It was being able to lie there, staring up at the ceiling, and think that killed Xanxus.

The overbearing smells of antiseptic and disinfectant onslaught him when he woke up. Chalk white ceiling over his head, blank white walls keeping him boxed in and imprisoned. He took in a deep breath, rushing fresh oxygen into his lungs, of which it hurt to even breathe.

"Fuck," he whispered.

Body constricted by bandages, his chest felt tight and his arms immoveable. There wasn't much else in the world Xanxus could find more agonizing than the feeling of being trapped and harmless. He was born free. He was born destructive.

Beeping soon filled his slacking ears, and he realized his heavy arms were attached to a machine by thin clear tubes and a soft needle. He clenched his fist, but bandages withheld him, and the aching from the impaled area stopped him still. He really was powerless.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered.

He couldn't move his head. He could feel a neck brace. And so, he stared at the stark ceiling in front of him, eyes so angry red he hoped he could blow it up with his mind. Anything to cause damage. Anything.

He heard a rustle. It wasn't the door opening, and it wasn't himself. Xanxus wondered if there had been someone with him the whole time. He couldn't exactly look around, so he opened his mouth to demand the identity of the other, but was stopped by another's words.

"Xanxus," was whispered. Squalo.

Xanxus jolted at the voice. That no-good servant of his. What the fuck did he understand about Xanxus? Nothing, just some papers he had found. How could he even dare to say he knew what Xanxus was going through? He wanted to throttle the fucker.

A weight left the bed, and Xanxus realized that his stupid lackey had been lying there the whole time. He grit his teeth and attempted to give the man a "What the fuck are you doing here" look, in which Squalo only let out a labored and snipped laugh.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The silver-haired swordsman finally came into his view, leaning over his prone body. Long hair trailed down his bandages as Squalo drew closer to his face. Bandages of his own were wrapped loosely around his head, and tight white strips were clung to his neck. It wasn't much of a surprise Squalo couldn't talk very well. Xanxus was in the same predicament.

The weight returned. Squalo threw aside the thin blanket covering Xanxus, and replaced it with his thin thighs, straddling carefully and efficiently. His gloved hands pressed softly to his bandaged chest, something to rest his weight on.

"I couldn't make you the boss," he whispered.

Xanxus made a note to hit Squalo when his arms get better; Hit him a lot. But Squalo was abnormally sincere, his disgusting heartfelt words making Xanxus quiet his thoughts for a moment. He wasn't going to apologize for the things he'd done to the swordsman, he probably never would. But here said man was, asking forgiveness of a thing he couldn't even control.

Gloved hands delved under the hospital gown and between soft bandages to grasp Xanxus' deprived penis. Those misty eyes looked back up to his boss, letting him watch (Be it strained) his hand go up and down over him until he was tall and proud.

"You'll still be my boss," he whispered.

His hand let go to unbutton and remove his clothes, gracefully still maintaining the position on his knees. Silver hair stroked the bandages over Xanxus' stomach as Squalo leaned over him again, lips to lips. Just slow, quiet, keep it calm, this was a moment he needed to believe in. Saliva swapped, and Squalo lowered himself down on his boss's erection.

If Xanxus remembered correctly, and he hoped he hadn't suffered any brain damage otherwise, lubrication was needed for this kind of thing. He watched with aching eyes as his follower sat down on his cherry red organ, his face focused.

"I'm too drugged up to feel it. Don't worry," he whispered.

What made him think Xanxus worried? Xanxus couldn't feel much, save for the sweet tightness surrounding his dick, so was he making a worried face? Maybe Squalo just wanted to think Xanxus cared, so he'll enjoy it more. Xanxus hoped he wasn't making a concerned face at Squalo, because he really didn't mean to. Really.

The longhaired man above him started moving up and down. Slowly, sensually, letting out a pleasured moan or yelp at every bounce. Xanxus wasn't sure if he should be doing anything, not like he could do it anyway. The swordsman, not breaking rhythm, took a careful hold of Xanxus' stiff and immobile arms and placed them at his hips, giving his boss a look. It actually made Xanxus shiver.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

The slapping of skin resounded. It was getting hot, losing all sense of sentiment or love (though Xanxus would deny it still). Xanxus concentrated on his grip, almost impossible for him to move those hands. But he managed, lifting Squalo up and down fast and hard. His hips would snap up the best they could, not even inches off the bed, and Squalo would let out a groan for his efforts.

The sound of Squalo's voice egged on the scarred Italian, and the rising pitch warned him that his servant was getting higher and higher. The frantic bouncing was becoming maniacal, and finally, Squalo snapped and took Xanxus as deep as he could, white spurting over bandages of the same color. He gave a cry of completion the best he could.

"Boss! Boss, oh god, boss!" he whispered, trying just to breathe.

Xanxus opened his mouth in a silent howl, one more jerk upwards into heat and he was done, gushing into his loyal guardian. His breath came out loud and angry, and he looked up at Squalo, thighs trembling around him and white smeared over his pale abdomen. Xanxus would have liked to break from his rage for just one moment in his life to tell Squalo just how beautiful he was. But he said nothing, couldn't say anything.

Squalo refused to remove himself from Xanxus. His misty eyes quivered, and Xanxus watched him cry. That was the first time Xanxus had ever seen Squalo cry, and it would probably be the last. He didn't comment on how stupid Squalo looked, sniveling like that. He didn't ask Squalo to stop crying, because Squalo didn't look beautiful with ugly tears down his cheeks.

" Isn't your fault," he whispered, voice just loud enough.

And the man on him grimaced, more tears falling. Before Xanxus could utter out any abusive commentary, he wrapped his pale sinewy arms around his braced neck and let out one of the saddest noises Xanxus would ever hear in his life. It was a sob.

Shouldn't I be the crying one, Xanxus thought. Xanxus wouldn't cry, but if someone had to, Squalo would gladly do it. Fingers shakily gripped ebony hair for reassurance. Fingers numbly gripped ivory hips to give back that comfort. And they lay together, warm and hurt and just so very regretful.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."