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They rarely had moments like this.
Alone, and for a change, not busy. New Year’s Eve seemed like a slow day for murder, or rather slower, and the Varia decided to take full advantage of said downtime. Namely, by means of drinking themselves stupid, or at least to a comfortable “I’m definitely not sober” level that bordered drinking themselves into an alcohol-induced coma.
It had started with just a few drinks, an overly-intense game of Jenga played between Bel, Fran, Levi and Squalo, and Lussuria gossiping about the scandalous outfits some of the girls on the television were wearing and why he should be able to wear outfits like that on missions instead of their tacky uniforms.
It quickly spiraled into far too many shot glasses skewed about the manor, Bel and Fran tangled up in a questionable position on the couch while the Mist conjured up several blankets to wrap them up in, and the Sky guarding his last bottle of tequila with a ferocity that none of the other Varia dare challenged, rightfully so. To take from a King was a dangerous game to play and none of them were that stupid, surely.
Xanxus, despite all his willpower and control, was by far the most intoxicated, and the Swordsman had to laugh because if Xanxus could even see himself right now, he’d be horrified by his own actions. So unbecoming of a Boss, to have cheeks reddened by poison, words slurred and feet stumbling over each other as he shambled his way outside.
Squalo though, hadn’t had a single drop the entire night. Which was fine really, because yeah, he’d like to have gotten shit-faced drunk as well with the rest of his family, but part of him liked the idea of keeping an eye on the rest of the Varia, making his rounds through the manor and checking to make sure nobody has actually died despite them all drinking like they were fucking fish out of water. That's okay, they'll wish for death in the morning instead.
Finally, Squalo turns his attention to the figure looming outside on the balcony, bottle in hand as he leans over the railing, surveying his Kingdom. Bringing the bottle to his lips he takes a long swig, letting a few drops of amber liquid run down his chin, and had Squalo been a braver man, or perhaps stupider, he would've reached a gloved hand out and wiped the droplets away.
He was close, so close that Squalo could feel his Flame, could feel the raw energy that radiated off the Sky's strong form, and that, mixed with all the other emotions Squalo felt for his Boss-- admiration, pride, respect, lust, to name a few-- well, he wasn’t too sure what the fuck was going on with his body. He was warm. Far too warm considering they were outside with no coats on, it was nearly midnight and he hadn't had a drop of liquor. If neither of them walked away in about five seconds, Squalo was sure he was going to fucking spontaneously combust.
It's Squalo who folds first, because he can no longer stand the heat, the burning in his cheeks or the rapid fluttering of his heart behind his ribcage. And as he turns to walk back inside he's startled by the quickness in which he's pinned against the cold stone of the manor, back against the coarse surface as Xanxus presses his chest flush against Squalo's own, effectively trapping him. His entire body felt as if he’d been ignited by the Sky’s flame--his skin burned where it touched the others and his mouth went dry. All he could focus on were those garnet colored eyes staring at him, clouded over by what could easily be mistaken for lust.
Squalo wondered, briefly, if his own eyes looked much the same, or if they resembled that of a woodland creature caught in the headlights of a speeding car. It was the grumble of an insult, slurred by alcohol, that pulled Squalo out of his reverie.
“Ssshitty ssharkk.”
Inside there was cheering and hollering, an ungodly amount of glass shattering, and the sounds of fireworks being set off, and Squalo prayed to whatever sort of shitty God existed that listened to assassins that those were illusions of fireworks and that the Varia manor wasn’t about to catch on fire because some shitty Prince thought it hilarious to set off actual fireworks inside the fucking house.
And for a second time in quick succession that night the Rain was pulled from his thoughts, again by a familiar voice and an even familiar grip in his hair, one that wasn’t exactly painful but more so possessive.
“Happyyy New Yearsss, sscum.”
Squalo had pictured kissing his Boss quite a few times in the course of the eight years he’s waited for him. Rough kisses that were quick and hot, more teeth than tongue and fueled by a primal desire. Kisses that ended (or were they started?) no where near mouths at all and instead sought after other sensitive parts of the body; neck, throat, clavicle. Kisses that left bite marks and bruises in their wake, that left you feeling excited and filthy the next morning when you were getting dressed at caught a glimpse of the aftermath in your mirror.
What he never had expected, in any outlandish scenario his pretty little mind conjured up, was sentiment.
Which is exactly why Squalo had no idea how to react when the grip in his hair remained possessive, but also cradled the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek softly. Warm lips were pressed against his cooler ones, and the only reaction the Rain could have was to groan into the kiss, because fuck was this so much better than he could picture in his mind, lying in bed at night, restlessly trying to fall asleep.
Xanxus was by no means a bad kisser. Not at all. Even while inebriated, the man had a tongue that was far too wicked for his own good, and when Squalo got around to actually kissing the bastard back, he realized that this was most definitely a lot better than his dreams. His mouth tasted of tequila, of the salt and lime from their shots earlier, but also of something more exotic, like a spice that was almost too strong it was bitter and you could easily overwhelm yourself with it. It was intoxicating, and Squalo could easily drown chasing the taste of the others lips.
They remained like that for several moments, Squalo tentatively wrapping his arms around Xanxus to pull him in closer, because fuck it, give an inch take a mile. If this was going to be the first and last chance he got to touch his Boss in any kind of manner, the Rain was going to make damn sure it counted. It was only a matter of time before Xanxus would snap out of his drunken stupor and bash the Swordsman's face into the same wall he was pinned against, so may as well enjoy the moment while it lasted.
But when Xanxus instead encourages the action, following through with Squalo’s movements and pressing closer, his free hand coming to rest at the Rain's hip, he nearly loses it. When rough, warm fingers slip under the silk fabric of Squalo's shirt, to tease at the lean muscle of his abdomen, he lets out a muffled moan, swallowed by their kiss.
Sometime during their exchange the commotion inside had died down to quiet murmurs, with the occasional exception of a certain shitty laugh. Squalo is still pressed up against the wall when their kiss ends and Xanxus pulls back, just a fraction, but enough for them both to look one another over. If he had to guess, it was like looking into a mirror-- Xanxus' pupils were blown wide with lust, his lips swollen from kissing, cheeks tinted crimson. From the liquor? The kiss? Both, perhaps? Squalo doesn't ask, doesn't care to know really, is just grateful to have even lived through the experience.
Ultimately they resolved to pulling away and straightening out their clothes, Squalo finger-combing through his silver hair to mend it back into place. After several moments of silence, he speaks up first, ever a poet.
“Vooii! You reeked of tequila, scum! That wasn’t pleasant at all.”
He was lying, of course. It was incredible, but Squalo wasn’t about to admit that out loud. A laugh, and suddenly Squalo’s heart was in his throat. Fuck. He's dead.
“Tch, mad because I didn’t save you any?”
The Swordsman scoffs in reply, mostly out of annoyance, but also because surely Xanxus wasn't teasing him? An honest jest, and not one of a thousand tiny papercut of teases he's heard in his life. But also because Xanxus was threading his fingers through his own, pulling him back towards his warmth, back towards the manor to rejoin the others.
“Tch, hardly." The Rain finally finds his words as he lets himself be led back inside, where the others have long since passed out in variously impressive ways. He brings a scarred hand up towards his lips and kisses the ring he finds there. "Happy New Years, Boss.”