his hand from the other's hip. The discrete turning of his head might just have been a belated attempt to quell the heat rising on his face. "Shut the fucking hell up."
"I gave you the oppourtunity to shut me up temporarily," pointed out the redhead, stepping after Squalo in their never-fucking-ending tango. He put his hands on each of the other man's hips, quietly brightening at the fact that he could. "You chose this instead."
Squalo stopped in his tracks, his hands finding their way down to close around both of the redhead's wrists. The scowl didn't quite leave his face, nor did the blush. "--So?" He finally muttered out, trying to divert his attention from anything else but the warm skin-on-skin contact.
"So deal with the consequences, you whiney little Mediterranean bitch," purred Badou smugly. He pressed closer, the feel of Squalo's skin under his fingertips heady. He took another step forward, and Squalo was cornered against a chair. A chair that a carefully selected garment was laid on.
The smooth material touched the back of Squalo's leg, and he hardly glanced down before his grip tightened around the other's wrists, yanking the redhead forward (off-balance off-kilter everything spiralling out of control). With a turn, Squalo was resting his chin against the other's shoulder, his chest pressed against Badou's back, turning his head slightly to nip at the patch of skin just visible amid the messy curled hair under his ear. "I could say the same for you, hmm?" One arm curling around Badou's waist, the other reached out to pick the dress up, letting the silky material slide against the other's thigh.
Biting off a loud swear, Badou struggled against Squalo's hold, trying to ignore the shivers running up his spine. "I'll rip it up and wear it as a fucking loin cloth-"
The grip tightened a fraction more against the struggling and Squalo murmured something indistinct into the curled mass of Badou's hair, the palm of his hand pressing flat against the other's stomach. "Deal with the consequences, bitch."
The redhead was finding that his brain was beginning to shut down again. "I'm not your bitch, no matter how many pretty party dresses you fucking shove me into," he rasped, realising only afterwards it really wasn't THAT great of a defiant statement.
"It was a bet, no?" Squalo pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the slope of the other's shoulder, grinning slightly at the rasped-out words.
Badou shifted under Squalo's hand, cursing every maitre dee that ever fucking lived. Cursing those damn lips on that damn pasta fucker even more so. Killers with kisses soft enough to kill. Who'da thought. "I said I'd fucking- wear it- I didn't say how-"
"Wear the dress," was a barely-there murmur against the shell of Badou's ear, and Squalo pulled the other closer, pressing them almost flush together. "Indulge my sick fantasies."
Inhaling somewhat sharply, Badou's eye fluttered close. He needed a fucking smoke. There was nothing for it, and anyway it wasn't as if he was able to think when he was this close to the Italian. Shitfucking pheromones. "Fine."
Squalo grinned against the other's neck. "Good." Dangling the dress in front of the other now, he stepped back slightly, breaking most contact between them although his hand still lingered lightly on Badou's hip. "And hurry. We're already late."
Badou looked at the dress like it was a particularly nasty kind of fungus. He looked at Squalo as if he were the log the fungus was growing under. "I don't fucking know how to do that shit."
A half-exasperated sigh left the swordsman's lips and he carefully pulled the dress free from the hangar, unzipping the back of the garment. "It works the same." Squalo held it out against the redhead, raising his eyebrows in question. Are you going to wear it or not?
Badou sighed again, snapping the dress out of Squalo's hands [scarred hand brushing metal]. He bunched it up, trying to pull it over his head.
Squalo made a little clicking noise of annoyance and stepped closer again, carefully pulling the black material down without wrinkling or disturbing anything. He ran his hand down over the other's side, smoothing the dress out, and pulled back a little to look over the smoker, finally nodding and raising his eyes back up to meet Badou's. "Looks good."
"Sick bitch-ass creepy motherfucker," replied Badou airily, his face heating up.He crossed his arms, uncomfortable.
"You like me this way." Squalo muttered out from where he was opening the closet, and the swordsman glanced back at Badou after a moment. "Should I wear white or black?"
The redhead answered without thinking. "Well if I'm wearing black you should match me."
There was a long silence. "Oh Christ. I need a fucking smoke." Badou, awkward with constricted strides in the dress, grabbed a pack off the end table frantically.
"--Black it is, then." Squalo merely shrugged (as if it was nothing, but he's never felt so giddy in his entire life) and started tugging the clothes on, both hands deft on the shirt cuffs and buttons. But halfway through the motion, he paused, leaning over to snatch the cigarette holder from the same table to hold out to the redhead with a half-smirk curling over his expression. "Practice."
Looking up from lighting up, Badou made a face, but took it. "Practice putting my foot up your ass," he mumbled, fumbling with the lit cigarette as he tried to put it in.
Eyes narrowing slightly in amusement, Squalo took the cigarette from the redhead also, twisting the cigarette into the holder before handing back (breathing in the cloud of smoke that was starting to mean Badou to him, now) "Just your foot?" He said, barely a heartbeat of a pause (but still there] before he slipped the black leather glove off his other hand also, the white satin of the dinner gloves sliding over the hard metal with barely a second to spare.
"That's not fucking clever," mumbled Badou, taking a very, very much needed drag off the holder. He blew out a plume of smoke, mind not focusing on the metal hand, but on the first layer of ash the white dinner glove was receiving. Rebellion comes in many forms. Badou looked down at his bare feet. "...I'm not wearing any kinda... drag queen bonanza sale high heels."
"I got you flats," muttered Squalo without missing a beat, as he tucked his shirt into the trousers and shrugged on the jacket with the same easy, practiced motion, as if he'd been doing this his entire life (and probably had, too). "We're the same height--it doesn't look good if you're taller." Another quick, barely-there glance was given to him, and Squalo turned back to retrieve his tie from the table. "I told you it'd fit."
"It's too tight on my hips," It wasn't, but Badou's stomach hurt with how good Squalo looked in a fucking suit. "You should wear that shit all the time instead of the stupid fucking tunic uniform bullshit," he blurted.
Hands pausing, hesitating for a few seconds, Squalo looked up at Badou, a slight surprise flicking past his face before the usual sort of half-smirk appeared on his face. "It'd get dirty too fast."
Snorting in a very unladylike fashion, Badou slipped on the stupid girly flats. "Why can't I just wear my boots? Haven't you emasculated me enough? Up-do and all?" He put a hand to his head, grinning at the slight disarray his hair was in now.
A quiet tsk was the only answer to that, as Squalo straightened his tie and glanced quickly in the mirror, eyes meeting the other's reflection on it. "Too dirty." He finally said, sweeping the mass of pale hair back to tie it up loosely.
Badou edged closer, pulling the other man's tie crooked again from behind. He plunked his chin on Squalo's shoulder, grinning. "I like dirty." A note of faux casualty entered his rasp. "We can be dirty if we stay here. Sick fantasies, and everything-?"
Squalo tilted his head slightly, resting the side of it against Badou's; the hair was beyond saving pretty much, anyway. "But we match." Very carefully, he reached out to pluck a flower from the vase on the table, turning slightly to tuck it into the messed locks of redorange curls. "And they have good wine."
The next few moments, with a wide eye, the redhead sputtered. Finally, he managed to snap half-heartedly, "I don't care how good the wine is as long as there's fucking lots of it." There was a pause, as Badou desperately tried not to catch the fucking flower in the mirror. "You put way too much thought into this for it to be a HA-HA YOU'RE A DOUCHE bet," he mumbled.
There was a pause, before Squalo cleared his throat and adjusted the cufflinks, eyes dropping away from looking at Badou's reflection in the mirror in front of them. Finally, the swordsman muttered out under his breath, deliberately not meeting the other's eye. "I said I wanted to take you out properly."
"In drag isn't properly," laughed Badou, feeling a little less awkward as Squalo felt more awkward. He turned Squalo's head back to the mirror, smirking like a shark [how ironic] over his shoulder. "Look at me. I look like your fucking cocaine addicted mafia wife."
Squalo's eyes rested on the other's reflection for a moment, taking in the slightly blurred image (the plumes and wisps of smoke fogging up around them) of redorange and pale, pale skin, the expression on his face unreadable (halfteasing halfnervous halfentirelydifferent). "Tu es beau, Badou."
Badou Nails was not often struck speechless. "I- I- you- I-" he stuttered, the bridge of his nose smudging a deep scarlet.
Squalo only mumbled something unintelligent and turned around, reaching out and pulling the other along by the (scarred) hand. "Come on. We're gonna be late. Do you know just how much this entire thing cost?"
"My dignity," replied Badou, but even the ever-present cloud of smoke couldn't obscure his smile. He felt the metal hand in his, unflinching steel, and gripped slightly tighter. More convincing, or. Or something. "Just my dignity."
The older man tightened his grip a fraction in answer, the cold steel warming through the glove, against Badou's hand. And it almost felt normal. "Try to walk like a fucking woman, then. It can't get any worse than this for you."
After they departed, Badou's Womanly Sashay oh so accidentally hip-checked Squalo down a flight of stairs.
When: During the Alaskan trip.
Where: Their hotel.
What: Badou is Badou. Squalo is Very Italian. All maitre-dees of the world must die.
Why: We wanted a cracky log of Badou in a dress, and we honestly don't know how it turned out to be this two-parter monster. LYNCH MOB NOT APPRECIATED.
Note: None of you saw this unless you were in Alaska at that time, and were in Badou and Squalo's hotel. I take no responsibility in the tacky restaurant and/or hotel suite names - all product of Rabid Inc.
More note:
Red x Friday: I wont be here to defend myself
Red x Friday: release this statement at will: ITS NOT MY FAULT EITHER.
Red x Friday: <3
It's all his fault, really. :|
Instead of replying, Squalo shifted again, hot gaspair of breath against the redhead's chin before he leant in and bit Badou's lip for him, running his tongue over the lower lip before pressing even closer, slowly relaxing his hand, and letting his fingers idly skim over the other's inner thigh, running over the line of where the hip met the thigh. His tongue slid past Badou's teeth next, tasting sharp nicotine and poison (fucking addicted, that's what it was, this entire business).
If Badou had any last dregs of cheek left in him, Squalo's painstakingly slow exploration with fingers and tongue stamped it out. He hadn't realised he'd moaned until the echo of it was ringing in his ears. Feeling like he was losing control, and wanting to do something to regain some [somehow, this logic made sense] his hands slipped back to Squalo's waist, clumsily doing away with the other man's belt, dropping it to the floor.
Squalo positively held his breath, letting it out in a shaky half-noise that was barely louder than the dull thud of belt hitting the floor. The desperation wasn't there anymore, though the actual desire still was (justasstrong justashot hotter, even).
This wasn't about taking anymore, it wasn't like anything they ever did(sharedhad) before, and it made the swordsman duck his head and bite down on the collarbone. Not too hard, but not too lightly either, just enough to leave a faint mark only a shade or two darker than the redhead's skin. "Badou," Squalo murmured, his hand slipping back out of the smoker's boxers to tug at his own pants, the tan material sliding easily off despite the shakiness of his hands.
The redhead swallowed, not quite knowing what to do with his hands. "Present, y-eees," he rasped weakly, his collarbone stinging fantastically.
Squalo laughed, a breathy sound that showed (oh, fuck, but not even half that, not even a quarter) just how nervous he was with this, too. The pants now out of his way, the swordsman's hands travelled up the smoker's sides again, splaying themselves over the other's chest, the tips of fingers tracing the jut of shoulders. "Good?" He murmured, leaning in to lick hotly over the smoker's Adam's apple.
"I'm not a fucking girl," rasped Badou irritably, trying not to arch into the other man's touch. Colour rising to his face, he bared his throat a little more. His hands toyed with the waistband of Squalo's boxers, uncertain [impatient]. "Can I take off your..."
The swordsman merely grinned sharply against the other's throat, lips and teeth finding the sensitive spots out again and making very good use out of them. "You don't have to be a girl to feel good, you know..."
The words trailed off at what Badou had said, and there was the first hint of colour on Squalo's face, the flush too easily evident on the pale complexion. He glanced up quickly, grey meeting green, swallowing dryly. "...Please."
Breath hitching, Badou pulled at the other man's boxers, sliding them off toned hips and down his thighs. "Oh, christ," he rasped, not missing the colour rising to Squalo's cheeks, nor- other things. Both aroused him much more than he'd ever say. "Oh christ."
The colour on Squalo's cheeks deepend(darkened), eyes sliding shut with a breathy exhale of air (the brush of nicotine-stained fingers against his skin like hotcold, making him shiver slightly) before he leant away silently (his throat seemed to have dried up completely by this point) from the redhead a little, pushing the boxers down and off the rest of the way.
He sat back on his heels for a minute, his gaze moving from Badou's face and down before moving back up again (seeing all that palesallowness of the smoker's thin frame), meeting the redhead's eye. Squalo tilted his head to one side, a slight twisting of lips (almost a smile, almost not) showing for a second and he carefully tugged at the glove of his right hand, loosening the soft leather with his teeth before pulling it off.
Badou felt seared by the heat in Squalo's gaze, but found he couldn't break it, didn't want to break it. "Mine too," he rasped, barely audible. His admittedly poor heart was beating rapidly, and his mind swirled in a haze of lust and nervousness and- more lust. "I... want to feel you."
Almost even before Badou said it, Squalo's hands were back on the other's waist, fingers (smoothcold leather and warm skin and all) pressing against the jutting hipbones. He stopped, rested there for a moment (heart beating almost too loud) before sucking in a quick breath of air and (ohgod, he almost couldn't stand this anymore, not anymore) tugging the boxers off, only looking back up at Badou when it was pulled off and tossed away, the dark grey eyes intent, not even wanting to miss a single second of this.
However, the maitre dee of the expensive restaurant downstairs was equally determined that a Mr Superbi did not miss a single second of the exceedingly costly dinner he had reserved a table for.
Badou was entirely unaware of this as he began to slide his fingers down Squalo's stomach, exploring where he hadn't before. Just as his hand began to dip lower, the hotel telephone let loose a blaring ring. Badou's hand snapped back in startlement, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. "Oh fucking shit-"
Squalo's words were a bit more colourful than Badou's (for once, this was going on the fucking record or something--) as his eyes snapped back open. "Don't fucking bother," he muttered under his breath as he leant in again, a hand sliding back into the other's red hair.
Flushed, Badou sheepishly nodded, closing the small gap between them to initiate a deep, hard kiss. Of course, the telephone continued to blare, RING-A-RING-A-RINGGGG. Finally, Badou's eyebrows knit in irritation as he pulled back. "Whoever it fucking is wants to talk to you as much as I want your mouth to do other shit," he snapped, colouring deeply almost immediately after, and resolutely beginning to do multiplication tables in his head.
A low growl tore itself out from Squalo's throat as the smoker pulled back once more, and his other hand tightened slightly in the bed sheet, creasing it even more. Badou was right; better to get the phonecall finished and done with, before getting to the more important things.
The swordsman reluctantly released the other's hair (which was, to note, getting to be far from the perfectly coiffed ringlets it had been previously) and leaned over to snatch the phone from the bedside table. "Yes?" He practically hissed the word out, grip tight on the phone.
"Mr S. Superbi? Room 702, the Outlook Point Suite?"
"Yes. What. Leave me alone."
The maitre dee pressed onwards, despite the rude behaviour. The rich could often be very callous. "Hello, and good evening, sir. Our books say you have made a dinner reservation down here in the Sparkling Icicle Ballroom for seven thirty-five? I simply am calling to inform you that if you do not wish to hold this reservation any longer, we shall cancel and reschedule. However, company policy does not offer refunds on down payments."
Squalo turned to glance over his shoulder at the clock and cursed softly under his breath, but still loud enough to be heard over the phone. "Hang on." Covering the mouth of the phone with his hand, the swordsman (finally) looked back at Badou again, trying not to glance anywhere but the other's face. "Do you still-"
Badou hadn't been idle. As Squalo looked around, his flushed expression widened guiltily, looking very much like someone who might have just been caught in the act. Sitting back on his elbows, one knee cocked, his hand tried to wander inconspicuously back up from where it was between his legs. "Uh. W-what?"
It took a few seconds before Squalo's mind caught up with the rest of his body, but the phone was slammed back down onto the holder and his tongue was burning hot licking trail on the palm of the other's hand, feeling the slight raised scar-tissue under his lips. "Nevermind," Squalo muttered, grazing his teeth against the pad of the other's thumb, the wrist caught fast in his own hand. "Doesn't matter."
Badou shivered intensely, eye locked on the place where the other man's pink tongue lapped at his hand, at his scar, which he was previously unaware had a direct line to more nether regions. "You- oh fuck, Jesus fucking Christ," he rasped in a shaky tone, one of his legs sliding over Squalo's thigh. "On fire, is the building on- fire- or- that could be important oh fuck please."
"No," Squalo's voice was low, husky, even, as he licked at each of the other's fingers--biting down lightly on the tips, now lapping between the digits, being careful to not miss anything. His other hand found its way down, the gloves coolcoldwarmsmooth against the pale skin of the other's torso and side, curling around the hip and pulling them closer. "The dinner-"
"Fuck the dinner." Badou gasped as they made contact, glorious goddamned fucking contact, after all this damn time of orbiting eachother like some pair of fucking stupid celestial bodies [bodies, fucking yes]. He spread his fingers wide for Squalo, still feeling that there had to be a goddamned fire somewhere in this place or else he wouldn't be so fucking hot.
The gloved fingers traced the sharp angles of Badou's body, the juts and dips of bones stretched over sallowpapery skin tasting of nicotine. Skimming over the rise of the ribcage, tips of his fingers knocking against the barely-there bumps, now splaying out over the other's upper stomach and dipping down-
RIIIIIIIIIIING
"God fucking DAMN IT!" Squalo roared, breaking both his concentration and the contact (though he didn't let go of the other's wrist this time, as he reached out for the phone again). "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE."
"We seem to have gotten disconnected," chirped the maitre dee. Yanked practically sideways, Badou swore loudly. The persistant employee went on. "It happens up here, in the mountains. As I was saying, your table has been ready for a half hour, sir, and if you remain absent but do not cancel or confirm your reservation the seven hundred dollars will still be charged to your bill."
The redhead squirmed, trying to create some friction, anywhere, he was gonna die soon, just die. "Christ. Just tell them to fuck off. Squalo."
Squalo tilted his head slightly, wedging the phone between one shoulder and the side of his head as he irritably swatted at the redhead with his now-free hand, moving to rake his fingers through his (messed and tangled and oh fucking god would they just shut up) hair. "Ten minutes," he finally spat the words out into the receiver, biting down on his lower lip as he attempted to keep track of both the conversation and just what Badou was attempting to do. "Or else I swear I will come after your fucking head."
"Have a good evening, sir!" trilled the maitre dee, hanging up with an amiable click.
Hair likewise mussed, skin hot to the touch, Badou stared at Squalo like he wanted to eat him. He hadn't been listening to anything but the pounding in his ears. He shifted closer, lips trailing warmly along the other man's ear, with the odd impatient nip. "I want you."
A soft noise, maybe a half-whimper (somethingnothing I want you, the word burning against his skin, his ear) left his throat before he could stop, and Squalo clenched his hand around the phone tightly even as his eyes slid shut from the feel of this..entire situation, really. "Badou..." He breathed out, practically shaking with the effort to just stay still.
The almost-nothing noise did nothing but stir the embers of the fire. The fingers of Badou's free hand slid up the planes Squalo's firm chest, posessive and tenuous all at once. "Please," he rasped, and if his lips hadn't been against the older man's ear, it probably wouldn't have been heard.
"Badou," a shaky exhale followed and Squalo finally let go of the other's wrist, eyes sliding shut. But the same hand came to close around the hand trailingpressing against his chest, pulling away from whatever contact that still really remained between them. The please, raspedrough sound barely there barely anywhere (except Squalo could somehow see Badou even with his eyes closed) burned him, made the heat coiling in his stomach that much hotter. "Stop."
Badou froze, lust and confusion warring for dominance, both to be immediately rejected for paralysing self-doubt. "W-what? Did I do something- wrong- I- oh fuck cock balls damnit." He began to withdraw from the other man, to the other side of the bed, covering himself as if he'd caught modesty like a summer cold.
Except the swordsman wasn't likely to let go of the other yet. At least, not when Badou was like that. (somehow it amazed him how he could cut through skin and flesh and bone as easily as breathing, the blood sticky on his face wiped away with hardly a blink of an eye, yet not be able to look at him full in the face)
Squalo leant forward, crawled forward on his hands and knees even as the other withdrew, almost as if they were attached by invisible ties or something as equally as tangible as that. With hardly a sound he reached out to take the other's scarred hand with his own, warm skin against skin (and maybe that's what made him tighten his grip slightly). "Badou," the fall of pale hair hid most of half of his face and Squalo gulped slightly, pulling the other back towards him. "Not yet." A hint of question was in the voice, before the swordsman slowly(shyly) pressed their lips together again.
At first, Badou was stiff against Squalo, the tension outlined in locked joints and a drawn, indescribable expression. Slowly, like thawing ice, the redhead began to respond, mouth moving against the other man's in small motions. "I'm sorry-" he burst, the bridge of his nose practically aflame with shame.
"Don't be." Squalo interrupeted, pulling away a centimetre or two to murmur out, though his lips brushed against Badou's with every breath, every syllable. A slight grin tugged at his lips and he tilted his head just that fraction of an angle, and pressed his lips against the pinkred flush on the other's face, the bridge of his nose, the temperature practically burning against his lips (it felt like he caught a bloody fever or something-). "Not yet."
A wrinkle of frustration appeared between Badou's eyebrows. "Then why did you say-"
The half-grin, half-something didn't dissipate, as Squalo leant still further upwards and pressed his lips against the wrinkle there too. "Because you still owe me the bet."
Badou's mouth slowly thinned into a wide line, his murky green eye widening.
Then, with a subtle grace, he grasped and bent Squalo's arm at a backwards 30 degree angle.
The reaction from the other man, as expected, was explosive, as Squalo yelled out some choice words and lashed out with his still injury-free arm, attempting to pushing the other away and back down onto the bed. "OW--SHIT, YOU FUCKING FUCK!"
Keeping a firm hold on the other man, apparently nonplussed about being pinned, Badou headbutted Squalo's forehead. "You stupid fucking asshole! Are you serious?! Really fucking serious!? Gonna give me a shitfucking goddamned son of a bitch complex-" With the intake of breath, he slammed his palm up into Squalo's face.
Squalo grunted in pain (black spots lingering in his vision from both the headbutt and from the other's hand) but swept the other's hand away to pin it against the bed too, grimacing slightly as the motion jolted the painfully bent-back angle of his arm. "You agreed to it. Don't fucking back out like a goddamned sissy."
"That's not what I'm talking about!" shouted Badou, letting go of Squalo's arm to punch him in the head.
"Then what the fuck are you talking about?!" With the arm now being freed, Squalo ducked and the blow glanced off the side of his head, the impact not hard enough to prevent him from making a grab for that arm also, to effectively pin the other man to the bed.
To his horror, Badou found himself getting flustered. Naked skirmishes with the object of one's lust often did that. "That's what you put the brakes on for? It couldn't have waited? I thought I- I thought I fucked up or-" Badou bucked a little. "WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS SITTING ON ME."
"That's not it." Squalo ducked, bent his head, and rested his forehead against the other's collarbone. His form relaxed just slightly, though the grip on the other's arms were still tight enough to prevent him from doing any more drastic things involving violence. The swordsman took a moment to catch his breath, finally glancing up quickly at the smoker, blatantly ignoring the bucking except for the slight flexing in his grip. "I want to take you out, and not just for room service."
Badou did some quick mental hoop jumps. "...You want to take me out to some BS fancy dinner," he said slowly, piecing it out, "more than you want to touch me innapropriately? Or be touched innapropriately by me?"
Squalo almost(almost) absently grazed his teeth against the redhead's collarbone, the mark that he left still fresh on the pale skin. "Rain check?"
Finally, finally, the redhead grinned. "Maybe. Could be raining for a while though. Or there could be a sudden drought tommorrow. Or could be only short spring showers. You really wanna risk it?"
The note of smugness was unmistakeable in Squalo's voice as he laid light, open-mouthed kisses against the side of Badou's neck, trailing back up to the other's jaw again. "I heard you, Badou Nails." He swept back a few locks of red hair from the other's ear and leant in even closer, lips brushing against the shell of one ear. "I want you."
Badou's mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments. When nothing worthwhile appeared to be forthcoming, he snapped it shut, and coloured furiously.
Squalo laughed, a quiet, quick sound that wasn't even really anything, and pulled back slightly to look down at Badou again, the silverypale hair in some serious need of brushing. "Shall we go, then?"
Badou sighed, resigned, but perked up a little to clarify. "And not have possibly fucking mind-blowing orgasms that you might never get the oppourtunity to have again, because christ knows I'm not going to make it easy for you?"
"You never were, anyway." Squalo glanced back after (rather reluctantly, despite his words previously) letting go of the smoker and sitting up on the bed, sweeping the mass of pale hair back to one shoulder, but grimacing slightly when his fingers caught in a snag somwehre. "It's not like that's any different."
"Maybe." An odd sort of smile on his lips, Badou sat up too. He fumbled at the bedside table, coming up with a brush, inching closer and beginning to pull it through Squalo's mussed hair. He wasn't always gentle with the knots, but managed to untangle them efficiently, brushing from crown to tip.
Squalo closed his eyes for a few seconds, once all of the stubborn tangles were out of the way but it wasn't yet enough to warranty Badou to stop. "Yes." He bent his head slightly forwards, the feel of the brush cool and pleasant against his scalp, the back of his neck. "You don't agree?"
The redhead made an ambiguous noise in response, continuing to run the brush through Squalo's long hair. He segmented it over Squalo's shoulders; his eye drifted along the elegant slope of the other man's neck for a few moments, before remembering he didn't do that kind of shit. Bringing himself back to the task at hand was harder than it should have been.
No more words followed that half-question of sort of and Squalo fell silent, an uncommon characteristic for him even at the best of times. He merely tilted his head a little sideways and hummed something as the tangles and knots in his hair were smoothed out piece by piece, eyes sliding shut even without him really even realising it. "Thanks."
Badou's odd little smile twisted into a grin, and he pulled back on the pale curve of Squalo's shoulder. He himself leant forward over the lowered shoulder, and gently fit their lips together for a kiss, his scarred hand cupping the line of Squalo's jaw. "No worries," he mumbled, smiling.
Squalo leant into the kiss with a barely-there shudderintake of breath, only opening his eyes back up again when their lips parted once more. The corner of his lips twitched, quirked (a grin a smile a frown maybe something that wasn't even that) and Squalo silently reached out, a finger tracing the curve of the other's eyebrow. "Okay."
Badou leant into the touch, sighing a little. "I need a smoke. I was planning on having a post-orgasm one, y'know. With the whole 'Was it good for you?' and everything. Last chance."
The back of his hand brushing back a stray lock of redorange hair off the smoker's face, Squalo leant in a fraction closer, the warmth from the other's body somehow strangely reassuring. "It was good for me."
Badou laughed, shoving Squalo away. "You're a goddamned fucking idiot. You must be a masochist."
Squalo turned and got to his feet as he was shoved away, glancing back down over his shoulder at the redhead. "I just don't like giving up easily."
"So it's all about the challenge?" murmured Badou slyly. Trying to be sneaky and failing, his eye flickered up and down Squalo's body. "Once something finally happens, are you off onto the next thing?"
The slight quirking of lips were turned into a full-blown smirk as the older man stretched a little, rolling his shoulders slightly. "But something hasn't happened yet, has it?" He held out a hand towards the smoker, glancing back at the clock once more. "No worries - I'm gonna stick around for a while longer."
"I wasn't worried." Badou ignored the hand, getting to his feet on his own, looking sort of absently determined. He stepped into Squalo's space, initiating a soft, closed mouth kiss.
His scarred hand was a lot less timid, however, in the way it slunk straight down south, and firmly gripped.
Squalo gasped slightly, fingers clamping down on the other's forearm (but pushing or pulling, he didn't know ). "Badou-"
"There," nodded the redhead, nipping gently at Squalo's bottom lip. "Something, over and done with." His hand gave one more heartfelt, teasing grope before withdrawing entirely. Uncurling Squalo's fingers from his forearm, the corners of Badou's mouth twitched. "Can't fucking put up with the damn dramatics."
"I hate you." The words were muttered out in a breathy growl and Squalo narrowed his eyes slightly. His other hand curled around low on Badou's hip, still maintaining the close proximity between them.
Laughing, Badou placed a stupid, wet smack of a kiss on Squalo's nose. His eye flicked down again, his lips curving into a mischevious smile. "I guess it ain't bad. I wouldn't call it the most impressive gondola I've ever seen, but..."
Scowling and stepping back (not much, half a pace or so, but his hand was still a warm press against Badou's hip) Squalo rubbed at his nose, trying not to colour faintly despite the slight annoyance. It didn't really work. "You haven't seen anything yet."
"I'm pretty sure, without doing anything fucking invasive, I've seen most of it," argued Badou with another laugh, rasping and amused. His grin widened madly at the faint signs of red on Squalo's face.
As Badou's grin widened, Squalo's frown deepened even more, the swordman finally stepping back another pace and dropping his hand from the other's hip. The discrete turning of his head might just have been a belated attempt to quell the heat rising on his face. "Shut the fucking hell up."
"I gave you the oppourtunity to shut me up temporarily," pointed out the redhead, stepping after Squalo in their never-fucking-ending tango. He put his hands on each of the other man's hips, quietly brightening at the fact that he could. "You chose this instead."
Squalo stopped in his tracks, his hands finding their way down to close around both of the redhead's wrists. The scowl didn't quite leave his face, nor did the blush. "--So?" He finally muttered out, trying to divert his attention from anything else but the warm skin-on-skin contact.
"So deal with the consequences, you whiney little Mediterranean bitch," purred Badou smugly. He pressed closer, the feel of Squalo's skin under his fingertips heady. He took another step forward, and Squalo was cornered against a chair. A chair that a carefully selected garment was laid on.
The smooth material touched the back of Squalo's leg, and he hardly glanced down before his grip tightened around the other's wrists, yanking the redhead forward (off-balance off-kilter everything spiralling out of control). With a turn, Squalo was resting his chin against the other's shoulder, his chest pressed against Badou's back, turning his head slightly to nip at the patch of skin just visible amid the messy curled hair under his ear. "I could say the same for you, hmm?" One arm curling around Badou's waist, the other reached out to pick the dress up, letting the silky material slide against the other's thigh.
Biting off a loud swear, Badou struggled against Squalo's hold, trying to ignore the shivers running up his spine. "I'll rip it up and wear it as a fucking loin cloth-"
The grip tightened a fraction more against the struggling and Squalo murmured something indistinct into the curled mass of Badou's hair, the palm of his hand pressing flat against the other's stomach. "Deal with the consequences, bitch."
The redhead was finding that his brain was beginning to shut down again. "I'm not your bitch, no matter how many pretty party dresses you fucking shove me into," he rasped, realising only afterwards it really wasn't THAT great of a defiant statement.
"It was a bet, no?" Squalo pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the slope of the other's shoulder, grinning slightly at the rasped-out words.
Badou shifted under Squalo's hand, cursing every maitre dee that ever fucking lived. Cursing those damn lips on that damn pasta fucker even more so. Killers with kisses soft enough to kill. Who'da thought. "I said I'd fucking- wear it- I didn't say how-"
"Wear the dress," was a barely-there murmur against the shell of Badou's ear, and Squalo pulled the other closer, pressing them almost flush together. "Indulge my sick fantasies."
Inhaling somewhat sharply, Badou's eye fluttered close. He needed a fucking smoke. There was nothing for it, and anyway it wasn't as if he was able to think when he was this close to the Italian. Shitfucking pheromones. "Fine."
Squalo grinned against the other's neck. "Good." Dangling the dress in front of the other now, he stepped back slightly, breaking most contact between them although his hand still lingered lightly on Badou's hip. "And hurry. We're already late."
Badou looked at the dress like it was a particularly nasty kind of fungus. He looked at Squalo as if he were the log the fungus was growing under. "I don't fucking know how to do that shit."
A half-exasperated sigh left the swordsman's lips and he carefully pulled the dress free from the hangar, unzipping the back of the garment. "It works the same." Squalo held it out against the redhead, raising his eyebrows in question. Are you going to wear it or not?
Badou sighed again, snapping the dress out of Squalo's hands [scarred hand brushing metal]. He bunched it up, trying to pull it over his head.
Squalo made a little clicking noise of annoyance and stepped closer again, carefully pulling the black material down without wrinkling or disturbing anything. He ran his hand down over the other's side, smoothing the dress out, and pulled back a little to look over the smoker, finally nodding and raising his eyes back up to meet Badou's. "Looks good."
"Sick bitch-ass creepy motherfucker," replied Badou airily, his face heating up.He crossed his arms, uncomfortable.
"You like me this way." Squalo muttered out from where he was opening the closet, and the swordsman glanced back at Badou after a moment. "Should I wear white or black?"
The redhead answered without thinking. "Well if I'm wearing black you should match me."
There was a long silence. "Oh Christ. I need a fucking smoke." Badou, awkward with constricted strides in the dress, grabbed a pack off the end table frantically.
"--Black it is, then." Squalo merely shrugged (as if it was nothing, but he's never felt so giddy in his entire life) and started tugging the clothes on, both hands deft on the shirt cuffs and buttons. But halfway through the motion, he paused, leaning over to snatch the cigarette holder from the same table to hold out to the redhead with a half-smirk curling over his expression. "Practice."
Looking up from lighting up, Badou made a face, but took it. "Practice putting my foot up your ass," he mumbled, fumbling with the lit cigarette as he tried to put it in.
Eyes narrowing slightly in amusement, Squalo took the cigarette from the redhead also, twisting the cigarette into the holder before handing back (breathing in the cloud of smoke that was starting to mean Badou to him, now) "Just your foot?" He said, barely a heartbeat of a pause (but still there] before he slipped the black leather glove off his other hand also, the white satin of the dinner gloves sliding over the hard metal with barely a second to spare.
"That's not fucking clever," mumbled Badou, taking a very, very much needed drag off the holder. He blew out a plume of smoke, mind not focusing on the metal hand, but on the first layer of ash the white dinner glove was receiving. Rebellion comes in many forms. Badou looked down at his bare feet. "...I'm not wearing any kinda... drag queen bonanza sale high heels."
"I got you flats," muttered Squalo without missing a beat, as he tucked his shirt into the trousers and shrugged on the jacket with the same easy, practiced motion, as if he'd been doing this his entire life (and probably had, too). "We're the same height--it doesn't look good if you're taller." Another quick, barely-there glance was given to him, and Squalo turned back to retrieve his tie from the table. "I told you it'd fit."
"It's too tight on my hips," It wasn't, but Badou's stomach hurt with how good Squalo looked in a fucking suit. "You should wear that shit all the time instead of the stupid fucking tunic uniform bullshit," he blurted.
Hands pausing, hesitating for a few seconds, Squalo looked up at Badou, a slight surprise flicking past his face before the usual sort of half-smirk appeared on his face. "It'd get dirty too fast."
Snorting in a very unladylike fashion, Badou slipped on the stupid girly flats. "Why can't I just wear my boots? Haven't you emasculated me enough? Up-do and all?" He put a hand to his head, grinning at the slight disarray his hair was in now.
A quiet tsk was the only answer to that, as Squalo straightened his tie and glanced quickly in the mirror, eyes meeting the other's reflection on it. "Too dirty." He finally said, sweeping the mass of pale hair back to tie it up loosely.
Badou edged closer, pulling the other man's tie crooked again from behind. He plunked his chin on Squalo's shoulder, grinning. "I like dirty." A note of faux casualty entered his rasp. "We can be dirty if we stay here. Sick fantasies, and everything-?"
Squalo tilted his head slightly, resting the side of it against Badou's; the hair was beyond saving pretty much, anyway. "But we match." Very carefully, he reached out to pluck a flower from the vase on the table, turning slightly to tuck it into the messed locks of redorange curls. "And they have good wine."
The next few moments, with a wide eye, the redhead sputtered. Finally, he managed to snap half-heartedly, "I don't care how good the wine is as long as there's fucking lots of it." There was a pause, as Badou desperately tried not to catch the fucking flower in the mirror. "You put way too much thought into this for it to be a HA-HA YOU'RE A DOUCHE bet," he mumbled.
There was a pause, before Squalo cleared his throat and adjusted the cufflinks, eyes dropping away from looking at Badou's reflection in the mirror in front of them. Finally, the swordsman muttered out under his breath, deliberately not meeting the other's eye. "I said I wanted to take you out properly."
"In drag isn't properly," laughed Badou, feeling a little less awkward as Squalo felt more awkward. He turned Squalo's head back to the mirror, smirking like a shark [how ironic] over his shoulder. "Look at me. I look like your fucking cocaine addicted mafia wife."
Squalo's eyes rested on the other's reflection for a moment, taking in the slightly blurred image (the plumes and wisps of smoke fogging up around them) of redorange and pale, pale skin, the expression on his face unreadable (halfteasing halfnervous halfentirelydifferent). "Tu es beau, Badou."
Badou Nails was not often struck speechless. "I- I- you- I-" he stuttered, the bridge of his nose smudging a deep scarlet.
Squalo only mumbled something unintelligent and turned around, reaching out and pulling the other along by the (scarred) hand. "Come on. We're gonna be late. Do you know just how much this entire thing cost?"
"My dignity," replied Badou, but even the ever-present cloud of smoke couldn't obscure his smile. He felt the metal hand in his, unflinching steel, and gripped slightly tighter. More convincing, or. Or something. "Just my dignity."
The older man tightened his grip a fraction in answer, the cold steel warming through the glove, against Badou's hand. And it almost felt normal. "Try to walk like a fucking woman, then. It can't get any worse than this for you."
After they departed, Badou's Womanly Sashay oh so accidentally hip-checked Squalo down a flight of stairs.