It was a bet he thought he would win, and his confidence had been so exaggerated that the loss was more painful than necessary. Perhaps he had overestimated the speed his sonic technology would provide to his skates, or underestimated Akande's impressive sense of prediction. Nonetheless, the villain's golden gauntlet had struck and before Lúcio knew it, he had been locked into an unyielding grasp.
"Well, it seems as though I have caught you," The taller sneered, a dent marked between his jarring brow as he mocked Lúcio's previous pledges of there's no way you'll be able to catch me. The auditory medic continued to challenge the superiority in his rival's expression with a rigid glare, teeth being ground together at the thought of having to admit he lost. He made an attempt to free himself of the metallic clasp, but it was no use.
Though Lúcio was a man of pride, he was also a man of his word, and he couldn't deny the vow he had made to the felon. If Akande managed to catch him during their duel, Lúcio would willingly provide his assistance at Talon — among other favours of Akande's choosing, whether they be tame or carnal. It was a vacuous decision, though Akande's promise to hand his gauntlet to Overwatch (in the instance that Lúcio won) was too hard to decline. It may have been the heroic mentality he had gained after successfully defending the city of Rio, but there was nothing more appealing to the musician than being able to say he had outsmarted the fabled Doomfist. Unfortunately, his vision hadn't become a reality and now he was at the hands of the enemy.
"Though your efforts were honourable, they were an inconvenience to my affairs. I expect that you won't cause me any further trouble on our passage back to Talon, or afterwards." There was a warning in the squint of his eyes as he spoke, and though Lúcio had made his former covenant clear, the headman still bound his wrists and pulled him along as they walked the perimeter. One, to ensure the medic wouldn't acquire a change of heart and attempt an expeditious escape, and two, because the technicality of the situation was that Lúcio had become his prisoner, and he may as well be treated as such.
The journey was silent, apart from the continuous tap of dress shoes and slide of skates against the cement. Lúcio's head was hung down, a few broad dreads providing shelter against the light rainfall after they had fallen loose from his headband. He didn't bother looking up to face his surroundings, for he was too concerned with the disquieting thought of what would happen to him in the next few days, weeks, months, or however long it took for his comrades to find him. It hadn't just been a ludic rivalry between two innocuous groups — one may have been a league of heroes, but the other was a terrorist organisation who had no regard for the people that they hurt. Lúcio never liked to admit he felt scared, though he believed he had every right to be in this moment.
Perhaps he had been so involved in his trepidation that it disrupted his usual thought process. Lúcio was smart, and his obvious instinct would have been to observe the route Akande was taking as means to one day help the Blackwatch division infiltrate Talon's headquarters. Instead, his gaze stayed cast down until the shadows of Talon loomed over him, and it was only then that curiosity pushed his eyes up.
There was an expected contrast between Talon and Overwatch. Whilst Overwatch's base had been kept clean and various windows provided a frequent wash of sunshine to the agents, Talon was punctured with dark shades, drawn curtains and the scent of steel. The lights were dim and provided an ominous feeling to the strangers who entered. There was a faint sound of bats screeching from the woodland that surrounded them, and the goosebumps on Lúcio's arms were an indication of the lack of heat the structure provided.
He was brought into the upstairs study, stripped of his skates, backpack and armour, and fitted with a wristband that was unlike any other. It was made of metal and could only be unlocked by Akande's fingerprint, having additionally been signalled to send a shock through the victim's body if they were to step outside a physical boundary. Of course, the medic could have rather been equipped with chains, though to Akande, such a thing would feel a little too medieval.
"Now, before I make introductions, I must inform you of the rules you are to follow and the guidelines that will be set in place," The successor begun once he had heard the click of the lock, turning to straighten his bow-tie in the mirror. "First, you are free to walk the premises, however, should you run into a door that is locked, you aren't to make any efforts to enter it. They are secured for a reason. Just like any other prisoner, you will sleep in one of the cells we have in our lower foyer. It won't be the most comfortable environment to sleep in, though a bed will be provided for you. You will eat after I eat, and you will not complain about how much food you are given. You will only take orders from me, and finally, you will do as I say. Is that understood?"
With his jaw hardening and a brow drawn, the DJ's glare met the leer of his captor. He didn't answer him at first, still wanting to keep hold of the slight sense of pride he had left, which rose the eyebrow of the larger male. Akande hadn't adapted the title of Doomfist for nothing — with it came an emphasis of the strength he had already furnished, which meant that he wouldn't tolerate attitude from anyone, especially those of Lúcio's size. It was a salient truth that the medic was inferior to him (he had to crane his neck just to join his gaze) and Akande wasn't about to let that information go unacknowledged. Proud as he was, he would have to bow down to the villain at some point, and it seemed Lúcio was determined to draw that point out for as long as he could.
There was no harm in encouraging him to submit, however. Of coarse, that was just a figure of speech. The brief yelp from the smaller may have indicated that the tug of his hair was rather harsh, though the outlaw showed no concern for his discomfort. He was more focused on how satisfying it was to see the male's Adam's Apple jutting out from the strength of the pull. "I said, is that understood?"
Lúcio winced at the word before he said it. "Yes."
It had been mumbled beneath his breath and that fact alone may have cured a slither of his shame, though it didn't seem to be good enough for the colossus in front of him. The grip he had held on his tousled locks hadn't faltered — in fact, it had only hardened further, completely in tune with the shift in his stare. He seemed less complacent now. It was almost enough to make Lúcio swallow against his drying throat. "Yes, what?"
He didn't know if it was an honest requirement or if Akande had just wanted to embarrass him even more. Whatever the reason was, it signalled a heat to rise in the musician's cheeks and he was suddenly very thankful for the tan in his complexion. Did Akande really expect him to refer to him as such a respectable term? Lúcio couldn't say he respected him in the slightest. He hated him. How was he supposed to call him —
"Ahrg! Yes, sir!" It was another sharp tug of his hair that did it, and the perpetrator smirked at the sound. Lúcio couldn't say that he enjoyed Akande's responding praise of 'good boy', though he also couldn't explain why it had only made his flushed skin grow warmer. He would put it down to being embarrassed and harden his glare once more, crossed arms being added for effect.
"Do not look so angry. You have people to meet. Come," Akande ordered, gesturing for the medic to follow in his footsteps with the wave of his hand. After a brief roll of his eyes that he was lucky went unnoticed, Lúcio did as he was asked. He had always felt self conscious without his skates, as they had provided at least a couple more inches of height to his stature, and without them he felt even smaller in comparison to the man walking ahead of him.
They were greeted by Talon's signature agents as they entered the living room, the smallest (and most fluorescent) of the group being the first to notice their arrival. Sombra had glanced up from her tablet and her brows disappeared behind the tuft of fuchsia hair that hung over her forehead. A gasp followed, and as though it were some sort of cue, the remaining three expressed their own astonishment to the scene.
"What is he doing here?" Questioned the looming shadow from the corner of the room, otherwise known as Gabriel Reyes, or Reaper, in a voice that sounded like it had been burdened by years of straight whiskey. Before the headman had time to respond, Sombra pushed herself from the sofa and dashed across the floorboards, taking Lúcio's cheeks between her fingers once she had approached him. "What do you think, Gabe? Akande's brought him here to be our new pet! Él es tan lindo!"
The roll of Widowmaker's eyes symbolised her origins, almost as much as the following accent. "You are a fool to bring an associate of Overwatch here — we could be ambushed."
"There were no witnesses to his capture," Akande assured in efforts to numb her negative attitude, though she had still responded with a squint of her eyes. Nonetheless, he continued his clarification of the matter, that sense of entitlement showing in his eyes as he did so. Lúcio curled into himself, hating the fact he was being spoken about as though he weren't even in the room and hating even more that he couldn't protest, despite his growing desire to.
"If you could even call it a capture. He has come on his own accord, and will be assisting us for the time-being. With that being said, you aren't to give him orders — he will answer only to me. I know what needs to be done and what you can do yourselves."
"Okay, big guy. If he can only answer to you then how about you ask him to make us some food? I'm starving..." The slender Hispanic emphasised the end of her query with a groan and a hand clutched to her stomach, and though Akande's instinct was to silence the girl, he had to recognise the suggestion as something Lúcio could certainly do. He had assumed, being Brazilian, that the younger would know his way around the kitchen, so he instructed that Lúcio begin dinner preparations immediately.
Luckily for everybody's taste buds, his prediction had been correct and Lúcio worked with whatever ingredients he'd found — little as they were — to prepare a mixture of flavours. Having grown up in the favelas of Rio, he had to help his mother cook meals with a mediocre range of ingredients, though she was the one to teach him it wasn't necessarily about the quantity of elements you had, but rather what you did with them.
He'd made an adaption of a Feijoada dish, an array of herbs folded into the sauce and rice. The scent of it was apparent from beyond the archway, and it just made the sight of it more appealing when Lúcio had set the plates down before them. He went to pull a chair out for himself, though the faint clearing of Akande's throat signalled his gaze to meet a raised brow, and he figured he wasn't allowed to have that luxury. Instead, the larger made a brief glance towards the ground below his own chair and Lúcio almost scoffed at the indication that he sit on the ground like some sort of dog. Did he expect him to beg for his leftovers as well?
The surrounding agents hadn't dared to utter a word in response to their palpable exchange, the only feedback being a few averted stares as their silverware cut into their food, and a muffled snicker from the tanned hacker before she would continue to state the obvious. "I think he means for you to sit on the floor, querido.”
And so, in a regretful deed, Lúcio tried his best to make comfort for himself in the hard floorboards he had to work with.
After dinner, Lúcio had surprisingly been taken to Akande's en-suite and given the liberty of washing himself in a shower that could rival a palace — at least to him, anyway. To Akande, the shower's walls would barely offer enough room for his frame but to Lúcio, it was a sanctuary and he could stretch and move his arms as he pleased. The tiles were filtered in gold and the marble flooring was wholesome to the skin. Lúcio had swept up a feminine shampoo, since it was the only one he could find among the silver rack (he had assumed it must have belonged to Sombra or Widowmaker considering Akande didn't exactly have hair he could wash and even if he did, he didn't seem like the type to use Pantene) and by the time he had rinsed off his dense locks, his scent radiated an artificial strawberry.
With a towel wrapped around his hips, fastened by its edge being tucked into itself, Lúcio peered out from the slit in the door to see Akande's backside, slightly hunched over on the side of his bed, arm stripped from its golden gauntlet, shirt absent. Though the act sparked his nerves, he curled a gentle fist by his mouth and coughed to get his attention. The man turned nimbly, almost offering a smile at the sight of the medic's fresh face and the artistry of stray droplets travelling down his tousled braids, only to later pool into the small dip in his collar. There was a moment of silence that would only prompt discomfort for those with a neurotic nature. Lúcio's hand moved to rub at the back of his dampened neck, unsure. "Uh — my clothes."
"They are being washed, though you won't be needing them just yet." Lúcio almost choked, despite there being nothing caught in his throat. Akande's smile was more of a smirk, eyes adverted as he continued in his proposal. "I'd like for you to... entertain me."
"No way," The dismissal was firm and impenetrable, though it hadn't stripped the felon of his credence that his desires would be fulfilled. It was apparent in his expression — the shift in his lips hadn't stirred from their place, his posture still sat straight and confident. He rested his palms against his knees before he took a stand, light steps guiding him to where the smaller was furrowing his eyebrows by the arched door. "It is a yes, I'm afraid. When we made this... bet, I distinctively remember you agreeing to do anything I asked of you, whether it bevenereal or not, in the instance that I caught you. Correct?"
Lúcio said nothing, refraining from words with the pinch of his teeth to his lower lip. He was hoping Akande might have forgotten, but it seemed as though his memory was as strong as his arms. "Now," The deep voice rose once more, "Drop the towel."
Lúcio wasn't sure why he hardened his glare, pushed his toes up and challenged the villain with a taunt that rang in a steady note of: "Make me." Perhaps he wasn't expecting Akande's hand to clutch his waist so briskly, turn him to the side and push his cheek to the awaiting mattress, but it did, and it caused an unintentional sound to part ways with his lips — Lúcio would have said he groaned, but to Akande, it was more of a whine.
"Let me go!" As though he had adapted Akande's title for a brief moment, the usually meek medic broke through the barrier and proceeded to struggle beneath the other's substantial grip, like a criminal who had been caught. He seemed afraid of something, and the fear may have surfaced the second the towel was torn from him and his shaven assets were on full-display. The collected, "Well, well, well," from the older's lips was expected, though Lúcio hadn't anticipated how fast his cheeks would burn at the sound.
It was humiliating, to say the least. He was on full display in front of a clothed man, writhing beneath his grasp and actually whimpering when he'd felt his spare hand sail up his thighs. It was as though his sounds were drawing forward before his mind even had a chance to control them.
"My little DJ, something tells me you were anticipating this." The taunt hadn't left his tone, and Lúcio seethed in enmity. He wasn't only angry with Akande, but with himself for showing such weakness in his presence. He had wanted to prove to himself that power didn't necessarily have to be acquired through status or the shape of one's arms, but perhaps it was just too difficult when your competitor stood at seven feet and had an unparalleled way with his hands.
Goosebumps formed beneath their touch, and it was something the felon was well aware of. He would only smirk at the knowledge, trailing his fingertips across smooth, athletic thighs until they reached a more explicit area.
"Hnng, don't do that!" Lúcio had jolted promptly. His skin was still a little damp and it blushed from the extended heat, devising in the cloud of the en-suite's stream and now, only strengthening with the warmth of the second body hovered above his curved spine.
Akande had hardly made any advancements and yet the musician was squirming and digging his noises into the pillow, every part of his body sensitive to the touch. It wasn't only arousing to Akande's eyes, but amusing as well. Lúcio, the Freedom Fighter, the Defender of Rio, could barely handle a feather-like brush from his hand. It made him wonder what he would do once the gentle grazes proceeded further, and in spirit of the thought, he blanketed a couple of fingers with saliva and a slow approach was made between his spread thighs. The receiver yelped a soprano, "Ah!" Before his words contradicted the arousal that rutted against his abdomen, drawn inwards by tight breaths. "No — wait, please..."
"Please, what? Would you like me to stop, Lúcio? Because I will if you insist on it." The charms of Akande's voice rang sincere and steady, and in comparison to all that he had been through this evening: the lost bet, the degradation at the dinner table, the rejection of power, nothing had compared to the embarrassment Lúcio felt when his lips hadn't uttered a sound, and the inevitable rise of Akande's smirk could be pictured through the silence.
"What's that? You do not wish for me to stop? Do you like this, Lúcio? Does this feel good?" The villain rose a question both parties already knew the answer to, his sodden index finger proceeding to press into the enclosed space before his eyes, and Lúcio only whined and groused in retaliation. Silken sheets crippled between his clutch, and his brow was drawn into a furrow because he hated the fact he actually did like this.
Akande's finger worked him like a Maestro to an orchestra, curling into a particular spot in the medic's prostate that made him shake with butterflies. Not only did they flutter in his stomach, but they broadened throughout his entire body and it might have been because of Akande's voice that praised him for his involuntary whimpers or the way his finger jutted mercilessly into the delicate spot or both at once, but for a moment it seemed he had forgotten his own name.
And then, everything stopped.
"Beg me," Growled the villain, both of his hands grasping firmly at Lúcio's hips.
"I'm not doing that," The medic's stubbornness proceeded through clenched teeth.
Akande only sneered. "You think you are so tough, but only the weak crumble the way you do. I suggest you listen to me, DJ, or this will only get harder."
With a dented forehead, Lúcio's determination remained by fault of the fractured, and yet functioning pride he surfaced. He dared to rival the larger being with a glare of his own, and a proceeding phrase of: "Get lost."
So, the insult could have been better, but since when had Lúcio Santos been known to waver a cruel bone in his body? It was the rudest thing his sweet mind could think of in the spur of the moment, and it only amused the felon further.
"Very well," And like a Spring shower obtaining a change of heart, Akande retreated. It was a dismissal too good to be true, and it left Lúcio laying with his back against the mattress, confused, nervous, and... he didn't even want to put a name to the shameful erection standing linear between his legs. He tried his best to cover it, but it would only make his humiliating arousal more obvious than it was. Akande had disappeared into the en-suite, and the only indication of what he was doing was the sound of draws opening and items being shifted around from within them, as though he were searching for something. Lúcio actually felt nauseous when he appeared from beyond the door again, three obvious items in his grasp. A silver cock-ring, a bottle of lubricant that was scented to honour the one he'd yielded from the shower, and a vibrator of around seven inches — layered in a taunting pink.
"Let's see just how long you can last without begging, shall we?"
The bump in Lúcio's throat moved as he swallowed against it, and it was all he could do as Akande's menacing shadow folded over him. He had tied his wrists to the headboard for good measure, having to use a woven scarf in the absence of his ropes. He coated the entire seven inches of the toy until it glistened with the aromatic substance, and fixed the metallic ring to Lúcio's sensitive erection, despite the protest that he showed in the form of writhing hips. He shivered as cold steel graced the skin that was still very sensitive to the touch, and his hips only continued in their efforts to squirm. "Now, now," Akande tutted, "Struggling won't make this any easier. You are to be relaxed if you'd like the process to be... comfortable."
Akande wasn't sure if Lúcio had ever done this before, but he would take precautions regardless. Though the instinct would never be put into words, he hadn't wanted to hurt the musician any more than it were necessary, which was why he had been so genial about applying the pressure of the toy to his entrance. It was slow, careful and tender, and he may have liked the sound it emitted from the auditory medic more than he had anticipated. The note was softer than before — higher in pitch, and yet more delicate, offering the allusion that he was as breakable as a doll made of porcelain. Akande intended to take care of him before he ruined him. His hand shifted, prompting the toy to jab into the particular spot that made Lúcio's lips quiver like he were about to burst into tears, soothing him through the intrusion with a stroke of his palm to the side of his face. Though once the rubber had been buried into it completely, Akande made an unexpected movement that contravened his former attitude. The vibrator was switched to the highest possible notch, and now Lúcio may as well be crying.
"Ah—arghnmmph... Tur—turn it down!" He ordered, and though his tone was washed in pathetic, even slutty desperation, there was still a vacancy of the word please. He still wasn't begging.
Maybe he just didn't want to see Akande win this round. Or maybe he... No. He wouldn't let himself think in such a way.
As the villain's collected smile stayed in place and his head shook in a silent rejection of Lúcio's command, he tugged at the silk restrains that kept his hands from nearing the area that needed to be felt the most, hoping that he might be able to free himself, though the fabric was tied in double knots. It was hopeless. He felt hopeless in this entire situation: He would press his teeth down into the cushion of his bottom lip in attempt to, at the very least, muffle the whines and whimpers that spilled from his throat, despite his brain telling them not to. He would twist his hips in a despairing desire to rub his arousal against the sheets, but nothing could compare to the touch of a cupped palm. Akande's — NO.
"This isn't fuh—funny anymore!" His shout was splintered behind a series of small, weakened moans, because the shuddering object inside him had only pressed further into his prostate with his movements, and it was enough to make his toes curl. Naturally, a deep, chiffon laugh tumbled through the successor's clothed chest. "You're right, Lúcio. It isn't funny," His hand waved over the medic's painful erection, barely brushing the skin, and what could only be described as a yelp chimed through Lúcio's lips. "It's hilarious."
His palm took rest upon the mattress again as his leaden eyes panned over Lúcio's body. His waist tensed with sharp breaths, the faint view of his rib-cage occasionally signalled by the act, and a few drops of pre-cum traveled down his length. His hair spread out in different directions against the pillow, his eyes were pressed shut, and his lips couldn't stop falling open despite the apparent need to keep them shut. He seemed humiliated by every whimper he made.
"Isn't this a sight?" Akande mocked, "Overwatch's little celebrity is moaning like a slut in the presence of his enemy. That's one for the tabloids, don't you think?"
"Screw you," Lúcio could barely manage words at this point. His erection had been halted from relief due to the tightened ring of silver that kept it maintained, and though only a couple of minutes had passed, it was beginning to hurt. His senses were so tender that he wouldn't be surprised if he came undone with one single stroke of the older's hand. A burning pink touched his cheeks — so strong it could be noticed in the mask of his tan — and little drops continued to leak from his crown in allusion to his prurience. A stray tear fell from the corner of his eye. He couldn't do this for much longer.
Finally, he said it.
"Please, what?" Akande's head tilted with the query. One word wasn't enough. He wanted him to beg — really beg.
"Puh—please... m—make me cum." He winced at himself as he said it, eyes squeezed shut as his face made efforts to hide itself in the pillow, probably because he wasn't ready to see the amusement in his captor's eyes.
"Not good enough, DJ. Let me see how badly you want it. Put on a show." Akande wanted to push his every limit. He wanted to identify the addictive humiliation in the medic's expression every time he rocked his hips against the vibrator. With his arms folded over his chest, a collected smile rose his lips as he listened to Lúcio's following groan.
He didn't want Akande to win, and yet, all he could do was oblige to the felon's wishes. He tried not to look at him as he rolled down and the toy pushed firm against his sensitive spot, as though the act were shameless, lips trembling at the wonderful, and yet horrible feeling it emitted, but Akande's fingers gripped his jaw and forced his eyes on his tormenting smirk.
"Good boy. Whimper for me."
And Lúcio did whimper. He hadn't even bothered to try holding them back at this point, because it was no use. His body was trembling, as though small shocks of electricity were motivating his every movement. And within the next couple of moments, he voluntarily decided to forget about his previous commitment, and used his toe to push the entire seven inches inside of himself. He almost shrieked.
"Now," Akande's palm cupped the smaller's cheek. "Tell me what you'd like me to do to you."
"I—I want you to... Hhnmph... t—to—tah—touch me."
"And?" Akande knew there was more. Lúcio had to avert his stare again, and his lips pinched.
"Fuck me." There it was. "P—please, sir." His voice was small, defeated even, and Akande couldn't say he was surprised Lúcio had only lasted a total of four minutes before he had completely given into submission. He hadn't struck him as the strongest soul in the world, and the noises that came from him certainly supported this statement.
"That's better. Look at you now, you dirty little slut." It didn't take long for Akande to finally relieve his erection from his dress pants. He had wanted to pound into the little celebrity since he had first seen him on the battlefield, and Akande Ogundimu always got what he wanted. He untied Lúcio's wrists, having struggled against the material as soon as they had been bound, slid off the steel ring and and flipped him over again. He didn't need to manhandle him in the right position this time. Lúcio had done it for him, hips raising and thighs parting on their own accord, though there was still a small part of the medic that cursed his actions. He shouldn't be doing this. He should have held his ground. He shouldn't have let Akande succeed, and yet, he couldn't ponder on such things for long, because the villain had pushed into him in a matter of seconds. It was nothing like the slightly intrusive vibrator. Akande's natural manhood was far larger, and it caused Lúcio's throat to splinter with his scream.
Akande, having rutted every inch of himself into the medic at once, leaned over his tiny (in comparison) body and his hand slid along his chest, landing in a clasp around his lips in order to muffle out his sounds, now much stronger in volume. He didn't care too much about Sombra or the others hearing his affairs, though he would still rather not be the subject of their mockery for the following few weeks. He did still acquire a certain level of privacy. "Shh," He silenced him, allowing his pelvis to stir in a gentle rhythm. "You wouldn't want them to hear you now, would you, ƙauna?"
Lúcio's only response was to soften the muffled whines from against the large palm, though the task only grew more difficult when Akande's pace picked up and the headboard began to rut against the wall. Akande hadn't known Lúcio's body for long, but he already seemed to hold an expertise in where everything was. He knew how to make him whimper with rough kisses to the back of his back, and sharp whacks from his hand to the cheeks below his back dimples. He knew how to make him jolt with twists to his hardened nipples, only expanding their sensitivity. And he knew which direction to thrust in order to make the musician scream into his palm. He only chuckled, and his following voice was raspy and layered in ridicule. "It appears that someone is going to be quite the sore loser by morning."
Lúcio could have hit him. He could have turned around and landed a punch right into his jaw, but instead, his groan was overshadowed by a moan and he had to listen to Akande's stupid laugh again. The felon maintained his steady pace — he could do this for hours, he could listen to and watch the boy beneath him for hours, but Lúcio's end was approaching. His erection had received only the slightest amount of contact as it pushed up against his lower waist, and it was enough to make him start writhing again, especially with the addition of Akande's ten inches pounding mercilessly into his prostate. When the villain heard a muffle of words against his palm, he gave Lúcio's lips some room to speak, and he was glad he did because the following sound was almost hypnotic.
"Akande, p—please. I want you t— I n—need you to touch me. I—I'm s—so close. Please, s—sir. Please make me c—ah!"
He couldn't complete the request, for Akande had already given him that touch he so desperately craved with the expertise of his cupped hand, hips jolting in harsh, steady movements — and they showed no compassion to Lúcio's mistreated prostate. The medic's fingertips dug into the silken fabric below him like he were on the hunt for jewels, the sparks within his body igniting and causing a deep, eternal euphoria to shake him to the core. Akande was giving him everything at once and it may have been too much for his small form to handle, because suddenly he was sobbing into the superior's hand, his eyes welled and stinging with tears. He was gushing a flow of white that would surely stain the sheets.
Oversensitive, Lúcio's torture only made room for preservation. Akande wasn't quite finished with him yet. The DJ actually had to plead with him when he was turned onto his back, and the monarch rutted into him once more. He'd told Akande to wait, because the stimulation from his orgasm hadn't subdued and he needed a minute to catch his breath, but the older gave him no such luxury — because by now he knew that Lúcio wanted this, especially by the way his ankles curved around his waist and pushed his cock deeper.
A calloused hand drew upwards and clasped around Lúcio's throat as he was fucked into, much like a living sex doll, and the slightest tighten was enough to make him wail out again. Akande didn't even bother trying to keep him quiet now — he just had to accept the fact that Lúcio was a musician, and musician's tended to be loud. His whines were higher than those of a snappy dog, and amongst them he was breathlessly saying the word please, over and over again, but this time he didn't even know what he was begging for. Akande thought he looked so pretty like this.
In fact, he looked so pretty that Akande only lasted a few minutes longer before he was burying his orgasm into the smaller male, teeth tugging at the plumpest part of his lips and swallowing his noises as he filled him to the brim. It was a rough kiss, but it was a kiss all the same, and Akande had to consider the fact he didn't usually adapt such intimacy with his playthings. Lúcio was too busy sobbing to dwell on the subject, his second spray of white ornamenting Akande's rigid stomach. He had never felt so broken.
After what seemed like an eternity, Akande's thrusts came to a still, though he still stayed buried within the medic in the moments they would lay against the mattress and relieve their breaths. His hand had grabbed hold of Lúcio's hip and held him in place the second he tried to move away, and it might have been a good thing, because it felt like Akande was spooning him into a cuddle and that was enough to make him smile. Though, the smile trembled when his captor had finally slid out of him, slowly, as if not to upset his senses any further, but it only emphasised the feeling of his once full ass being suddenly empty. He could barely even whimper, for his throat had been so damaged by his former yelps and moans.
"Good boy," Akande proceeded in a brief stroke of his dreads, "You did well."
And it was in that moment that Lúcio's otherwise humiliated reaction subdued and he realised he might have actually liked Akande praising him. And Akande might have liked how he buried himself into his chest, despite the layer of sweat it displayed, as though for a second Lúcio thought of him as his protector, rather than his captor — and he didn't know why.
Though the ordeal was over, one fact remained unknown to Overwatch's celebrity medic and the padrone of Talon. During their activities, they had faced one undetected audience member, who otherwise would have been presented in a crest of spiked locks and attire gathered from the festival of Los Muertos. She would collect the precious data from the lens of her embodied camera in the highest definition — videos and photos shot in various angles as she stepped around the Baldacchino Supreme bed, which she would later upload to her blog, honoured by a title that would spark the most attention.
It was a controversy too tempting to ignore.
LÚCIO CORREIA DOS SANTOS BETRAYS OVERWATCH BY AN AFFAIR WITH DOOMFIST: THE SUCCESSOR.