"A Proposition"
Luka sat slouched in the buttery leather seat, his hood pulled half over his head, one leg stretched out lazily in the aisle. Next to him, Devin was dead asleep, curled up like a cat against Luka's shoulder, mouth parted slightly and drooling.
Luka squinted down at the damp patch forming on his sleeve. "Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.
He nudged Devin with his elbow.
Nothing.
Another shove, this time with his shoulder.
Devin stirred with a faint groan, rubbing his cheek against Luka's arm like he was trying to burrow deeper into him.
"Hey," Luka hissed in mock annoyance. "You leaking or something? Get off me, dude."
Devin peeled one eye open, squinting around, still half in a dream. His voice came out raspy, lazy. "Mmm... are we there yet?"
Luka snorted. "I don't even know where there is."
That got a sleepy grin out of Devin. He stretched like a cat, back arching, then flopped back down sideways, using Luka's lap like a pillow now. "Figures," Devin mumbled. "Guy could be flying us to outer space for all I care. At least it's warm."
Luka rolled his eyes, but his hand, traitor that it was, hovered for a second before settling on Devin's hair, brushing his fingers through the soft blonde strands without thinking about it.
Across the cabin, Mister D sat in a chair that might as well have been a throne. Impeccably still. Chestnut eyes sharp. Watching. Always watching. Luka noticed. Of course, he noticed.
But he didn't care.
Because here was Devin, careless, stupidly brave Devin, trusting him enough to sleep like this, in the belly of someone else's world.
Luka shook his head slowly. "You know," he said under his breath, "normal people would be freaking the fuck out right now."
Devin cracked a lazy grin without opening his eyes. "Good thing we've never been normal."
"That's debatable."
Devin yawned wide enough to nearly unhinge his jaw. "You're overthinking again," he murmured. "Whatever happens, we stick together. Like always."
Luka's throat tightened for a second, stupid, involuntary thing. Because yeah. That's what it had always been: him and Devin against everything. Foster homes. Streets. Hunger. Nights they didn't know where they'd sleep. They'd been through worse, it seemed. Even worse than mysterious millionaires and private jets.
Still, Luka's gaze drifted back to Mister D.
The man hadn't stopped watching. "Yeah," Luka whispered, almost to himself, "we stick together."
That earned him a sleepy thumbs up from Devin, eyes still closed, trusting as ever. But after a few seconds, the blonde stirred again and sat up, stretching his arms high above his head, his shirt riding up just enough to show off his slim waist. He blinked sleepily, leaned into Luka, and whispered, "Gotta pee."
Luka groaned. "Thanks for the announcement."
With a soft laugh, Devin scooted over Luka's legs and stood, his socks making no sound against the plush carpet of the aisle. As he made his way down the corridor, Luka's gaze followed him, not just out of habit but instinct. Always.
The cabin wasn't empty. A few of Mezenga's men were scattered throughout, quiet and unmoving. They looked like they'd been carved out of stone, statues with earpieces. But Luka noticed the shift. Subtle. Heads turned. Eyes followed.
They watched Devin walk like he belonged, even if everything about his frame, his lazy posture, and his air of careless lightness said otherwise. That was the thing about Devin. He floated. Through chaos, through danger, through the ugliest parts of their lives. And somehow, that softness hadn't been crushed out of him.
Luka felt his stomach tighten. He didn't like how those men looked—not like they were leering but measuring and marking him. He's not yours to touch, Luka thought, his jaw tightening.
Devin reached the bathroom, slid open the polished door with a delighted grin, and immediately, his head popped back out. "Luka!" he whisper-yelled down the corridor.
Luka raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Come here!"
"I'm good."
"Come on! You gotta see this!"
Luka glanced around, catching Mister D's faint smirk from the corner of his eye before sighing and rising from his seat. He walked the aisle length, ignoring the watchful stares, until he reached the lavatory. Devin stood there, eyes gleaming with amusement.
"It's bigger than some of the apartments we stayed in."
Luka leaned against the doorframe. "You dragged me out of my seat for a rich guy's toilet?"
Devin grabbed his wrist. "No. I'm dragging you into the rich guy's toilet."
"Wait..."
Too late.
Devin yanked him inside with a laugh, and the door clicked shut behind them. Luka blinked. It was huge, with polished wood walls, a mirror that ran the full length of one side, and a sink with gold fixtures. He half-expected a chandelier.
"Told you," Devin said proudly, backing up and spinning like he was giving a guided tour.
Luka was about to reply with something snarky when the plane suddenly shuddered. There was a quick dip in altitude, nothing dramatic, but enough to make both stumble. Their bodies collided, Devin's chest bumping against Luka's, palms bracing on each other instinctively. It would've been awkward, maybe even funny, if they hadn't just suddenly stopped.
There, in that small, luxurious space, their breathing slowed. Devin's hands were still on Luka's chest. Luka's fingers had somehow found Devin's waist, and they didn't move. Devin's eyes, green, wide, so close, looked up at him, searching. Soft. Familiar.
Luka didn't speak. He couldn't. His breath caught somewhere in his throat as he stared back, deeper and deeper, into those eyes he'd known all his life.
And then, the plane leveled out. And Luka stepped back. Cleared his throat. "We should, uh…not be in here too long."
Then Devin leaned back just enough to press his back against the counter, arms folding across his chest, one leg bent casually against the cabinet like they weren't in a gold-trimmed airplane bathroom somewhere above the Atlantic.
He tilted his head, green eyes narrowing. "You always do that face."
Luka blinked. "What face?"
"That one," Devin whispered, pointing at him. "Your 'I'm too cool to care, but actually I'm imploding inside' face."
Luka tried to scoff, but it came out as a weak puff of breath. He looked away, lips twitching. His shoulders lifted in a shrug, then lowered again. Then he shook his head a little too fast.
Devin smiled, soft and lopsided. "All broody and shit." Luka looked down. Another shrug. Still no words. Devin leaned in, voice dropping lower, more private. "You know, we've been closer than this before." That earned him a sideways glance from Luka, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might've been a smirk if it wasn't so full of nerves. Devin tilted his head again, overseeing him. "Is it the client? You think this is a setup?" Luka shook his head, slowly this time. "Are you scared?"
Pause. Luka held his breath. Then, finally, he shook his head again.
Devin smiled wider. "Me neither." He reached up, fingers brushing Luka's jaw as gently as a breeze. "Not when you're here."
And then he kissed Luka's cheek. Soft. No rush, no weight behind it, just a warm press of lips against skin, slow and steady. His hand slid to Luka's neck, fingers resting in the curls at the nape, thumb grazing the edge of Luka's jaw. Luka didn't move at first. His whole body had stiffened, caught between instinct and memory and disbelief.
But then, he melted.
Not all at once. It was gradual, like the slow thaw of something frozen for too long. His eyes closed. His hands, unsure, rose to Devin's waist. He didn't pull him closer, not yet. He just held him there. Let it happen.
Because it was Devin. Devin had always been the only one who could crack through the thick shell Luka had built, the only one who could walk right in and make it feel safe.
When they finally parted, it was barely by inches. Their foreheads touched, breaths mixing. Luka opened his eyes slowly, golden-brown and lit from within, and for the first time since they'd stepped foot on that plane, he looked unguarded.
Real.
Devin whispered, "See? Not scary at all."
Luka shook his head again before stepping out of the bathroom, the warm silence between them lingering like the echo of something intimate. Luka's cheek still tingled faintly. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
As they walked down the corridor of the private jet, the cabin lights had dimmed slightly. Outside the windows, nothing but darkness stretched across the Atlantic. Mister D was already on his feet as they neared their seats, standing with his usual calm poise, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled, not warm, but that composed, businesslike grin that rarely reached his eyes.
"We've got a few more hours before we land," he said.
Luka raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly are we landing?"
Mister D's eyes flicked between them. "Europe."
"That narrows it down," Luka muttered.
"Italy. You'll be staying at Mr. Mezenga's private vineyard," D said with a cool nod. "It's a secure location with all the accommodations you'll need. Beautiful land, good food, excellent wine."
Devin's eyes lit up. "A vineyard? That sounds…fuckin' sick."
Luka didn't share the enthusiasm. "Sounds isolated."
Mister D's smile didn't fade, but his pause spoke volumes. "Once you're settled," he said slowly, "I'm confident your concerns will fade."
Luka held his gaze, lips twitching into a humorless smirk. "I doubt it."
He dropped into his seat, arms folding as he stared at the ceiling like it might reveal answers he didn't have. Devin lingered a second, catching Mister D's eye with a shrug and an easy, boyish grin before sliding into the seat beside Luka. The older man nodded, stepping away, his polished shoes making no sound on the thick carpet. Devin sighed, popped his hood up, and leaned into Luka like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Luka didn't flinch this time. He let him. One hand rested lightly on Devin's thigh, thumb brushing idly back and forth. Devin shifted, letting his head fall onto Luka's shoulder. Already half-asleep again, his lips parted, his breath soft.
And slowly, Luka let his eyes close.
*
(Hours later)
"Seatbelts on. We'll be landing in just a moment." Mister D's voice uttered.
Groggy and blinking, Luka straightened his chair, and Devin rubbed his eyes before fumbling for the belt. Within minutes, the jet dipped through a veil of clouds and slid effortlessly onto a runway kissed by early midday light.
As they exited the plane, the sun crested the Tuscan hills, bathing everything in amber and gold. A line of gleaming black SUVs waited like shadows at attention. Mister D didn't speak. He nodded for them to follow, walking with the quiet confidence of a man who knew exactly what came next.
Inside the SUV, Luka sat rigid, his jaw tight, as he glanced around at the other vehicles in the convoy. He didn't trust things that looked too polished. But Devin. Devin was already rolling the window down, leaning into the warm breeze as the SUV peeled off down the winding road. His blonde hair whipped lightly around his ears, and his eyes widened at the sight of the sprawling countryside.
He could smell it.
Wild rosemary, crushed lavender, damp from the dew, earth clinging to the grass. The breeze was different here, richer, sweeter, and alive.
The rolling hills stretched far beyond what Devin's jewels could reach, quilted in vineyards and olive groves. Occasionally, a weathered farmhouse or stone chapel crowned a hill, like it had been waiting there for centuries just for this moment.
Devin pressed his face closer to the window, eyes glinting green as he smiled. "Holy shit," he whispered. "We're in a painting."
Luka didn't answer. He watched Devin instead, the way his best friend drank in the scenery as if it could heal something in him. Luka tried to relax and let the beauty settle into him, but his instincts stayed sharp. Too many unknowns.
As the SUV curved off the main road and climbed toward the crest of a hill, the villa came into view. It was massive. An estate, really, stone and ivy, its terracotta roof glowing warm. Dozens of windows and tall cypress trees lined the drive. It didn't just look expensive. It looked ancient and untouched, a place with secrets soaked into its walls.
Devin let out a low whistle. "Okay. I'm officially impressed."
Luka said nothing. But even he couldn't help it. His gaze lingered on the villa as it rose before them like something out of a storybook. He didn't trust it. But damn, it was beautiful.
The SUV glided past the estate's wrought iron gates, and Luka caught a glimpse of the crest etched into the stone arch overhead, ornate and old, something that smelled of legacy and power. The driveway was flanked by ancient olive trees, silver leaves, and lush gardens where statues stood frozen in elegant poses. The villa towered ahead, regal and breathtaking. It wasn't just beautiful. It was intimidating in the way old money always was.
The car slowed as it circled the main house, continuing down a narrower path toward a large annex tucked into the far side of the estate. It was still grand, with stone columns wrapped in ivy and large windows looking out onto the countryside, a sleek modern twist woven into the place's classical bones.
Mister D stepped out when the car stopped, smoothing his jacket with habitual precision. Luka and Devin followed, their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel drive.
"You'll be staying here for the duration of your visit," Mister D said, motioning to the annex. "You'll find everything you need inside."
He opened the door and led them in. The interior was a fusion of rustic elegance and high-end comfort. The open layout led to wide sun beams spilling across stone floors, warming everything in gold. The ceilings were high, and wooden rafters were arched above like a cathedral. There were two massive beds dressed in fine linen and heavy throws, thick enough to sink into and forget the world.
To the right, glass doors opened into an indoor patio, where a pool shimmered under a glass dome. To the left was an open lounge with plush chairs, a low coffee table, and a sleek ping-pong table in the center, offering a playful challenge. The bathroom was as large as any bedroom Luka had ever lived in, polished stone, with two rainfall showers, golden fixtures, and mirrors that reached the ceiling.
Devin's eyes lit up as he took it all in. His smile widened with each turn of his head, soaking it in like a kid stepping into a dream. "Luka," he whispered, "this place…"
Luka stood still momentarily, scanning everything: the carefully placed orchids, the temperature-controlled lighting, and the subtle scent of eucalyptus. He guarded his expression, but inside, something twisted, awe, confusion, suspicion. He'd never even been in a place this clean, let alone one meant for them.
Mister D stepped aside and gestured to a wide double door near the back wall. "You'll find a closet there," he said. "Shower. Change. Mr. Mezenga will arrive in a few hours and would like to meet you both beforehand." He turned, ready to leave, then paused. "I'll return then to escort you to the main house."
Luka gave a short nod, already walking toward the closet. When he opened the doors, a soft breath caught in his throat despite himself. The closet looked like it had been stolen from a high-end boutique, with rows of designer suits, casual wear, cashmere, and silk. Every size was accounted for. Shoes lined the floor, gleaming under soft lights. Accessories, sunglasses, belts, and watches were displayed in glass drawers like artifacts.
Devin launched himself onto one of the beds behind him with a grin, his smooth limbs sprawled wide. "This can't be real," he laughed.
Luka didn't answer. He just reached out and touched the fabric of a tailored shirt hanging neatly from a gold rod, fingers brushing over it like he was afraid it would vanish. Behind them, the door clicked shut.
Mister D was gone.
An hour and a half later, Luka sat on the edge of the bed, the late afternoon light cascading through the wide windows behind him, soaking his silhouette in amber and gold. He wore black tailored pants that hugged his legs just right, the fabric crisp and impossibly smooth. His slate gray shirt was half-buttoned with effortless elegance, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, showing the veiny muscles that came from years on the street, not a gym. His hair was tied back in a low, clean bun, a few strands falling forward. He looked like he belonged in a fashion spread, not a worn boy from the city, but even he couldn't deny how good he looked in the mirror.
The bathroom door swung open, steam rolling out like breath from another world. Devin stepped through barefoot, drying his hands with a towel and tossing it to the side. He wore fitted white pants that ended just above the ankle and a white shirt rolled at the sleeves, its buttons loose at the collar. The shade brought out the fierce green of his eyes, lighting his whole face. His blonde hair was damp and tousled, catching the light like he was made of the sun.
Luka blinked once. "You look like a soap commercial."
Devin smirked and spun slowly, arms raised. "Yeah, well, you look like the brooding guy they hire to ruin it."
They laughed, quiet, honest. Then Devin padded across the floor and flopped beside Luka on the bed, their shoulders brushing. They sat there momentarily, breathing in the absurdity of it all.
"Can you fucking believe this, dude?" Devin said, eyes still wide. "We were hustling in a diner twenty-four hours ago. Now we're dressed like royalty in a villa in Italy. Italy, Luka."
Luka cracked a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah," he murmured. "It's...something."
Devin bumped his shoulder. "Don't give me that look."
"I'm not giving you a look."
"You're totally giving me a look."
Luka sighed and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "You ever stop and think why someone goes through this much trouble just to meet two kids from the streets?"
Devin shrugged, light. "Maybe we're more valuable than we think."
"Or maybe we're being led into something we're not meant to walk back from."
That quieted them. Devin shifted beside him but said nothing.
Luka turned to him. "Just…listen. I don't want to mess this up for you. I see how much you're into this, and yeah, it's wild and insane and...whatever. But if anything, and I mean anything, feels wrong to you…"
Devin blinked at him. "Luka…"
"Promise me," Luka interrupted gently. "If one of us wants out… we're out. No second guessing. No talking around it."
Devin studied him for a moment. His usual playfulness gave way to something softer. He nodded. "Fine. I promise." Luka finally exhaled, but just a little of the tightness in his chest was loosening.
Then, three knocks on the door.
They both looked toward the door. Luka stood, smoothing his shirt, steadying himself. He walked over and opened it.
Mister D stood there, still immaculate in his tailored navy suit, his expression unreadable. "It's time," he said.
Luka turned his head over his shoulder. Devin was already slipping on his shoes. "Let's go meet the man."
Luka glanced past Mister D, raising a brow. "What, no black car this time? I was just getting used to being chauffeured like royalty."
Mister D offered a tight smile. "We walk from here. It's tradition."
Luka exchanged a look with Devin, who shrugged, clearly unfazed and still riding the high of being somewhere so surreal. Mister D gestured for them to follow, and the boys stepped beside him as they exited the annex and stepped onto the winding stone path that cut through the heart of the vineyard estate.
The villa grounds were stunning. Rows of vines rolled over the hills like green waves and centuries-old olive trees. They passed by a stone wall, a marble fountain shaped like a lion, and a small garden filled with late-blooming roses.
"This land," Mister D began, his voice calm and practiced, "was first cultivated in the seventeenth century. It survived two wars and remained in the Mezenga family for over a hundred years. Everything you see is part of his legacy. Grapes, olives, rare herbs. Exports go out weekly."
Luka listened, but his eyes didn't stop scanning their surroundings. "Must be one hell of a grape to justify armed escorts and private jets."
Mister D chuckled softly. "Let's say grapes are not the only thing Mr. Mezenga grows here."
Devin raised an eyebrow, curious. Luka didn't press. He caught the pause in Mister D's voice, the way the older man said "grows" like it meant something else entirely. But he let it pass, filing the moment away.
They reached the main villa at the end of a cobbled drive. It was an ancient structure carved from pale stone that looked like it had seen empires rise and fall. The walls were covered in crawling ivy, and tall arched windows glowed golden. A pair of dark wooden doors adorned with elaborate ironwork stood at the front, proud and unmoving.
Inside, the foyer was cavernous. White marble floors stretched beneath their feet, intricate mosaics snaking through the stone-like veins. Oil paintings lined the walls, portraits of stern men with narrowed eyes and ornate suits.
They followed Mister D through the entrance hall and up a grand staircase whose banister curled like a wrought iron ribbon. At the top, a pair of tall wooden doors marked the entrance to the office, where they eventually stopped.
Mister D turned to them. "This is as far as I go. You're on your own from here."
From the other side of the door came the deep cadence of an Italian voice, low and rhythmic, like thunder, murmuring in the distance.
Luka glanced at Devin. Devin's face was unreadable, but his eyes flicked to Luka's. Then, from inside, the voice commanded, rich, confident, and in perfect Italian. "Entrate."
Luka hesitated for a beat before pushing the heavy door open. It creaked slightly on ancient hinges, revealing a space that stole the breath from his chest.
The office was a vast and moody cathedral of wealth and power, with dark, polished wood stretching across the floor like a still lake. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves framed the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and curious artifacts: Roman busts, crystal decanters, and a small golden globe that seemed older than the country itself. A long Persian rug ran from the door to a sprawling desk made of carved walnut, its surface immaculate aside from a few neatly stacked papers, a copper ashtray, and a decanter of dark amber liquor that glinted under the warm glow of the chandelier above.
Beyond it all, a wide window stretched nearly the length of the wall, its glass tinted slightly, framing the distant vineyard like a painting. And standing in front of it, speaking rapidly in clipped Italian, was the man they had come to meet.
Giancarlo Mezenga.
"Come procede la spedizione? Entro giovedì? Quante volte ti ho detto che tre giorni non bastano?" he whispered roughly, pacing around slowly yet purposely, his face hidden from view.
He was in his early forties, but something about his presence made time feel irrelevant. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a slate-grey suit that clung to his body like it had been sewn onto his frame. As he finally turned, Luka noticed his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the faint hint of a tanned chest and a single thin chain of silver resting against his skin.
His features were sharp, with a chiseled jawline, full lips, and piercing eyes the color of storm clouds. His dark hair, tousled but deliberate, fell just enough across his brow to soften the intensity in his expression. But his calm, controlled, yet undeniably volatile energy made Luka stiffen. This wasn't a client. This was a man used to commanding rooms and people.
Giancarlo turned slightly as he spoke on the phone, his voice rising, angry but controlled, like a man used to getting what he wanted. Then he paused. His gaze moved to Devin first, studying him briefly, perhaps even appreciatively, but it didn't linger.
Then, his eyes landed on Luka.
And they didn't move.
Luka felt how his skin reacted first, a subtle heat crawling up the back of his neck. Giancarlo didn't blink, didn't speak. The phone call ended with a sharp word Luka didn't catch, and Mezenga set the phone down with deliberate calm before nodding once, gesturing for them to come in. Devin stepped forward without hesitation, curious and wide-eyed, as always. Luka stayed a beat behind, closing the door with a soft click. The sound echoed louder than it should've in the silence that followed.
As Luka turned back around, he felt the weight of Giancarlo's attention, the room, the villa, this entire world they'd been pulled into. It wasn't what he expected. Not at all. Giancarlo leaned back slightly, resting casually against the edge of his desk, now just a few feet from them, before he finally broke the silence.
"So...Luka and Devin," he said, his accent thick, curling around the words like smoke. "I am told you are…how you say...inseparable."
Devin grinned, offering a playful shrug. "We try."
Luka leaned back slightly in his seat. "I'd say it's more of a survival strategy."
Giancarlo smirked. "Bene. That's good. Loyalty is a rare currency these days." He folded his arms, his eyes flicking between the two. "Tell me. Do you scare easily?"
Devin looked to Luka, who quirked a brow. "Depends on the situation."
Giancarlo took a step closer, nodding thoughtfully. "And this situation?"
"Still figuring that out," Luka said. "But we've seen strange. Creepy houses, dark alleys, men with too much money and little patience. This?" Luka gestured at the room. "Just another Tuesday," he added before pausing. "...Mr. Mezenga."
Devin stifled a laugh. Giancarlo's smile deepened as though the sarcasm amused him. "Call me Giancarlo," he said, waving his hand. "We should keep the formalities somewhere else, non credi? After all... we'll be spending some time together. Better we speak to each other like...old friends."
Luka's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah, well, friends usually don't fly each other across continents with zero context."
Giancarlo tilted his head. "Those friends aren't me." Luka stood, his motion abrupt enough that Devin straightened beside him. Luka didn't flinch under Giancarlo's gaze. He met it head-on. "Vedo che ti stai trattenendo. Go ahead. Ask," the Italian hunk added.
"Why us?" Luka asked, voice calm but firm. "You could've had anyone. I'm sure there are hustlers in Italy, too. And yet, you pulled us off the street, flew us halfway across the world, dressed us up, stuck us in a villa like your toys."
A flicker of something crossed Giancarlo's face, but it wasn't anger.
Luka continued, quieter now, more intimate. "I mean... we're no one. We're nothing. Is that the kink?"
Giancarlo turned back toward the window. The vineyard stretched beyond it, bathed in golden light from the low sun. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he resumed. "I find that people who have the least to lose are more willing to try anything." His voice wasn't unkind. It was matter-of-fact, cold, and calculated.
Luka's chest tightened, but he didn't move. "And if we vanish?" Luka pressed. "No one asks questions. No one looks."
Giancarlo turned again, slowly, and let out a low chuckle. "You think I flew you across the ocean to kill you?" Luka didn't answer. Mezenga slipped off his jacket, folding it over the back of his chair precisely. "If I wanted you gone, you'd never have left the States." He moved toward the door to the back of the room and opened it. It blended so effortlessly into the wall that neither Luka nor Devin noticed it until then. Mezenga stood to the side, gesturing for them to follow. "Come. I want to show you something."
Devin looked at Luka, who gave the faintest nod before they followed the wolf into the woods.
The stone steps wound downward in a tight spiral. Luka kept his hand close to the railing, eyes trailing Giancarlo's broad shoulders as he led them deeper underground, away from the sunlit rooms and sprawling vineyard views. It felt less like a house now and more like something hidden.
The space opened up at the base of the stairs into a private lounge that stole the air from Luka's lungs.
It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.
Smooth mahogany walls wrapped around the massive room, polished to a mirror-like finish. Warm, ambient lighting curved along deep green velvet and dark cherry wood ceiling. A sleek, black granite bar stretched along one side, gleaming under recessed lights. Liquor bottles of every shape and label sat lined in perfect symmetry. At the far end, a colossal flat-screen played an old black-and-white Italian film on mute, flickering like a dream.
And then there was the dome, an enclosed glass chamber off to the side where steam curled against the panes, hiding what could only be a heated pool. It glowed with a faint, aquatic blue that danced along the ceiling like liquid firelight.
Devin lit up instantly.
"Holy shit," he whispered, his husky voice spinning around like a kid in a candy store. "Have we died and gone to heaven?"
Even Luka, trying to remain unreadable, couldn't deny the awe rising in his chest. He'd seen rich. He'd seen expensive. But this? This was built for power. For indulgence. For control.
Giancarlo turned toward them, gesturing to the semi-circle of couches and armchairs near the bar. "Sit," he said casually.
The sound cracked like a firestarter. Immediately, half a dozen men walked in through various hidden doors. Two positioned themselves near the exits, still as statues. One went to the bar. Another adjusted something by the pool. They wore dark suits, all sharp eyes and quiet menace.
Luka's instincts flared. His spine straightened. This wasn't just luxury. It was a stage, and they were the center spotlight. He caught Giancarlo watching him, lips curled into something close to amusement. Still, Luka sat, choosing the edge of the leather club chair closest to the door. Devin flopped beside him, practically vibrating, his wide green eyes scanning every inch of the space.
Giancarlo eased into the seat opposite them, legs crossed, relaxed like a man who owned the room and the entire world it sat in. "What will you drink?" he asked.
"Whiskey. Neat," Luka said before he could think better of it.
Devin glanced over. "Yeah. Whatever he's having."
Giancarlo nodded once, and within seconds, two glasses were set before them, amber liquid in crystal tumblers, the scent sharp and aged. Luka lifted his and took a careful sip. It burned clean, expensive, and perfect. He hated how good it was.
Giancarlo's voice cut through the silence like a piano chord. "So," he said, looking between them, "Tell me a little about yourselves."
Devin jumped in first. "Well, we're not from anywhere, not really. Foster homes, couch surfing, shelters. It's mostly been the two of us since we were kids."
Even as Devin spoke, Giancarlo's eyes didn't leave Luka's face. "And you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "What keeps you going, Luka?"
Luka didn't blink. "Instinct. Timing," he said, slowly playing with his glass before his eyes locked on Mezenga. "Knowing when someone's trying to size me up."
Giancarlo chuckled softly. "Smart. You don't trust easily."
"I don't trust at all," Luka replied. "Especially men who fly strangers halfway across the world and make them drink in underground lounges surrounded by guards."
Devin shifted awkwardly beside him. Giancarlo leaned back, crossing his arms, unbothered. "You think I brought you here just for games?"
"I think you're one of those guys who like watching people squirm," Luka said. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but... I'm not much of a dancer."
Giancarlo's eyes darkened for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind them. But instead of retaliating, he smiled, something slow, something almost pleased.
"I see..." he murmured.
Luka wanted to look away, to anchor himself somewhere else, but Giancarlo's gaze held him. Not like their clients usually did. There was no leering hunger here, no desperation, just curiosity.
"Why us?" Luka asked again, softer this time.
Giancarlo didn't answer. Instead, he lifted his own glass, sipping slowly.
Luka watched the man, trying to decipher him. His shirt hugged the lean muscle beneath, the slight stubble along his jaw, and his words were dangerously composed. And yet, for all of Luka's walls and armor, he felt something stir in his chest. Something unfamiliar. Something that made him afraid not of Giancarlo's power but of his own reaction to it.
Giancarlo stretched his arm to the side and opened a small box to a small table beside his seat. He took a joint from inside and lit it before giving it away. The joint passed from Devin to Luka, its tip still glowing red, curling smoke around their heads like incense. Mezenga leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking beneath him. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar now, a glass of something dark and aged balanced in one hand. He looked utterly at ease, a lion in his den.
Then, he leaned forward. His dark eyes found Luka's, pinning him in place.
"I can tell," Mezenga said in his thick accent, the syllables thick and smooth like honey over gravel. "You're the one who stirs the ship. The one who likes to be in control."
Luka blinked, thrown off for the first time in hours. He said nothing. Giancarlo smirked. It was the kind of smile a man wore when he'd cracked open a safe.
He eased back into his chair, letting the joint dangle between his fingers. "You know," he said, voice low and rumbling, "I was not always like this." The room stilled. All eyes, even the guards', shifted toward him. "I grew up in a house of powerful men," he began, gaze drifting to the ceiling as if looking through it. "Old money. Older traditions. Everything about image. Legacy. History. My grandfather ran the family like a kingdom. My father, well...he followed. He was a pleaser."
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, a thin ribbon of smoke escaping his lips.
"But I was small. Skinny. Weak. I did not speak loudly. I cried when I was hurt. They hated that. My brothers, my uncles…they looked down on me. Treated me like a stain on the marble floor." He paused. "And I did hate them for it. Every single one."
Luka's breath was shallow, his eyes locked on Mezenga, trying to read the cracks in the story.
"But then…" Giancarlo continued, "I learned something. Something important. Power is not in your fists. It is not in your muscles. It is not even in your voice." He tapped his temple lightly. "It is here. And here..." he held up his drink, letting it glimmer in the light. "Money. Control. Leverage."
He sat forward again, elbows on his knees.
"I stopped trying to impress them. I stopped chasing approval. I started listening. I learned."
"And then what?" Devin stuttered, his lips slightly parted. He seemed hypnotized by Mezenga's words.
Silence.
"Then one day...I had nothing more to learn. Nothing left to listen to." Giancarlo replied.
Then Luka, in a whisper, stammered, "What happened to them? Your family, I mean."
Mezenga turned his head toward him. His smile grew wider, almost serene.
"I killed them," he said.
The words dropped like stones. A moment passed. Luka stiffened. Devin sat up, a nervous smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Across the room, one of the guards snorted. Another laughed. And then suddenly, the whole room erupted in laughter, deep, booming, echoing around the chamber like thunder in a cathedral.
Devin laughed too, a high-pitched giggle, eyes darting toward Luka. But Luka remained unphased. Mezenga didn't laugh either. He just watched them.
Watched Luka.
And smiled.
Devin could feel his cock twitch in his pants like a seismograph. Mezenga raised his arm in a commanding sweep, his muscles rippling like a predator ready to pounce. "Out," he growled, his voice dripping with authority, causing his men to scramble like scared little bitches, leaving Devin and Luka alone with him.
Mezenga's gaze locked onto the boys, his eyes smoldering with heat. He stood up and sauntered past the bar, his every step oozing raw, unadulterated power, and pushed open the glass door to the dome with the hot pool. Mezenga's hands then moved to his shirt, peeling it off. His chest was a masterpiece, chiseled and slick with a faint sheen of sweat, his pecs begging to be licked, sucked, and marked. Devin's mouth went dry as he watched, his cock straining against his zipper like it was about to burst free.
Then Mezenga's fingers dipped to his belt, the clink of the buckle echoing in the silence like a drumroll. He undid it slowly, savoring the moment, and slid the leather free with a whisper that made the blonde's balls tighten. The pants followed, pooling at his feet to reveal thighs that could crush a man's skull if he wanted to.
And then came the boxers. They clung to him like a second skin, barely containing the monstrous bulge. With a smirk that could melt steel, Mezenga hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled them down, inch by agonizing inch, until his cock sprang free, thick and heavy.
Both boys leaned forward, their eyes widening as they went. Their dicks were throbbing now, tongues practically hanging out of their mouths as they stared at Mezenga's naked form.
Mezenga stepped into the pool, the steam rising around him like he was some kind of sex deity. The water lapped at his thighs, then his hips, before he finally turned and leaned back against the edge, spreading his legs slightly, his grin widening as he caught Devin's gaze again.
"Well?" he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Devin's spine. "You boys just gonna stand there and stare? Or are you gonna come join me?"
Devin's brain short-circuited for the second time, and he fumbled with his own shirt, his fingers trembling as he tore it off. Luka wasn't far behind, his movements understated, more controlled as he stripped down, his cock already half-hard and leaking slightly as Devin, a few feet ahead, finally reached the edge of the pool. Mezenga's eyes burned into the beautiful blonde, predatory and hungry, as he hovered forward.
The water was a slick, glistening mirror, rippling with Mezenga's heavy breaths. His body cut through, his massive frame sleek and dripping, the muscles of his broad shoulders and thick arms pulling him forward with a grace that belied his sheer menace. His cock, now facing both boys, was a monstrosity, a 12-inch slab of veined, throbbing meat that bobbed just beneath the surface. It was thick as a forearm, the head swollen and ruddy, leaking precum that mixed lazily with the water, leaving a faint trail in his wake.
Devin stood at the pool's edge, fully stripped, cock already half-hard, a slender curve that twitched eagerly as he watched Mezenga glide closer. The boy's skin was almost luminous at this point, his nipples hard little peaks that begged for attention. He was all tight muscle and smooth curves, a canvas that Mezenga seemed eager to ruin. With a giddy chuckle, the blonde jumped into the water, his ass clenching as he landed, the coolness of the pool a stark contrast to the heat coiling in his gut. Mezenga's arm instinctively came forward, shielding his face from the small splash before he slowly disclosed his face again, patiently waiting for Devin to break the surface. Devin's head broke the surface with a twirl, his blonde curls now soaked and heavy before his emerald gaze locked on Mezenga.
"Vieni qui, Biondo," he growled, his voice like gravel dipped in honey. Devin obeyed, his dick twitching as he swam closer, the water lapping at his chest, his cock bobbing with every movement. Mezenga reached out, his hand impossibly large, and yanked Devin to him with a roughness that made the boy gasp. Their bodies collided slowly under the water's weight, skin sliding against skin, Mezenga's massive cock pressing against Devin's stomach.
Seconds later, Mezenga's lips crashed into Devin's with a ferocity that left no room for hesitation. His tongue forced its way past the boy's lips, fucking his mouth with a dominance that made Devin's head spin. The kiss was wet, sloppy, and bruising, Mezenga's hands roaming over Devin's body, squeezing his ass, pinching his nipples. Devin moaned into the kiss, his own hands trembling as they reached for Mezenga's shoulders, his fingers digging into the man's skin as he tried to hold on.
Luka watched from the edge of the pool, his cock rock-hard in his hand. He was stroking himself slowly, his breath hitching every time Mezenga's hands moved over Devin's body. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene before him, the way Mezenga dominated Devin with a single-minded, terrifying, and arousing intensity.
"Fuck," Luka whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of water sloshing and Devin's muffled moans. He could feel his balls tightening, the heat in his gut building. He wanted to join them and wanted Mezenga's hands on him, which positively unnerved Luka. Enough that, he hesitated, his body trembling as he watched Mezenga break the kiss, his lips trailing down Devin's neck, leaving reddish bruises in their wake.
"You want him to join us?" Mezenga growled against Devin's skin, his teeth sinking into the boy's shoulder, making him cry out. Devin nodded frantically, his hips jerking as he tried to get closer, to feel more.
The blonde's lips curled into a wicked smirk, his breath hot and ragged as it ghosted over Mezenga's ear, whispering something that seemed to amuse the Italian stud. Devin's tongue flicked out, tracing the shell of Mezenga's ear in a slow, deliberate stroke. Mezenga's eyes locked onto Luka, and his lips spread into a lecherous grin, his teeth glinting in the dim light. "You don't kiss?" he purred, his voice dripping with challenge.
Luka's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing into slits. "You got a problem with that?" he shot back, low and rough, like gravel scraping against skin. His fists clenched at his sides, the veins in his forearms bulging as he fought the urge to punch that smug smirk off Mezenga's face.
But Mezenga wasn't fazed. He paused, savoring the tension as Devin's lips trailed down his neck, leaving wet, glistening marks in their wake. Devin's teeth grazed Mezenga's pulse point, sucking and nibbling like he was trying to leave a hickey the size of a pancake. Mezenga groaned, his head tilting back to give Devin better access. "Let me guess…" he rasped, his voice thick with lust, "You don't get fucked either?"
Luka's nostrils flared, his body rigid with defiance. "No. I don't," he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.
But Mezenga just chuckled, the sound low and dirty. Just then, his hand slid down Devin's back, cupping his ass and giving it a firm squeeze. Devin moaned into Mezenga's neck, his hips grinding against him. "I'm pretty sure I can change your mind about that," Mezenga growled, his voice dripping with filthy promise.
Luka recoiled like he'd been burned, his face twisting into a scowl. "Not happening, dude," he snarled, stepping back to distance himself and Mezenga. Soon, he was slowly pacing around the pool's edge.
Mezenga's grin widened, his eyes darkening with a hunger that made Luka's skin crawl. "We'll see about that," he whispered, his voice a low, sultry rumble. Before Luka could respond, Mezenga's lips crashed into Devin's, their mouths moving together in a wet, sloppy kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything else. Devin's hands clawed at Mezenga's massive neck, pulling him closer as his hips bucked against him in a downright obscene rhythm.
Luka stood there, frozen in place, his eyes wide with disgust but also something he seemed unwilling to admit. He could see the way Devin was unraveling under Mezenga's touch, his body arching and writhing. Mezenga's hands were everywhere, groping and squeezing with a shamelessness that made Luka's stomach churn.
And then, as if to rub it in even further, Mezenga broke the kiss just long enough to shoot Luka a smirk that was equal parts cocky and fucking filthy. "You sure you don't want to join us?" he taunted, his voice heavy with lust.
Not being one to let someone take charge of him, the least of which, a client, Luka, dipped his body inside the pool. The motion was effortless, and the water's surface barely registered a sound as he broke through it. The moment he did, the warm sound of music filled the space.
(Music playing in the background)
"Una notte a Napoli
Con la luna ed il mare
Ho incontrato un angelo
Che non poteva pi? volar
Una notte a Napoli
Delle stelle si scord?
E anche senza ali
In cielo mi port?
Con lui volando lontano dalla terra
Dimenticando le tristezze della sera
In paradiso, oltre le nuvole
Pazza d'amore come le lucciole."
Luka stepped deeper into the pool, his lean, toned body glistening under the soft light, water droplets clinging to his smooth chest like tiny diamonds. His cock, half-hard and twitching, bobbed just beneath the surface, barely concealed by the rippling water. His eyes were locked on Mezenga, the Italian stallion, whose presence was as overwhelming as his musk, thick, primal, and dripping with pheromones that made Luka's mouth water and his balls tighten.
Mezenga was a beast of a man, his broad shoulders and tree-trunk thighs carved from raw power. His chest was a jungle of wiry black hair that trailed down to his abs, forming a perfect arrow leading to the prize: his monstrous 12-inch cock. It was thick, veiny, and throbbing as it twitched against Devin's ass. The blonde, with lips like sin and a body made for fucking, was grinding his hips back into Mezenga's pelvis, his hole brushing against the bull's throbbing member. The sight of it made Luka's cock jump, aching for a taste of the action.
"What about him?" Mezenga growled, his voice deep and gravelly, like whiskey and smoke. He jerked his chin toward Devin, his dark eyes smoldering with hunger as he stared at Luka. "Do you kiss him?"
Devin's head snapped up, his emerald eyes wide and almost guilty as he glanced at Luka. There was something raw and vulnerable in that look, like a secret they both knew but never spoke of. Luka shrugged, trying to play it cool even as his cock was screaming for attention. "If you pay upfront, we can fool around. If that's what you want," he said, his voice steady but his pulse racing.
Mezenga's gaze lingered on Devin momentarily, immediately noticing his underlying sadness. Then, with a grunt, he pushed the blonde away, its abruptness making Devin stumble slightly. "I see," Mezenga said, his tone low and deliberate. He turned, his massive cock swaying between his legs like a pendulum, and began walking out of the pool. Water cascaded down his muscular frame, every drop clinging to his skin as if it didn't want to let go. The sight of his muscular ass flexing with each step was enough to make Luka's mouth go dry.
"Follow me," Mezenga ordered, his voice commanding as he strode toward the back of the room. The lounge area was dimly lit, the low lights dancing across the plush sunbeds.
Luka and Devin exchanged a glance, their eyes speaking volumes without a word. They followed Mezenga out of the pool, their cocks stiff and aching.
"Sit down," Mezenga ordered before turning to face the boys, his massive dick facing them straight on. Giancarlo faced them fully now. The amusement was still lingering in his features, but something in his posture shifted. His spine straightened, and his tone lowered. A hush fell over the luxurious lounge again, the atmosphere curdling into something more precise, more calculated.
(Music playing in the background)
"Quanto tempo pu? durare?
Quante notti da sognare?
Quante ore, quanti giorni
E carezze infinite
Quando ami da morire
Chiudi gli occhi e non pensare
Il tempo passa, l'amore scompare
E la danza finir?!
"I'm a man, like any other," Mezenga said, voice smooth but edged like a polished blade. "I like pleasure," he said, glancing at Luka. "I like beauty," he continued, his gaze now shifting to Devin. "A little chaos in small doses," he added, tilting his head. "But in the end…I am a businessman." Luka's jaw tightened. Devin leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Mezenga paced slowly, his eyes not leaving the two boys. "So I have a proposition," he said, stopping just before them. "A very simple one."
Luka raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
Mezenga held up one finger. "One week. Seven days. At the end of it, each of you will receive one million dollars in cash, tax-free, no questions asked."
Luka's body went rigid. He blinked like he hadn't heard the man right. He leaned forward, voice cracking as he repeated, "One million dollars?"
Mezenga smiled again, that calm, unsettling grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Giusto."
Devin's eyes widened with a childlike glee that was nearly painful to watch. He turned to Luka, beaming, but Luka's expression was already darkening. "What do we have to do?" Luka asked, every syllable deliberate. His voice had lost its edge, replaced by something more careful, cold, and alert.
Mezenga didn't answer right away. He turned his back to them and walked over to the large white sunbed before them. He sat down slowly, stretching his long legs before him, his voice drifting across the room like smoke.
"Anything I ask you to do," he said. "Anything I want."
The silence hit like a hammer.
Luka's mouth opened, his pulse loud in his ears. He was just about to speak, his mind forming the words, the challenge, but Devin beat him to it.
"I'm down," Devin said.
His voice was soft but cut through the silence like a dagger. He didn't even hesitate. Luka turned sharply to him, eyes wide, but Devin's face was serene. Almost glowing. He looked like someone who'd already decided. Like someone who hadn't seen a million dollars, a soft bed, or a bathroom with more space than the apartments they used to sleep behind. Giancarlo's eyes slid back toward Luka, expectant. Patient.
Waiting.
(Music playing in the background)
"Tristemente tutto deve finire
Ma quando il cuore mi ha spezzato
Ed in cielo mi ha abbandonato
Adesso sulla terra son tornata
Mai pi? di amare mi sono rassegnata
Ma guardo su!"
Luka's voice trembled as his lips parted to form a question he knew would haunt him. "And what if…" he stammered, his words dripping with uncertainty, his throat dry as a desert before he straightened himself. "What if you ask us to do something we don't want to do?" The words hung like a loaded gun, hot and dangerous.
Giancarlo's smirk was a fucking weapon, sharp enough to cut glass. His eyes narrowed, dark and predatory, as his lips stretched into a grin that screamed dominance. "That's not going to happen," he purred, his voice smooth as silk and twice as sinister. Confidence oozed from him like honey, sticky and irresistible.
Luka's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. "I… don't know," he stuttered, his voice cracking. His eyes flicked instinctively to Devin, who was sitting there, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, his gaze locked on Mezenga's cock.
"I mean…I need a second to…" Luka started, but Mezenga cut him off with a wave, his chuckle low and dripping with malice.
"Fair enough," Mezenga said. His massive frame shifted on the sunbed, the leather creaking under his weight as he leaned back, spreading his legs like a king on his throne. His hand slid down his torso, slow and deliberate, until his fingers wrapped around his cock, giving it a slow, teasing stroke. Seeing it made Devin's breath hitch, his lips parting in awe. "Then I suppose you won't mind," Mezenga continued, his voice thick with amusement, "that while you think about it…I fuck the shit out of your friend there." He nudged his head toward Devin, a silent command that sent shivers down Luka's spine. "Come here, boy," he growled, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Devin hesitated for a heartbeat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. But then he was moving, crawling toward Mezenga like a moth to a flame, his eyes never leaving that massive cock. Mezenga's grin widened as Devin reached him, his hand still lazily stroking his dick. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. "Get on your knees." Devin obeyed without question, sinking himself into the space between Mezenga's spread legs, his face inches from that throbbing monster.
Luka watched, frozen in place, as Mezenga's other hand tangled in Devin's hair, yanking his head forward. "Open up," he commanded, and Devin did, his lips parting eagerly to take the head of Mezenga's cock into his mouth. The sound that escaped him, a mix of a moan and a whimper, was enough to make Luka's own dick twitch in his pants, though he refused to acknowledge it.
Mezenga's hips bucked slightly as Devin's tongue swirled around the tip of his cock, his hand tightening in his hair. "Good boy," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Ingoialo." And Devin did, sinking down until his nose brushed against Mezenga's pubes, his throat working around the thick shaft. Even then, he was barely halfway through.
Mezenga's 12-inch cock was a sight to behold, a weapon of mass temptation that could make even the most seasoned lover tremble. He lay there, his hands gripping Devin's head like he owned it. Devin, on his knees, was no amateur. His pretty, plump lips were already parted, saliva pooling at the corners, ready to take Mezenga's fat cock down his throat. But even he looked hesitant, his eyes flickering up at the Italian stud with hunger and apprehension.
Mezenga started slow, teasing the tip of his swollen dick against Devin's lips, rubbing the slick precum that had already begun to ooze from his slit. Devin's tongue darted out, lapping at the salty drop, and Mezenga growled low in his throat, his dark eyes burning with lust. "That's it, cagna," he murmured, his accent thick and dripping with dirt. "Suck it like you mean it."
Devin obeyed, wrapping those sinful lips around the head of Mezenga's cock, swirling his tongue around the ridge as he took the first few inches into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, his throat muscles fluttering around the thick shaft. Mezenga's fingers tightened in Devin's hair, pulling him closer and forcing more of that throbbing monster down. Devin gagged, spit dribbling down his chin, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he moaned, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure up Mezenga's spine.
On the other side of the room, Luka was already hard, his hand palming his bulge. He couldn't take his eyes off the scene in front of him, Mezenga's muscular frame, his cock disappearing between Devin's lips, the way Devin's throat stretched to accommodate that beast. Luka tugged his own stiff cock, already slick with pre-cum. He started stroking himself slowly, his eyes glued to Mezenga and Devin, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Mezenga started thrusting harder, deeper, his hips snapping forward as he fucked Devin's face with brutal precision. "Take it, frocio," he growled, his voice rough and demanding. Devin's eyes watered as Mezenga's cock slammed into the back of his throat, his hands gripping Mezenga's thighs for balance. The sound of gagging and wet sucking filled the room, mingling with Luka's soft moans as he stroked himself faster.
Mezenga wasn't holding back. He was pistoning into Devin's mouth, his balls slapping against Devin's chin with every thrust. Devin's throat was stretched to its limit, his moans muffled around the thick cock filling him. Saliva dripped down his chin, pooling on the expensive white leather beneath him. His eyes were glazed, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. He was too lost in the pleasure, already addicted to the way Mezenga used him like a cheap slut.
Unlike Luka, Devin enjoyed it.
The job. The thrill.
And Mezenga was matching his energy. He wasn't just fucking Devin's mouth, he was claiming it. His hips pistoned with a savage rhythm now, his heavy balls slapping against Devin's chin in a lewd, rhythmic beat. Saliva bubbled and spilled from Devin's swollen lips, dripping down his chin. The sounds were appallingly inviting, wet, gagging, choked moans and the obscene squelch of Mezenga's cock plunging into Devin's tight throat over and over again.
Devin's hands clawed at Mezenga's thighs, his fingers trembling as he tried to pull back to get some relief from the relentless assault. But Mezenga wasn't having it. He grabbed a fistful of Devin's golden hair, yanking his head forward and forcing every last inch of his cock down that gullet. Devin's body convulsed, his throat working desperately to accommodate the thick intruder as Mezenga growled with satisfaction.
Luka's gaze was glued to the spectacle, his own cock straining against the fabric of his jeans. He bit his lip, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he watched Mezenga use Devin. "Hey," Luka muttered, his voice shaking despite himself. "Take it easy, man. You're gonna fucking choke him."
But then Devin's eyes, those beautiful, tear-filled green eyes, locked onto Luka's. They were half-lidded, glazed with a mix of pain and something darker, something that made Luka's stomach twist with arousal. Devin wasn't asking for help. No, that look was pure submission. He wanted it. He wanted to be used, to be destroyed.
And Mezenga knew it. With a feral grin, he tightened his grip on Devin's hair and increased his pace, his thrusts becoming even more brutal. Devin's whimpers turned into full-on wails, the sound muffled by the cock forcing its way down his throat. His body shook, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe between thrusts, but he didn't fight back.
Luka couldn't tear his eyes away.
It was perfect.
Mezenga leaned down, his voice a low growl as he spoke directly into Devin's ear, even as his cock still hammered into that tight throat. "You fucking love this, don't you?" Devin's muffled whine was all the answer he needed. Mezenga chuckled darkly, his hips never slowing. "Good boy. Take every inch like the whore you are."
Suddenly, Mezenga's massive hand unclenched from the back of Devin's neck, the skin of the blonde boy already blooming red from the grip. Devin sucked in a ragged breath, his full, pink lips parting. He stumbled back, his lithe frame trembling, his chest heaving like he'd just run a fucking marathon. A cough ripped through him, but it wasn't one of distress. It was the kind of gasp that came from being overwhelmed by pure, unadulterated lust.
"Fuck, dude…you're fucking huge," Devin choked out, his voice dripping with wanton admiration. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, locking onto Mezenga's towering figure.
But Mezenga wasn't done.
In one swift, predatory motion, Mezenga's hand shot out, tangling in Devin's golden locks and yanking him forward so hard it made the boy's scalp sting. Devin whimpered, but it wasn't pain. It was pure need. Mezenga leaned in, his thick, muscular frame dwarfing the boy, his hot breath fanning Devin's flushed face. Then, with a cruel smirk, Mezenga spat. A thick glob of saliva slapped Devin's cheek, sliding down in a wet, glistening trail.
Devin didn't even flinch. Instead, his lips curled into a filthy grin, his tongue darting out to lick at the edge of his mouth like he could taste the dominance dripping off Mezenga's spit. He turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking over to Luka, there with his hand wrapped around his cock and a scowl that barely hid the jealousy twisting in his gut. Devin's smile widened, taunting, teasing.
Luka rolled his eyes, but his body betrayed him. His jaw clenched, his fists tightened, and that strange, hot feeling in his chest? It wasn't just annoyance. It was fucking envy. He hated how Devin looked at Mezenga like he was a god and how the blonde boy's body seemed to beg for more of that rough treatment. And he hated how, deep down, he wanted to be the one pulling Devin's hair, spitting in his face, making him submit.
Mezenga, meanwhile, leaned back. His eyes darkened as he looked down at Devin, still on his knees, panting like a dog in heat. "You're going to be a fun one, I can tell," Mezenga growled, his voice low and dripping with menace.
Devin didn't answer with words. Instead, he reached up and palmed the Italian beast's shaft, his breath hitching. "Fuck," he whispered again, his voice breaking before diving his mouth back onto Mezenga's cock, moaning submissively as he continued sucking on the Italian stud's cock, their naked bodies slowly fusing. Devin's lips stretched obscenely around the girth, his tongue swirling and lapping at the underside like a starving animal. Drool leaked down his chin, pooling on Mezenga's balls, which hung heavy and full now.
Mezenga leaned back with his arms crossed behind his head, his sweat-slicked chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. His abs were carved like marble, his muscles flexing as he let Devin finally take the lead. The smug bastard smirked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he watched the blonde boy choke and slobber on his cock.
"That's it," Mezenga growled, his voice dripping with condescension. "Show me how much you fucking want that money."
Devin whimpered around the cock filling his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked with a fervor that bordered on desperation. His own hard, leaking dick twitched against his stomach, precum smearing across his abs as he shamelessly rutted into the air. His ass clenched involuntarily, aching for something, or someone, to fill it.
Mezenga's hand tangled in Devin's hair, yanking him forward until his nose pressed into the wiry pubes at the base of the Italian's cock. Devin gagged again, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. His throat opened obediently, swallowing the thick shaft deeper, the tip bumping against the back of his throat with every punishing thrust of Mezenga's hips.
"Fuck, look at you," Mezenga sneered. "These lips…they're fucking perfect. Wet, tight, desperate…just like yours would be if you stopped being such a proud fucking doormat," Mezenga added, his gaze trailing back to Luka.
Luka's hand clenched around his girth, his jaw tightening as he tried to maintain some semblance of control. But his cock betrayed him, throbbing and leaking. As did his breathing, now ragged, his eyes locked on the way Devin's throat bulged with every inch of Mezenga's cock sliding in and out.
"So...Luka," Mezenga drawled, his voice low and teasing, "what's it gonna be? You gonna keep sitting there like a fucking statue, or are you gonna join the party?"
And that's when it happened.
Luka locked eyes with Mezenga, their gazes clashing in a wordless standoff. For an instant, Luka thought he glimpsed something shift within the Italian stud. The roughness was there, sure. But there was something else. Something veiled but neatly there. Admiration maybe.
As Luka slowly lowered his gaze, he found Devin's eyes, emerald sparks focused intently on him. That's when a soft smile crept across Luka's face, accompanied by a gentle sigh. Turning away was not an option. It never had been. Because the truth was, wherever Devin wandered, Luka trailed close behind.
That was the unchanging pattern of his life.
The only thing he clung to.
His only source of stability.
Luka's world centered around safeguarding Devin. His universe orbited around those sunlit curls like constellations for ships out at sea. Their lives were entwined, bound together through relentless trials.
For better or worse.
Rising to his feet, Luka noticed Giancarlo's lips sliding into a sadistic grin.
"Sarà divertente..." the Italian bull groaned as Luka finally began walking toward them.
(To be continued...)
