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Diavolo was not a soft man.
The pressure of running an entire criminal organization from the shadows, combined with his drive to stay in those shadows at whatever cost, did not allow him much time, if any at all, to be soft with you. It just wasn’t in his nature, and the two of you understood that. He relied on Doppio to fill that void.
Rolling over in your shared bed, the sunlight breaking through the thin curtains and disturbing your sleep, you made the decision to take it slow today. Whether he stayed to slow down with you, or allowed his consigliere that luxury, you were fine either way (although you preferred the former idea). Slinking out from under the comforter, you grabbed one of his sleeping shirts and threw it on, opting for that and nothing else, save your underwear.
Diavolo had long been awake; he wasn’t a man who slept for very long. You joked that him sleeping more than 5 hours was “sleeping in” and while he may have shot you a glare, there was an amused sparkle behind his eyes and a twitch of his lips at your joke.
He was sitting in the kitchen of the villa that he had bought at Doppio’s behest (“we can’t keep meeting them in hotel rooms!” he had cried), away from the windows. His back was toward you and from over his shoulder, you could see the piece of paper he had taped to the web camera.
You came up behind him— making sure he heard your footsteps on the tile floor— and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.
“Hey stranger,” you whispered into his ear before pressing your lips at the base of his neck. Diavolo let out a content sigh, but his body stayed tense. “How’d you sleep?”
“I slept fine,” his jaw was taut. “Come around so I can see you.”
You did as he asked, coming around and sitting at the chair that was immediately to his right. Resting your elbows on the table, you focused your attention on him while his fingers clacked away at his computer.
“Anything planned for today in Passione’s scene?” You planted your cheek in your palm, tilting your head. Diavolo gave a hum in response.
“I need my execution squad to take a handful of people out,” he murmured. You nodded back at him and let your eyes wander down his biceps, visually tracing the patterns of his intricate sleeves. You wondered how long they took, if it hurt badly; you briefly wondered if that tattoo artist was still alive, seeing as how they would have had to have seen his face. You pushed that thought from your mind. You knew what you were getting into when you began dating Doppio (and, eventually by extension, him), but today wasn’t a day for you to dwell on the consequences of crossing most of Passione’s members, let alone their leader.
After a few more minutes of silence, you spoke up.
“So, vita mio…” For as long as you had been in Italy, the words still sounded foreign on your tongue. Diavolo raised an eyebrow at the nickname. “I was thinking that maybe we could take it easy today.”
By now your eyes had focused themselves onto the table before you, afraid of his gaze. You could practically feel it, anyway. Reaching out to his hand, you continued cautiously.
“You work so hard, and… you deserve a break from all of that,” you sucked in a breath of air and looked into his eyes, a softness in them that was normally reserved for Doppio. “Relax with me.”
Diavolo clenched his jaw and studied your face. Acts of kindness were no more than manipulation tactics to him, so why would you be any different? He thought back to all of the times you had been selfless toward his consigliere, for no reason other than because you loved him. Of course you would extend the same kindness to him.
His breath hitched when you gently pulled his hand up to meet your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. He showed no signs of an answer either way, causing you to feel the butterflies creep up in your stomach. He wasn’t a gentle man, you internally scolded yourself. He’s been so rough with me in bed and so cold outside of it, why would today be any different—.
“If you don’t want me flirting with you like I do with Doppio, it’s fine,” you said softly, letting go of his hand. “You can tell me.”
“No.” His answer came out quicker than he intended, causing the corners of your mouth to twitch up into a small smile. “It’s fine. I could use a…break. From all of this.”
“Wonderful,” a full smile creeped up onto your face and you stood up again, closing his laptop for him. “Come back to bed with me, then.”
Diavolo was not a man who relinquished control.
You somehow were able to convince him to lie back on the comforter, with your legs on either side of his hips, straddling him. You were tracing delicate patterns that (mentally) resembled his tattoos across his chest, eyes flitting to and fro about his body. His chest fluttered at your soft touch, and there was a nagging feeling at the back of his head; a mixture of pride and something that felt suspiciously like self-consciousness.
His own eyes were trained on your face, watching you examine every visible inch from the top of his head to where his underwear started. He watched as a wide smile grew on your face, watched as you bit your lip shyly, until your eyes met his.
“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, running a hand up to caress his cheek. Diavolo swallowed hard (doing his best to hide it, of course) and rested his palm on your thigh. He had to remind himself, repeatedly, to not flip you over and fuck you senselessly into the mattress. You probably wouldn’t have minded, of course, but he figured now was not appropriate to do that.
Cupping your other hand on his cheek, you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips. It wasn’t often that you got to kiss him without smearing his lipstick across your mouth, your neck— anywhere that Diavolo could put his mouth on was probably stained a little black— so you took full advantage of this moment. His hands flew to the back of your head and you could feel his fingers twitch, fighting the instinct to pull at your hair. You grinned into the kiss and gently bit his lower lip before pulling away. Letting strands of your hair slip through his fingers, he fixed his gaze on your own once more. He was trying his best to even out his breathing (an action that didn’t go unnoticed by you).
“Come, bella,” he beckoned you back down to him and you happily obliged, stealing another kiss. This was a kind of tenderness that was reserved for his underboss, one that he only partially felt when they were co-conscious, and there was a part of he himself that enjoyed it. Your lips moved together rhythmically, nearly the same as they always did; but slower this time. Less teeth involved. You unconsciously ground your hips onto his cock, earning you a groan into your mouth. His hands ran through your hair, running down your back before resting on your ass, a not-so-subtle encouragement to do it again. You did as you were suggested to, pulling away from him and bracing your left hand beside his head, your right beside his shoulder. You dragged your hips again, grinding slower and harder this time. Diavolo let out another groan and let his head fall back into the pillow.
Continuing your ministrations, he snuck his hands underneath your shirt and let his palms dance across your skin. You shivered at his touch and he smirked at your reaction. Bringing his hands up to your chest, he gave a small squeeze.
“You look good in my clothes, tesoro,” he shifted himself so that he was sitting up, with you in his lap properly. You adjusted your legs so they wrapped around his waist and ran your hands through his hair. “Like a vision.”
“I didn’t think you owed any real shirts,” you teased. He brought his forehead to yours and rested it there. “And are you sweet-talking me?”
“Am I not allowed to flirt a little?” He murmured. He was getting more into this “soft” thing than you thought he would. Pressing a quick peck to your lips, he moved his mouth down to your neck and began mouthing at it. In response, you tilted your head back and let out a moan, arching yourself more into his palm. Normally you could feel him making hickeys across your skin, all teeth; this time he was more focused on the suckling of your skin, building the marks up gradually. When he finally detached himself from your neck to admire his first mark of the session, he grinned. “Take the shirt off.”
You lolled your head back to where it was and looked at him tentatively until he muttered out a ‘please’. Only then did you do as he asked. His hands followed the trail of your shirt, feeling your skin as it was exposed. Diavolo’s eyes met yours briefly as you tossed the shirt to the floor of your shared bedroom, before flitting down to your chest. Bringing your chest closer, he sucked a nipple into his mouth (perhaps a little harder than he should have). You let out a cry and tangled your fingers in his hair, your head dipping back again. You could feel his manicured nails digging into the skin of your back, and your breathing got heavier as he continued his actions. Releasing your nipple with a pop, he moved on to your other one. You responded by letting out a breathy moan of his name, in addition to weakly gripping his hair even more. Letting out a growl from the back of his throat, he gave one final hard suck and swirled his tongue, before dragging it up your chest. You shuddered in his hands and he used your exposed neck to his advantage, aiming to leave more marks in his wake.
Lost in himself, he was brought back down when he heard you whimper. He released your skin and sat back, his breathing ragged. Teeth. He had used teeth for a brief moment. The skin of your neck where he was just attached was purple and he tilted his head, glancing up at your face. You looked at him down your nose with glassy eyes, your chest heaving just as much as his was.
“Easy,” you whined. He nodded in response, shooting you an apologetic look. You knew you’d never get a proper verbal apology from him, unless he did something completely atrocious, so this was good enough. “Thank you.”
Diavolo leaned forward and placed a wet kiss on your darker hickey. Prompting you to lean back, he set you gently on the bed and ran his hands across your torso, thumbing at your panties. It was your turn to swallow hard (although you made no attempts to hide yours) and you brought your hands up to your chest, playing with your fingers nervously. Diavolo cocked an eyebrow.
“What is it?” He eyed you up, taking note that you didn’t meet his gaze. You licked your lips a few times, collecting your thoughts, before you spoke up.
“Would you be willing to— you can say no, I understand— I was just wondering if you’d be willing to, ah…go down on me?” You nearly whispered the tail end of your question, stealing glances at his face. He raised both eyebrows and stared at you.
“Is that it?” He asked bemusedly. You nodded and finally settled your eyes on his face. He gave you a lazy grin. “We do it on my terms, though.”
To that, you nodded. You knew he would never get down on his knees, not to anyone; yourself included. He tapped your hips gently and pulled at your underwear, and you responded by raising your lower half so he could slide them off easier. Bringing your legs up from around his body, once he got them from around your ankles he tossed them to god only knows where in your room. Taking your hips onto his forearms, he lifted your lower half up so that your thighs were resting on his shoulders. You’d certainly feel this position take its toll on your neck in the morning, but for now you kept your eyes on him. He looked back at you, giving you a less-than-kind smirk, before pressing hot kisses to the inside of your thighs. You whimpered in return, fingers twitching and gripping your comforter.
Since this was supposed to be a relaxed session, he took mercy on you and didn’t tease you too much. Swiping his tongue up your sex, he let out a groan of approval and let his eyes roll into his head. He paid extra attention to your clit, reveling in the way your thighs trembled on his shoulders when he licked at it just right. You blushed all the way down to your chest, letting out wanton moans; your grip on your blankets threatened to rip them, if you weren’t careful. This position made it difficult for you to grind up against his face in the way you wanted to; he made sure he was in control. Running a hand across your skin in the places he knew got you riled up, he opened his eyes to stare down at you while he worked. Your eyes made contact briefly, but you couldn’t handle maintaining it. He smirked and continued mouthing at you, taking in each shudder. Diavolo admired your flushed skin, the white of your knuckles, the way your teeth were threatening to break the skin of your lip.
This was him.
This was his doing.
He detached himself from your folds long enough to breathe in a raspy voice, “you’re a vision, vita mia.” Before you could whine about the lack of contact, he dove right back in, determined to see it through to the end. He went back to working your clit in the way that made your legs shake, taking in each whine, whimper, and moan.
“Dia—Diavolo, I’m…” you grit your teeth and hissed before letting out something close to a scream, coming in his mouth. Your back instinctively tried to arch but your current position proved that to be difficult. On any other day he’d be determined to overstimulate you, keep going until your body racked with shudders and you were damn near weeping for him to stop; but today was not that day. Tucking that idea away for another time, he watched you twitch as you came down from your high, continuing to lick at you, relative to your descent. Diavolo pulled his mouth away from you, removing your legs from his shoulders and unceremoniously wiping his lips and chin on his bicep. You laughed a little at this, causing him to crack a smile.
“Thank you,” you murmured and reached up to touch his face. His hand met yours and he brought his face down enough to press a kiss to your knuckles. Your smile grew.
He gave you a moment to collect yourself, his hands splayed out behind him, propping him up. You removed yourself from his lap and rolled over, making an honest attempt to get up on your knees. Watching you, he grinned lazily to himself as this task proved to be difficult. Once you were able to get up, however, the smile dropped a little and he looked at you with hungry eyes.
You went back to straddling him, inching your way down so that you were hovering above his legs, laying open-mouthed kisses above the hem of his underwear. Diavolo dropped back to his elbows, letting his head roll back. You palmed his dick through the fabric, looking up at the man before you through your lashes. You watched his Adams’ apple bob as he swallowed, took in how his fiery pink hair fell down his shoulders and onto the bed, how the muscles in his arms moved while he fisted and un-fisted the sheets. Your eyes fluttered shut and you licked a stripe where you had been kissing. He lifted his hips just enough as a silent encouragement to remove his briefs, and you did, freeing his cock. Diavolo was internally torn about not being constricted anymore, and reacting to the air of the room hitting his bare skin. Adjusting yourself, you settled your body between his thighs, using your thumb to swipe precum across the tip. Giving him a few honest pumps in your hand, you braced your hand beside his hip and swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock before sucking on it in earnest. It was Diavolo’s turn to hiss and grip at the bedsheets, one hand flying to grasp at your hair. You whimpered around him, earning a shudder, and he moved his head up to meet your eyes. When he saw the cautious look in your eye, his grip on your hair softened and he settled for running his fingers through it. He had to remind himself in between bobs of your head to not fuck your throat.
You hollowed your cheeks out at some point and gave him a hard suck, taking him in as deep as you could, and he let out a string of Italian words— you assumed them to be curses. Glancing up at his body, his chest was heaving and his stomach kept clenching. You trailed your eyes up to his face, where your gazes met and you could see just how dark they were with lust. Your face flared up and you shut your eyes, returning your focus to the task at hand. Diavolo let his head fall back again, letting out a hushed ‘merda’, his fingers twitching as he made a conscious effort to not ball your hair up into his fist.
“Gattina, I’m close,” his voice was hoarse. You hummed in response, which sent pleasant vibrations through his cock. Hollowing out your cheeks once more, you felt his cock throbbing between your swollen lips, followed by his cum hitting the roof of your mouth. You relegated your mouth to the tip and pumped any remaining cum out from him. And, in a stroke of boldness he so rarely saw from you, you made sure to maintain eye contact as you brought yourself up from him and swallowed every drop he had spilled into your mouth. He let out a growl and he eyed you up again, sitting up so he could palm at you once more.
You pulled back and settled yourself on the bed, thighs spread for him. His gaze raked over your body and you could feel your skin light up from that alone.
“If you keep this up,” he started, crawling on top of you and placing his hand dangerously close to your head, “it’ll be hard for me to slow back down.”
You responded by tracing the tattoos on his arm with your fingertips, and giving him a shy smile. “I believe in you. You promised we could take it slow, after all.”
His intimidating demeanor dropped a little, seeing the look in your eyes. Indeed, he had promised to take it slow this one time. Diavolo sighed.
“You’re right, tesoro,” he leaned down to kiss you and you cupped his face as he did. He hummed and ran a hand down your thigh, hooking his palm behind your knee and lifting your leg up. Breaking the kiss, he glanced at your leg. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” you breathed. He gave a wicked smile and sat himself upright, rubbing his cock against your folds. You whimpered any time the tip stroked your clit, and he made sure to do this a few more times. “Diavolo, please.”
He complied with your vague plea and pushed himself into you slowly, watching your face as he did. He memorized how your head tipped back, how your eyes fluttered shut, how your lips parted so beautifully as he slid himself into you. You let out a choked moan once he sheathed himself fully.
He stayed still for a moment, eyes shut in peace as he felt your warmth gripping him. It wasn’t until you jerked your hips that he decided to look down at you. Your own eyes glassy, your skin flushed from your ears to your chest once again, your arms splayed above your head; you looked like a work of art. You always did when you were underneath of him. He kept his eyes trained on you as he pulled himself back, only to roll his hips into you. You let out a throaty moan, much to his delight. His grip on the back of your knee tightened and he hooked your other leg around his hip. He continued to roll his hips into you, watching as your back gradually arched and you balled the sheets up in your fists once more. Diavolo’s free hand ran up your torso, stopping briefly to squeeze your chest, up to caress your cheek. You looked back up into his eyes, nuzzling your face into his palm, and admired how he tried to look so dominant, his gaze was scorching— if only it wasn’t off put by his furrowed brow and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You laughed softly at his expression, only for it to morph into a moan. That was a transition he could get used to hearing.
Amidst your whines and his grunts, you were able to choke out “deeper, please”, a request which Diavolo happily obliged. He had to slow his pace down even further, but he figured it was worth it after watching your eyes roll into the back of your head. He released his grip on your leg and leaned down, his forearms caging you in and his breath fanning over your heated skin. You brought your arms up to wrap around his neck and you hooked the leg he had been holding around his waist. He let out a strangled moan as you took him in as deep as you could, one that was matched by a cry of your own. If he were a poetic man (or at least in a focused state of mind), he’d describe the moans you’d made and matched to his a song; a beautiful harmony. But poet he was not, and he focused on how your walls squeezed him so tightly, how satisfying it was to hear your ever-growing cries. While he loved fucking you until you couldn’t walk, there was a different kind of satisfaction in an intimate encounter such as this one.
Something in his mind flipped like a switch as he pulled out of you completely, much to your disdain, until he pulled your body up so that you were in his lap once more. You sunk down onto his cock and he drunk in the sight of your chest arching closer to him, your head back, your lips parted once again—.
“Diavolo,” you gasped. You brought your forehead to rest on his and he let out a guttural growl. He moved his hips and thrusted up into you as best as he could and you responded in kind, rolling your hips on his dick. He preoccupied his mouth with leaving wet, hot kisses across your neck and collarbone. You mewled, clutching his head closer to your chest. You could feel his hands digging into the skin of your back once again, but they didn’t stay there together for long. While one hand stayed clutching your back, the other made its way between your bodies to toy with your clit. Your rhythm faltered and your hips stuttered at the sensation, and you could feel the mob boss grinning against your skin.
“Come, amore,” Diavolo pulled away from kissing your neck to look at you. “I want to hear you sing.”
You nodded enthusiastically and tried to gain back your momentum. Diavolo, of course, made it difficult for you; as you tried to speed your hips up, he’d speed up the circles he drew on your clit. You cried out, making a noise he had pinned (through trial and error) as one that signaled your nearing climax. He dug his nails further into your back and stroked you as fast as he could, drinking in the sight of you. Letting out a loud cry of his name, you came around his cock and twitched around him as he continued to stroke you. You made a complete 180, attempting to curl up, and rested your head on his shoulder. Moving his hand up from your back to your hair, he pressed a kiss to your ear and thrusted into you a few more times. The playback of your climax in his brain, he grunted and twitched.
“Dio santo,” he hissed out your name, gritting the end of his climax through his teeth. “Ti amo tanto, bambolina.”
Clutching your body to his, you rolled your hips to help him ride out his orgasm; a gesture he was grateful for. He kept his face buried in the junction between your neck and shoulder for a good while, trying to catch his breath. You scratched his head softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
“Thank you for indulging me,” you whispered. “I’m sorry that it wasn’t as slow as I planned.”
“Don’t worry, amore,” he whispered back. “It was slow for us.”
You chuckled at that and pulled away from him, prompting him to do the same. Twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, he smirked to himself.
“If this is how my Doppio gets to enjoy you,” he started, “I’m a little jealous. Let’s make this a regular routine, hm?”
You grinned and hid your face in his shoulder again, giving him a “mm-hmm” in response.
Diavolo was not a soft man.
But he could be convinced.