Work Text:
It's the Lovers Special tonight, the fourteenth of February, commonly known as Valentine's Day. The club you are managing, located in a less populated part of Miami, is covered to the corner with red, pink, and white decorations everywhere; colored paper shaped hearts, greeting cards written with either a cheesy love pun or declaration of devotion to another, and red roses at every flat surface it can stand. Every table has a glass vase with a rose in them along with a tissue folded in a shape of a dove. You wanted to make this night feel extra special.
You peeked your head out from your dressing room door to see how bustling your small club is. A couple of couples are mingling with each other, all eyes of love and hands teasing like two swans nuzzling each other on their beaks. At the bar, a handful of single men and women who are nervously waiting for their date, some could be their first ever date— it's awfully cute.
Yet.. no sign of your lover.
You let out a longing breath while you finished up your look in the mirror. The dress—which your beloved bought you that one time because you were eyeing it like it's expensive jewelry while he was walking with you down on the mall—fits like a good dream that you have forgotten. It shows all your curves, the pretty parts as he would call them, and actually compliments the entire shape of your body.
Heels clicked against the wooden floor as you walked out of the dressing room and then up the stairs on the stage. You stood in front of a microphone, the soft light shining down on you, making you the center of attention to the crowded hearts.
You first gave an enthusiastic greeting, smiling, and waving, then thanking all the patrons in seats, standing, and in the bar for coming to your club in a very special night. After that, you signaled your band to start, following at your snap and your click. Don't want to waste precious time.
"..My story is much to sad to be told
But practically everything leaves me totally cold.."
You remember the first time you met him, it was back at his mansion in New Orleans, when he used to live with his father. You worked as a housemaid there in desperation to pay for the loans your parents had begged them. Reasons you don't understand because you were young, you don't get to ask questions or leave them. You don't want unfinished business with Salvatore, your eyes seen more blood and bullets than in action movies in theaters.
While you were on the shift, you have heard whispers of 'Don's Devil Child', 'The Freak', and most notably 'Bambino' around the men in suits with guns when they're taking rounds in guarding, but you never saw him truly until… that one night.
"..The only exception I know is the case
When I'm out on a quiet spree, fighting vainly the old ennui..."
You were cleaning down the hallway, alone with a broom in hand, sweeping away the dust on the lavishly patterned carpeted floor. It was a rainy night, thunder storming like cats and dogs couldn't stay in one area.
BANG! BANG!
The wallpaper surrounding an intricate wooden door, which the other maids told you to ignore and never enter countless of times, got shredded into pieces. A bunch of lights flowing out of the fresh holes after the violent explosions.
CRASH!
It sounds like a vase of some sort, perhaps a shattered vanity mirror. Smaller pieces scattering and crushing is heard after the crash.
THUD.
Heavy, like a box filled with sand. Could it be several books? Maybe a table? You couldn't quite tell.
They all sounded nearby— that notorious door abruptly swing open. A body dropped down from it like a sack of wheat. You slowly approached it, curiosity taking a hold of your legs, few meters away from the corpse but enough to clearly see.
It's a man in his forties, several shot wounds were on his golden-like silk suit shirt, bleeding onto the carpet like spilled wine, his eyes were wide open like he had seen some unexplainable inane creature— and he sure did.
Another man stepped out of the room, you could barely describe him as you slowly gazed from the dead to the living. The first thing you noticed were his suit pants supported by his black suspenders, it was crisp white like fresh snow, now stained with cranberry red, contrasting the mauve color of his unbuttoned shirt.
Then it was his gloves, expensive leather and dark maroon, curled in pure anger with stains of that same red. He's holding a shotgun on his other hand, the weapon was cut almost close to the grip, the silver on the handle has luxurious curls and curves. Several hollow shells fell out as he flicked it open to reload.
Next was his face, his irises blue as a cloudy day in amid of a sunset. One eye was gazing lower while the other looks like its about to cry crimson. Two teeth were peeking out from his top lip, like a common rat. Lastly was his head, larger than you've ever seen, like those odd looking goldfish with an enlarged lobe you see on a foreign marketplace. His thin dirty blonde hair forms like a shadow as to what he is, a demon with a sawed-off shotgun.
"You. Shut. Your. FUCKING MOUTH!" The man clad in purple satin standing on top of the corpse spat out, your shoes were glued to the floor. You quickly turned your head away, sweat falling down your neck, felt like tape over your quivering lips.
Footsteps approached towards you, his breath reeks of rotten milk and alcohol. "You.." He gripped your chin roughly, making you look directly at his face as you let out a low whine. He looks more terrifying up close, eyes like its about to bulge out of his eye sockets, veins as if one paper cut and it will spray free. "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here? Did my fucking father sent you?"
"C-Cleaning, s-sir…" You stuttered out of fear, your addled mind focusing on the second question. Your eyes nervously darts away from his intense stare and back— you couldn't tell if he hates being stared or not. Your grip on your broom tightened.
"Name. I need a name out of your fucking lips or I'll shove a bullet in your throat." Profanity leaks like spit off his lips.
You immediately replied while your eyebrows were taut together in fear of him. He snickers at you, shaking his head.
"Good. I'm finally talking to someone with some sense. People these fuckin' days.." The demon-man spat out, a blob of yellowish-white saliva sticks on the dead man's forehead.
"I'll keep eyes on you, donna. Don't ever tell anyone about—"
THONK!
Your instincts kicked in as the blunt end of the broom hit the head of the masked man behind him. Your terror-filled eyes watched as the man fell, stunned momentarily, a sharp pocket knife fell out of his loose hand— clear intent on killing the demon in front of you, probably trying to help you.
The strange looking man twisted his chest back, didn't waste a single second to shoot the fallen man's face with his shotgun. He didn't even care, not an inch of fear, all confidence and that murderous streak on his uneven pupils.
A loud scream was about to leave your lips but his gloved hand roughly covered it.
"What did I tell you about shutting the fuck up?" The man before you grumbled, narrowing his swelling eyes at you. As minutes pass by, the two of you were silent. You let out a swallow as your gaze moved from him towards the second corpse behind him. His frown slowly turned into a smile, yellowish teeth crooked and some are missing, when he noticed the knife reflecting the lightning outside.
"Heh. You're smarter than you look. I think I'd like to keep you on my arm. Maybe… Some day." He took out his palm off your mouth, then grabbed the bodies like its nothing. Dragging them away as if he's bringing his favorite blanket to bed, farther away from you, lines of red soaked the carpet like a neon arrow signaling that he's danger.
You don't know how to feel about it; Successfully escaped the grim reaper's assistant? Did the demon took a liking at you? What will the future had decided you on this very choice?
All you know is that you're still living and now you know who is the famed "Bambino".
"..And I suddenly turn and see
Your fabulous face.."
While you were closing your eyes, singing to your heart's content and imagining back your memories with your beloved, both near-deaths and loving ones, your ears caught nothing— the crowd went quiet and so is the band. You slowly opened your eyes, took a few steps back, then a loud gasp escaped your lips.
Someone's stepping out of the shadows. It's a man with that familiar enlarged head, the dirty blonde horn-like hairs of his…
Oh here he is!—your beloved, your baby— Franco Barbi, encased in a white pinstripe suit jacket, a purple shirt, and a diamond engraved white tie. He's stopped right next to a circular small table, the light of the stage reflects against the cold intricate steel of his sawed-off shotgun, which he calls Lupara, now resting on the table.
His crooked broken teeth showing while the corner of his lips reaches his cheeks, his maroon gloved hands clapping together, the sound echoing around in what used to be a busy room.
"Bravo! Bravo! That's my doll right there!" He happily yelled at you, whistling with his fingers despite his missing teeth. His irregular azure eyes glitters with pure pride at the sight of his significant other under the dazzling spotlight.
You looked around. No one is here as if they disappeared without a trace. You turned your back around to check if the band's still here— Yes, but their legs are trembling as if cold air drifting inside the room, instruments held up like a shield. Their face taut tightly, eyes as wide as an owl's when they saw the "wretched monster" in front of you.
Before you could let a noise out of your mouth, they dashed away from the stage with their instruments. Some tripping and cursing before fleeing away towards the exit, rubber wheels of cars against asphalt already drifting away from their parking spots.
Now it's just you and him.
You pouted as you looked back at Franco, whether to feel disappointed or frustrated. ".. Aww, baby, what did you do this time?" You asked him, heels clicking while you stepped down the stairs, approaching him.
Franco, with his usual smug grin, patted the modified shotgun on the table. "Nothin'.. I promise not to rain blood on your special day because you told me that I can drink it on you." He leaned to kiss your now warm cheeks, his mouth reeks of milk and vodka— he's been drinking again. ".. Maybe a small puddle, dollface." He presents his hand, a streak of dried blood against the dark leather.
"Franco!" You frowned a little as you saw the red but quickly cooled down. You let out a heavy sigh like a disappointed parent. He's always like this, unpredictable yet clever. "You didn't hurt my customers, did you?"
"'Course not. Just gotta deal with someone who ain't payin'. You know how I am when one of my… customers ain't giving my money." He shook his head like an irritated child, stomping his white shoes while turning his head away from you. "What Franco wants, Franco gets." As quick as light, his mood changed. Then his gaze then returned back to you, pupils dilated wide when he saw how your cleavage was formed by the comfortable tightness of your dress.
"So.. are you going to finish up? I wanna take Mommy with me to bed." He grinned, the pet name, only shared in private because you keep scolding him when he accidentally slips it out of his mouth in public, sounded sinful in his lips. Before reaching your hand, his bloodied other hand swiped at his shirt, then grabbing your palm to sloppily kiss each of your knuckles.
Your lips turn into smirk as you pulled his tie down, kissing him on the lips. "Okay, go on. Lead Mommy to bed." You let out a soft giggle, hand on your mouth, feeling slightly shameful calling yourself one as his hand snakes around your lower back.
I get no kick from champagne
Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all
He didn't waste a second to unzip your dress from behind, lips touching at each bare skin revealed. Every patched or healing wounds, scars old and new, marks from birth, even the smallest ones, etching every detail about you in his mind like he doesn't want to forget them— making a personal blueprint of you.
You could feel how often he darts his tongue by every other kiss, licking the salty sweat from your warm skin. His thumb grabbed the corners of your underwear, dropping them along with the dress. "Mm… you taste like.. like heaven." He muttered as he placed a final kiss on your lower back while your fabrics hit the floor, now you're fully in nude.
You turned your head sideways, seeing him nibble down on your shoulder as he rubs his cheek against the corner where your shoulder and neck meets. His, now ungloved, hands went around your waist, squeezing them with the intensity of someone making lemonade. Your lips reaches for his distended scalp, light as a feather and soft as a cushion, a balm to the wounds he never asked for.
Small droplets of warm tears fell down your bare shoulder where his chin is resting. A small pained sob left his nibbling lips. "… Franco?" You asked him, eyes slightly squinting in worry, hand instinctively raised towards his cheek.
"It's.. It's nothing." He stubbornly shook his head, blinking rapidly as if he was caught lying, trying to dry his wet bulbous eyes. He looked away, letting out a bated breath, before returning back to you. "Just.. keep going, amore. Please."
You faced him, a small smile formed on your lips while your fingers cleaned his face up, thumbs rubbing along his thick eye bags. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you." Assurance. "After what we have done together.. why would I do that?" Its truth, at least half of it.
Franco's blue eyes gazes on your soft face, a pout formed on his thin drool-slick lips. "I.. I feel like I don't deserve you. Never.. Never in my entire life had I—" A harsh hiccup left his throat. "—had I have someone make me feel something. Like— I'm worth million bucks and not some invalid with a fucking big head and a little dick."
You shook your head, more kisses barraged his face like rain in a heavy storm. He always leave a small noise out of his lips from each kiss. "I will always be with you, Franco. Until they put bullets in our heads."
Finally, he gave in, a toothy grin on his face. Like a snap. "That's right, Mommy. Come on, lemme shower you in pure diamonds. Make you my special bunny.." Franco laid you down, a fragile doll in his eyes, on the large bed. He didn't join you just yet— he looked down at the inner pocket of his white suit jacket, pulling out a velvet pouch. The weight of it looks hefty and full, the strap tightened around it was loosened by his bare fingers. It's his product.
He took a small sample on the tip of his finger, the whiteness of the powder glitters under the soft lights, licking it like sugar in his mouth. He let out a low hoarse moan. "Mmm.. straight from the udder.. Gonna coat you in white and slurp it right off. Baby wants that milkshake.."
He poured it all over your body, from your slow rising chest to your glistening slit. His hands patted and rubbed each skin, making you feel like a baked sweet treat getting coated in sugar. When he felt like he fully coated you in vice, his sparkly finger went to your nose. "Take a whiff. Don't be shy, amore. Join me in paradise..."
Your normal vision slowly faded into chromatic colors, eyelids flickering when you stared up at the softened overhead light. A buzzing sensation in your brain, making you light and relaxed. It's not like its your first doing cocaine with him but it feels new every time.
Franco slid his suit jacket away, throwing it on the floor. He unbuttoned some buttons on his shirt, leaving it open but he didn't fully took it out. He doesn't feel confident about showing his body yet. You have talked about it before, you're glad he's taking it slow. You could peek his pudgy belly from under the fabric, big from all the Wolf's Milk he's been drinking, with a blonde trail towards his crotch. His other hand took out his white tie, joining with his suit jacket.
He returned back to you, sitting on your lap, giggling under his smirking lips. He went face first as his thin lips latched on a white coated breast, his crooked teeth raking against your hardened nipple.
"Best fucking knockers… in the entire fuckin' world.." The words were muffled from his lips against your breast, his beady eyes stared up at you, his pupils almost swallowing the blues. Each suckle of his mouth gets quicker and tighter than the next. Saliva leaked down the curved bottom of your breast. A bite mark formed where his slick buckteeth stayed. "S'good.. So soft and warm that I.. I can drown in it. Gonna.. Gonna bury inside your womb.." Not in a literal sense, his words are usually this unnerving. You sometimes can't tell if he's being real or not.
His hips rutted against your thigh in desperation. Your half-lidded eyes narrowed further as you slowly realize something had changed.
His usually limp crotch felt like it stiffened unexpectedly. Is it because of the drug? Another set of warm tears fell from the edges of his eyes but your lips abruptly lapped them off his cheeks while he sniffled. He let out a whine when he took his white-streaked mouth off, a string of saliva met between your areola and his bottom lip.
"…L-Look, mommy.. Franco's.. not impotent.. n-not little baby dick.." He looked down, pulling down his white trousers. His coke-coated fingers wrapped around his rigid cock, almost perfectly around the size of his palm if not the tip poking through the end like a long stick in a blonde bush. His head tilted towards your dazed face, grin as bright as the sun, while he strokes his palm-sized dick.
"Is mama proud of Franco? Proud that his medicine fuckin' works?!" The last part was an enraged question instead of infantile wonder, a snort off his bared teeth. Drool leaked out of his mouth akin to an exhausted dog. You smiled, your fingers raking though his thin hair, each fingertip traces along the jagged edges of his enlarged cranium. You simply nodded, either the drug had seeped deep in your mind to talk less or you're stunned that he's actually hard and wanting.
Franco darted his tongue out, sucking out more cocaine off your body, rough, and quick like he's been dying of thirst. Patches of wet skin was spread out while his lips were coated in sugar, giddy and excited. He raised your legs up, hands on your thighs, gripping them close to his cheeks. His teary eyes kept at your face while you let out low moans, body twisting every time he's really close to your desperate slit.
"Does Mommy want me inside her wet pussy?" He muttered under his lips, his breath fanning against your slit, teasing you. You let out a whimper as you nodded, too needy and inebriated to speak out. He let out a laugh before his tongue speared first inside your vagina. His white-streaked mouth latches on your folds, licking and moaning as his bulging eyes stared at you. Your knees buckle a little, almost hitting his head by how intense he's slurping you up.
"F-Franco.." Your moan muffled under your bitten lips, looking down at him. Your fingers raked through his patches of thinning hair, carefully as to not almost rip it off his scalp. His mouth latched off your sopping cunt, lips glistening under the soft light as it curled into a wicked smile. "I could drink this any day… but I need this to get inside.. before it gets…" He whined, not wanting to say the word, as his grip on your thighs loosened. His cock, held by his hand, lined up towards your wet hole. The ruddy tip of it nestles against your outer folds, soaking it up in his saliva and your slickness.
"I'll show them… show them impotent. Show them I'm not little baby dick.. Fuckin' …" His last words were mumbled out, you couldn't tell if they're Italian curses or just garbled English. His hips thrusting harshly inside of you while his eyes were shut close in frustration. Your lips let out a loud moan, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. His size slipped inside, making your walls flutter, squeezing him like you're choking him.
"Oh fuck— YES!" Franco hit his head back, hips mindlessly thrusting minutely. His pace uneven; from desperate, quick pushes to slow, steady pulls. He finally felt like he's the king to the world, having to experience something he so desperately sought after. "Mama's so tight. S'good…" He opened his eyes back, tears flowing down again, unclear if its from pleasure or pain.
Drool left his slack mouth down to his short throat, moaning as he continues to thrust inside of you. His cock, despite how stiff and palm-sized, reaches your inner walls. The tip kissing the spot where it makes your toes curl, your head turning sideways, his scrotum slapping against your ass. His lips sealed back on your untouched, cocaine coated breast, sucking with such fervor, teeth buried like the other breast.
Another harsh thrust, a few more, suck-suck-suck…
Franco let it all go inside you, sparing no cum out of your sopping cunt. You, luckily, joined him after a few aided thrusts. He kept himself deep inside of you, refusing to pull out. He stopped biting your breast, weaken his suckling while his large cranium laid against your shoulder. He shut his eyes tightly, he couldn't bare to look at you, could he be embarrassed he finished quickly or he's disappointed it's gone?
"Franco." Your voice sounded worn, from the screaming and moaning perhaps, as your lips kisses his enlarged lobe. He loudly whined again, refusing to speak. The intensity of the product in your nerves started to lessen, making you pliant under him.
Your hands reaches for the nightstand drawer, pulling it open.
Inside are medicines; bottles for headaches, pouches of various pills that said it could heal his large head—some possibly scammed you for your money, you really don't know if they worked—and vials of herbal medicine. Your hands grabbed a lavender-scented vial of oil, its contents were poured on your fingers. You then carefully and slowly applied them around his temples, thumb rubbing in small circles. He continues to whine but his voice isn't that high-pitched than before; the mix of menthol, lavender oil, camphor, and various herbs had soothed him.
You pressed your cheek against his head, muttering lightly. "I really enjoyed it."
".. It's not coming back." He sobbed, trying to thrust himself even deeper as he could but his cock remained limp.
"We can try again later."
"… Are you going to leave me? You see how fucking.. useless this piece of shit is? All whores do. They all fucking leave me." He starts weeping again.
"No. Because I love you."
Franco hid his face further on your shoulder, almost in your armpit.
"That's truth, yeah? You won't?" He finally looked up at you, eyes wet again from tears.
"Of course." You replied with a kiss. "I get a kick out of you."