koi   10-03-2024, 01:29 AM
#1
ESKIL
Enzo’s been ignoring him. While this is nothing particularly new, given the mafioso’s propensity for pretending he doesn’t exist for weeks on end, this time, an itch has crawled under his skin and taken root there. He knows exactly what Enzo has been occupying his time with–or who, rather–and it pisses him off more than it should. Perhaps the fact that he’s surrounded by everything Enzo is part of it, and his daily reminders do very little to help the situation, but Eskil always has been a glutton for punishment–even at his own hand.

Six Days Ago
It wasn’t supposed to go this way. He’s had plenty of less than trustworthy clients over the years, but Eskil is always careful–so fucking careful. And yet, he stands with the smoking gun in one hand, staring at the steadily increasing pool of blood around the motionless body on the floor. It’s all he can do to mutter a strangled, “fuuuck,” on a hissed breath, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He’s vaguely aware of the wet, sticky sensation of his shirt clinging to his torso, but adrenaline has the pain somewhere far away in his mind, and he has to prioritize.

Eskil transitions from stunned silence to efficient action in seconds. He always has an exit strategy, but sacrificing his main base of operations is going to be a heavy blow. It doesn’t matter though–he has no choice. The warehouse’s ownership is untraceable back to him, and as for the rest of it… well, the display of the explosion and flames as he escapes down the dark alley is a spectacular one.

Stealing a bike had been child’s play, but as he zips through the city streets, Eskil knows he’s running out of time. Not because the distant sirens have any idea who set the fire, let alone where to find him, but because his vision is fading as quickly as his adrenaline. He’s going to pass out soon. Luckily, his destination isn’t much further, and he pushes the motorcycle well over the speed limit, managing to safely ditch it in a parking garage so he doesn’t wrap it around a fucking pole.

He has to struggle his way another block on foot until he reaches the subterranean garage of a different high-rise, letting himself into the private elevator and submitting the code to bring it up to the penthouse. He knows the apartment will almost certainly be empty, and only silence greets Eskil when the doors slide open. By this point, he’s clutching his jacket against his side to stem the bleeding, and he barely makes it into the living room before he tumbles rather against his will onto the nearest couch, consciousness ripped away from him before he can blink.

Honestly, he’s somewhat surprised when he wakes up, the early rays of dawn sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. Groaning as he blinks open eyes that feel like sandpaper, pain flares up his side, but impressively, the deep wound has slowed bleeding enough over the hours to clot enough that he hasn’t bled to death. He forces himself to his feet, grimacing at the sight of the once pristine couch now stained a deep burgundy red. Eskil stumbles down the hall to the master suite, leaving bloody handprints on the wall and his clothes in a trail behind him. He has only one destination in mind, and he forces himself through the bedroom and directly into the adjoining bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping in before it’s had a chance to heat up.

Eskil hisses as the water rushes over his bruised and bleeding skin, bracing his hands on the tile and glass walls to keep himself from toppling over. He stands beneath the steaming water until it finally runs clear, and then spends the next twenty minutes sitting on the bathroom counter with an extensive first aid kit beside him, using the mirror to painstakingly stitch the edges of the stab wound closed. Securing an adhesive bandage over his patch job–admittedly, this isn’t his first time stitching a wound closed, though they usually aren’t his own–Eskil makes his way to the neatly-made bed and then collapses into it, falling into an exhaustion-fueled sleep.

When his eyes open next, Eskil forgets where he is. Or rather–when he is. The sheets are familiar, the pillow faintly laced in a spicy scent he knows too fucking well, and he reaches his hand across the mattress reflexively, discovering two things simultaneously. One: the other side of the bed is cold, empty, and untouched. Two: that hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. “Motherfucker,” he mutters as it all comes rushing back in sudden clarity, retracting his hand to scrub it across his face instead. Groaning, he rolls over enough to extract a tv remote and a laptop from the bed stand, tossing the latter beside him as he props himself up on the pillows and clicks on the flatscreen.

It doesn’t take long to flip through the channels until he finds what he’s looking for. “...authorities are asking anyone with information about last night’s warehouse fire, resulting in the tragic death of a local congressman, to come forward…” The decimated warehouse is still smoking in the background behind the reporter, and her succinct overview tells him all he needs to know. He’s a ghost in the wind to the cops, and he’s been unconscious for a day. Grabbing the laptop next, Eskil makes quick work of scrubbing footage from the city streets and from the personal cameras inside the penthouse documenting his arrival.

Then, he settles in to snoop.

Present Day
He doesn’t care who Enzo fucks, but this one is different. When Eskil had first hacked into the Vincenzas’ camera feed, it had come as little surprise to find footage of Enzo bending an absolute bombshell over the table in his room, rutting like an animal into the girl until she’d been sobbing and screaming his name. Admittedly, the scene was hot as fuck, and if not for his freshly injured state screaming at him every time he moved, he may have wound up with his cock in his palm.

That wasn’t the strange part, not by any means.

Footage from the day before revealed…the same woman in his room. Eskil can count on one hand the number of girls that Enzo has let spend the night in his bed. So naturally, he investigated  more, backtracking through weeks of footage with the woman he learns is named Rayne, until he found the moment of her arrival in Enzo’s custody. He’s known the italian mobster to do many heinous things, but kidnapping and locking up his own personal fucktoy? That’s new. Eskil can’t quite decide if he’s jealous of her apparently golden pussy for getting all of Enzo’s attention, or if he’s jealous of Enzo for getting to bury his cock in her instead of him. It’s a conundrum, really.

What’s really rubbing him raw though is that this morning marks the sixth day he’s been here, and the apartment has remained deathly silent. He knows that Enzo knows he’s here–he would have gotten the first notification the second Eskil stepped into the elevator, and the next when he’d hacked into the security system. More and more after that, because Eskil had made certain to trigger an alert with each day’s log he accessed; Enzo knows he’s here, and he knows that Eskil knows about his new toy. It isn’t unusual for Enzo to make him wait for a few days, but six is excessive, and now that he’s feeling somewhat like a person again, it’s pissing him the fuck off.

Against his better judgment, he fires off a text from his newest burner phone.

Quit playing games with me, Vincenza.

Then he leaves the cell on the nightstand and heads into the bathroom, stripping off his stolen clothes from Enzo’s closet and stepping into the steaming shower, where he plans to remain until he’s run up the penthouse’s water bill to an exorbitant amount.
Saffie   10-03-2024, 10:58 PM
#2
Enzo:
Six days ago…

His phone went off in the middle of the night. He heard the buzz on his nightstand, the single vibration that suggested it was a camera notification. With a heavy sigh, he shifted, extracting himself from the way Rayne wrapped around him like a vice while she slept. It was no small feat, the woman was tiny but with her leg thrown across his hips and her arm draped across his chest, she made it difficult to stray far. With one eye open, he tapped the screen, the blue light offensive in the dark.

Penthouse elevator accessed.

He sighed and tossed the phone back on the nightstand. Eskil. He hadn’t seen the man in sometime now and it was a bit of surprise that the private investigator had taken this long to show up - uninvited - at his penthouse. Rolling over, he ignored the next vibration that would have told him Eskil had walked into the empty apartment. Tucking Rayne back into his side, he went back to sleep, not checking his phone again until morning.

“That fucker…” He snarled, sitting in the backseat of his car as Omar drove to the office. Scrolling through the cameras and video feed, it looked like a murder had taken place in his penthouse. Blood stained his couch crimson and bloody handprints smeared down the wall. Only a small part of him worries for Eskil’s safety, but he knows the man is more than capable of taking care of himself. Usually that didn’t involve leaving evidence all over his apartment. After sending a quick text to his own head of security, a clipped demand to fix his penthouse, Enzo tossed his phone down on the seat beside him.

Present day…

Quit playing games with me, Vincenza.

Just like that, his temper flared all over again. He hadn’t gone to check on Eskil, he hadn’t even gone to see what the apartment looked like after it had been cleaned and the furniture replaced. He was content to continue ignoring the petulant man. Until now. Staring at his phone’s screen, he scowled at the message. But he didn’t reply. He didn’t even get to his feet to leave - not until the end of his day. Not until the sun dipped below the horizon and he was supposed to be heading home. Rayne would be waiting for him.

The elevator climbed each floor silently until the doors slid open to reveal his own apartment. It was quiet. Too quiet. But rather than stalk through the apartment in search of Eskil, Enzo heads to the kitchen - pouring himself a glass of bourbon. 

Kicking off his socks and shoes, Enzo tosses his jacket and tie over the back of his new couch before he occupies a chair that faces the hallway. The same hallway that leans down to the multiple bedrooms, including his. Eskil was still here, he knew it, and not just because the security system hadn’t gone to alert him of the other man’s departure. Eskil had grown impatient and was now demanding his attention. Well, he certainly got it.
koi   10-04-2024, 01:41 AM
#3
ESKIL
Eskil would have replaced the couch himself. Probably. A small part of him had been tempted to leave it until he got a rise out of Enzo, but in classic Enzo fashion, his men had shown up instead of him. Always detached and distant, the italian knows how much his cool indifference gets under Eskil's skin, and sending people to clean up the mess whilst he maintained radio silence had done exactly that. By the time he'd fired off that text this morning, he was well and truly done with Enzo fucking around with him.

Naturally, Enzo leaves the message on read, and hours pass with no sign of life from the apartment's owner. Once he was properly on his feet, Eskil had taken the liberty of taking over Enzo's office, working tirelessly to wipe any traces of his connection to the warehouse and murder, and liquidating his properties that he'll replace with new ones. The fact that his main base of operations had been compromised has him hyper-aware of the risks to his person, and as much as it might piss off Enzo Vincenza, this is one of the safest places for him to shore up his defenses. After everything Eskil's done for him over the years, Enzo owes him.

Leaning back in the office chair with a sigh, he scrubs a hand over his face and finally abandons his work for the night, eyeing the darkened sky out the window. It isn't until he reaches the doorway and starts padding down the hallway that Eskil gets a distinct impression he isn't alone; the fine hairs raise on the back of his neck, but he doesn't slow. There are few people who can move with such preternatural grace that they can catch Eskil unaware, and Enzo is one of them.

He reaches the end of the dark hallway, and there Enzo lounges in an armchair like a fucking king, backlit by the soft glow of the kitchen lights beyond. A glass of bourbon dangles from his fingertips, and he's already shed his shoes, socks, jacket, and tie–like he's planning to stay a while. Eskil resists the urge to smirk, his face maintaining unbothered neutrality as he halts at the entry to the living room, leaning one shoulder against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Welcome home, baby," he deadpans, well aware that Enzo isn't a fan of such terms of endearment. "I was starting to think you got lost." He quirks a brow, as though waiting for an explanation he both knows won't come, and one that he already has the answer to. He knows exactly how Enzo has been spending his time, but he won't dig the knife into that vulnerability just yet.
Saffie   10-05-2024, 02:20 AM
#4
Enzo:
The sound of bare feet padding down the hall was followed by Eskil making his appearance. Finally. Some might claim Enzo had no right to be impatient when he hadn’t even bothered to announce himself in the apartment. But he had no doubts that Eskil had gotten through his firewalls to access the entire buildings cameras as well as the security system at the mansion. Idly, Enzo swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes on his phone as he fired off one last text. I’ll be late tonight. Don’t wait up. The device clicked softly as he locked the screen, tossing it on the end table beside him. Only then did he grace Eskil with his gaze. The older man’s words were barbed, each carefully chosen to grate at his nonexistent patience. From calling him baby, to insinuating he was late, Eskil treaded dangerous waters. But it was the game they played - Eskil testing to see how far he could push the mafioso and Enzo responding in kind.

Tonight though, he wasn’t entirely sure he was invested in this game. Enzo wasn’t someone you summoned. You didn’t make demands of him. He was the one who did summoning, who made the demands. “Seems more like you’re the one who got lost,” His voice is smooth, a richly accented sound. “On your way to the hospital.” His eyes dropped to Eskil's side, where his bandaged wound was hidden under one of Enzo’s shirts. Getting bloodstains out was nearly a job requirement for his staff thankfully. Too bad the couch was unsalvageable.

Lifting the glass to his lips, he let the booze burn a path down his throat to warm his belly.

Enzo was very much aware of what had been transpiring over the last week. The dead congressman. The warehouse that he knew was Eskil's and how it now was nothing more than a pile of burnt rubble. According to the news, it burned down the very same night that Eskil showed up here, bleeding. A dark brow arched, thick with implication. He knew. And he knew that Eskil knew he knew. Harboring a potential murder was hardly the worst sin Enzo had ever committed. He wasn’t worried about backlash, he knew that Eskil would cover his own tracks, even if only because he knew Enzo could easily hang him out to dry. But he did want to know what happened. More than that though, what did Eskil think of his latest bedmate? He’d be more surprised if Eskil didn’t know than he would be to find out that the other man had watched every second of footage.
koi   12-06-2024, 06:20 PM
#5
ESKIL
"Yeah?" he drawls, quirking a brow and tilting his head curiously as he stares Enzo down. "That's what you wanted me to do? Go to a hospital, where'd they have to report the fact that I was stabbed, compromising myself, and therefore you?" His tone gets more derisive as he goes on, dismissing Enzo's suggestion like it's one of the dumbest things he's ever heard. "Don't tell me you're so pussy-whipped it's made you stupid," Eskil snorts, rolling his eyes. They have a long and messy history, entangled enough to drag them both into hell together if shit hits the fan, and they both know it.

Shrugging off the wall, Eskil strolls into the shadowed living room and past where Enzo is lounging to head into the kitchen, flicking on the light as he enters and makes quick work of preparing his own drink. Ordinarily, he would have made one for Enzo too, but he'd ignored the hacker for long enough that Eskil isn't feeling particularly inclined to give him anything at all. "Sorry about the couch, though," he quips when he returns, dropping onto the replacement piece that's set perpendicular to the chair Enzo is in, one arm sprawling over the back of the couch and the other lifting his drink to his lips. "I totally meant to almost bleed out on your fancy fuckin mattress instead." He's fucking asking for it, and Eskil doesn't give a single flying fuck.

Working his way under Enzo's skin and twisting the knife is one of his favorite pastimes.
Saffie   12-10-2024, 03:43 PM
#6
Enzo:

An impatient sound hums in the back of his throat. Enzo very nearly rolls his eyes. His expression doesn’t shift until Eskil suggests he’s been pussy-whipped into stupidity. Then a dark brow lifts. ”I guess I was wrong to assume you were tech savvy enough to look up the address I’ve provided you to the underground hospital.” He growls. ”Maybe it’s time to find your replacement.” His tone turns dismissive and he sighs, like he’s bothered by the trouble he’s going to have to go. Like he doesn’t have a waiting list of those vying for the elusive position at Enzo’s right hand. The two men were tied irrevocably together when it came to business and while few knew who provided Enzo with his information, they all wanted his favored position. Still, Enzo isn’t above replacing him, though a part of him would be disappointed. Despite the ways in which their poke and prod at each other, they work seamlessly together. He doesn’t want to replace Eskil, but that’s hacker doesn’t need to know that, which is exactly why the mafioso toys with his position.

Mismatched eyes track Eskil as he goes to the kitchen to pour himself a drink before he flops down on the new couch with a half assed apology.

Eskil is no stranger to getting on Enzo’s last nerve. It’s what they do best. ”Is this you being jealous?” One corner of his full mouth tips up in a smirk. ”It doesn’t suit you.” Eskil has always been his dirty secret, a skeleton in his closet that he plays with often. But lately, he’s spurned the older man, leaving him out in the cold with Rayne sleeps comfortably in his bed. He settles deeper into his seat, long legs spread in front of him, bent at the knees - like he’s waiting. Lifting his glass, he sips his drink, watching Eskil over the rim of the glass. ”If you want something, you better start asking.” He knows Eskil won’t. ”Nicely.” He almost sneers.

There’s something faintly knowing in his eyes. Eskil is, and has always been, a brat. He fights tooth and nail every step of the way for the simple fact that he likes it when Enzo takes what he wants. There’s not a bone in his body that doesn’t anticipate another fight from Eskil. To dig his blade in further, with his free hand, Enzo pats his thigh, like a master beckoning his pet closer. Eyes glitter mockingly.

koi   12-11-2024, 04:55 AM
#7
ESKIL
"I was in between phones," he shrugs. He doesn't offer the information that when he'd been flooded with adrenaline, pain, and desperation, the only thing that had been on his mind was coming here. Enzo doesn't need that kind of ammunition against him. So he pokes instead. "Go ahead though, I'm sure it won't be difficult to find someone who meets all of your...needs." There are plenty of hackers out there, but that's hardly Eskil's only appealing feature; he also happens to suck a mean dick.

The alcohol settles with a familiar burn in his chest, sliding down his throat in a slow swallow as Enzo needles more, seeming amused with himself. It's easy for the mafia heir to have his cake and eat it too, but Eskil isn't particularly bothered by the jab. He even goes so far as to chuckle—albeit not a particularly friendly one—and shakes his head in denial. "Nah," he says, fixing Enzo with a sharp, icy stare, "this is me being fucking annoyed that you thought getting your dick wet was more important than being briefed on the situation." For the better part of a week, no less. It's arrogant, and—Eskil still stands by what he said—stupid.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes when Enzo taunts him to ask nicely for what he wants, Eskil tosses back the rest of his drink and discards the glass on a side table, rising to his feet—and Enzo's challenge. He prowls towards the lounging predator, stopping between his spread legs. "How nice do you want me to be?" he goads softly, leaning down with slow deliberation to brace his hands on the chair's arms and subsequently putting their faces much closer together. "Should I say 'please daddy' or would you rather I skip the pleasantries and just suck your cock right now?" He's expecting Enzo to snap at any moment, either from the position he's put them in or his taunting words; he's counting on it. "Just one problem with that, though," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "I'm the one who has something you're gonna want." Surprisingly, Eskil isn't talking about his dick.
Saffie   12-11-2024, 02:51 PM
#8
Enzo:

For all the griping, the disagreements, the sharp jabs and everything else, Enzo does trust Eskil. He trusts him to not only find out information but to handle it as well. Eskil is one he doesn’t have to micromanage. That’s not to say he doesn’t keep tabs on what the hacker is doing, he’s just one of the few that Enzo believes is competent to handle a job from start to finish as well as any additional problems that might arise. So why is he throwing such a fit? Swirling the amber liquid in his glass, Enzo considers the man in front of him. ”Are you going to tell me then? Or do you need to stomp your feet some more?” There’s no denying his new obsession with Rayne has taken center stage, but his business hasn’t suffered from it. He isn’t suddenly making rash decisions or neglecting his responsibilities. But while Rayne is new and shiny, Eskil is a relationship he has cultivated over years. The only one being neglected is Eskil himself.

There are no promises between them and there never have been. Enzo doesn’t dangle a future in front of the man’s face, Eskil knows what he’s getting from Enzo. A secure job and a good time. There’s no white picket fence in their future. It’s an understanding between the two men that has been years in making and at the end of the day, they still hold each other’s secrets. There’s something between them, even if it never goes anywhere.

Enzo has gotten to his place in this world not just with violence and an unforgiving reign, but by reading people. By guessing their next move based on their body language, their expressions, the words they use. The way they react to his words. And his words has Eskil coming when called. The older man rises, coming to stand between parted legs. Unfazed, Enzo watches as Eskil leans down, gripping the chair arms, bringing them face to face. Eskil put up a good front with his sour attitude and barbed words, but he’s still quick to jump to his to feet.

How nice do you want me to be? Enzo smirks. But Eskil can’t help but continue to thrum the fine strings of his patience. Setting his glass down on the end table, he doesn’t answer right away. ”Impatient tonight?” He chides, ignoring the fact that a man older than himself just asked if he should call him ‘daddy’. It doesn’t stop his cock from hardening in his slacks though. Eskil knows his way around a blowjob and he knows exactly what Enzo likes. Reaching up, Enzo threads his fingers through Eskils hair, gripping short locks tightly in his fist. He’s never been gentle and he isn’t about to start now so he tips Eskils head back, cranking his neck painfully if he doesn’t sink to his knees. ”If you want to cum tonight, then you better start talking.” He growls as his expression darkens. Patience has never been his strong suit. A part of him knows the Eskil is toying with him, drawing it out as he greedily eats up the attention. But he’s here, and if Eskil was smart, he’d realize that meant something.

koi   12-11-2024, 10:47 PM
#9
ESKIL
"Impatient tonight?" A slight shrug rolls his shoulders, noncommittal; he's never been known for his patience in any sense of the word—a fact that Enzo is well aware of. He can't help but notice the other man's reaction to his filthy words, his gaze dropping pointedly to Enzo's tented pants, and then flicking back up, a slight smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. He loves knowing that he has that impact, that he excites Lorenzo.

He makes no effort to pull away from the long fingers sliding into his hair, despite knowing that it will come with a familiar bite of pain; he doesn't expect tenderness from him, and nor does he want it. Eskil isn't quite so reactive to mere words—it takes at least some physical contact to entice him, and fuck if Enzo fisting his hair roughly and jerking his head back doesn't have his dick twitching in his sweats. Well, Enzo's sweats. His growled demand ripples delightfully down Eskil's spine, prompting a twisted little simper across his lips even as he slowly yields to the pressure, his knees finally hitting the floor and reversing the power dynamic.

Eskil's palms land on Enzo's thighs, teasing with a rough scrape of his nails upwards, though he stops just shy of reaching anywhere too particularly intimate. It's fucking hot—and frankly, distracting—to be forced into such a submissive position, but Eskil reminds himself—furiously—that work needs to come before play tonight. They have a goddamn problem, and he's been sitting on it with growing frustration for days now. Even Eskil, for all his delight in fucking with Enzo (and just fucking him), knows when he needs to cut the shit. He just couldn't help himself when Enzo makes it so easy.

His expression smooths, his lips settling into a flat line as he states, "you have a mole."
Saffie   12-16-2024, 09:31 PM
#10
Enzo:

His mouth curls with satisfaction at Eskils surrender. His bravado fades the moment his knees hit the floor and Enzo enjoys every second of it. Eskil lives and breathes as a brat, defiant until the very end. It’s what they do best. The constant back and forth, the power struggle that inevitably ends with Eskil at his feet. Nails scrape roughly across his thighs and list claws up his spine. He’s the outlet Enzo thrives on, content and capable to take the brunt of his aggression. But when he did finally bend to Enzo’s will? Well, that’s only a part of the fun. A better man might have brushed his mouth in a light kiss, something gentle - an apology for his absence, for not coming sooner, for not making sure he was okay. But Enzo isn’t a better man. Leaning in, he has every intention of crashing his mouth down on Eskils in a punishing kiss. Until… You have a mole.

His entire body stills and his eyes sharpen as he zeroes in on Eskils. He waits for a just kidding, a savage joke that would earn the hacker a hell of a punishment. But Eskils face is smooth, serious. Rage explodes, white hot in his chest. Nostrils flare. Lips press into a thin line but he doesn’t release his hold on the other man. Not yet. All he can hear in that moment is the blood rushing in his ears. This is a problem. One that could topple empires. His empire. An all consuming anger is directed not only at the mole, the person who has the balls and audacity to betray him, but also Eskil. Six fucking days. For six whole days Eskil sat on this information, petulantly waiting for Enzo’s arrival. His jaws clench and his fists somehow tightens more in the hackers hair. Surely he feels it? The chaotic energy that rolls of Enzo in tsunami like waves. The unspoken promise that Eskil would be begging for mercy before Enzo went home.

A moment later, he releases him, dropping his hand like he’d been burned. ”Striscis.” Strip. The singular command is barely above a murmur despite the way his growl vibrates with his barely controlled temper. Eskil would take the brunt of it tonight. Leaning back, his relaxation was a lie, a trap. His self control is wrung tight, waiting for something - anything - to cause it to snap. Mismatched eyes are fixed on Eskil, waiting with bullshit patience.

Enzo has seen Eskil undress enough times that he knows every inch of the man. He was a whole head shorter than the mafioso and while he was fit, he had nothing on Enzo. Still, those mismatched eyes trace every ridge of muscle that he’s intimately familiar with. ”E chinarsi sul divano.” And bend over the couch. Idly, he reaches for his belt, the metal clanking softly in the quiet penthouse. It’s followed by the smoothing of leather against cloth. Gathering it in his large palm, something dangerous glints in his eyes, something that dominates the room. He lounges like a lazy predator, his thick arms stretched out on either chair arm, his legs spread. His cock pressed uncomfortably against the zipper of his dress pants, all but begging to be released.

koi   12-16-2024, 11:33 PM
#11
ESKIL
Eskil wants that kiss, and it has nothing to do with love or affection. He can read the intent in Enzo's predatory approach—the promise of tongue and teeth and blood—and his nostrils flare slightly, only for it to come to a screeching halt with his admission. He reads every subtle change on the mobster's features, the flattening of his lips and the twitch of a muscle in his jaw; he holds Enzo's searching stare without faltering, their mouths inches apart whilst he's looking for a single crack in Eskil's expression.

There isn't one.

Eskil isn't lying.

Lorenzo seems to come to this realization, his fingers twisting even more roughly in the silver strands of his hair. Eskil winces, for once refraining from making some snide remark about leaving him with bald patches—because he can absolutely feel the coiled tension that Enzo is barely holding onto, and there's no doubt in his mind that he's about to serve as the outlet for it. It's not the first time he's borne the brunt of the Italian's temper, and golden pussy be damned, he really fucking hopes it won't be the last.

They both sit there for a long moment, eyes locked and nostrils flaring, and then the pressure on his scalp is gone in an instant, the deceptively soft command that follows vibrating with the unspoken promise of violence. His dick offers an excited jerk in his pants, eager and willing to play. He exhales a low breath once he's released, his attentive stare tracking Enzo's movement as he lounges back in the armchair like he might just sit there all night and make demands from his throne. They both know it's a lie. He's a coiled snake, just waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Leaning back on his heels, Eskil grabs the hem of his borrowed t-shirt and pulls it over his head, dropping it unceremoniously on the carpeted floor. His bare torso—and bandaged wound—on display, he can't help the way his nipples harden at the exposure to the air and in response to Enzo's unwavering stare. His skin is inked, like Lorenzo's, but not nearly as extensively; most of his artwork is on his arms and shoulders, leaving plenty of smooth olive skin to admire. Still needing to support himself to rise to his feet, his hands land on the mafioso's knees, bracing himself to push upright and ignoring the protesting burning ache beneath his ribs.

There's a large part of him that wants to make Enzo work harder for the rest of his obedience, especially with the next purred command that drips from him, laced with venom. It isn't submission that gets Eskil off—it's being forced into it. But maybe, for once in their twisted, fucked up dynamic, he's considering putting Lorenzo's needs above his own.

But then he remembers that Enzo ignored him.

For six days.

The slight, brief temptation to comply flees him, but nothing on Eskil's features change as he slots his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats and boxers, shoving down both without fanfare and freeing his half-hard cock. His gaze drops from Enzo's face to his hands, watching him remove and gather his belt with meticulous calm; eyes hooded, Eskil takes a step back out of immediate reach and gives himself a singular, lazy stroke. Turning before a fist or weapon can come flying for him, he finally meanders towards the couch, his fingertips skimming across its spine as he walks along the back of it—his lower half now hidden from view—and glances over his shoulder at Enzo. "This couch?" he hums, his tone casual. "This...brand new...beautiful, white couch?" Eskil continues, rounding the far side and offering a slow, fully aware smile of what he's doing. Lazily, he drops into the cushion furthest from Enzo's chair, sealing his fate with, "I don't think I will."
Saffie   12-18-2024, 11:11 PM
#12
Enzo:

Eskil wouldn't be Eskil if he didn't forget his place by the time he made it to the couch. Enzo doesn't react as the now nude hacker flops down on the farther couch cushion. In the back of his mind, he makes a note to order another couch. Evidently Eskil has forgotten about his stab wound thats about to be very angry. Slowly, as if he's completely unbothered, Enzo rises. Like a big cat unfurling from its perch, the mafioso approaches, taking the most direct path. "Its going to be that kind of night then." The air around him is charged, a dangerous combination of excitement and rage. He doesn't need to look as he twists his belt into a pair of cuffs, he's done it enough times.

There's not a moment wasted, Enzo is quick and efficient. Long fingers wrap around Eskils wrist that rests across the back of couch that he's currently Lounging on. Jerking the smaller man forward is seemingly effortless. Twisting his arm, Enzo simultaneously forces him down, head first, onto the neighboring couch cushion and pins his arm behind his back. And Enzo isn't kind, he'd doesn't take it easy on Eskil or his injury. The moment his cuffs are securely in place, he pulls them tight, until he can see the edge of the leather bite into his skin. And then he's behind him, the couch cushion dipping as he kneeled on it. He takes a moment to admire the view.

He had a great ass. Round and tight. Waxed to Enzo's exact specifications. A hand came down hard on one cheek, a red palm print immediately blossoming. Its a sight to behold. He repeats the process on the other cheek. There's no warning when he grips Eskils balls and squeezes. He pulls them down, stretching to a point that neared on discomfort. But he doesn't touch his cock. Not yet. Enzo isn't willing to give him that pleasure yet. "You waited six days to tell me I have a mole." His voice is dangerously low. "Six. Fucking. Days." By now, his own cock is rock hard in his pants. His nostrils flare with a harsh breath. Desire is only fuel to his fiery temper.

Slap!

"Count."

It’s an unforgiving slap to Eskils balls. There's no question about what Enzo wants, what he expects. What he demands. Six times. At least. Depending on how docile Eskils feeling. It would be a night of sixes. Even if Enzo’s patience was stretched impossibly thing, he is relentless, consistently inconsistent. He doesn’t offer Eskil the reprieve of consistency, of knowing what to expect. Only when he got a perfectly counted six slaps did he relent. So he offers a reward. A slow stroke of his cock, from base to tip and back. He doesn’t bother keeping satisfaction off his smiling lips at the sounds Eskil makes.

  
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