Maladaptive Ninja

Rogers is, as you had guessed, a bit more direct in his mannerisms but he’s still kind. He asks you outright how you’re feeling and what he can do better whereas Laufeyson takes his chances to adjust according to your behaviour – and frighteningly, he is often correct. He must be a very good judge of character and undoubtedly, that’s what’s brought him to the top of his livelihood. They have both established a sort of quiet communication between each other, allowing them to relax a bit more. Jokingly, and only to yourself, you consider the place a sort of Las Vegas: what happens here, stays here. Whatever they get up to outside of the apartment is a different world – a world you want to learn to navigate.

There are five mafia bosses in the city, each ruling over their own section of both fronts and areas. Whatever the other bosses are up to is unknown to you, because Laufeyson and Rogers refrain from talking business in your new home, as if it would defile it somehow.

“Thank you,” you hear yourself say tonight as your mind strays to the delicate balance. “Both of you.”

“For what, flower?” Laufeyson asks, although you’d wager he knows already.

“For keeping business out of this place,” you explains. “But I need to...I would like to know what’s going on so I know what to expect if anything uhm...spills over.”

Rogers straightens his back at that, eyes narrowing as he shoots the other man a glance who nods in return.

“We are trying to hold any information about you to a select few people but of course, rumours are spreading already,” Rogers admit.

Laufeyson nods. “That is to say...there is tension among the Enclaves.”

Enclaves. As opposed to the classic setup, not all of the mafia groupings in the city are based on families, and so the press has dubbed them “the Enclaves” instead. There is Laufeyson and Rogers, of course, then Stark, Odinson (which is a family thing as per tradition), and finally Romanova. None of the Enclaves used to openly work together though there are certain understandings and contracts to prevent open war among them.

“They see you as allying?” you wonder, earning nods from both men. “And that upsets the balance.”

“There have been multiple attempts to find out who you are but we’ve contained it,” Rogers bluntly announces.

Something heavy settles in your gut rather than, as it has been, roll around. You’ve been granted a security whenever you go anywhere, no longer discreet and at a distance, but right by your side. You’ve hated it but haven’t dared object to it.

“Would they...” you start hesitantly, “would...am I...in danger?”

Laufeyson grabs your hand, stroking the knuckles with his thumb. “You have two enclaves protecting you. Nothing bad will happen.”

Looking from one man to the other, you hate that you still find them so hard to read. “But if it was up to the other enclaves?”

“It would be a bold move but not impossible for them to try to use you against us,” Rogers admits.

Pulling back from both men, you get up from the dining table. You’re not going anywhere, clearly you shouldn’t, but you need to move – all you can do is pace.

None of them say anything, allowing you the time you need to come to terms with another facet of reality, and eventually you turn to them.

“Teach me how to protect myself too. I don’t want to be cooped up here forever out of fear that someone will come for me.”

Laufeyson’s smile turns wicked. Rogers nods as if he’s impressed by your resilience.

---

That night was the last night you spent alone in the penthouse.

You didn’t know it at the time, lying awake in the huge bed with the silken sheets you were just filled with anxiety and determination that seemed to battle for dominance, impossible to push aside to grant you some rest.

At one point, you got up and wandered through your home as it was only illuminated by the city lights from below. You felt like an intruder. An imposter. This wasn’t your life. It couldn’t be. And yet, when you accidentally slammed your toe into the leg of the coffee table, it very much was all real and it was that pain from the physical accident that sent you over the edge and made you cry. Curled up on the soft rug, you couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They weren’t loud, soul-wrecking sobs, rather a silent stream that seemed to have no end even as your body started to ache from the awkward way you were lying.

---

You wake up, tired but somehow lighter than you’ve been in a long time. How long has it been? A quick look at the date informs you it’s been a bit more than a week even if it feels like a lifetime.

You’ve only just showered and gotten dressed when the doorbell goes off. Puzzled, you open to meet one of the men you recognize as Rogers’ who’s holding large bag from a boutique and a bouquet of flowers.

“Boss wants you ready at six,” the guy explains, handing over the things.

Baffled you take them and watch him turn to leave before you’ve found your voice.

---

There was a note with the flowers, proving them to be from Rogers and Laufeyson both...but there had been no other explanation. Still, the meaning was clear when you looked at the contents in the bag: a lovely dress and a pair of heels to go with it.

Looking at them, both men are sitting as if relaxed, but you see the tension in their shoulders and the set of their jaws. Surely, refusing them would be worse than accepting your fate.

Inhale, exhale. Nice and slow to steady your nerves. You shift in the seat, hands now flat on the table before you. It’s only cool against your palms for a moment before the wood warms and the grain becomes evident.

“If I say no, it’ll turn ugly,” you summarize, hating how they both nod, “but if I say yes and I’m not happy with my new life?”

There’s a flicker of something soft in Rogers’ eyes as he reaches out to take out to take your hand. The gesture is repeated by Laufeyson and you’re astounded by how different their hands look and feel. Both big, one is more slender, soft, and cool, while the other is broader, warm, and calloused.

“We understand your trepidation,” Laufeyson assures you.

Rogers nods. “We’ll be good to you.”

Now, if only you knew what their definition of “good” was. Still, you find yourself nodding along.

“I cannot possibly make an educated choice between the two of you,” you hear yourself say, “so you’ll have to learn to live with each other.”

You hear Rogers’ nasal intake of breath, see Laufeyson’s free hand flex. They shoot each other a short glance but their attention is back on you in a heartbeat.

Everything that follows is a blur: they have you close up the cafe, barely allowing you to send a text to your boss to warn that you’ll be gone and that you are sorry. Then they walk with you to your home, both of them busy on their phones arranging for moving boxes to be delivered and for the best real estate agent to clear their schedule for the rest of the day.

At your little apartment, they allow you the privacy to change out of your work clothes before sweeping you into a taxi – seemingly the only neutral vehicle they could agree on rather than any one of the men having to accept a ride from the other.

Squished between the men on the backseat, you’re thankful that they keep their hands to themselves at least for a while longer – no, you have no hope that will last but for now it feels like you only have your own body left under your control and it makes the air scratch in your lungs as if wanting to escape on a scream. Still, you keep quiet.

The first place you drive to is on the edge of downtown and it isn’t hard to guess that it’s right on the border between Rogers’ and Laufeyson’s turfs, making it possible for both men to come and go without “trespassing”.

The apartment is a penthouse and the real estate agent that’s waiting for you is babbling about the view and the spaciousness as she shows it off. You have a hard time focusing on what she says even though you try. It doesn’t matter, though: you can’t see yourself living in a place like this because as fancy as the apartment is, it’s also devoid of any soul. So by the end of the tour, you just shake your head softly and the two mobsters sweep you out the door and on towards the next place.

A brownstone near a park. Three floors and a little garden out back. Kids that play in the street which makes you nauseous at the idea of bringing the mobsters into their neighbourhood and so you refuse to even finish the tour before you quietly ask to leave. You know you’ll have to chose something at some point but it can’t be this.

Another street in the liminal space between the men’s hunting grounds. Tall buildings with old facades and parisian roofs that hold yet another penthouse – this time with a roof top terrace – where a new real estate agent awaits, nervously wringing his hands until he spots the men whose presence reducing him to an ass-licking wimp. You don’t blame him.

And somehow, even if just for a moment, this place distracts you from your situation as you wander through the rooms. Despite the current emptiness, it’s easy to envision what it could end up being with furniture – even if you hesitate in the bedroom at the idea of the size of the bed needed. Will Laufeyson and Rogers be able to share a bed?

“Do you like it here?” Rogers asks softly under the real estate agent’s ramblings about flooring materials.

Do you? It’s not anything you had ever thought you’d achieve in your wildest dreams but...yes.

“I do,” you admit quietly.

Laufeyson has overheard your answer and with a nod he turns to the frazzled man trying to sell the place. “We’ll take it.”

“You...oh...lovely!”

---

They tell you that you can bring over whatever furniture from your old place you might want to keep but frankly, IKEA is not the provider of anything particularly sentimentally valuable and, you figure, you might as well get the most out of this situation as possible, so you opt for the exhaustive project of shopping for new furniture in the days to come. Sure, some of your things will be needed to tide the gap until the new stuff has been chosen and delivered but you will be in charge of decorating and furnishing the apartment as you want and you grab at that frail feeling of control.

Control.

That feeling of security does lessen as soon as either Laufeyson or Rogers shows up and it’s completely gone if they both are there. They tend to take a seat in opposite ends of the cafe, glaring daggers at each other while treating you like a princess despite the fact that you’re at work.

Today is different.

Well...not at first, but when the two mob bosses get to the cafe, they don’t take their usual seats but rather share a table so it’s with some trepidation (but also curiosity) that you go to take their orders.

Laufeyson orders his usual Special Blend Tea. Rogers wants a black coffee – plain and simple. Of the two of them, he has the rumour of being more straightforward in all of his affairs. Harsh but following a clear code. Laufeyson, on the other hand, is supposed to be more impulsive. Two very different men.

So why are they sitting with their heads together, shooting glances at you?

Are you afraid of them? In a way, yes.

You know they are mob bosses and they don’t shy away at anything to get what they want or punish those who have wronged them. But you also know they keep you safe in an odd way. And it’s exiting too, to have the attention of two men who are both so powerful in their ways as well as handsome. The last bit you don’t want to admit to thinking but it pops into your mind at unfortunate moments. Like now when they sit so close together that their opposite appearances become so obvious.

Out of the corner of the eye, you see them nod to each other before leaning back in their seats, gazes fixed on you which makes your nervousness spike.

Forcing your hands to calm, you grab the tray with the things and weave your way back to the table in the centre of the room, a place where they can see you at all times unless you go out back.

“Here you go,” you make yourself smile as you place their orders before them.

It’s when you turn to leave it happens: cool fingers grab at your wrist at the same time Rogers speaks your name. Calm and quiet, they stop you dead in your tracks. Your breath is caught in your chest, stunned like the other patrons in the small cafe who are watching without wanting to be noticed.

“Take a seat,” Rogers demands, pulling the chair out that Laufeyson gently has turned you towards.

Silently panicking, you sink into the chair while you clutch the tray to your chest. The only sound in the cafe is the soft music playing – Norah Jones – and the hiss of the dishwasher as it completes one of the clean cycles.

“Mister Rogers and I have come to an agreement,” Laufeyson begins. His hand is lying on the table, stretched towards you as if he wants to still touch you. “We would like you to answer honestly when we ask you some things first, though.”

You nod, mute – too afraid your voice would betray your fear.

Rogers smiles softly as he reaches out and takes the tray from you. With a long arm, he places it on the neighbouring table and you’re left without any tangible defence.

“What are your goals in life?” he asks.

Stunned, you try to formulate your answer. “I would like to...to open up a cafe of my own some day. Or taker over one like this.”

It sounds silly to you as you for the first time say it out loud, but it is your dream and both men nod as if they approve of it.

“We can make that happen,” Laufeyson purrs quietly.

You feel both of them staring at you unabashed, taking in every single micro expression you make as the words sink in.

It’s too good to be true. You’re an insanely long way off from having saved up enough yourself and even if your employer likes you, you’re not about to take anything over for her as that’s a family business. You’ve braced yourself with patience – patience that suddenly is disturbed with the idea of a quick way to achieve your dream. But at what cost?

“What’s in it for you?” you hear yourself say more boldly than you actually feel.

The men exchange glances. Then Rogers clears his throat and orders everyone to pay and leave, forcing you to be alone with the men. It takes a moment before the cafe is empty, Laufeyson trailing behind the last guest so he can lock the door and turn around the sign with “Open” on one side and “Closed” on the other.

When the slender, dark-haired man returns, he passes behind your chair, allowing the tips of his fingers to trail over your shoulder. You notice the pointedly arched eyebrow of Rogers. However, not a word is spoken before you lose your patience.

“What is this about?!”

They both smile. Confident because they’re used to getting what they want.

“You. We both want your company and while we could battle it out, we’ve come to the conclusion it wouldn’t win you over,” Laufeyson explains.

Rogers nods. “So we’ve agreed to give you a choice. Pick one or let us share you.”

For a moment, you just sit staring blankly at them. Then a giggle breaks out at the absurdity of what just has been said and that laughter refuses to be silenced right away. Pick? Share?? But as they keep watching you, waiting for an answer, you realize they are serious and you quiet down once more.

“You...what?”

“We both find you attractive in many ways,” Laufeyson tries to clarify, “if you want only one of us, the other will back off but be given a property by the one you choose.”

“And if I want none of you?” you manage to eek out.

Both heads dip a bit, brows furrowing already to darken their eyes in a way you don’t really like in terms of what your chances might be. It’s the gazes of men who get what they want.

Rogers reaches a hand out to you. “We had hoped, you would understand the implications of such a choice without needing them to be spelled out.” Then his face softens. “You wouldn’t want innocents to be caught up in anything, would you?”

Of course you won’t.

“So...how...what...” You have to stop and swallow before you can continue. “What would you both expect of me?”

Laufeyson smiles as they realize you’ve accepted at least that much of what might be your life. “We’ll help you move to your new home, either with one of us or at a new location of your choice that’s fit for all three of us.”

“And...?” you press.

“I suppose there would be a period of transition,” Rogers muses with an agreeing nod from his temporary partner in crime, “to get to know each other. Get comfortable. You would be expected to keep company, alone or at events, like any loving partner would.”

You’re not stupid. You realize what “keeping company alone” refers to and your insides tense at the thought...but you also feel your treacherous cunt flutter at the idea of sleeping with either of the men.

“What would happen to your...erm...businesses, if I opted for both of you?” you dare to wonder out loud.

“Please...I don’t like when we fight,” Kento whispers against your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin and it kind of feels like it tries to melt your icy heart. But still, you don’t speak.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” you mumble finally.

Kento sighs, tugging you closer to him and you can feel his heartbeat through your back. Strong. Calming. A part of you softens and you lean into his embrace with a little sigh.

Lips graze your neck, a bit hesitantly at first but then more boldly as you gently tilt your head to give him better access.

“Will you forgive me, darling?”

“Mmmmmaybe...”

You lace your fingers with his where his hand rests on your ribs, shifting his hand to your breast. He gets the hint and gently kneads the supple form while he begins to kiss you in earnest anywhere you can reach. As Kento presses his love into your skin, your anger melts away and eventually you start to turn so your lips can meet. Deep kisses. Drinking each others’ breaths and apologies.

Your heart begins to race, sending a throbbing heat to your core.

“More.”

Shifting to lie on you, most of his weight suspended on his arms, Kento begins to kiss his way to the hem of your shirt before trying to push it up. You have to help him, but soon you’re bared for him, desperately working on his clothes – but he keeps batting away your hands until he grabs your wrists, allowing him the liberty to shoulder your legs apart and plant a kiss on your cunt.

Need shoots through you, making you gasp and tilt your pelvis to help him have better access. Maybe as a reward for your cooperation, maybe because he simply can’t hold back, he licks a broad stripe through your folds.

“Kento!”

“I got you, darling.”

He does. Lapping at you, he brings you to a point where your legs are trembling and toes are curling. Twisting your hands in his grasp, your fingers dig into him as you tumble over the edge.

It’s a blur as he retreats for a moment, shoving down his pants and tugging off the shirt that has been hanging loose from his shoulders. Then he’s crawling up your body, kissing as he goes until you get to taste yourself on his lips. And as he kisses you deeply, he presses into your heat.

The stretch is filling. Sweet. Your wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling him closer so Kento only has room to roll his hips, nudging at a sensitive spot inside you.

“Forgive me?” he asks between kisses, voice strained.

You nod. “Of course.”

Kento’s is rutting deeply into you. You can feel his mouth curl into a smile against yours.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You give him a bit more room to move and he grabs the opportunity to up the pace despite almost pulling out before each time he slams his cock in. The delight you had experienced earlier is building up again and you know it won’t be long before you cum. Clenching with your cunt on purpose around him, you’re clawing at his shoulders. His name is like a prayer on your lips, matching in the rhythm with his thrusts.

“Come on, my love,” Kento gasps, “let go.”

“I...it....fuck!”

The world falls away as you cum, back arching partially off the bed as pleasure pulses through you. You barely register that his hips stutter, thrusts getting sloppy as he joins you...but you feel moments later when he collapses partially on you, gasping for air.