There were arms wrapped solidly around his waist and a head resting on his chest when he swam to consciousness.

Peeking emerald eyes open, he blearily focused in on his surroundings, disgruntled to have his internal alarm clock (instilled in him after 11 years of stalking a man – or baby – who somehow survived on cat naps and liked to viciously awake anyone else still sleeping by the time said cat naps were over) go off – as usual – at 5 in the morning.

Whatever the definition for a 'morning person', he did not fit the description.

Nonetheless, despite wanting to pretend that he could fall back asleep and therefore cuddle right back down into the warm nest of limbs that interwove him until a decent hour, he gently untangled himself from the body parts, murmuring an 'I got to go make breakfast' when he met momentary – yet unbreakable – resistance.

Finally, he managed to escape and slipped on his cow-print, thigh-length robe, cinching it around his waist.

He shuffled and stumbled into the kitchen, reminiscing on the old days where he could sleep in till noon, take hour-long naps throughout the day, and be tucked in bed by 8 at night…

Oh, what he'd give to be his five-year old self… sometimes…

It just happened to be one of those times.

He managed to make breakfast without any injury to himself, the dishes, or the kitchen in general, despite the fact that his mind and limbs were far from agreeing with being active.

At exactly a quarter to six – the coffee just done, the breakfast of Italian sausage, scrambled eggs, eggs sunny-side-up, cinnamon rolls, bacon, toast, and frittatas complete and set out on three different plates; one plate yellow, the next blue, and the third green – a man, dressed immaculately in a black Armani suit complete with Italian loafers and a fedora adorned with a yellow ribbon pressing down on his jet black locks, wordlessly took his place behind the yellow plate, his plate being without the cinnamon roll and with the eggs sunny-side-up, a cup of coffee sitting demurely to its side.

Without even a thank you, he delved into his food, his obsidian gaze hidden by the rim of his fedora.

He made very certain to glare balefully at the man. If only he could burn a hole through his head with his hateful glower…

He found the thought deeply entertaining; he even chuckled at it.

The sound of mirth earned him the man's spiteful attention.

"What are you laughing at, you stupid cow?"

"Goodness, Reborn…" He sighed, his tone stating that it was oh-so obvious. "I'm laughing at you, you stingy bastard." He stood there, tiny chest puffed out with pride and slim shoulders thrown back, his chin tilted up as he gave off an aura of confidence and maliciousness. "You are so lucky that I gave up my quest for your head in favor of being your lover."

It took another moment for his words to catch up with his (still) sleep-depraved mind and then another moment for him to remember that he was not dreaming, ergo Reborn would retaliate.

On the heels of that realization came instant and total fear great enough that he nearly pissed his pants; the reason he didn't was because of the fact that, more than anything else, Reborn would hold it over his head the rest of his life if he did so…

If he had a 'rest of his life'…

Reborn, for a precious second, had that poker face on that said he was going to retaliate.

When his stony expression turned into a lewd smirk, he almost wished he would retaliate…

"Now, now, Lambo…" A shiver ran up his spine at his name being spilled from those thinly-pressed and yet sexy-as-hell lips. "You had my head just last night… Down your throat… Up your ass… In your hands… Yes, you've had my head for a while now, haven't you?"

Had it been possible, he would have died right then and there without even a 'farewell'. However, he was damnably too healthy to have a heart attack, a stroke, or a sudden and fatal illness; and he was too inexperienced for someone to abruptly consider him an absolute danger and murder him on the spot.

So he settled for sputtering incoherent words and phrases instead, his hands going from tugging at his hair to wiping at his watering eyes to trying to strangle Reborn.

By the time his thoughts were clear enough for him to remember the sniper rifle hidden in the cupboards and point it at the bastard, the safety off, Reborn had finished his breakfast and had made his way contently out the front door without the slightest rush.

Lambo would have tried to shoot him from the window, but a second voice interrupted his vengeful mood.

"Hey, calf."

His bloodlust-crazed mind oozed to give way to something equally as potent.

Tamed, he set the gun down next to the window and wandered back into the kitchen where a half-naked, tall, muscular man was rubbing his tone abs, his ice-blue eyes surveying his surroundings. His army-green pajama bottoms were riding low on his hips and his hair was held back by a folded, camouflage bandana with a '01' pin on it. In his free hand, he held a glass of orange juice.

"Hey, there you are." He pointed at Lambo's dish. "How come you haven't eaten yet?"

He smiled softly. "I thought I'd do the dishes first so I'd have less to do after I was done eating…" He sighed as he looked at the mountain of dishes. It was like that every breakfast and dinner.

The blonde followed his stare. "Hey, when I'm done eating, I'll do them." He made a 'come hither' gesture with his hand, eyes on Lambo again.

Like a tamed little bovine, he went to him without a fuss.

The man hooked a hand in the tie of his robe, pulling him flush to his bare chest. Pressed between his hips, Lambo could make out his 'morning wood'.

He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, feeling his breath catch and his heartbeat speed just that little bit more. The soreness that had been alive in his body after last night's activities was given new life and yet he could not bring himself to kill the excitement boiling in his belly. "That's n-nice of you, Colonello… unlike some people…" A stingy bastard to be specific… A black-Armani-suit-wearing stingy bastard to be a little more specific… Reborn to be exact.

Colonello smirked, fondling Lambo's ass with obvious intent. "Hey, I'm a nice guy… most of the time."

Lambo laughed huskily. "Mmm… m-most of the time…"

"I can't decide which I wanna do first: you or breakfast." Colonello looked thoughtfully from the food to Lambo's wanton expression and then down to his own problem. His devilish grin was only at par with Reborn's. "Hey, I've got an idea…"

As it turned out, Lambo still ended up doing all the dishes… and then he ended up taking a shower… and then a bath.

He could still feel the food lodged in… uncomfortable places.