Archive of Our Own

He saw her once, as she walked through the other side of the gardens. 

The garden in the Passione Villa was huge. It had flowers from all over the world whose exuberance and colors would make any person stop and stare. But the flowers looked gray besides the woman who was walking by the side of the Boss’ personal guard. Rigatoni didn’t have to think much to know that she was going to become the Don’s lover. Diavolo was strange when it came to the men and women he liked to bring to his room, so she had to be quite the specimen to be taken to the Don’s chambers. There was no other reason the girl would be there. She could not be working for him. It was far too dangerous out there, and she was a beauty. Even Diavolo, with his tensions regarding lovers, would understand that letting her bleed would be a shame. 

Rigatoni saw the woman walk away. The gardens immediately seemed to be glad she was gone and he knew he was never going to see her again. It wouldn’t be the first person that he encountered once by chance. Besides, in the line of work he had chosen, having people around you only meant that he had more friends to mourn. Some of them had funerals, some of them were found in ditches, nameless and broken. Passione’s enemies were not many, but they were still powerful. To know her name alone would be putting her a risk. He was a stupid man to believe that a fragment of himself could still try to reach her.    

Passione was a good place to earn money and live comfortably at the price of carrying the stench of blood. He did not mind at all. At this point, he had gotten used to it.

Rigatoni wasn’t in Passione’s Villa to stare at the gardens. He was summoned by the Don himself to respond to a new task, a mission of sorts that was given to him. The Don was not there, of course. He would not be around people. It was rumored that his paranoia kept him away from everybody, even his most loyal allies. It was the way he did business, and as long as he paid everyone’s checks, no one would complain. So instead of taking his orders from him, Rigatoni was welcomed by one of the organization’s most fearless assassins. 

Prosciutto was sitting down in a small and elegant living room, his hands fixing the creases on his suit. He was expecting him to arrive and he had done so just in time. It was strange to see him outside the battlefield, away from the streets. He carried the stench of death everywhere, one of his curses to deal with so much misery around. They were basically working in the same branch, but with a different focus. Prosciutto was a part Passione’s deadliest team that dealt with personal vendettas for the Boss. They took out entire teams, buildings, families. They were merciless, like the kind of venom that infects the skin and makes everything around it putrid, the kind that leaves nothing to the ground, not even for the bugs. Their job wasn’t always clean, but they never failed. That’s why they were trusted and highly regarded as one of the organization’s greatest assets.   

Rigatoni, on the other hand, was a lone wolf. He killed specific targets with a single shot. A bullet per head. He was selected for direct assassinations, a quick job to be in and out, untraceable and effective. He had never missed a single shot and his reputation preceded him wherever he went. He knew Prosciutto was aware of who he was going to talk to, and that did not mean he was going to treat him any differently. They did not like each other. Prosciutto was enamored of the idea of presentation, he wanted to reside in the world where the Boss lived. He wore expensive clothes, polished shoes, and impeccable hair. He looked like a model, pristine and evil, so wretched it made him feel sick. A stuck-up idiot. Rigatoni closed the door, the insult never leaving his lips. It was dumb to start a fight inside those walls. They heard everything and spoke too loud. 

Prosciutto had started to smoke. He was spread on a wide sofa, the colors of his suit reminded Rigatoni of the profile of a snake. He paused, as if ready to throw its venom. He stared at Rigatoni under a thick blanket of grey smoke.

“Sit.”

Rigatoni was used to obeying orders, to say yes, settling in a city for months to take down a difficult and stubborn target but coming from Prosciutto, the indication seemed almost perverse. The blonde bastard had a strange need to feel in power and since Rigatoni had no intentions of starting a fight, he obeyed. However, as he sat down, he was still alert. His eyes were on Prosciutto’s, on the windows beside them on the stillness of the world outside. The blonde waited, and when Rigatoni left his eyes on the table, he slid a file over it for him to see. Rigatoni looked up. Those blue, strange eyes, filled with terror and death unsettled him. The smoke filled the room but no matter what he did, the poor man would never get that stench away from him. He smelled like a graveyard. 

“The Boss told me to give this to you.” Prosciutto nodded, and Rigatoni understood that it was a sign for him to open it. He did not expect to meet those black eyes that he saw in the garden again. They were looking right back at him through a photograph. 

“Who’s this?”

“Her name is Guido Mista.” Prosciutto paused, he was tasting her name. “I know what you’re thinking. She is stunning, but she’s deadly with a gun.” Rigatoni looked up, he hadn’t even finished reading the file and he was already impressed. “She killed four men already. Quite an accomplishment for someone her age.”

A wave of dread came over him. Was he supposed to take her down?

“She’s young.”

“Mhm. And she’s going to become your apprentice.” Relief. Rigatoni hated to kill young people. Still, the news didn’t come to him as the type of joy he would’ve felt. Something fell out of place. She was too young, too inexperienced, and too pretty to be learning how to kill. She didn’t have to do the things she had to do out of necessity. Leave the nasty work for us ugly guys, kiddo . Prosciutto continued. “You’re to train her until she’s ready to take on missions on her own.” What was the Boss thinking? He was supposed to be taking this pretty girl in bed, not sending her to train in the field. Rigatoni felt alarmed, urging his face not to show it in front of Prosciutto. It was hard to think the Boss hadn’t lost his mind. No surprise, Prosciutto started to laugh. He had seen his displeasure.

“You don’t look happy, Rigatoni. You should be. Look at her.”

Rigatoni’s chest turned into a small whirlwind that ended with her name. His silence felt heavy over his shoulders, and it gave Prosciutto the chance to reply.

“Listen, you’re a lucky fellow. She’s going to be your partner. You get to do whatever you feel it’s appropriate.” His insinuations were left in the air, as he pulled more smoke but not for long. “People might say stuff about you, but they will speak out of jealousy. Every person that has seen her already wants to fuck her, so don’t feel bad for wanting to do the same.” 

“I don’t care.” Rigatoni almost didn’t catch himself replying. The words busted out of him a mindless response to a deep interest that he couldn’t bother to listen to. She was going to be his student, talks about her beauty would not help her survive out there. His reply had in fact awakened something in Prosciutto’s sad eyes. It was prefaced with a smile that told him everything he needed to know. It was evident that Prosciutto was not going to let the opportunity escape.

“You’re not interested? Then let me know when you’re gonna let her rest so I can take her out for drinks.” Rigatoni stared at him, at his hunger. He wants to feast, let him. The voice in his head indicated, rough and mean, his thoughts were begging him to give however little control he had to the hands of someone who would use it. “If you let me borrow her for a night, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be good and bring her back before sunrise too. Unless you let her spend the night at my place, that is.”

He did not reply. Whatever came upon him was raw and unintentional, as unpredicted as the growl that had left his chest. He had her in his hand. This picture and this person were his . 

“Fine. I’ll let you think about it.” Prosciutto finished the silence with a sigh, the kind that leaves an open space between his words. His sentences were never spoken without the intention of breaking through bones and wills. He continued, however, when he saw Rigatoni had closed the file. “He asks for a report once a month, so make sure you send it through the usual safe channels. Also, your current allowance will be doubled, so get enough ammo and food for the two of you. She might be there for a while.” He scoffed, taking a look at his own copy. “Lucky dog.”  

There was nothing else to say. Rigatoni stood up and walked away. 

“She’ll be going to your home tomorrow so at least clean up your space. I bet you live like an animal.” Was the last thing he heard Prosciutto say before closing the door behind him, leaving a lonely dragon with his blue eyes and his kingdom made of smoke. He wasn’t gentle enough to think of him as a friend, but he couldn’t think of him as a coworker either. Prosciutto was just a man who ached too much and tried his best to pull away from the guilt he carried. He fought too much against himself and that was his curse. Everything would be easier the day he learned how to live with the pain. Rigatoni realized then that Prosciutto would also benefit from learning a thing or two from him, but the will of the Don was final.

He went straight back home with the lingering image of the woman walking by the gardens. She hadn’t seen him, of course. Why would she distract herself with him when she was able to surround herself with anything else? She is beauty itself, the girl must of aware of the things she awakes in men. He opened the door of his apartment holding to some acid thoughts. Quickly, he did a check-up of all the rooms before turning on the lights. His place was clear, and with that, he could proceed to relax. 

The first thing he did was to take the coldest beer in the fridge. It burnt his fingers and he wanted to feel the numbness on his skin before resting. 

He sat down at the sofa, legs spread out, mouth kissing the tip of the bottle. With the first sip, he remembered her eyes. Rigatoni automatically reached to grab it, open it and place his eyes on hers as if to convince himself that she was real. Guido Mista’s gaze had a density that only came after the first kill. Although strangely enough, the sparkle of her youth still hadn’t left her. Even the camera captured that gleam. He was attracted to it like a butterfly to the drops of dew resting on a spiderweb. 

Stupid man. Stupid lonely man, trying to pretend you deserve more than what you have. Focus on the mission and send her away. He thought, but his free hand was between his legs. His thumb started to pat down the silhouette of his cock, eager to jump out to meet him. He felt stupid, driven by a string of desires that birthed the image of that woman kneeling down in front of him. He saw her kissing the inside of his thighs. She would pause between kisses to breathe, moan, beg. Rigatoni groaned, his chest poured out a long growl, so animalistic and raw that it felt as if the earth was purring with him. His cock was out, and she would be licking the sides of it. His fingers followed the path that her tongue would carve on his skin, irreversible and deep. Like the course of a river, his blood followed and it pulsed around his head. Rigatoni saw her with her mouth open and her black, intense eyes looking right up at him. So lovely, so sick. He moved his wrist and his hand to reach the spot where his conscience would be quiet, and his other hand felt the bites of cold as the alcohol laid dormant by his side while he little by little, chipped his own determination away. 

He came. Some drops of his pleasure had reached the picture and her name, blurring it, drinking the ink as if to reach her essence. When he came back to his senses, he almost forgot that there was much to clean before she arrived tomorrow. Rigatoni stared at the picture, at the way he had insulted her, and rested his head against the sofa, exhausted. It felt strange to ache this much for someone who didn’t even know his name, but it was one of the illusions of loneliness. His only hope was that it would kill him first before doing something as sinful and unforgivable as trying to own a woman that had the rest of her life ahead of her. He sighed, taking weak sips from his beer. 

No one likes old dogs anyway. 

 xxx

When she arrived, Rigatoni had to admit that he was not expecting her to look more beautiful than in the picture he was given. She was all smiles, her muscles popped from under her tank top. He could see the straps of her bra under the light of the morning, and the subtle tan lines on her shoulders. Her luggage was extensive, but he prepared for that. He spent all night cleaning up the whole house. There was not a single empty bottle or can over the counters. They were neatly accommodated around the trash. He was sure she wouldn’t mind, she didn’t look like the type of girl who would ask to stay at a five stars resort. But she deserves one, she is made for glamour and not for you. 

He moved on from his thoughts, and as he kept looking he found her gun showing from the hem of her shorts. He scoffed. The girl either had no understanding of gun safety or trusted her own skills. Either way, the style suited her a lot. 

“My name is Guido Mista.” He recorded her voice with a nod, storing it deep in the back of his memories so he could access it whenever he wanted. “I am happy to be here. I’ve- I’ve heard much about you.” She was impressionable. The poor girl didn’t know where she was sent to. With a grunt, Rigatoni stepped from the door to let her inside.

“We’ll start with our training now. Come on in.” He waited until she did to close the door. As per usual, he made sure the locks were in place and confirmed that she was not followed. Everything was clear and he caught her staring. She was learning, in her own way, in silence.  

“Where’s your gun.”

“Here.”

She took it from her pants, offering it to him. It was still warm. Rigatoni felt a burn under his eyes, dense and undeserving. He disarmed the whole thing in seconds. The pieces fell all over the floor, and she stared at him dumbfounded. Rigatoni stepped back. 

“Put it back together. You have until tomorrow.”

Guido turned to him, put her bag on the floor, and then knelt. He took some distance to see her working but she lifted her chin. He cleared his throat.

“...It won’t take me that long.”

“Then start.”

It was just as she had said. It had taken her a couple of minutes to finish. He analyzed her every move, the way she moved, and the order she tackled to get the task done. She knew what to do, and treated the gun with the respect that it deserved. It was like a lover, the way she caressed it. Her fingers were light and precise. Her style was telling of how she would be during a mission. She had a natural instinct around guns. She probably knew how to aim and how to shoot, but Rigatoni would test that soon. 

Then, against what he thought she would do, the girl lifted her head. He saw her jawline, sharp and elegant, and his eyes were met with hers. He was sitting down on one of the sofas while she worked, and he never knew what it would feel to have such a young girl look at him like that. Admiration, want. He would name a couple of words that would help him describe it but it would be useless. There was no use in creating his little tales.

“How did I do?” She asked, leaving the gun over her lap.

“Okay.”

“Just okay?” 

“I need you to be twice as fast.” He got up, sensing the disappointment in her voice. She’s not doing this on purpose. Rigatoni told himself, walking in front of her, extending her hand so she would give him that gun again. She did, and the position itself made Rigatoni clear his throat one more time. This time around, his throat started to sting. Emotions sit tight over the jugular, constricting the heart so it would hurt. Rigatoni held the gun in his hands, disarmed it, and went back to his seat. “Again.”

The girl obeyed, but not without pouting. Rigatoni’s blood bubbled in raw excitement. He was staring at her the way she just did. No words were needed to give a reason for an encounter such as this. Emotions will play against you. His inner voice told himself, the heat of her gun dancing around his fingers, aching to reach the gums of his teeth. “My name is Rigatoni.” But she knew it already, she interrupted her task to stare back, and smile. He felt possessed when he spoke. “Say it.” He didn’t regret it when she did.

“Rigatoni.” Clear and soft, her tone has vibrant as a summer evening. She felt like the sun on a cloudless sky, its beam and its heat scorching the earth. He knew how dangerous this was, this tension between them, and how wise it was to stay seated as she worked, to stare and want, keeping his hands to himself. She is young, she doesn’t want you. But then her voice called him from the clouds of his thoughts.

“Say mine.” Her intonation the one of an order, she was cautious, and still, the heaviness of duty fell from her tongue. He caught it with a gasp, keeping the air in his chest. He was going to see this scene at night, this woman kneeling in front of him, catching the light of the sun from her flank, and putting together the hot metal of the gun she used to kill. He swore he smelled blood. If it was his, he wouldn’t mind. “Can you say mine?” She asked, again, and he scoffed as if to mock her. 

“You’re gonna have to earn that, kiddo.”

She smiled. Rigatoni saw much more than he expected to see through that gesture, pure and unadulterated interest coming from her gaze and when he thought the silence wouldn’t get harsher, she spoke.

 “Good enough. I’ll take it.” She focused her attention on the rest of the pieces that were in her hands, putting back together the gun only to pull it apart, starting one of their rituals that would last until the sun became orange and rusty against her skin.

2

On the day of their first mission together, Rigatoni had indicated her to stay quiet, following him close. As he positioned himself to get the best shot, he ordered her to get under him. It was the best spot for her to learn and not be exposed to another shooter. Rigatoni had told her to pay attention to what to do with the information they got about the target. He told her to feel the air, to figure out where and how to shoot. Rain was a powerful ally, but she had to overestimate her calculations because of the variables that could happen during a storm. It was a bet with the weather. She either made it happen or missed the opportunity forever. 

Rigatoni told her about the gun they were going to use, about how the body was a tool to control the path of the bullet. He had suggested focusing on her breathing, for it cleared the mind and eased the fingers. Her body was hot when he took the shot. The impact of the shot pulled the two of them back and the sound crossed the air to the other side of the tower they positioned themselves. He knew she couldn’t have seen the blood, but she was still serious and quiet, taking in the trails of smoke leaving the rifle. The barrel was hot as he handled it, but Rigatoni didn’t care. He had taken the target down and had to call it a day. It was a good distraction tactic against the sensation of her body under him. Her back was hot, her hands inching close to him. He swore he saw her blushing, but he didn’t think much of it. Rain always brought humidity with it, she was probably uncomfortable but still, he had seen the length of her naked legs, the way her ass made a pronounced curve.

He hated to feel this desperate, but if he were any other kind of man, Guido Mista might’ve already met his hungry hands.

It came as no surprise, but on the next mission, she was better. Every single day she took enough information to improve on and very diligently asked questions under the sunset, disarming and arming her gun, again and again, every time a little quicker. She asked about the different spots where they could hide, and about what do to if one of them got hurt. He replied earnestly and quickly, focusing on the color of the sky instead of staring at her neck. When Rigatoni told her about their target’s location, she just followed. She knew to stay quiet and leave those questions behind. Their boss was paranoid, and the people they killed were nameless and unknown. The reasons for why they had been doomed were none of their business. The job was the job and there was a paycheck to be earned. 

Perhaps the Boss had been right to bring her to him, to increase the people trained on the art of killing to get more of his enemies off the map… however, Rigatoni didn’t want to think so. She deserved a life of luxury, of the comfort the Boss could offer. He didn’t like to see her moving close to his gun, laying under him like an animal in heat. 

When it was the first time to take down a mark, Rigatoni felt strange to let her manage the gun. He didn’t know how to call it at first, but in his lonely nights he decided to name it erotic . There was no other way to describe it when she saw her holding the barrel with both hands, stroking it to feel the texture of the metal against her fingers. For a second, he thought she looked at him with a glint shining in the corner of her eye. An invitation, like the small gesture of a flower winking to a bee to land on her soft petals. Unsurprisingly, the gun moved to her every whim. Her method was personal and quick and she almost didn’t breathe when she aimed. 

The air stopped blowing, and she pressed her chest against the gun to follow the beating of her heart to point and shoot. She pulled the trigger. Rigatoni taught her to never miss and she didn’t. They didn’t get hurt and their location was not compromised. 

Her first mark had been a success. 

Eventually, Rigatoni didn’t have to say a lot to her as they left home to get the job done. However, there were a couple of things that started to get his attention, small details that she did to get him distracted. The worst was that she succeeded every time. She smiled as he opened the door of their apartment, staring directly at his lips. She had started to wear less clothes at home. She showed off her legs, her shoulders, her cleavage… Rigatoni spent most of his time trying to avoid her, focusing his energies on training his body. He lifted weights, drank beer, and trained again. However, none of that plucked away the image of her sitting down at the sofa, her legs spread as she read a fashion magazine. She peeked at him from over the pages, he knew. And she followed his steps through the house, tried to meet his gaze when he cleaned his rifle on the kitchen table. Her gaze was not unpleasant, but it wasn’t light. She held her eyes against him like a big cat, tired of trying to be domesticated, debating the possibilities of pouncing on a victim. Rigatoni had never considered himself to be at the mercy of such a creature, but the way she stared made him feel like that. Compared to her, he was small; a dog ready to take orders from his master.

If she asked me to lick her hands, I would.

When those thoughts came back, he trained until his muscles got sore. But, at night, his wishes roamed free and filled the room completely in an effort to suffocate him. Between sleep and lucidity, he saw a figure of that woman presented to him as the smoke of a gun, moving upwards to the ceiling and touching the stars of the faraway galaxies. She went back to the bed, mounted him, touched the curves of her chest and left with a cold, remorseless smile on her face; the one true mark of a killer. 

He had no other option but to follow her in those afterthoughts, reach for her silhouette as the night stretched in darkness and want, and his hand became restless, looking for the satisfaction that her shadow could bring. She always disappeared with the first light of the morning. Her softness was a dream. She’s unattainable. The voice inside his head reminded him as the day began anew, his nerves pulsing between his hands. He believed that voice, he had to: It was the only thing keeping him sane.

The moment he stepped outside and saw her, the struggle began anew and her eyes were sharpened enough to cross his gaze whenever she could. The truth was that he saw how strong she was, how capable she was. Every mission and every target taken out showed him that she was learning effectively, not missing at all. Not a single shot. Even then, the games she played just got rougher. 

Her, and her smiles. 

Her, and her body.

Her and the scent of alcohol she brought with her when she went to the bar alone. Her lips were plump, and her knees were red. Rigatoni didn’t want to see, didn’t want to think. The focus on the mission started to diminish, blink and pulse out of sight. She was gorgeous and young, going out was a natural, understandable thing to do in her free time. Besides, Rigatoni had no business feeling like this for someone like her. She deserved to be with someone younger, more innocent, with a heart open for the future. His own was already set on who he already was. A mercenary with no other mission than to put a bullet on the head his Boss told him to. 

Yet, aware of that destiny, the same thing happened every night. The Woman of Smoke would kiss his lips and whisper an invitation for debauchery. He clung to that figure, that beautiful ghost summoned by her name. He moaned it quietly, against the pillow, in grunts. He woke up knowing it was never going to be enough but his fantasy was better than nothing than dying without dreaming of the sun.

It was during one evening that she took out a particularly hard target that she proposed to celebrate together. He had agreed in silence. It was better that she was there with him, than down there at the bar. Those men would stare at her, touch her, perhaps even invite her to the back. He growled as he drank, staring at the other side of the room with his thoughts focused on breaking the teeth of however he saw trying to get near her. She’s nothing to you, do not bother. And yet, his fists were already hot.

“Why do you always look so tense?” Her voice pulled him out of it, and he drank before answering.

“I am not.”

“Rigs, it’s gonna be okay. We got them good didn’t we?” The beer on her hand seemed too big for her and she was already half done with it. Her skin was red, her cheeks were too. “Did you see the way I shot them between their eyes?”

“Mhm.”

“It was a good shot, wasn’t it?” He did not reply but it was true. It had been a good shot. She had moved by inspiration alone, focused on the task. Of course, it was going to be a perfect shot. When he turned to her, he notices she had moved closer to him. When did she do it? Her crop top hugged her waist. It was a perfect fit. “Say, Rigatoni, do you think I've gotten better?”

“...Mhm.”

“Do you really think so?” She stalled so he could answer, but he did not. What was there to say when he already did, and saying too much would expose his already mangled heart? She pouted. “You never praise me.” Poor thing. Rigatoni didn’t like to see it, being sad didn’t suit her. She continued. “It won’t kill you to tell me that I did a good job once in a while.”

You know that you did. His eyes tried to speak, and his tongue did too, but he restrained himself, allowing only a select amount of words to leave his mouth.

“You did a good job, Guido.”

Her face lit up immediately, and her hands reached to touch his chest. It was not the first time they were together like this, but Rigatoni’s skin felt her fingers sinking into him. She was melting, and her small hands were the perfect size to reach under his ribs and take his heart. Eat it. Make my day. He begged for her to not recognize his desire. He didn’t deserve to want her this bad. 

“Rigs, you mean it?” He nodded. Yes. She didn’t move from the spot. Rigatoni knew they were getting too close to the fire. “I knew it. I knew it! I did great. You even said my name. I’m glad you could see it too. I got worried that you weren’t paying attention.”

I’m always looking. Did she know she had touched a nerve? He was a teacher, her mentor. He stared at her every move. Had she not felt it? Maybe she’s teasing me. Her little cat-like smile had shown the trick. He felt like a teenager again.

“I saw what you did but you still have a long way to go.” It had been an honest comment, she took it as such.

“I know I do, but it’s good that we took time to celebrate properly. I’ll just get better from now on.” He didn’t add anything to that. She was going to get better, he knew that much. Maybe the point of her training was so she could surpass him and take his place, live in his house, and use his gun. He hoped the Boss was wrong, that she could escape this before it consumed her as it consumed him. “Hey, Rigs. You go out often, don’t you?”

He didn’t know how to answer that in a single sentence at first, not without thinking of the times she frequented the bar. 

“Not as often as you do.” A bite of anger came through his voice. He ignored it.

“Why don’t you bring girls home then?”

Why don’t you? He wanted to ask her back, break the bottle in his hand and go to sleep with blood in his skin. Instead, he scoffed, focused on his beer, and turned his gaze away from her. Jealousy burned.

“I’m focused on the mission.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend?”

He hoped she didn’t see his reaction, the shock in his eyes, the way his muscles gave a twitch. When he turned to see her, she was even closer than before. Her cheeks tinted in red, like the blush of the sun when it bleeds on the horizon when it shines over a lake. He had seen beautiful things but she had to be held onto a different standard. She was a goddess sinking her chest against his arm. 

“Why is that important?”

“Because we should know each other more if we’re gonna keep taking missions together.” It made perfect sense, and still, his mind gave him a tinge of hope that his brain killed within the second. She will never want you. It said, making sure the surface of his heart was barren and cold. “Don’t you agree?” She was hoping. For what, exactly?

“You’re with me on my missions.” He corrected her, hoping that would make her stop, but she pouted and her expression was as lovely as the first time he saw it. How dangerous. If he let her get to him, it was going to be the end of him. 

“You know what I meant.” She was staring at the kitchen and playing with one of the curls that were closest to her ears. He had never seen her do that before, and just like that, he was hooked. The image would repeat itself with the Woman Made of Smoke, added to the list of fantasies while the moon was still out. It was a lovely gesture, coquettish and innocent, quiet. Does she do that with the other men? Do they circle her, kiss her as they shower her in fog? Rigatoni bit the inside of his mouth. Useless. It was useless. She spoke after another sigh. “I just want to know, maybe she will get jealous of me if she sees me with you.”

“I don’t have one. Don’t worry about it.”

She had changed her posture and her smile was bright. “That’s strange, I always imagined girls would follow you home.” Before he could reply, his blood went cold. Her hands were touching his arm, fingers moving over his veins and arteries, testing the flow of his blood. She was holding him like she held on to his gun, lovingly, as if in an embrace. Her fingers pressed between his bones, and the gentle red marks she would leave after her touch would become sacred spots. Areas where Rigatoni would kiss when she was gone. She spoke again with all of her beauty, taking out all of the air in his lungs.

“That means I have you all for myself, hm?”

He had a couple of options to go from here. Continue only to see her pull away, or grab her by the neck, pull her in for a kiss, beg her not to leave. Both options were not acceptable, so he stood up with panic in his throat. He looked down at her, at her dreamy eyes, the puffiness under them only made her look even more lovely. 

“Are you going to go to your room?” She asked, she sounded breathless. “There’s still beer in the fridge.”

“We need to sleep.” He replied, keeping his eyes away from her. He would’ve stayed otherwise. 

“Mm… I really wanted to hang with you.” Rigatoni was on his way to his room already, the beer bottle still on his hand. It was keeping him from thinking about her touch.

“Tomorrow.” He said, his voice preventing his body to shake. He felt her eyes on him and did not see the softness in them. He would’ve caught the colors of the morning trapped inside of her pupils, dancing for him, for the chances he gave her in a simple glance. He had no idea how the distance was hurting them both, but neither of them recognized how the air crisped when they were together, raw and sharp energy urging them to stick to each other. Sweat clung to his clothes, and waited for her response.

“Mhm. Tomorrow.” Disappointment. Longing. Guido spoke and Rigatoni took what he could, drinking the letters from her through the beer, hoping it was going to make him forget. “Sweet dreams.” He heard her speak when he closed the door behind him, immediately jumping on the bed. He drank the rest of his beer, covered his eyes with his arm, and gasped as if he had run for miles. 

He had been close to throwing away everything he had been working for.

Another glance would’ve been enough to push him through the edge. He was getting weaker by the day, and the night made him vulnerable and open. He would not let this happen again. He had no right to have the things he wanted. He had no right to ask for anything. So he took what was the second best thing, and reached down with his free hand to take his frustrations towards his fantasies. The Woman was back, and so was his desire to touch her. He kissed him on the lips, caressed his hair and chest as she rode him, lovingly whispering the things she loved the most about him. Her body evoked the shapes he liked and when he reached his orgasm, this time The Woman did not leave. She laid on her side, staring at him as he stared back at her. The smoke defined the curls of her hair and Rigatoni touched them and played with them with his fingers until he fell asleep.

3

His biggest fear happened right in front of him.

He saw her blood crossing the air in a quick spray, reaching the wall of the spot they had chosen. Rigatoni reacted quickly, studied the angle of the bullet in a second, and shot the correct spot to take one of the shooters out of the game. The other two were still at large, hitting them from all the angles they thought were covered. She was on the ground and none of the other bullets hit her on their way out so they made their escape, leaving behind the place he would never go back to. 

She didn’t get a chance to shoot before the bullets found them first. Someone must’ve seen them move. He wasn’t careful enough. 

“Kiddo, open your eyes.” He murmured, desperate. Both hands were on her cheeks and relief found his face when she saw that she was alive, even with enough energy to stand on two feet. He did not wait for her to reply. He picked her up, pressed his hand against the wound, and ran towards their place without stopping. He took another route. The usual one might’ve been compromised and he would not risk her. Not again.

In silence, Rigatoni opened the door with a gun in his hand. He was ready for an ambush, but there was nobody home. Guido was groaning and her gentle whines were the only thing he could hear besides his own breathing. He went through the rooms, the windows, and the vents. No bugs. No one was there or had been there. He shut the door without slamming it and brought her to his room. His logical mind knew that it was better for her to rest on a bigger bed, but his instincts wanted to bring her to a spot that was his, where no one would touch her again. 

“I told you to be aware of your surroundings.” He scolded her, leaving her on the bed, immediately putting his hands and eyes over the wound. “I told you. I fucking told you and you didn’t listen.”

“I checked- I tried!” She hissed, wincing when his fingers rubbed the spot. “Stop! that hurts.”

“Calm down.” He saw the bullet hit the ground, but he wasn’t sure if it had pierced her or not. She was bleeding but not enough to indicate that the wound had been mortal. Her shirt and his hands were dirty, and as the reality of the situation started to get clearer, the tension on his shoulders disappeared. Knowing so, his hands still lingered on the spot as if he had gotten addicted to the fire of her pain, just like fire loves the crackling of the wood as it submits to the sparks. “You’re lucky the bastard who got you was a lousy shot, Guido.” The skin only needed one or two punctures and time to heal. Rigatoni stood up, walked to his closet, and brought a heavy first aid box with him to the side of the bed. He followed with a chair, it would take a while. “He scratched you pretty badly, but he could’ve gotten you.”

“But they didn’t.” 

“They could’ve.” He challenged her stare but knew that she had won. He was busy preparing the needle, his hands were sticky with blood. I want to lick it. He grunted.  “And then I wouldn’t have been there to help you.” 

“But you helped me.”

I always will. He hated to think of himself as a dog, but that was who he was. A dog who would follow her and obey her. A dog who was there as her creature. He had become something he didn’t know he could turn into: a man in love. 

Rigatoni would deal with that realization in private when she had gone to her own room. “Kiddo, you often forget where you are. You think that aiming is enough but you need to remember your training. Your back needs eyes as well.” He cleared his throat, the words were hard to say now. “I have to stitch you up.” He pulled the edge of her top with his free hand, he did not take his eyes away from hers. “Take this off.”

It had been an order, but behind his tongue, he was hoping that it sounded more gently, like an invitation. He caught her gasping, her breathing hitching as her hands followed the tugging of his fingers. She lifted her top with his help, the wound didn’t let her move with all the freedom she would have otherwise. The top was gone and it gave Rigatoni access to the vision that was Guido’s body. He stared, although he knew it wouldn’t be wise, although he knew she noticed. 

“Don’t stare.” She begged, her eyes watery, but her gaze was hanging to his with the strength of a flower taking the edge of a cliff. “It’s- It’s all dirty.” She said, her blush reminding him that he was carrying her blood in his hands. He did not want to comment on it, although he could’ve. You look lovely kiddo. He would’ve said, to ease her insecurities. The color of blood suited her skin, sand, and copper, the unpolished and raw mineral exposed to the sun. Rigatoni scoffed and cleaned the area with a cloth previously wet with alcohol. She was hissing. 

“Stop complaining.” He muttered, concentrating on the weight of his hands, the speed of his fingers. It was selfish to think so, but he did not want this to end. He would be doing and undoing the stitches forever to have an excuse to keep his hands on her skin. He felt safe, complete. The shadow of his dreams would have a different sensation now. He would not be hugging smoke in her absence, no. He would hug this warmth, keep it under his fingers so it never left him. She will. She will go and she will remember you as the old bastard who taught her how to aim, nothing else. His voice crossed the chambers of his heart, sealing it closed. 

Rigatoni was cautious to not lose concentration. She was wincing the entire time, gasping, holding the sheets of the bed in her little fists, dirtying them. In the silence of his room, her soft grunts had the echo of a holy place. He swore he stopped breathing to hear her, to memorize the volume of her voice. Before he knew it, against his wishes, he was done. He delicately snipped the excess string, cleaned the area, and finished with a clean bandage. He wondered if he should suggest cleaning it for her tomorrow, make sure it was well protected so he would be able to see her skin under the morning light.  

“You’ll be fine.” He whispered relief surrounding his voice. Then, anger. “They didn’t get you today but you will next time.” 

“You mean it?” She asked, with a beaming smile, the kind that he loved to see on her.

“Mhm. I’ll make sure you do.” He would find them himself, break their legs, forcing them to sit in front of a window so she had a clear shot of their heads. He would do whatever to get her revenge, to send a message. N o one messed with Guido Mista and her dog. An animal’s rage is earned for eternity.

“You’re being so nice today, maybe I should get shot more often.” Guido’s smile returned, and despite Rigatoni’s scowl, she kept it. She even looked softer, like the rings of Saturn as they brushed the universe, circling intoforever. He gasped with no intention of retaining his breath. She had stolen it from his lungs. Guido and her smile, her ugly laugh, her indescribable presence. Yeah, Rigatoni was sure that he was in love. He couldn’t do anything with it, so he would hold it until he died. She was laughing. How long had he stared at her? “Your hands, Rigs.” She said, reaching down to touch them. “They’re warm.”

That had broken his spirit once again, set his eyes on fire. He had seen the light flickering when she got shot, the possibilities fading in front of him. Don’t let her die . He begged to the smoke, shielding her with his body, growling at the sky. Don’t let her die. Don’t. And it had taken all of him to not give into the frenzy of his rage, fall into the nothingness that revenge can bring. He would’ve left anyone else there, to their luck. But he wanted her. He needed her to live. 

Silly dog, you want her more than your own life.

He did. And he was no longer ashamed to admit it.

“...You’re warm too.” 

Rigatoni was aware of how risky, entirely stupid this was. Guido hadn’t let him think about anything else though. She was laughing, straining to hold him tight. It reminded Rigatoni of the snow melting under the sun, resisting the waves of heat, trying not to melt.  

“You’re doing the thing with your eyes again.” Guido sounded breathless, and before Rigatoni asked, she continued. “It’s like you need to say something to me and you hold back. I see you trying to come up with words. It’s cute.” I’m not cute. He blushed, with all the intention to look away. But he did not dare. “You’re always staring and I stare at you back, hoping you get to see me.” Then her hands reached to touch his neck, the base of his jaw, spots Rigatoni never thought she would want to latch to. “Are you seeing me now?” Her question surprised him, but he instead, countered with another question.

“Why do you stare at me?”

Guido Mista laughed, her fingers rubbed his stubbed beard with so much love that he leaned towards her touch. A dog could not resist such attention. “I’m trying to flirt with you, silly.”

“Since when?” His throat was dry and whatever words he wanted to say were hidden under his tongue, trembling to the expectation of her answer. Maybe she’s alone and bored. Maybe she wants to see me suffer, to get back at me. He panicked, and his gaze trembled as she stood quiet, rubbing his chin.

“Are you asking because you’re curious or because you’ve been trying to flirt with me too?”

He could’ve lied. It was his chance to pull himself away from this before it was too late. He did not, and the resistance pooling on the edges of the bed flickered like dying fireflies trying to see the stars one last time. He got up from his chair, sliding towards the bed. The hand that rested on her wound traveled down, gliding its fingers towards her ass, cupping it in a second. Her mouth was opened, rounded in a gorgeous shape. He took note. It was perfect for moaning his name, for taking cock. 

When the animal is starving, all he thinks about is when he’s going to eat. 

“What do you think?”

“Oh Rigs, please get talking.” She was touching his hair now, the spots of his neck he never showed her. She had been studying him in the dark. How long had she been staring to know that he liked to be touched under the ears? Her small hands were the right size for the spots he liked the most. Her touch was knowledgeable, and precise as if she was measuring the weight of the barrel of a gun. His pulse was the gunpowder and her blood was the spark. She was getting ready to pull the trigger and send the bullet straight through both their hearts. 

“Are you looking at me now?” Such an innocent question. It was like trying to pull back a boat destined to crash against the high waves of the sea. The path was unavoidable and scary but destruction always births something new. Rigatoni saw the spots of blood of the people he had killed, he pictured himself moving away from the decay towards her warmth. I will kiss her hands after every shot.  

“I’m looking. Are you?” He pulled her closer, his grip holding her cautiously, conscious as to not hurt her more than he had to. She did not mind the harshness, and he wondered how far would their limits take them, how willing would they be to push past them and reach the places they wanted to be. 

They were fools and they would not survive like this. 

But dammit, it’s worth trying.

He quickly noticed that Guido’s fingers were shaking in excitement, and her gentle nods spoke of her willingness to continue. He had never felt so validated in his life. No gunshot and no successful mission could compare to the glow in both their eyes, to the glory of the two of them breaking the tension. The water was going to drown them. 

“I’m looking at you, Rigs.”

Rigatoni pressed his chest against hers. He felt her prominent curves, the bump of her ribcage against his muscles. They were going to cross the line and it would be over. No more staring at a distance, no more woman of smoke, no more nights and days of longing and kissing the air that she breathed. No more wondering how she would taste. They would have this and more, along with the obvious disadvantages to this union. T hey will talk about us, about what I have done. And they would commend disgusting things about her, about him, about their relationship. He swallowed the bitterness, the possibility that she would back out, and pushed his knee against her warmth. She gasped, and he nodded to her to grab her attention. He was going to make sure she knew what she was getting into.

“Kiddo, do you have any idea how old I am?” 

She scoffed, in her eyes a type of eagerness he couldn’t name.

“Of course, I know. I know how old you are.” The truth was left on their dirty clothes, the soft light of the evening crossing their paths to meet them, it was there, and it turned out that it did not matter after all. “Rigatoni. We hunt and shoot down people as our job. We see death in the eye every day… surely this doesn’t bother you?” Then, a flicker of insecurity came across her gaze. It had become dull, like a day without the sun. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want me?”

He proved her wrong with his fingers sliding into her shorts, inching closer and closer to the heat of her core. He was attracted to it like birds are to color like the rain chases the flowers. Rigatoni found the sensitive spot of her clit, rubbing it with his thumb, growling at the sensation of the softness under him. For once, as he enjoyed the first chirps of her pleasure, his inner voice said nothing at all.

“You’re stupid if you think I don’t.” Rigatoni’s chest inflated once, twice, he was trying to stay above the inevitability of his downfall. “You have no fucking idea how much I want this.” Ever since they met, ever since she crossed that door it had been an invitation to give in. He knew he was supposed to, that he was going to. He was just afraid he was not going to survive the fall. And there he was, enjoying the spoils of giving in. 

“Rigs-” He loved how she called his name. It rang in his ears with a delicious tone. “Rigs please-” She begged again, her hands were trying to hold on to his wrists, but her strength dwindled as his fingers coated themselves in her slick. He was close to her face, watching her as she tried not to close her eyes. It was fascinating to see her trying to not submit when her body had already done so. Rigatoni did not hesitate to use his body weight, shifting and sliding up and down, to the sides, circling around and above it to concentrate on the spots she seemed to like the best. He had never thought there would be a chance where her moans would be so fulfilling. He kissed her cheek, kept his eyes open as she tried to speak and when she did, Rigatoni’s blood froze.

“Daddy…”

He paused harshly, keeping a growl on his throat that he released slowly, in small quantities as one opens the blinds so the morning light pours in. It came from between his teeth, like liquid sugar that burned skin, caramel meant to stick and mark its path with uncontrollable passion. Rigatoni found her eyes, his fingers had settled in a rhythm she liked and continued to move with her slick aiding the act of both their dignity falling down the bed.

“What did you call me?” Rigatoni knew what this meant, that their dynamic would be sealed by this sickness, their refusal to let go of their desires. They were idiots, freshwater fishes who wanted to swim in the sea. There would be no power that would move them away from the wave that was leading them straight to heaven. “Say it again.” I loved it.

His raspy voice had reached her, and she clung to the sheets as she had done when her back first hit the bed. The silence around them had been dethroned by her moans, her tone light and bubbly like the dew of the morning. 

“N-No… oh please.” But she wasn’t begging for him to stop. Her hands were shaky, and the expanse of her chest was lifting with his, dancing together. Rigatoni thought of the days he wished he had entered her room and undress her, fuck her hard while her hands fought to stay on his neck. The Woman Made Of Smoke had been his refuge, and even then, it lacked the terse softness of Guido’s young and willing skin. It was like swiping his fingers over fresh grass, like walking with his eyes on the sky. It was dark outside, but she felt like the sun. “You’re so rough.” Guido managed to speak. Her pleasure was bringing her to tears and her resistance presented itself as a challenge for the man. Rigatoni’s fingers were restless. 

“Say it.” 

Rigatoni found the solace of her chest, and immediately moved to push her bra to the side, tearing it from the middle to free her breasts. There they were, spreading to the sides; evidence of their weight. He latched to one of them, sucking and biting her nipple, effectively submitting her to the severity of his touch. Their first time together was not supposed to be holding this much rage and urgency, but it felt correct. The two of them were in need of every pull of his teeth, the sting of pain from his bites and the exhilarating thrill of an orgasm that was creeping from Guido’s throat. Rigatoni felt it coming. It was accumulating from her belly, from the very spot that he could touch with the palm of his hand that was pressed against her core. He sucked harder, growling like an animal that didn’t want to share his meal. His eyes were on hers, appearing menacing and sharp; the spirit of a creature that had learned what it meant to feed. They understood, in that moment, that they were only following their instincts. I will kill whoever tries to take her away from me. His heart was set on one thing: keeping her well fucked and happy for the rest of their days. As if she had sensed his determination, she smiled at him before her back lifted from the bed, curving as her first orgasm washed over her throat.

“Daddy!”

He was there as her climax arrived, and she felt like glory. His hand was touching the right spot and her clitoris throbbed under it. He could only imagine how her inner walls were tightening, clenching and pulsing as her orgasm passed. I need to feel her around my cock. Selfish. He was a selfish bastard and he detached from her breasts to stare at the mess he made. Her gaze was out of focus. She was pulling herself back together as quickly as she could, her tongue struggling to find a home inside her mouth. Rigatoni moved his hand away from her pants, catching a glimpse of the translucent slick that ran down his wrist. I haven’t even fingered her yet. Ambrosia. He was nobody to feast on a god and still, he caught one bead of it, ashamed to be drinking from her like this. Glory. She tasted like sweetness, like this could be his only source of nutrition for weeks. He had all the intention to keep at it, suck and drink the slick she gave him, but her trembling hand stopped him from continuing. Her eyes had a film of water over them, tears and pleasure accumulated there and gave her expression the sweet innocence of a mermaid that was just learning about the world above the water. 

“May I?” But she was already moving, guiding his arm down, towards her mouth. She was holding him as she held on to a gun, her movement fluid and full of the expertise that he himself had taught her. When he was in position, she pressed her breasts together with her elbows to cushion him comfortably and opened her mouth as wide as she could, moaning as his middle finger went inside.

She knew how to suck. Her tongue coated all of him, and she moved her neck and body to welcome her moves. She was like a demon aiming to claim him and drain every single drop of energy from him. When she was finished, she let go with a gentle pop, exhaling and moaning to move towards the next finger. He noticed that he was not letting those fingers go out dry. She was coating them with her spit, and at the realization, his cock jolted violently inside his pants, surprising her. 

“Is this for me?” She whispered after letting the second finger out, focusing on his palm and wrist. Rigatoni was angry to think that she knew how to do this from those nights of practice at the bar. The extra cash in her pocket sounded different now, knowing that those men were giving it to her. He wanted to be one of them, visit her during her nights at the bar and pay for enough hours to keep her busy, get her mouth full of him, and teach her a lesson about what a man’s cock tastes like. But he had her now, in the same disposition she got him too. His body and soul were hers to take. 

“Poor puppy.” Her voice guided his eyes down, to where her hand wanted to reach. She touched the head of his hard cock, her index finger coated with the pearl of his precome that filtered through the fabric of his pants. She moaned. “Let me take care of this, daddy.”

“No.” He stopped her, holding her wrist. “You’re hurt.” He meant this. He could wait until tomorrow, until the day after that too. He was willing to give her a second to rest, to take a breath. The wound on her flank was never going to heal properly if she gave him permission to enter her. I will fuck her every day . 

“It’s a little scratch, you said it yourself. Besides, I want to make you come too.” It was hard saying no to that, to that insistent hand that was pushing the head of his cock, moving it with a single finger. She had already shown him what she could do with her mouth, her body was giving in, what would be the sin in just taking what she wanted to give him? He was a man, a weak man after all, and with steady hands, he pushed his pants down, slowly undressing. 

“That’s it, let me see.” She encouraged him with a smile, and with their current position, she was able to see all the cuts on his skin, the scars that he accumulated through a time of training and endurance. She touched them too, promised with her eyes to kiss them later, after she had taken care of him properly. “ Oh. ” Her gasp alone was worth it. He swore he saw the impression set in her eyes as she stared at his erection. He had always been proud of the size, but to have the most beautiful woman stare at it like that was something else. “Are you kidding me?” Guido was asking that to herself, whispering as she touched the head one more time. His cock was thick, deep in color, and crowned by a heavy bush of unruly curls. “You’re big. I-I don’t think it will fit...” He feared this, most of all. The girls he had been with had the same reaction, and most of them were not able to take him at all. 

However, challenges like this moved something inside of Guido. She was determined, ready. “But we can make it fit, can’t we daddy?” She took off her shorts, her panties, minding the wound she pushed them to the side to lift both legs, giving him full access to her core. With her fingers, she spread her lips, and moved to the side where the wound would not bother her. “Go on, finger me.”

They had already crossed the line, but to see her spread like this brought Rigatoni to his knees. There was one more thing he could say one more thing to keep his wits upon him. “Kiddo, I won’t-“ His throat was dry. “I won’t stop if you let me do this.”

“That’s the point, daddy. I’m not gonna ask you to.” She pleaded with her open mouth, setting her arm right behind her knee, ensuring the position gave him free rein. Rigatoni had never imagined that he would see her like that. She was fusing to the sheets, becoming water and sweat, the color of a lake during a summer night. “Please, make a mess of me.”　

It was his pleasure and his torture to do so. Rigatoni saw himself move to appease her needs, and that’s where her power resided, in the way she used her words to chip away the spots where he was the weakest, molding him at her will and convenience. Like a gun being put together by her hands, she was getting the iron used to the heat of her skin. 

I am her weapon, her animal, her thing.

Rigatoni kissed her neck and chin as his fingers fell down to her slit where they slid inside with no effort whatsoever. He started with one to see how well she would adjust. The young woman’s moans spoke of her versatility. She pulsed, and he knew what her emotions were going to be written down inside his veins like instructions to keep her satisfied and full.

“Another one-” She begged, her hips aiming to dance with his, trying to meet him in between the slams of his wrist. “Another one please- I need more, we need to make your cock fit.” She was determined, and he would not discourage that emotion so he inserted a second one, the stretch already feeling adequate. He did not ease down on the rhythm of his hand or the kisses so the marks would remind her of who she shared a bed. 

“Your fingers- are so fat, daddy.” Her forehead was wet with sweat and her tongue got as loose as her core did, whispering quiet praises, more names that he did not hear amongst the chaos of his insertion. The beating of their hearts was loud enough. They were excited to be heard and loved. She was going to get what she deserved, but as of now, he did not want to insert a third one. He had the best interests in keeping her comfortable and safe, but as things developed, he knew that his curiosity and perversions would always win. The final stretch would come from his cock. The animal in him wanted her to take it as it was, raw and thick, beaming with the energy of an enraged bull ready to breed.

“That’s it, kiddo.” He kissed her chin, and stared at the glory of her expressions. Her voice went higher, and her arms did their best to hang on to his neck. She was trembling, her fingers felt weak and frail, dwindling into a strand of water and tears. 

“I love them- so much.” She had made her point clear, Rigatoni maintained his intense rhythm. “Daddy, I want to come. Can I come?” He growled a soft yes that she ate as he kissed her on the lips. Next time, before their training, he would say no. He would edge her, walk with her to the gates of her desire and make her beg. He would want nothing else but to mount her for hours, let her hold him down by a leash, his mouth covered by a muzzle, her core red and plump, abused by the constant trampling of his cock coming inside of her over and over again. 

But today, he would oblige. Just today. 

“Come, baby.” 

He felt her body racing to the point of no return. She was there already and would’ve come even if he said no. Bad girl. He bit her lips and found out that pain was hanging from them, mixing into the orgasm that was crashing against her eyelids. The sea, enraged and blind, was coating the back of her throat with a long and lovely, wet moan. “Daddy! I’m coming!”

“Go on.” He whispered, fishing all the come that he could from his curved fingers, feeling the wet and slick pushing through them as they reached the sides of her legs and the sheets of the bed. Rigatoni wanted to wait until the pulsing had left to pull away from her, and she had taken the chance to kiss him, praise him some more. Daddy. She whispered against his skin, her senses still dealing with the aftershock. Oh daddy, you made me come so hard. She muttered, gasping at the low rumble of his growl. I came for you, daddy. I did. I came because you let me.

Rigatoni didn’t find any words that would be worth saying. She had made her point and gave him the tender moment he had craved for. Her hug and kisses had made it all worth it, even when knowing that they had moved to a position they shouldn’t have touched at all. When he finally pulled away and saw the slick coating his fingers, he did not hesitate to take them to his mouth. He was looking down at her, staring at her through the slick, and giving a big gulp to her generous come. She saw him proud and well endowed, his cock erect and ready as he feasted, his tongue moving from one side to the other to catch as much slick as he could.

From now on, as he had warned her, he was not going to stop.

He presented his length holding it by the base. Guido Mista’s moan was as shameful as it was honest.

“Inside-” She lifted her legs again, spreading her lips. 

“Please, fuck me.” He heard her loud and clear, and as his thoughts raced with reasons why he shouldn’t obey, he did. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, slowly moving inside. His chest shielded her from the gentle, barely perceptible light of the streets. Nothing else was going to touch her ever again. Just him.

“Shh.” He soothed her with kisses, with slow and steady pressure, that final stretch felt good.

“D-daddy, it’s too big.” But she did not ask him to stop. She instead begged, trying to move her hips with him although it was impossible. The man had a hold on her, and he was pushing her down as much as he could to keep her in a deep state of submission. Rigatoni had fucked in that bed before, but never with someone he had fantasized about. She was his woman of smoke, and for the first time in his life, he was seeing his wishes turn into flesh and stone. They bled from the same veins, and lived from the same heart.

“Hang on to me.” Rigatoni praised her diligence as he pressed her legs even deeper down. He forgot about the wound, and her knees were almost touching the sheets of the bed. His body was slamming against hers, slick echoing on the corners of his room. He didn’t have to wish for the sound to be drunk by the walls, he was no longer ready to let her go from his embrace. This connection, although risky, was the only thing that was worth protecting now. Her life before mine. He thought, licking the inside of her mouth like a dog that looks for scraps. 

“You’re tearing me apart-” She hiccuped. Her eyes were teary, she looked like a wildflower when it took on the morning rain. Grateful and proud, ready to be born anew. The sounds coming from their chests awoke a deep sense of belonging. Rigatoni was aware of what this would make them and that he was stealing time from her, experiences that she would not be able to have with anyone else. It was as if she had listened to his heart, and said with a voice heavy in lust and moans. “Never fuck anyone else. Just me, daddy please.” Guido was begging, her words accommodating much more love than what he expected. She sounded like the faraway whisper of the trees or the prayer of the moon over a dry valley. Still and constant, a wish that went as deep as her blood ran through her body. 

“Just you,” Rigatoni promised before a blight of rage and jealousy came over him. He did not want to see her coming home late. He did not want to smell the tobacco on her clothes, the hard alcohol, the scent of foreign, male skin. He did not want to see her knees scratched. Rigatoni growled and she listened. “Just me.”

She nodded with tears in her eyes, this promise alone had been enough to send her on a frenzy. “Good, good puppy.” His cock twitched. It was embarrassing to admit how good that word felt when she said it. Yes. I’ll be your mut. I’ll be whatever you want me to be, just let me get inside of you every single day. The tension in his belly escalated and jumped like the bump of a creature trying to break from its shell. She felt it all, her screams were delicious. “Your cock is so thick, puppy. So good, It’s just for me.” Delirious, riding her next high, Guido had thrown her head back. Rigatoni knew what this meant, and he did not stop the intensity he had sent the two of them in. He pushed and pushed, fucked her as he had wanted to since he saw her in the gardens. I would’ve made her suck my cock between the roses. They would’ve been jealous of her, and his come would’ve touched the petals that she would kiss. She was an omen to the earth, the true face of beauty. A goddess that had a sharp eye, and a liking for the smell of gunpowder. 

“Daddy! Daddy’s cock is so big,” Her hiccups came back, and her body spasmed as if it wanted to shake away from him. “I’m coming again!” Rigatoni saw her pleasure being pulled from her by force, her orgasm running over her body like a stampede of mindless horses, like the way the wind pushes down valleys and trees. It had been such a devastating and intense wave that her body went lax and Rigatoni saw this as an invitation to take what he needed. 

His hands left the back of her knees and left them on her hips, gripping them before entering her one more time. He went after his orgasm, and heard her plea for more in a breathless, almost dreamy voice. She was speaking in the language of the smoke, urgent and sharp, but never afraid. Guido Mista had been broken before, and she was looking for the height that would finally crown her as his own. Her eyes were slightly open, just enough to touch his hands. Inside. Her mouth said the words her throat could not. 

Maintaining the speed and his rage, Rigatoni kissed her.

The night now bleeding into the morning managed to seep into both their bloodstreams, aching for the moon, and expecting their souls to keep merging. It would be wrong for others, but this was where they were supposed to be. Under the heat of the gun, swearing to each other they would never let go. Rigatoni came without saying a word. There was little to say when she had implanted herself into every fiber of his being. He had done it, came inside the woman and now, there truly was no path for them that wasn’t forward. Rigatoni and Guido stood in place, staring at each other in quiet contemplation, just like devotees react when they hear the voice of their god. The tension on their bodies eased down and their senses slowly came back to them, the seconds had weight, and their bodies were melted as the sand was to the rocks on the shore of the sea.

He didn’t feel alarmed until the faint scent of blood filled the air. At first, he thought that he had taken her innocence, but her bandage was red. Rigatoni’s reaction was to put his hand on it, pressing to stop the flow of blood.

Keep her safe. Keep her alive.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Both of them naked, Rigatoni had started to regret letting go like this. He had hurt her, he broke the promise he had done to himself and to her. She, however, eased his fears with her touch and her smile. He paused to see her face. It felt embarrassing to think that this was all it took for him to lower his face to let her speak. 

“I am okay, Rigs. It was a scratch.”

He kept the pressure on the wound, his body close to her like an animal that doesn’t want to leave his mate. His eyes were remorseful, but she did not seem to mind. He could tell that in her expression there wasn’t a single indication that she might feel regret. However, the tension around her eyes was gone. It was like looking at a different person, younger, easier to reach. He let her scratch his ears, his chin too.

“Isn’t this nice? Now we can finally stare at each other with no feelings behind us.” It was that, the sharp vulnerability of what they shared, their fears left under the bed and the kisses that were yet to come. She had always been looking forward, as a good sharpshooter was supposed to do.  

“I will look after you.” He swore, as his fingers helped the wound close. He was hoping that this oath now taken in blood had felt different to her. He did it with her body and integrity in mind, all of her was under the sacred duty of his protection. Just as he swore his life to his gun, he was promising something of equal value to her. 

His life for hers, always. 

Guido noted the heaviness of his oath. She laughed, earnestly. 

“You’re gonna take care of me, daddy?”

“Yeah.” Now and forever, until my bones turn into dust. He kissed her belly, involuntarily imagining a future with a family, a spot for all of them to live in quiet bliss. He wouldn't want that much, not after he got more than he ever thought he deserved. Rigatoni pulled away his fingers from the bandage and the pressure had worked, the flow had stopped. “Now be quiet,” He indicated, picking her up to take her away from the bed. Her sweat had stuck to the bed sheets and they followed her like the trail of a bride does. It felt good to the soul to think of her in white, as calming as it was to think of a sunrise. He paused his thoughts when the sheets dropped over the bed. “I’ll clean you up.”

Rigatoni had taken a few steps towards one of the chairs inside the room before her hands were on his chest to ask for his attention. She earned it immediately. “Maybe it will be better if you clean me up in the shower, Rigs.”

She left an implication in the air that he did not dare to take. She would have to let her intentions be known with explicit detail for his pleasure and for hers. If this was what it meant to be her man, he would take on the challenge with no fear. She thanked him with a kiss on his chest and rested her head against it as he prepared the water for their bath. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” She whispered. Rigatoni kissed her on the lips. “I want to be your girl.”

“Silly.” He said, his heart full, his eyes bright. “You’re already my woman.” 

The water that waited for them released steam meant to cleanse them, and they enjoyed the feeling of leaving their past behind. Every hesitation left the apartment down the drain along with the stained water. Naked, their words seemed like they could never be scattered into the wind. They were there for each other, with the silhouettes of their bodies marking the spots where the light was coming in and the shape of every scar was a new story under their fingertips.