“The fucking coward is doing that again.” Prosciutto’s angry voice came even before he had finished opening the door to his office. Risotto raised his eyes. The blonde had his fists clenched.
“Is he now?” He hummed, leaning back on the large leather chair.
“Can’t handle a beating, the fucker. After all the disgusting shit he did to Sorbet and Gelato, he can’t handle a few kicks to the gut. Fucking arsehole, hiding himself like that…”
Risotto had been present the first time it happened.
Capturing the mafia boss with the help of Buccellati’s gang had been the fight of their lives and even though they all took a great deal of damage and a few limbs were missed on the way, they managed to conquer their objectives. And the boss, the cruel and ruthless man who had been haunting their nightmares, was now nothing more than a myth, a tale to tell the future generations.
The assassination squad got to keep him prisoner, unwilling to just kill him off. That’d be too easy for filthy scum like him after all the man put the Squadra through. Buccellati’s gang was okay with that, since, in their own words, the fate of the ex-Don had already been sealed.
But, after the first few days of keeping the man prisoner, of giving him hell, of torturing him and making him pay for all the shit he did, he simply changed. Not changed in behavior, not like that, the man changed completely. Another person, another face, another body shape, although keeping some of his features like the shape of his nose and the pink long hair, it was another conscience governing that body.
And that was the conscience of a young and clueless boy. As they watched with fascination and horror, Diavolo’s bloody body from the torture shifted and deflated into that of a young boy. Round hazel eyes looked at Risotto and Prosciutto – the only two standing in the cell at the moment – with fear and confusion as he scanned his surrounds.
They couldn’t believe their eyes at seeing that, and as the new person standing there started asking questions as to where he was and what were they doing, Risotto thought it was a bluff. He slapped hard at the boy’s round left cheek. He had freckles now, dusted all over his face, shoulders and chest. He gasped and looked back with shock, yelling.
Even the voice was different, high and young, like that of a teenager transiting into adulthood.
Doppio, the name he used to introduced himself as. He worked for Passione, had a direct connection with the boss and if they didn’t let him go already, the boss would come and rescue him. Risotto and Prosciutto just stared at each other’s face, drowning in the ridiculousness of it all.
As time progressed, they concluded that Diavolo and Doppio were the same person, maybe split personalities or even two souls sharing the same body. They couldn’t know for sure, as the world was a very mysterious and weird one, but they now had something else to deal with. Diavolo appeared again, and as they questioned him about Doppio, the man just refused to say anything no matter how much they sliced his skin open or punched the air out of his lungs. The only thing Diavolo seemed to own was burning anger and all his thinking ability seemed to have gone to hell.
As for the Doppio kid, he was pretty much clueless about the boss, going as far as not even knowing his name. It felt wrong torturing the boy as soon as they realized nothing useful would come from him, so they left him unscathed. He probably wasn’t the one that had ordered the torture and assassination of Sorbet and Gelato.
They didn’t bother much about him. Whenever they opened the door and it was Doppio instead of Diavolo, they just let him be. Or at least, as much as they managed to, because the boy could still feel all the old injuries inflicted upon his body when Diavolo had been the one controlling him.
“Why you keep doing this… stop, please… I told you, I don’t know what is going on and I don’t know shit about the boss…” He cried this sentence on replay. “Stop hurting me…”
They ignored him, of course.
That was, until Diavolo had suddenly disappeared. Coming to the obvious conclusion that the hitmen weren’t interested in torturing Doppio, the young boy was the one fully in control at all occasions. As soon as the iron door to the cell was opened, Diavolo immediately morphed into the boy and at some point didn’t even make an appearance. Doppio’s young and tired face greeted them every single day now. That drove Prosciutto nuts.
It had been going on for the whole month.
“Can’t let that keep happening!” Prosciutto exclaimed. “I literally saw it, this time, he wasn’t fast enough and the motherfucker had a grin on his face before he morphed into the boy. I saw it happening from the window, still gives me the creeps.”
Risotto hummed, crossing his fingers.
“And he’s healing, Risotto. He isn’t as bruised as before, may be getting stronger. I know Giovanna removed his Stand but we never fucking know. That Doppio thing was a surprise to us all, what if he’s got something else?”
“What do you suggest we do, then?”
“Well, I don’t know!” The blonde groaned. “I’m not opposed to beating the hell out of him as I was before. Regardless of this Doppio being clueless or not, he’s still a part of Diavolo. He must have done Diavolo’s dirty deeds at some point for all we know and forgot about it. Can’t trust that troubled mind.”
Indeed, it seemed that Diavolo wasn’t expecting them to give Doppio the same rough treatment he had received and, for Risotto, shattering all the hopes of that loathsome creature was his major goal in life. But maybe a different approach was in order, he mused with darkened eyes.
Just as Diavolo had taken so much from them, it was their duty to do the same.
“Let me try something.” He raised from behind his desk, went to retrieve something and returned a couple of minutes later, a large bucket filled with water in his hand and a bundle of clothing on the other. The blonde raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Going downstairs to the cell, Prosciutto silently behind him, he faced the entrance to the cell, built exactly for that occasion. The iron door was a fine work of art. Risotto had spent days crafting the thing, molding the iron with the help of his stand until it had a foot of thickness, layer upon layer of iron pressed together to make what he considered the impenetrable gate to a holding cell. And the best of it all, only him could open and close the damn thing because not even the rest of the Squadra, combined forces and all, managed to handle the iron monster.
He loved that door like a child.
With a flick of his wrist, the monster door started to move, revealing the crouched boy on his knees, thick iron chains holding his ankles and wrists. He slowly raised his head, bangs falling on his face and haunted eyes looking at them with apathy. The plump cheeks of before had thinned down a little and the paleness increased in intensity.
“Hello, Doppio.” Risotto greeted, closing the door with his Stand. He deposited the bundle of clothing close to the door.
Doppio said nothing for a while, looking between both of them and then to the bucket of water. It had been ages since they visited the boy together, lately being only Risotto or Prosciutto’s sneer coming from the little window.
“What is that for? Are you going to drown me? Go ahead, I don’t care.” He deadpanned.
“No.” Risotto put the bucket down and fished a soft cloth and a small bottle from inside his coat. “I’m going to wash you.”
“What?” Both Doppio and Prosciutto asked at the same time.
“You’re smelling bad.” He merely said, watching at the thick iron chains moved on their own and pushed Doppio onto a standing position. Prosciutto was right; through the tears on Doppio’s muddy and caked with blood outfit, the bruises were fading. Maybe he still had a cracked rib and bent fingers, but overall, he looked a lot better compared to his state at the beginning of the month. On the other hand, his hygiene had been neglected.
Prosciutto got closer to him, grabbing at his arm. “What are you planning?” He mouthed at the white haired man.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. No need to stay here if you don’t want to.”
He sighed, annoyed at Risotto for coming up with weird plans and not telling him in advance. “I’ll stay back and watch… whatever you’re intending to do.”
As the blonde moved back, Doppio looked at him with wide eyes. “What the fuck do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” Risotto got closer to him, grabbing at the torn fabric of what was left of his purple sweater and tearing the thing down. Doppio shrieked and twitched, trying to cover himself but incapable of doing so because of the bindings. When Risotto’s hands started removing his pants, the boy pleaded:
“Don’t do this, please, please don’t rape me.”
Risotto stopped, interested. “You think that’s what I’m going to do? I told you I’m only cleaning you up.”
“I don’t trust you!” He trashed away from Risotto’s touch, only to have his hips grabbed with force by the large hands. “You were hurting me when I was unconscious and now you’re removing my clothing! Of course your intentions are bad!”
It took a while but Risotto managed to tear the thin jeans apart, leaving the boy in his dirty underwear, the smell of sweat and urine coming to his nostrils. Doppio had tears in his eyes when Risotto finally freed him from his black underwear. He gave an uninterested glance towards his soft uncut dick, pale and insignificant while protected by the foreskin, making Doppio squirm to close his thighs on top of his genitals. “Please…!”
He bent down, wetted the cloth on the bucket and applied some soap on top of it, rubbing it together to make foam appear. Doppio watched his ministration with terrified eyes, the cloth touching at his arm and rubbing down in slow circular motions. Risotto slowly moved to his other arm, and when he reached the armpits the boy squirmed.
The dripping sound of water together with Doppio’s sniffling and Prosciutto’s breath were the only audible things inside the room. It was a small room, shielded from the world with stone and iron, crafted in its entirety by Risotto. There was a small iron toilette at the far corner, a single incandescent lamp and that’s it. Nothing else. No bed, no window to the outside world, no sink with running water. Nothing that could be used for comfort or weaponized.
As time progressed, Risotto shifted his position to go and wash the boy’s back. Some of the bruising remained pretty bad these, so he did his work with a feather-like touch. The cloth ran down the small of Doppio’s back and rested on top of his butt, carelessly rubbing down at the pale chubby skin.
The boy was frozen in place as Risotto cleaned his backside, pushing his buttlocks apart and rubbing the cloth on his crack, rubbing it directly on top of his arsehole. Neither Doppio’s hitched breath nor the way his body slightly bent forwards were lost to Risotto’s observant gaze. He looked at Prosciutto at the other side of the cell, with crossed arms and narrowed eyes, intently staring at the scene in front of him. Risotto squeezed the soap bottle right on top of the now clean milky cheeks, watching as the slippery soap ran slowly ran down his arsehole and perineum, only to rest and accumulate on top of his balls. Doppio finally whimpered when the index finger poked at his balls, spreading the soap, massaging it slowly.
Just as the sexual touch came, it disappeared, with Risotto quickly washing the back of his thighs and calf. Prosciutto snorted, from the other side, making Risotto look at him with curiosity. The man was lighting a cigarette.
“He’s getting hard.” Prosciutto said. “Fucking freak.”
Doppio sobbed and started to shiver with rage. Risotto rounded him, stopping at his front. Indeed, the pink head of his dick was slowly trying to poke from inside the foreskin. The hitman cocked his head.
“I believe you were the one who didn’t want to get sexually assaulted.”
“Shut up!” Doppio cried. “You! Kept… ugh, touching me! It’s natural reaction! Pervert!”
“Me, a pervert?” Risotto looked down at his own soft dick, inside his pants. “I’m not the one who’s hard right now… hum, shameful. Are you perhaps touch starved from being alone here all this time?”
“I don’t know!” Doppio whined, the cloth returning to his skin, Risotto slowly rubbing it on his chest, on his nipples, slow and steady. Delicate touches like the ones on his back had been, rubbing the dirt away from his flat abdomen, avoiding going any lower than that for now. “You are a pervert, Risotto Nero…” The boy groaned when Risotto rubbed his thighs, minding the cuts and bruises, his dick twitching into full hardness when the cloth rubbed too close to his crotch.
With his body all soapy, Risotto stepped back and cocked his head. “Shall I clean your filthy dick? What do you think, Prosciutto?”
“Might as well get this done with…” The blonde said through gritted teeth. Risotto inwardly rolled his eyes, letting the blonde’s rude tone pass for now.
Doppio wanted to scape from his hand, but when the soapy and slippery hand grabbed his hard dick, the boy thrusted forward, maddening bliss of pleasure clouding his judgement. In fact, his body had been turned into a sensitive mess through this whole journey of fear, confusion and abandonment. The constant pain coming from bruises and tortures he didn’t remember taking part in, fear eating his insides all the time, and the boss. More than a month inside that hellhole and the boss hadn’t come. The boss promised that he’d always come, he’d always take care of him.
The boss promised that he’d never let poor Doppio suffer. Where was the boss now? Why was him left behind?
Had him finally lost his value?
He just wanted the pain to go away. Maybe that’s why his battered body is craving the delicate and pleasurable touch provided by Risotto’s large hands. His own captor, his own kidnapper was bringing him pleasure. He wanted to cry.
He wanted to come.
Looking down, his dick almost disappeared inside of Risotto’s hand. It was very slippery from the soap and now the juices coming out of his penis added to the sinful mixture. His insides were recoiling with pleasure and the pressure on his balls were too much for him to handle. It felt like ages had passed since he last felt sexual pleasure and now every sensation came as thunder, finishing with an orgasm that rocked him and turned his knees into jelly. He sobbed as he ejaculated, the cum almost too thick and creamy to come out of his dick without hurting. Risotto milked him through it all, holding the boy so he wouldn’t come crashing into the ground.
As the afterglow hammered inside his head, keeping him detached from the real world, Risotto splashed his body with cold water to remove the leftover foam. He dumped the rest of the water on top of his hair, cleaned his face for last and rested the bucket back down on the ground.
“Better?” Risotto asked.
Doppio lowered his head and feeling the shame and humiliation eating him up, nodded. He hated it! He hated it so much. Hated how good that made him feel. For what felt like ages his skin was clean and his body wasn’t hurting like hell, only the numbing pain from the chains remained, the faint burning of where his skin had been constantly sliced open.. His belly was warm and content. He wanted to feel that again because it had been the only liberating thing he felt for weeks. It was despair inducing.
“Pl…” He opened his mouth to say, but stopped.
“What?” Risotto asked. “Do you want to say something?”
“Please… let me go… I’ll be with you if you want, I’ll do anything you desire just. Take me out of here, please, please!” The boy sobbed, feeling so exposed with tears running down his freshly washed cheeks. “The boss forgot about me, he doesn’t care about me anymore. He won’t come for me…”
Risotto sighed, glad his little scheming had worked out in the end. “Poor little thing. Has the boss really abandoned you?”
“He should’ve come… he always cared for me…” Another sob. “I don’t know w-what happened…! I don’t k-know!”
“He left you, Doppio.” Prosciutto said from where he was, drawing the attention of both man. The tone of his voice indicated he had little patience at the moment. “He knows of your predicament but he’s a coward. He’d rather hide than come and protect you, spare you the pain. The boss if weak and disgusting.”
Doppio sobbed again, hopeless. He wanted to scream at the blonde man, say he was wrong and defend the boss. But… he just couldn’t bring himself to do that right now. The betrayal was painfully to think about and unfortunately that sorrowful feeling wasn’t going to leave him anytime soon.
Risotto cast a sideways glance to Prosciutto’s approaching form. “Do you want me to take care of you again, Doppio?”
He looked up, hazel eyes desperately trying to find contentment into the coldness of Risotto’s dark and red’s. “I shouldn’t…” He tried.
“Don’t you want to feel good? To let the pain go away for a while?”
Yes. That’s all he wanted.
The boy nodded, sniffling. He wanted to get at least that small amount of dopamine, get high on it only to feel the low as if being dragged through the mud. What else could he do when he was at their mercy?
Risotto stroked his chest and his belly, running the rough padded fingers against his skin, every hair on his body raising with the stimulation as he leaned against Risotto’s strong and warm body. Prosciutto rolled his eyes when Doppio leaned a little too much, trying to reach for the lips of the taller man. He held Doppio’s long hair back and yanked down hard, making him choke and yell.
“Don’t you dare kiss him.” Prosciutto said with all the venom he could muster, making Risotto look down at him. It was Risotto’s time to roll his eyes as he leaned down towards the blonde, kissing him on the lips. Doppio watched with half-lidded eyes as the men in front of him kissed, their tongues rubbing against each other’s. Risotto smiled at the blonde, pecking at his lips again and finally turning back to the flushed boy, still chained to the walls.
“Don’t be too rough to him, Prosciutto.” Risotto sighed, caressing Doppio’s scalp. He rounded the boy, coming to his back once again. Fingers travelled south, from shoulders to the swell of his arse, pushing the buttlocks again. Doppio sighed and shuddered with the intruding fingers, coated with saliva. He couldn’t see as they were at his back but the kissing sounds gave them away.
The intrusion at his backside turned bigger and bigger until he was open and dripping with saliva, unkept by the anxiety and turned bolder by the pleasure. He was leaking from his dick, again, but touching himself was impossible because his hands couldn’t reach that far. Risotto found his prostate and if Doppio wasn’t too much carried away already, he was now. It felt amazing. He was in dire need of being well treated and that prostate milking got him shaking from head to toes.
Risotto grunted and groaned, Prosciutto’s manicured hand bringing him to full hardness. He was the one to guide the dick of his own lover inside of their enemy’s arse.
The size of Risotto’s dick was something else. Doppio screamed as it kept entering him, the saliva not a very good lubricant after all, his stretched arse being torn apart. He sobbed and moaned and Risotto grabbed at his hips with so much tenderness that he desired for death to just come to him. He was too tired of it all. The mixed feelings of pleasure and pain and roughness and softness being too much for him to handle. Risotto bit down at his shoulder and that made him cry out in pleasure.
He blacked out when the second orgasm hit him like a punch in the guts.
“He is out…” Prosciutto whispered. “Do you think…?”
“It’s him…” Risotto groaned, feeling as Diavolo’s conscience started taking control of that body, the muscles shifting and growing. He had held himself for too long, enough for Doppio to pass out and Diavolo to make his appearance. With a few more strong and fast thrusts, he came deep inside, not taking too long to remove himself.
Risotto fixed his pants and backed away from Diavolo, breathing heavily, head hung low so they couldn’t see his face. Prosciutto narrowed his eyes, the anger taking him over as it always did every time he came face to face with that despicable man. Slowly, Diavolo’s furious eyes met them. “What did you do?” He croaked in that deep and rough voice, obviously aware of the burning and dripping on his arsehole. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” He shrieked with madness, bending down over his body to vomit on the floor.
Prosciutto scrunched up his nose and turned the other way but Risotto coldly stared down at him. “What was needed to bring you back.”
“NO! YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!” He thrashed against the chains, pulling fiercely at them. Risotto flicked his wrist and the chains fought back, pulling Diavolo back until his back hit the wall. The man was foaming on the mouth. “What did you do to Doppio?! You weren’t supposed to hurt him!”
Risotto cocked his head. “And yet you hid away and left the boy for me to do as I pleased. You could have come and protected him from it, but you didn’t. Not that he needed it, anyway, Doppio wanted it, he begged for me to fuck him in the end.”
“No! He… ack...!” As semen started pouring down his thighs, Diavolo stopped with utter shock. His knees buckled down and he was crouching back on the floor. “I never abandoned him.”
As pitiful as that scene was, neither Risotto nor Prosciutto could feel any pity for Diavolo. Maybe for Doppio, but Diavolo was a disgrace. Nothing would bring Sorbet and Gelato back. “You did.” Prosciutto was the one who said it, spitting down at Diavolo’s face. “Disgusting coward, happy enough to use people for your own advantage and let them rot if they’re not suitable anymore. I fucking saw you gleam out of existence earlier today.
Prosciutto kicked him in the ribs, making Diavolo howl with pain. He had missed that fruitful feeling of giving Diavolo the payback for all the shit he’d done. The new torture session was just about to begin.