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After creating the team, Risotto struggled for a long time to find people willing to do anything for him.
Of course, certain skills were also required.
Although it was hard to predict that the Stands under his command would ultimately be strange or socially dangerous, just like the people who agreed to work under such conditions.
Joining a group that felt like it was at the bottom of the hierarchy, shunned by other mafia members, and which received orders at least once a month was a series of less-than-ideal decisions.
But if we're going to fight for survival, it's better to fight together.
Newcomers were welcomed here without much enthusiasm, largely because, despite their status as outcasts, people came to work here.
Those who couldn't cope died. That meant they were weak. And therefore, they didn't deserve pity.
This was the main rule Risotto had established at the very beginning.
And everyone adhered to it.
Illuso wasn't particularly eager to get to know these people. They were all either annoying or mentally ill. Some were both.
Melone, though. Melone seemed fairly harmless.
He even grew closer to the Leader thanks to his quiet, detached work. Illuso could barely recall a single meeting where this man had ever lost his temper or shown any activity at all.
It was curious.
Although, given that a noisy dog like Ghiaccio was also close to Risotto, one had to draw conclusions.
Only gradually did he begin to notice oddities in his behavior. But who doesn't have some, right?
Many.
But when he began to think about this man, Melone became more frightening than strange, because this man had almost no boundaries.
If he even had any.
He could hardly be called human. He judged people like cattle, capable or incapable of producing good, stronger offspring.
But for some reason, it was precisely this fact that made Illuso's stomach twisting whenever Melone looked at him as if he were a pet.
Like a damn dog.
Maybe a pig or a cow.
Well, at least a purebred one, maybe...
He hated himself for getting involved with him at all.
– I'm busy.
Melone's sharp, dry response unsettled him more than any blow.
Busy? Bastard.
This ridiculous crap was his idea, and now he's busy?
Shocked, no, more like insulted, Illuso's frown widened as he stood directly in front of Melone, arms crossed under his chest, clearly dissatisfied with the refusal.
He hated being in this flat. Even more, doing it of his own free will.
Not just because it looked like shit.
As if they could afford anything more.
But also because being on someone else's territory meant deliberately depriving yourself of any advantage.
He adhered to this rule in everything. Especially when the person in front of him was unpredictable.
There wasn't a single mirror in this damn house on purpose, he was sure of it.
– Busy? Are you kidding me? I sat through the entire meeting in this, and then came all the way to the other side of town so you could be busy with some shit?
Illuso growled over Melone, hunched over the couch, like a wild bear enraged by a beehive hanging from a tree that refused to fall into his hands.
"Show me."
Under the force of his own irritation, the request... the instruction didn't immediately register.
His lips parted, baring teeth in a snarl, ready to continue his outburst of indignation, but the casual, detached manner with which the single word was uttered created a lump in his throat in a click.
He hadn't thought of that...
Of course. It sounded logical. No one would take the word for it. Especially in a situation like this.
– Well... I can go change and-
He was interrupted again. But this time it was the click of a laptop closing. His body instantly broke out in a sweat. Hot, cold, he couldn't tell. There was no time to understand when the situation so unmistakably demanded action.
How? That was a more difficult question.
Melone was smaller than him. Much smaller.
He was shorter and built smaller.
Illuso was larger overall, that he couldn't help but be proud of.
Except that the sensation of those dimensions suddenly vanished as soon as that languid, heavy gaze was directed at him.
– You came here just to show me something you probably never even wore?
– I'm not gay.
Illuso immediately retorts, as if the very mention of him in the context of such perversion was a reproach, an insult to his honor and dignity.
Dignity. He's ashamed to even think about that word after everything that happened.
– I didn't say that.
Melone calmly snapped, already accustomed to such sudden statements, which made his cheekbones blush even more.
Like a teenager, not a 30-year-old.
– Show or leave. I'm busy.
The last phrase was jarring, irritating with the very fact that Melone would rather work than see what he'd insisted on earlier.
As if it were a trivial matter.
Illuso rolled his eyes without a second thought, accompanied by an irritated grunt. He shifted uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other. His chest tingled slightly from the loud creaking of the loose boards.
Although it was unlikely they'd been laid tightly enough to begin with.
– I see. There's an important meeting tomorrow. Risotto wants to see everyone.
Melone hesitated for a moment, obviously needing to correct himself.
– If possible.
In all these years, they'd almost never had the whole team gather for a meeting. Usually because of one person, or, a little less often, two.
Illuso's fingers crumpled the fabric of his coat with awkward, stiff movements, glancing frantically around, as if there might be someone else in this house.
There might, indeed. That annoying four-eyed runt.
But certainly not now.
After all, if you think about it, he really didn't come here for no reason.
Just to show off. It shouldn't be that difficult.
Seeing Melone's reaction, which is neither particularly confident nor determined to act, takes it all in stride. He had to work anyway.
He reaches out, catching the laptop lid with the tip of his thumb, opening it until the screen lights up.
It doesn't.
He's distracted by the rustling of clothing, which has finally managed to stir, involuntarily attracting his attention.
Looking up, slowly, heavily, like a predator in the bush, he watches silently, even with a certain amount of interest, as Illuso, his eyes boring into the floor, awkwardly fiddles with the button of his shameless coat.
It's amazing how this man could make unflattering jokes about two lovebirds while he himself was displaying his exposed belly to everyone he met.
And it's amazing how a button could become such a challenge for someone.
Melone only sighed quietly, realizing it would take longer.
Pointedly putting his laptop aside, though the gesture was unlikely to be noticed, he allowed Illuso as much time as he needed.
After all, he definitely wouldn't be going on the upcoming mission, so he could use his time for sleep later.
Perhaps as an informant, but he was certain Risotto would most likely prefer Sorbet and Gelato for that role.
However, the sight finally revealed instantly sparkled in Melone's eyes. This spark sent a thrill through Illuso's chest, too familiar to be confused with anything else.
He silently opened his coat wider, grasping the edges to reveal soft white lace lingerie. The provocative, translucent layer of fabric tightly hugged firm, rounded breasts, digging into the skin of a clearly ill-fitting figure.
The milky hue contrasted pleasantly with sun-tanned Italian skin.
Melone doesn't rush to comment. He generally doesn't give an open, direct reaction right away. This was quite commonplace in his behavior.
A methodical glance down to his pants was enough.
Too accessible.
Like a dog.
Full lips press together in irritation, almost merging into a single thin line, when Illuso takes a deep breath, trying to concentrate, or at least not think about how he looks like a damn stripper in a gay club.
With slow, but no longer so helpless movements, he began to unfasten his coat belt. Only then he slows down again, casually unbuttoning his pants.
He didn't take them off.
Just merely opened the edges, unbuttoning the button and zipper. Enough to reveal a peek of his ridiculously uncomfortable lace panties.
The fabric lay perfectly, pressed tightly against his skin. Melone had always been amused, without malice, by the smoothness of Illuso's lower abdomen.
Although it sounded logical and expected when he thought about it.
The length of time Melone stared at him silently, examining and studying his underwear, the curves of his stomach, hips, made the whole situation even more awkward and... definitely wrong.
But it still didn't motivate him to leave.
When he finally moved, showing signs of life, Illuso felt a shudder in his chest.
Especially when a skinny hand reached out toward him, as if magnetically pulling him closer.
Involuntarily, without even realizing it, he leaned forward, but still insistently maintaining a certain distance between them.
It wasn't for long, though, because Melone, as soon as his fingers caught on the hem of Illuso's pants, tugged him closer.
Not that he had to exert much effort. Illuso yielded to him easily enough, something he hadn't even thought to doubt.
Certainly not when he came without reminders or requests.
– Comfortable.
Melone was interested. Whether he was serious or not didn't matter at that moment, as his fingers wandered over the strong muscles of his thighs, leisurely, unobtrusively, but noticeably pushing them down.
– No.
The answer was unimportant. At least negative.
He was much more focused on the soft lace, revealing more and more to him with each movement.
Illuso, irritated by shame, clutched the edges of the coat tighter, keeping his chest exposed despite the slight tremors occasionally tingling in his wrists.
The discomfort was expected from the start. Even before he put them on.
The low rise of the women's panties barely contained the confident and, undoubtedly, proud size between his legs.
Even in his flaccid state, his cock struggled behind the rather narrow partition. His heavy, juicy, rounded testicles seemed ready to fall out at any moment, now that he had no additional support from his pants.
He felt naked.
– Yes, I see. So big you can barely fit in them.
Illuso, however, smugly reveled in the raunchy yet flattering comment, even as his fingertips traced the thin lace straps stretched tight across his hips.
But the smirk quickly vanished. Almost immediately, as slender fingers wrapped around the heavy balls, knocking the wind out of him.
The hand moved slowly, stroking and massaging his testicles, rolling the weight with pleasure in his relaxed palm, confident, just right firm movements making them throb with the mere touch.
The tip of the middle finger glided sensually along the line between them, sending lightning bolts through Illuso's body from fingertips to the very top of his head, a stupefaction like a liter of cognac without a snack.
And his cock, with all sincerity and honesty, demonstrated what such meticulous attention was doing to him.
Illuso clutched his unbuttoned coat tighter, as if that would somehow help him stand more confidently. His quivering Adam's apple twitched beneath the thin skin of his neck, his hips shifted awkwardly under his touch, despite his futile attempts to remain still, especially when his thumb pressed harder into his pelvic bone, silently commanding him not to move.
It was difficult, almost impossible.
But even more difficult was watching his own cock harden easily and pitifully under the slightest, even not trying touch. Its length slowly stretched out, tilting to the side not so much under the obstructing fabric as under Melone's palm, guiding it.
A twisting sensation swelled in his lower abdomen until the organ was fully extended, peeking out under the incessant caresses.
Not to mention how the hand pulled away, unpleasantly abruptly, as the head emerged from its confinement, meeting the fresh air.
– Good. Maybe you'll even get used to them.
Melone exhaled softly, barely audibly across from him. He was so close that Illuso's cock twitched from the words and hot breath enveloping it. Not to mention the oppressive thought that he'd become fully erect from just a couple of light strokes.
But he'd so rarely felt those hands directly, without damn gloves.
– Mm... maybe you'll do it then?
Such a vague question instantly drew attention, prompting sea-green eyes to look up with a silent question, making the situation even more awkward.
As if he didn't know what was implied.
– Well, with your-
– No.
Illuso instantly cast an enraged glance at the negative answer.
Of course, he hadn't particularly expected a positive outcome. Melone rarely gave him head. It simply wasn't his priority.
...or even a possibility.
Bastard.
Damn, he'd give so much to feel that narrow throat and long tongue again.
His cock twitched with renewed vigor, his imagination running wild like a teenager's, and the phantom memories of that unfortunate couple of times this pervert had been generous enough to pay him attention.
This couldn't help but amuse Melone.
– Get up on the sofa. Put your knees on the cushions, and rest your hands on the back. You know.
The last sentence was unnecessary.
Especially the condescending way it was spoken.
Melone slowly rises and heads for the bathroom, giving his pitifully erect, miserable cock a final, fleeting touch with his palm, teasing the sensitive tip.
Voice creaks through clenched teeth and Illuso swallows.
He stands there for a moment, as if drawn, his eyes flickering to the retreating, half-naked back. Taking a deep breath, he finally forces himself to move toward the sofa.
The milky bra pressed tighter against his skin as he leaned over the worn cushions, fitting awkwardly on top with a piercing creak.
Too much noise.
The tips of his boots rubbed restlessly against each other, feeling too uncomfortable, too exposed, despite the fact that he was still wearing only pants, barely pulled down.
His eyes, the color of two freshly cut rubies, darted from side to side, his head down.
He hated how intensely hot he felt inside, how his legs trembled, and how his lower back ached just from being in this shameful position, with his pants down and his ass exposed.
– Lift your hips.
Illuso was almost startled by the sudden grip from behind, but he still flinched when he was pulled back, his stiff posture strictly adjusted for both his own and their comfort.
– Arch your back. It'll be easier that way.
His breath catches at the casual comments, at the hand gently but firmly sliding down his spine, effortlessly helping him arch his back without even realizing it.
He shouldn't have been here.
And he shouldn't have been here the day before yesterday.
And he shouldn't have been here a week ago... either...
And... shit.
He had no time for that now. His thoughts vanished without a trace as his thumb languidly pulled the divider of lace panties aside.
Fortunately, Melone didn't have to worry about that too much, because once testicles finally popped out of their confinement, he only had to gently hold the fabric in place.
After all, he simply couldn't deny himself the pleasure of beholding such an aristocratic and elegant view, which perfectly complemented Illuso's already intriguing appearance.
The bulky body instantly tightened, feeling with a fleeting shock the piercing coolness of the air, burning his tailbone.
A groan caught somewhere in his throat as long fingers began to carefully spread the sticky moisture.
Melone noticed the tension with which the skin tightened under his touch. This was nothing new. Illuso was always nervous, always worried, overthinking everything at such moments.
The pad of his finger pressed more firmly against the wet hole, gently but firmly massaging it, encouraging to relax, and as soon as the muscles beneath him calmed, he pressed down.
The middle finger slid in quickly, stopping at the second knuckle, but the tip alone was enough to make Illuso hiss through clenched teeth, slamming his chest into the back of the couch.
He was immensely grateful that Melone was skinny as a fucking stick. That's why his fingers didn't feel so painful when they penetrated.
But it was still damn unpleasant.
His knuckles flexed, pressing against the tender walls, slimy and hot, hugging, as if sucking him in.
And all without those damn gloves, which Melone had only miraculously removed today.
However, perhaps it was because they did this more often at the base, right after everyone had left.
And sometimes even when not everyone had...
Though that didn't make it any easier.
He involuntarily squirmed, feeling the second finger tighten around him, resisting the pressure and drawing a strangled, drawn-out groan from him, wheezing weakly under the experienced, knowing touch, which was no less painful for that. Certainly not when he simply couldn't bring himself to relax.
– I know you don't really like this process. You just need to be patient.
Spreading his fingers so he could insert the third without undue anxiety, Melone slowly leaned down toward the hunched Illuso, who steadfastly refused to show his sweaty face, his nose buried tightly in his bent arms. Only shuddering, pitiful sobs could be heard, breaking through the fabric, damp with breath and saliva.
At the sight of such a stubborn reaction, Melone rolls his eyes with a drawn-out sigh.
Spreading his fingers, he looks down appraisingly, examining how much the tight ring has spread.
Although the pressure he still felt resisting him inside still didn't entirely satisfy him.
He smoothly withdraws his fingers from the clenching, pulsating hole, which immediately closes as soon as he pulls away.
Illuso squeezes his fingers tighter, hearing and feeling movement behind him. This didn't bode well.
His entire body shuddered.
He presses himself hard into the sofa, hugging it as if his life depended on it, scratching the already worn upholstery as soon as fingers are replaced by tongue, buried tightly between his buttocks.
Damn.
Unsure of what to do with himself, Illuso sank his teeth into the sleeve of his loose coat, moaning piercingly into the fabric.
A tingling, piercing heat throbbed deep within his belly, spreading throughout his body and engulfing him completely. That wicked tongue, deliberately and meticulously sliding over every fold, every nook and cranny of his quivering hole, was so powerfully affecting him.
And those damn smacking sounds, as if the bastard was eating the most delicious pasta he'd ever seen.
Illuso wasn't sure whether he loved or hated Melone for his long, talented tongue.
And how annoyingly quiet this semblance of a man was during the process, when he himself had no strength left to restrain his own voice or the sincere reactions of his body.
Not when Melone was putting that damn tongue to work.
The lone cock hanging between legs predictably twitched, dripping a small amount of precum onto the sofa as he cupped heavy, no-longer-able-to-wait testicles, languidly rolling them between fingers.
Illuso let out a fleeting moan, loudly erupting from him under the weight of the tongue thrusting inside, mixing saliva with the lubricant.
The sensation of a soft, writhing caress involuntarily struck the base of his cock, causing it to slap hopelessly against his stomach. So desperately did the unfortunate organ beg for attention that its owner would never confess, even in such a compromising position.
Having sucked hard, Melone finally pulls away with a heavy, resounding "pop." He could have happily continued all night, though, until Illuso got tired of cumming. Or simply couldn't.
But his plans were a bit different.
Licking wet lips, his gaze slowly descended to the reddened and swollen hole, glistening so deliciously with the mixture of fluids.
With the same leisurely movement, as if taming a wild animal, he pressed his middle and ring fingers to the edges, mixing and more thoroughly spreading the moisture into the soft folds at the center.
This time, pushing his fingers in, they encountered noticeably less resistance.
He knew Illuso loved this, so he couldn't deny himself the pleasure of indulging him a little.
But all Illuso could do now was hum softly, his eyes closed, sweat trickling down his forehead as he felt his entire body burn around the fingers stroking and carefully kneading him from the inside.
– Unbutton...
The words were almost inaudible, let alone loud, due to his face, hidden like a mole, and his mouth closed.
– What?
Illuso blindly reaches back, hoping for some kind of result. Lifting his coat, he reveals the clasp of the ill-fated bra. It wasn't just pressed tightly against his heaving chest, but seemed suffocating, painfully digging into his skin with every breath.
– No.
His reaction to another negative answer immediately flashes across his face in an irritated grin. However, even now he can't bring himself to turn around.
– You didn't wear this to take it off and not show it to anyone.
– Anyone?
Illuso hesitated at such a broad formulation. No one was supposed to see this. Or know. Or even think about it. No one. Ever.
– Me.
Melone clarified, knowing well enough the agitated nature of the man beneath him.
And this explanation seemed much more... certainly not reassuring.
Well, perhaps it was arousing after all.
– How do you want me to take you?
– As usual.
Illuso mumbled, barely audible and barely audible, holding his breath even more at the rustle of sweatpants behind him.
A sickening lump rose in his throat, and he couldn't swallow. Whether from anticipation or from excitement. He would never have admitted it anyway.
How it infuriated him when Melone asked that ridiculous question.
I mean, it wasn't that bad. Perhaps even calming, because there were times when they'd simply lose his head, completely lost in his own thoughts and succumbing to that strange, animalistic nature within.
That's when it was truly worth fearing. Because it was impossible to predict what would pop into the head of this completely crazy brat.
– Even cum inside?
This time, Illuso doesn't answer.
He hated this question more than anything.
He certainly couldn't deny the strange pleasure of feeling the hot wetness spreading inside him after Melone, having meticulously examined his health, had almost completely stopped using protection. Unless they did it at the base. And even then... not always.
But he couldn't deny what was happening to Melone himself at that moment either.
That damn pervert got an abnormally special pleasure from ejaculating inside him.
Even if it meant cumming inside himself.
Although, if to think about it, in all that time of their more delicate relationship than just teammates, Illuso had only once had the opportunity to be on top.
And even then, he wasn't particularly in control of the situation.
His breath caught in the throat as soon as the cock settled on his tailbone. Hips arched involuntarily, lifting to meet it.
The sight of the silken patterns wet with lube and saliva, smeared by the barely moving organ, couldn't help but spark a special spark in Melone's chest, licking his lips at the enticing movements.
Wriggling, gently moving his skinny hips, the cock rubbed painfully slowly between firm buttocks. He could feel the hole pulsing with treacherous anticipation and desire.
Illuso irritatedly encountered a tingling sensation somewhere in his lower back, lost in his own thoughts and sensations. That's why he shuddered violently at the deep breath behind him, like a startled rabbit, hiding, burrowing deeper from the rustling sound with which Melone began to lubricate himself too. Still cool drops of lubricant dripped down my fingers onto my buttocks and pants.
– There we go.
The standard reflexive warning phrase doesn't go unheeded. Illuso reflexively sank his teeth into his own wrist, gripping the fabric tightly, immediately following the cockhead as it pressed against the agitated ring. The soft smacking sound with which the tip kneaded the wrinkled walls, allowing the anticipation to build, caused a pressing pain in both their stomachs.
Melone voluntarily pushed the divider of panties aside with thumb. The soft linen stretched tighter, allowing more room for bold movements.
Exhaling languidly and heavily through his mouth, he guided the length with his hand, pressing against the entrance and slowly, deliberately plunging the tip into the welcoming interior. He could feel everything trembling, clenching around him, as if drawing deeper.
No matter how hard Illuso tried to control his voice, a wet, drawn-out sigh escaped him, as if he were suffocating, choking on his own voice as the organ plunged into him. Everything because he was clenching tightly around the thickness with each small thrust.
Breathing heavily, he grits his teeth as the angular hips finally press against him, plunging entire length into a heated embrace.
However, that was only the beginning. He knows perfectly well what will come next.
A sudden tickle in his throat made Illuso choke as the cock slowly withdrew from him. The thumb of his thin hand pulled his buttocks further back, only increasing the pressure on his trembling walls.
Illuso reached out to cover his mouth. But just as he managed to do so, Melone, as if sensing his intentions, reading and predicting, pushed back inside, filling him completely. Not so much because of some insane size or thickness, Illuso was superior in those respects, but because his own tension inside was doing inhuman things.
With a rough, sharp thrust Melone thrusts without warning into the firm ass, immediately eliciting a pitiful groan from the bulky body below, muffled by the hand.
Licking his lips, barely concealing pleasure at the pleasant sight and sound, he gently nudges Illuso forward, urging him to press himself more firmly into the sofa. Just so he can lean with the knee against the sofa for comfort and more precise thrusts.
The slender fingers of his other hand slowly glide over the firm buttocks, exploring the bulging curve of muscle formed by the position and direction.
– Move already!
Suddenly, Illuso growled with trepidation through his bared teeth, the sheer intensity of the voice making Melone flinch in surprise, clearly not anticipating the impatient demand that had burst forth.
With a chuckle, barely audible to himself, he, obeying, if that was the right word, thrust again. Almost immediately, the impact elicited a groan from Illuso, who closed his mouth and bit his palm to keep from making any unnecessary noise.
Hips rammed him with hard, precise thrusts, plunging deep to the base. Each damned cockhead thrust drilled a throbbing pain into the temples, pierced his lower back, and made his ass, despite everything, involuntarily thrust forward, trying to help the organ slide even deeper.
The tense grip with which Illuso mindlessly tried to control his voice left crescents of pink, deep red, etched on his cheekbones and cheeks.
This kind of reaction, so intense in its sincerity, always amused Melone. So impatient, so demanding, yet still, saying anything out loud, even just making a sound, seemed a feat.
– You can touch yourself.
The thumb spreads the pulsating walls wider, tightening around him. More for his own pleasure, watching them contract beneath the pad of his finger, than out of any discomfort.
In fact, after proper and careful preparation, it was more like sweet, sucking kisses, pressing harder following the thrusts, caressing every curve, every swollen vein bulging against the pale skin.
In response to either permission or a suggestion, Illuso shook his head, which was, in general, the expected outcome.
With a drawn-out groan, he arched his back, desperately hugging the sofa, as if it could protect him from something, and biting the upholstery instead of his hand, where bruises would most likely appear at the site of the bite.
However, in return, he only received a resounding slap on the butt, shocking the entire body.
This wasn't new. Therefore, Illuso understood quite quickly. With a grunt, he released the thick fabric from his teeth and shyly hid his head again, which caused another faint semblance of a smile to appear on Melone's thin, pale lips.
With a slight grin, he leans down slightly, just enough to slip his hand under Illuso's sunken belly. Before he can even physically touch it, he feels his hard cock twitch at the mere sensation of an approaching caress in the air.
It could have been.
If they hadn't both been interrupted by a vibration somewhere in the pocket.
As if on cue, they both literally freeze. Illuso in fear, Melone in disappointment.
Especially after he saw who was calling.
Just as he raised the phone to his ear, Melone, by now a practiced reflex, jerks his hand away from the screams coming through the speaker.
Nothing new.
With a deep sigh, he silently listened to the stream of barely intelligible speech about the matter he'd been briefly distracted from.
Nothing serious.
He'd finish this in a couple of minutes after he finished the other matter.
– Do you know what time it is?
Illuso didn't dare move.
All he could do was listen to the voice behind him. Although, given the volume of the other person, he could easily have heard the entire conversation.
Hesitating from the rather abrupt and unpleasant change in the situation, his eyes darted from side to side, still hidden behind his slightly damp hair, clearly displeased with the interruption.
Especially... him.
– The neighbors called the police last time you visited. I'll finish it myself.
Swallowing, as if relieving himself of a burden of nerves, Illuso glanced back out of the corner of his eye, taking in Melone and his attention focused on Ghiaccio. Gripping the back of the sofa tighter, he pressed nose into it and squinted his eyes.
Melone, immersed in the conversation, stutters for a second in surprise, not even theoretically expecting any potential action. He falls silent for a moment, even after the voice on the other end of the phone fades, allowing himself to briefly focus attention on the wiggling ass, slowly, somewhat hesitantly, but clearly needily moving on its own accord on his cock, pressing tightly against bony thighs.
– No, everything's almost ready. Just got some minor issues.
Melone explained clearly, without any apparent trepidation, before the voice on the other end could begin to complain.
His gaze, shimmering from blue to green like the clearest sea, surveyed the cumbersome malfunction that had, in fact, distracted him from his work.
Fingertips, slightly rough from constantly wearing gloves and working at the computer, stroked the taut muscles of lower back, allowing this impatient ass to move around him without protest, each time, as if gathering strength, pausing briefly in place upon reaching the cock base.
He had no reason to resist.
If Illuso wanted this so badly, then he was ready to encourage and support the initiative.
Licking his lips, flashing strangely even teeth in a faint grin, Melone lowered his hand from the buttocks closer, between them, to grasp the base of his own cock and, without hindering thrusts, gradually withdrew the organ until it finally slipped out with a soft squelch.
Melone himself shuddered from the broken tight embrace, not to mention how tightly everything inside Illuso squeezed from the sudden emptiness.
Heat and moisture fell with all their weight from above, pressing and sliding between buttocks again, obviously deliberately pressing harder on the hole.
Illuso could hear every tiny, slimy smack, which, coupled with the sweet torment, drew from him a muffled sob that sounded more like a sigh.
How dare Melone leave him to suffer from the desire to cum.
– About 30 minutes. Maybe an hour. Depends on the circumstances.
The voice was deceptively calm, but trusting it, in fact, was the biggest mistake.
Illuso's spine arched unpleasantly and head jerked upward.
Those damned fingers he hated pushed into him instead of the still pulsing nearby organ.
The very tips of three fingers pierced the desired spot, apparently aiming blindly.
And it was indeed so. As soon as Melone found that familiar nub, he began... no, not stimulating.
This damn bastard thrust into the aching hole, firmly, mercilessly, unerringly hitting the prostate again and again, making Illuso's sanity falter slightly.
With a trembling hand, weakened and numb from the crushing stimulation, Illuso reached back in a desperate attempt to grasp Melone's wrist.
Although it could hardly be called a full grip.
– You use my laptop, that's why nothing breaks.
Planting his sharp knee more firmly on the sofa and his other foot on the floor, Melone confidently thrust his hand forward. The base of his palm sank firmly into the twitching ass, burying the entire length of three nimble fingers deep inside.
Restraining himself felt like torture. Impossible. Illuso wheezed convulsively, trying unsuccessfully to remain silent.
His scarlet gaze, full of anger at the persistent provocation, darted back, either in a threat, a warning, or simply to show that he still had the physical advantage.
Which, admittedly, made little difference, as he turned away almost immediately, as soon as his noses nearly touched Melone's, who leaned toward him with a satisfied smirk.
Damn, the phone was even closer now.
With his mouth wide open, snarling, Illuso gasped. Still holding this thin, stick-like wrist, he was unable to truly resist the crushing, continuous stimulation that was brutally assaulting his prostate from all angles.
– No, we'll have to come sooner. Risotto wants to know what we found.
Melone's fingertips obsessively massaged the round, swollen hubble, circling, stroking it in rapid movements and pressing on the center, sending piercing impulses through his insides.
Heavy, engorged testicles clenched in the all-too-pleasant torment, bringing a piercing pain from the lack of release. Reddened cock slapped dully against Illuso's stomach, sloshing with precum.
Melone sensed the approaching orgasm at its very inception, detecting the slightest tingling sensation around the prostate under his fingers, which was immediately reflected in shooting spasms in his thighs below. He didn't back away. On the contrary, he curled his grip tighter.
Biting his lip with overwhelming impatience, he steadfastly accepted the uncontrollable blow of a heavy hand to his chest. A blind attempt to release that unbridled, overflowing energy.
A stream of lightning twisted in Illuso's lower abdomen, striking him through and through, deafeningly striking his head as all the pent-up energy, unwillingly contained, spilled onto the pale cushions and the back of the sofa with the first, thickest thread of sperm. It was followed by smaller ones, but no less powerful, causing the unfortunate cock to twitch and hit the sunken, trembling stomach, where stains of sperm were already imprinted.
Melone squints, watching the image before him of Illuso writhing and squirming in silent moans, who nearly knocking him off his feet with barely conscious movements.
Only moments later he finally decided to switch up the intensity with gentler strokes inside. He encounters no particular resistance as the walls tighten uncontrollably, literally sucking his fingers deeper, if not for the palm.
– Yes. I'll write when I'm done.
Every jolt of orgasm, the shocking, trembling insides, reverberated through Melone's hand as he slowly, gradually eased the pressure, languidly caressing the prostate swollen from excessive attention, until he began carefully withdrawing his fingers, knuckle by knuckle.
Illuso, exhausted and out of breath, slumped against the back of the sofa, his full weight falling onto the cushions and breathing heavily.
His hips were still shaking weakly from the aftermath of climax before, like a bolt from the blue, he choked on the root of his tongue at the click of a dropped call.
With a reluctant groan, he subconsciously craned his neck as Melone pressed close against him from behind.
The tip of the tongue traced the edge of his ear, and cock, still hard and wet, tactfully reminded him of its presence and his justified need for closure.
–Was it good?
– Get lost.
Illuso bared his teeth and snapped back, as expected. He leaned back with his entire body and easily pushed Melone away due to the noticeable difference in their size and overall strength.
– We're not done yet.
Without fully realizing it, Illuso instantly freezes at the firm voice behind him, as if it rooted him to the spot.
Swallowing the lump in the throat seems almost impossible, especially as hands slid over his body. Slender palms, one after another, rose to his chest, squeezing the rounded muscles. Dexterous fingers found his nipples beneath the soft lace fabric, probing the hard nubs protruding from the bra, caressing the sensitive center, squeezing, massaging, and pulling tightly. An unstable heartbeat drilled unpleasantly into the head.
A languid sigh escaped his throat, disdainful of his own body, as if equally dissatisfied with this outcome. Though not fully hard, his still-red, pulsating organ trembled slightly, rubbing against the stained sofa.
– See? You too. But was already getting ready to go somewhere.
Illuso frowned in response to the whisper in his ear. Well, almost in his ear.
Jerking his head to the side, he pressed his lips into a thin line against the fingers caressing his chest, even through the fabric, which only added to the unpleasant friction during the moments. The skin became more sensitive, reddened, and burned even more intensely.
The tense nubs were so tempting, teasingly tempting a peek under the underwear.
This is bad.
Very bad.
He had predicted this outcome the moment the fingers entered him.
This idiot adores making him cum multiple times.
Last week, things got to the point where he just had nothing left.
Damn.
– There you go. We can continue.
Melone noted, because his own cock still craved the gentle warmth.
He grasped Illuso's cock firmly, enjoying the pleasant weight in his hand and watching the remnants of semen rub off the pliant skin.
– Maybe-
Unable to stop in time, Illuso is forced to interrupt himself mid-action, hesitating to finish.
Biting his lip, without knowing why, he turns away and hides his head.
And still, he's not ready to offer his mouth out loud as a substitute, even with the threat pressing against him from behind.
Although he doesn't manage to hide for long.
A hand shifting from his chest roughly grabs his disheveled hair, twisting it into a fist as best it can and yanking back, forcing him to arch his spine against his will.
Although it's hard to say how much against his will.
After all, the hair was pulling painfully, tangling it even more.
He'll complain about this in the morning.
– Hands on the couch, legs wider.
Melone jerked harder.
– Hips up.
Illuso has neither the mental nor the physical strength to resist the orders.
With heavy, noisy sighs, he finally thrusts his hips forward, feeling a stiffness in his lower back and an aching tremor in his legs. But all this fades into the background as soon as the cockhead presses against the still-yielding hole.
This will be unpleasant.
Closing his eyes, Illuso takes a deep breath, as Melone always taught him, to loosen his insides.
The still-wet tip of the head smacked against the wrinkled edges before beginning to plunge, gently pushing into the sensitive ring. The sensation instantly reverberated through his twisted balls.
However, only the first few centimeters were gentle, simply to secure the position. Only then, allowing the moment to be captured with a fleeting pause, Melone pushed all the way inside with a sharp thrust, hitting ears with the resounding slap of wet skin on skin and a whine escaping Illuso.
Melone himself, feeling the shock of long-awaited stimulation, exhaled quietly but deeply, pulling his long black hair, still partially braided into pigtails, tighter.
He's losing patience with the soft, yielding walls still enveloping him after the generous caresses and orgasm. He could still feel the remnants of it in body's reaction and the cracking sound of the voice with each thrust. The head cruelly tormented his still overly sensitive prostate, like torture.
– Will you say you can't?
Melone whispers, growling into the back of the head, but the only response he gets is an even more provocative, negative head tilt.
It was hard not to grin broadly.
Illuso cringes weakly at the chuckle from above.
His fingers mindlessly scratched the upholstery as spasms shot through his lower abdomen. His cock twitched in pain, but the fluttering in his chest from the heated touches took precedence.
His buttocks tense from the vigorous impacts with his hips, shuddering and even making hesitant attempts to pull away. But he's immediately given a kind hint to consider his behavior.
Where does such a skinny body even find the strength to maintain this rhythm?
Melone clutches lace panties, tightly wrapping the thin septum with his fingers, and roughly tugs them to meet his thrusts, burying himself deeper and tighter.
The head of his cock rubbed pleasantly and softly against aching prostate, standing out against the pliant insides enveloping him from all sides.
Illuso groaned, his voice rasping and scraping his throat. The head was spinning with mixed sensations, and he was having trouble breathing due to the pressure in his temples, blushing like a juicy tomato drenched in dew.
This couldn't help but trigger a surge of heat in Melone's chest.
That's better.
With a quiet hiss through clenched even teeth, excluding protruding fangs due to the peculiarities of the bite, Melone bends over the bulky body. The second hand rests firmly on the arched back.
– F-fuck...
Illuso's pitiful sobs breaking through the moans don't stop him. Certainly not when he himself is so close to his own desired peak.
– Hips higher. You have to accept everything. Save every drop deep in your stomach.
Melone wheezed in his ear, desire overwhelming him, breaking into drawn-out moans of anticipation of filling those insides with his own seed, dreaming of impregnating him, of seeing the offspring he would conceive, of seeing Illuso's face at that moment.
Even if only in his own fantasies.
Illuso always blushed at these ridiculous comments.
– Just imagine how easy it will be for you to give birth with hips like those. So perfect.
He jerked his hips in a frantic attempt to escape the pounding organ inside him, the long fingers spreading his buttocks for it.
To his own shame, after so long, Illuso was beginning to suspect that the faltering rhythm wasn't a sign of fatigue.
The roar in his ears was interrupted by the decisive thrust, the wetness spreading inside him, causing him to freeze, and Melone to press himself more tightly against the back, feeling the sweat-soaked coat still hanging on the broad shoulders between them.
His cock throbbed weakly, slamming into the walls pressing against him as his orgasm spread inside in gradually fading pulses, which Melone so willingly tried to prolong with rare, even desperate thrusts.
– Shit- get off.
With a hiss, Illuso catches the moment the pressure from behind stops, if only the hand of Melone, seemingly limp on him and in him, suddenly graped his cock. Without hesitation, bare palm stimulates the thick head, index finger forcefully rubbing urethra, causing it to squirt with precum, and his hips to spasm until the translucent, cloudy fluid gives way to a milky fluid that shoots again into the sofa.
A repeated climax in such a short time hits a body without even a chance to fully recovered. And Melone doesn't make things any better, sluggishly withdrawing his own cock and continuing to stimulate Illuso, even painfully squeezing his reddened nipple through lace bra.
– Give me back the keys after the meeting.
Melone informs calmly. His voice is low, relaxed, as if he hadn't recently been snarling disgusting, filthy shit.
He'll have to leave early, leaving his grumpy, gloomy princess with cheap coffee in bed.
Illuso took his time answering. He merely pressed his face deeper into the pillow, wrapping himself in the thin blanket.
His entire size took up most of the bed, not that it bothered them much. After all, they always ended up snuggled together by morning anyway.
The silence and darkness in the room were broken only by the faint clicking of the laptop keys and the glowing screen, boring into the back of Illuso's head.
– Are you sleeping?
– Shut it.
Melone hummed quietly under his breath, satisfied that his request had been heard.
Although the note on the nightstand was nothing new either.
– How long will you be typing?
– Just a little longer. I can go to the couch.
This time, Illuso took his time answering, exhaling heavily and silently casting a lazy glance at the clothes scattered on the floor, including the unfortunate lace underwear that had ultimately been torn.
Not purposefully. More like recklessly.
The rest of the clothes should have been thrown in the wash.
– I'll return the keys when everyone leaves.
– Will you come over the evening?
– I'll think about it.
Melone grinned faintly at the ambiguous answer, jotting down some final notes. He knew these phrases all too well.
And he was right.
– If he doesn't send me on a mission.