a ploy in portofino

memorize my coffee order, already!

quit fidgeting, you look suspicious.

stop comparing yourself, it's pointless.

give yourself a minute, [ name ]. you need rest.

don't move ... a single muscle.

can you teach me how to do that?

order room service – let's be lazy today.

pull out your ID, they card everyone here.

pack light, we'll be walking for awhile.

stop second guessing yourself.

don't say another word.

show me what you've been working on.

we're already late, can you hurry?!

we don't have time for this, [ name ].

just take the compliment, okay?

don't you dare just leave me here.

quit being so stubborn about this.

relax, i've got everything handled.

turn up the music! i love this song.

take my jacket, i'm not asking.

give me your hand, let's take a walk.

order whatever you want, it's my treat.

stop picking fights when you're tired.

meet me tonight ... our spot.

loosen up, quit being so serious all the time.

stay awake, you might have a concussion.

just let yourself be happy for once.

you have to stop sabotaging yourself.

tell me why you're really here.

drop your [ weapon / gun / knife ]!

quit trying to change the subject.

just breathe with me for a minute. in, out.

follow me and stay close.

just be yourself, [ name ]. that's all i want.

call me when you get home safe.

don't beg,  it's pathetic.

stop trying to fix everyone else's problems.

can you  [ tie / zip ]  this for me?

stop lying to me.  tell me what you did.

put that down,  you don't know what it is.

tell me what you're thinking right now.

stay quiet until i figure this out.

tell me something i don't know about you.

come dance with me.

get out of my sight.

wear the [ item ] i bought you tonight.

take my arm, those heels look dangerous.

let me drive – you can enjoy the scenery.

can you stop hovering?

wait ...! hold still, i want to take a picture.

keep your hands where i can see them.

stop pretending you know what's going on.

find a first-aid kit.  quickly!

you can't tell anyone what you saw.

take a nap, i'll wake you for dinner.

keep your voice down, they'll hear us.

don't you dare lie to me.

take the scenic route, we're not in a rush.

tell me a story from when you were little.

answer your phone when i call you.

give me your jacket, i'm freezing.

don't get yourself killed.

tell me what you see when you look at yourself.

tell me what you see when you look at me.

stop being so modest about your achievements!

leave them to me,  just go.

just admit that you love me.

just admit that you hate me.

come here,  let me look at you.

don't listen to them, they don't know what they're talking about.

[ name ],  don't make me do this.

drop your  [ weapon ].

stay here and wait for my signal.

don't just sit there,  move.

take this and run,  don't let anyone have it.

pretend you're my  [ partner / gf / bf ].

don't look , you'll give us away.

stay with me, don't drift off.

stop pretending like you care.

go make sure the coast is clear.

take this with you.  it's a good luck charm.

don't tell anyone about this.

if anybody asks about today,  lie.

stop looking at me like that.

tell me you love me.

just kiss me,  already.

talk to me in [ language ].

keep your eyes on the road.

stop crying and calm down.

give me one chance to explain.

come with me.  there's so much we could do.

wear the  [ dress / tie / item ]  i gave you tonight.

show me how you like to be touched.

hold my hand.

kiss me,  make it look real.

look at me.  how many fingers am i holding up?

[ name ] ... will you marry me?

just slow down for a minute.  what's going on?

take a deep breath,  you need to calm down.

get out of here,  [ name ]!

draw your weapon.

go rest.  i'm not asking.

take a step back.

keep your promise for once.

quit assuming you know what i'm thinking.

give me a straight answer.

be polite to our guests.

look me in the eye and say that again.

put your feelings aside for a moment.

keep close to me.

here,  let me see that.

look up at the sky.

run ... run and don't stop!

get out of here,  i don't want to see you right now.

stand up,  this isn't over yet.

close your eyes and count to ten.

keep your head down and keep moving.

[ name ],  let me past.

listen carefully to what i'm about to say.

don't just stare, come in.

stop laughing, this isn't funny.

take this and hide it from me.

don't make a sound.

the sidewalk is slippery, give me your hand.

quit causing problems everywhere you go.

just admit that you don't know what you're doing.

stop right there, i mean it.

don't say that name aloud.

just trust me, okay?

stop acting so childish.

call the police.  now.

tell me you love me, even if it's not real.

take a good hard look.

stop the car,  [ name ].

let me walk you to your [ door / car ].

almost done, just give me five more minutes!

don't make eye contact.

stay out of trouble.

let me see that beautiful smile again.

just do it already,  we've waited long enough.

hold me tight,  and never let me go.

finish what you started.

tell me what you know.

quit being so melodramatic.

just stay away from me.

turn around.  slowly.

don't be scared.

put it down before somebody gets hurt.

stop pretending , i'm tired of the pretending.

grab me my  [ item ],  will you?

don't make assumptions.

put this over it to stop the bleeding.

get to safety! i'll be right behind you!

stay the night, i hate sleeping alone.

wipe that look off your face.

keep an eye on them.

look at yourself in the mirror.

Carmilla, every now and again, was a hushed, sizzling topic between crochet hooks and knitting needles. Hands would rest on Howard’s lap, making him swear an oath that whatever they say in the meeting room of the church, that it would sooner burst out of his stomach than slip out of his tongue, and the stories would not continue until he promised every single woman in the room with his word: keep mum. The skeins of cotton and conspiracies conflict with one another’s opinions of who she was and what her motives were, though they mostly agree on two accounts: that the no-good Antonio (some argue he wasn’t so bad at all, just entitled with a hands-free father) had laid hands on her on more than one occasion; and that Carmilla should marry Onofrio, sooner rather than later.

Onofrio with the beautiful curly hair, mio dio, his children would be nonpareil in beauty and in intelligence. Onofrio, at the bellissimo peak of his youth, should become a father to secure his family’s legacy, and who better than the scintillating Carmilla? (some argue she has ‘vague morals’ and disagree that there are no better alternatives, though quickly usurped by the reminder of what family Carmilla hailed from). Joana would be proud of him (the question of who Joana was was met with a silent prayer, and Howard did not continue beyond the confirmation that it was the name of Onofrio’s mother), and Portofino’s future will continue to flourish under Giovino's command.

Howard’s best, and most forward skill is listening and actioning at a moment’s notice. He had the precision of a hound dog, which he was rather proud of. The minute he was ordered for the lever, the seat was already down through Onofrio’s desperate rambling. Worry about the spying and being found out in flagrant delicto was carried swiftly away by a gust of salty wind through the windows, the shroud of twilight darkness encouraging the bold, poorly thought-out lust to take over their actions.

If not for a day, then for a moment, perhaps letting Onofrio get careless is a reward for his record-breaking streak of level-headedness.

Their kisses were the heat of the seaside’s sighing beauty, gripping into every strand of hair, refusing to let go. Onofrio burnt against him like a pyre; this is the only man he’d ever known who displayed such an intoxicating amount of desire for him. Him! All of him, the dumb, stupid, reckless oaf with a face you’d love to scoff at. Howard felt like gold, like diamond, like a cool drink in his eyes and under his eager hands. Beautiful, wanted, needed, desperately desperately so.

“Hope you remember that it’s tit for tat when it comes to that,” Howard grinned, belt buckle struggling under the pawing of two men heady with promises and complot. “I keep tally,” the hook of his trousers fly open, the zipper next. “Once we’re home you are mine.”

He took Onofrio’s hand and slipped it into his underwear, and with his other yanked a handful of dark hair into a groaning kiss. Whether the mafioso dared to climb him in the confines of his tangerine dream of a car or be content twisting his body in search for the heaven inside of Howard was secondary. He had a gift for Onofrio to repay for the inconvenience.

🍋🍊━━━ Onofrio's breath is heavy with words that begin to break amid puffs of air. He inhales through flared nostrils, diving against Howard's face right after he comes up for a brief relief of oxygen. The moment of their promise is escalated after the consigliere is properly cornered into accepting a responsibility that's going to sink him into a myriad of consequences. He doesn't mind, as long as he gets to problem-solve on the job and avoid getting Howard into trouble. Ironic, considering that Tosto is ready to risk it all in the convertible at the edge of the hill, overlooking the glittering shores of Portofino. Somewhere in the villa, dinner is getting delivered in a basket of ingredients. A nice lady comes by with fresh fruit picked just for young Onofrio. She hopes he will come for lunch again sometime, as he has when he was a teenager. She hopes he comes when her daughter is back in town.

Onofrio laughs against Howard's mouth, flicking his tongue over the man's teeth. "I'm not going to race you, amor. All yours. I promise." He teases, pleased to hear the stretch of the yielding fabric. Their hurried movements begin to synchronize as the hand finds the ridges of the parted zipper, slipping in between to guide through another obstacle and finally discover its readied target. The kiss turns sloppy when Onofrio becomes momentarily distracted by Howard's stiffening cock. His fingers shove gently downward to encompass the shaft tangled in the layers of uncomfortable fabric. An elongated vowel blurs into a throaty moan when Onofrio's curls are pulled by long, firm fingers. His warm, eager fingers squeeze the courier's shaft, working their way to make space so that he can free it from the garment net.

The consigliere's body is bent diagonally over the seat in the limited space inside his car. The vehicle doesn't allow for much space, especially for two men who average impressive height, Howard mostly. Still, the mafioso hardly cares for the uncomfortable angle, or how he has to battle the armrest in the middle while climbing closer to his lover on the other side. He stretches enough to reach Howard's lips while simultaneously working his cock into a satisfactory state. Each stroke of his hand tugs firmly, index finger curling just underneath the tip to pump at an angle.

Onofrio is paralyzed when poetry pours from Howard's lips. He hangs by his mouth, star-struck as the pad of his thumb swipes over the tip, circling a damp drollop as if caressing a precious pearl. His eyes nearly water from the heart-warming confession. Such words strike Onofrio deeply. He never toys with love, even if he is a man who falls deeply fast and hard quite swiftly. The advisor has no shame in admitting his feelings first, or organizing some grandiose gesture. It is in his nature to be so carelessly in love, and he wouldn't be his mother's son otherwise. He nods along to every word, kissing Howard's cheeks as his gorgeous voice delivers Cupid's whispers to the consigliere. Such words are balm over his anxious scratches. He sighs audibly while peppering Howard's jaw with adoration.

"I want to be terrified by your love, so that I wake in the middle of the night to my heart beating with your rhythm. Make me panic, so I remember the flavor of your adrenaline." Onofrio groans, plucking his hand from Howard's cock to plunge his stained thumb into his lover's mouth after his proclamation. He pinches Howard's tongue, offering him a taste while guiding his mouth open with tender pressure. Onofrio's eyes can't look downward to watch Howard's lips, peering inside the gorgeous cavern of his throat in anticipation of pooled saliva. Satisfied after a moment, Onofrio swirls his thumb around Howard's mouth, soaking his digit before removing it. His hand returns to its prior destination, outlining the standing shaft from balls to tip with the wettened thumb.

"I want you all to myself. I will let you borrow their name, but you will not wear it. No. The only name I want to hear is yours and mine. Combined, commemorated, multiplied by children. Anything as long as it is only you." Onofrio captures Howard's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before drawing the man into a wet kiss. Finally, the consigliere departs after a greedy second, using his elbow to push himself away from the other man's upper half. He descends across the lowered seat to Howard's hips, now hunched over comfortably. Tosto somewhat returns into the driver's seat, leaning his head forward to align the tip of Howard's cock against his parting lips. He doesn't hesitate before inviting the man into his craving mouth, swallowing the tip with an alarming restlessness.

Onofrio moans when his lover's shaft stretches his mouth, forcing his jaw to depart from its comfortable angle by moving ajar. His tongue presses to the side, outlining visible veins by shifting from one side to another. Onofrio doesn't stop until he reaches his limit, pushing up the man's cockhead against his throat. He gags audibly but fights through it with the patience of the filthiest sinner. Saliva pools to the corners of his mouth, escaping the edges to stain the base of Howard's cock. Once adjusted, Onofrio braves another deeper inch, feeling the struggling contraction of his throat before lifting his head halfway. His nostrils flare, seeking rescuing air, and finally, as his eyes water slightly, he begins to bob his head in gradual, curling strokes.

It was a lonely and frightening new existence. Clayton was alone in it. Turned and thrust into a world he'd not previously known about and had no clue how to navigate. Everything had been done by himself, figuring it out as he went-— same as it'd always been, to be frank. It was going pretty well, he decided. As well as it could be. His control was admirable, impressive even. Then again, maybe the idea that new vampires were these mindless monsters was just some Hollywood thing. Maybe this was just normal. Or maybe the cool vampire power he'd gotten had just been his own human self-constraint carried over.

Whatever it was, he was thankful for it. He was thankful to be able to still be near Onofrio in any capacity, he was thankful to be able to exist around someone without worrying about mindlessly tearing their throat out.

His teeth scraped against skin and he sighed a breath from otherwise unused lungs. ❝ Jesus. Your heart is racing... ❞ Clayton's own eyes fluttered shut and he simply rested there, mouth parted. God, he wanted it. ❝ We don't have to. ❞ He added quietly, just barely about a whisper. ❝ You don't have to be okay with this, Frio. ❞

🍋🍊━━━ to Onofrio, there are no such things as vampires. There are just stories told by mothers and their mothers to keep their children at bay. In every culture, there is something that dwells in the night, something so terrifying and bloodthirsty. The more horrifying, the better children will behave. Onofrio recalls his mother whispering to him about shifting shadows and the bending sunlight. She told him about the creatures in the night peering into windows, looking for little boys to stuff into a bag and kidnap the unruly ones into the deep, dark ocean. He was always so sensitive to these stories until he became the victim of his father's long phone calls, fascinated with the legal language that single-handedly destroyed his imagination.

And then the stories became reality. The first few months were hard. Clayton came to him with stories and the consigliere barely believed him until everything manifested right before his eyes. He was averse to the idea of being bitten, or supplying Bubbles with blood. Onofrio is superstitious on his mother's side. That is not something he can outgrow. It is part of his DNA, his entire childhood. But his tormented beloved is entirely alone, and Onofrio's understands the fear he must feel, even if he cannot sympathize with his nature. The consigliere is terrified of the unknown, but Clayton hasn't fulfilled the nightmares Onofrio imagined. No. The reality of this affliction has been an exploration for both of them. Slowly, Onofrio opened up. If not him, then whom?

Tosto suppresses a jolt when Clay's teeth touch his skin. His eyes screw shut and he dents the agent's cold, firm muscle. This isn't a time to pray to Agatha, what's her blessing going to do? Onofrio doesn't want it to take away the agent. There is no cure to something so supernatural. No doctor can help him; they are servants to the rules which they had been seeking in human fiction.

"I want to." Onofrio's throat bobs as he swallows his terror. His eyebrows furrow over the bridge of his nose and he glides his hands over Clayton's shoulders. He touches his love's broad back and embraces him. Then, his palm rests on the agent's head, slowly stroking through his hair. "I am only nervous, I've never been bitten like this before." Onofrio chuckles, he can't believe that this is something he is saying. He tucks his chin to press a kiss against Clayton's cool cheek. This is something he's getting used to as well. "It's you. I am more than okay when it is you and for you, amor. I only ask to go slow, if you can." He whispers back. "Eu confio em ti."

"Don’t look back."

"I missed you."

"It’s too late."

"Please don’t go."

"You promised me."

"Who did this?"

"I forgive you."

"We were gods."

"Leave me alone."

"They found us."

"Trust me, please."

"I need help."

"Run. Don’t stop."

"It wasn’t me."

"I remember everything."

"Burn it all."

"Tell me why."

"You never called."

"It’s just rain."

"You owe me."

"She’s not breathing."

"Is that blood?"

"You were right."

"It ends now."

"We start over."

"Stay with me."

"Nothing feels real."

"I hate this."

"Do it now."

"They're watching us."

"Make it stop."

"It's not yours."

"I was waiting."

"He’s behind you."

"They’re all gone."

"Time is up."

"Bring them back."

"It’s our turn."

"This is wrong."

"Don’t let go."

"We are cursed."

"No one knows."

"You're not real."

"Don’t say it."

"I saw everything."

"Nothing ever changes."

"Call it off."

"What are you?"

"I found it."

It seemed whatever he’d thrown Onofrio’s way had indeed sent the poor man into a new thought exercise. Howard reckoned if he kept this up, Onofrio’s beautiful curls would turn white in a couple of years’ time. He wasn’t relishing the idea of giving the consigliere more concerns to ponder over, but he’d like to think that if the man was really committing to this insane idea that someday they’d be able to kiss in the open (hah! As if!) and make Howard James Pike a Giovino (no dia de São Nunca!), Onofrio Gallows Tosto slash Costa would have to fucking work for it.

Though he wasn’t quite expecting a job to rattle out of the nervous lover squirming in the seat next to him, perhaps roasting on an unseen bed of charcoals the Giovinos subject him to every day and every night. He sat up straight, listening to a tale of another family’s greed, and watching as every bead of Onofrio’s words morph into a portent of Antonio’s future to come.

“You’re pretty close with Carmilla, aren’t you?” was his comment, as he was drawn once again closer towards the troubled consigliere. It has not been his observation, but the observation of the congregation he had been integrating himself with.

With surprising ease, Howard was excused to disappear for Mass every Sunday, even if he was assigned a hefty job that week that required his presence six days a week, sixteen hours a day. Sunday is a holy day and that was that; he was prepared to point up to the sky and tell the non-observing grandchildren of the congregation to speak to the Bigger Boss if they had a problem with it, but the chance never came. Perhaps the nonnas had taken it upon themselves to speak it on his behalf, which was what he was gunning for. Two more household inconveniences, like a leaky roof tile or a broken fence, and his own web would be complete; a web he shuttle tatted knot by knot with favours he begged forgiveness for straight at the top of the chain for its slight insincerity.

(He hoped St George would understand the need for the bypassing. He was so far behind enemy lines that God alone was the only one able to bail him out of this. After all, it was His idea he was kidnapped by the famiglia, was it not?)

“Naaaaah. I’ve to speak the language.” Howard rebuked the suggestion that he could take on Frio’s job. He angled his head to try to catch the pad of the thumb on his cheek over his parted mouth. It failed its objective but won its intent; a peek of his tongue managed to taste skin. Howard smirked at his minuscule win that widened at the dripping of thickened, syrupy tale of love Onofrio poured from his lips. That he should’ve confessed his love the very day Howard turned his life upside down, oh, that he fell in love from the way Howard bulldozed his path through karambits and semi-automatic pistols. That Onofrio dared to even describe himself as incomplete without him, oh, what a life would it be without Howard James Pike, so on and so on.

He rolled his eyes, snorted, and crushed their lips together. One free hand plunged into the rolling seas of dark hair, grasping a firm hold that was punctuated with a sharp, heated draw of breath into the act.

🍋🍊━━━"Yes, we are very close, I would say." Onofrio nods as he follows Howard's eyes. At once, the fizzling sunset lights up the lone convertible sitting by the cliffside among the tall trees. The glittering surface of the water is just beyond their reach, and yet its reflective romance reaches the nether of the vehicle's interior. The summer temperature is waning before a tender chill coats the shores, pouring into every open window. The air is perfumed by the ocean. The sounds shift to an evening chirp of crickets hidden in the tall grass. The bushes shiver from the passing breeze, and Onofrio is starstruck by the golden outline of Howard's face. His eyes seem to light up from where he sits. The consigliere is drawn to him, inspired to tug the courier closer and closer. Their lips are inches apart, their words are now history to be written upon the pages of their silent diaries. Onofrio shares a job that isn't solidified just yet. It will be when the time comes, when the details are thought out and shared with the rest of the heirs who are playing the game. Antonio remains an unsightly companion of misery. Temporarily, temporarily. Onofrio tells himself that this is the first step to the freedom he is afraid of.

Carmilla is the first person to welcome Gallows at the dinner table. She is fascinated by him. He tells her about Milan from an academy man's perspective. She has been there for acting gigs, modeling jobs, and a potential meeting with another heir to a family that eventually decided to seek support from foreigners. She demands to sit next to the young consigliere. She tucks his lap cloth over his thighs and drops him a note just in time as the rest of the Family remains blissfully unaware. She summons him to her room that night, and Onofrio arrives with a darting pair of eyes. Carmilla knows her charms are suggestive, especially when she meets the suited consigliere in a nightgown that frames her gorgeous body with a worship of every curve. She invites him for a glass of wine and locks the door just to make him sweat. Onofrio prefers the balcony, loosens his collar, and when she touches his hand, he visibly jolts. He says something about business, and Carmilla presses the pad of her elegant index finger across his lips. She relishes the moment when she sees that Onofrio is convinced of her intentions. And then, when she pries her hand away from his mouth, she confesses to a favor. There is a young mademoiselle currently staying in a hotel in the heart of Portofino, and she really needs to see her the following night. Since then, the lap notes have stopped, and all it took was a shared glance.

Onofrio gasps when Howard's lips cover his own. It feels like a bruising slap. With equal fervor, the consigliere responds to the collapse as he shudders his eyelids and loses himself entirely. His lover's lips are as warm as fresh milk and as soft as cashmere. Onofrio is starved for the other man's touch, and he hurries to cup the courier's face, deepening the kiss to make a sloppy mess out of both of them. The dance is everlasting. Their mouths chase each other, stealing the last remnants of a breath that is otherwise wasted on a needy moan. Onofrio's groan is muffled by the rush of shared adrenaline.

He wheezes when Howard dares to pry away, disappointed by how an eternity did not last even a minute longer. Onofrio's chest rises and deflates heavily. The consigliere shudders, running his damp lips over Howard's chin while nodding his head, prepared to do the man's bidding if called up. "Yes, yes," he mutters drunkenly, chasing Howard's tongue with his own. "I understand." The consigliere manages to work out his words while fully present for the threat. His hands reach for Howard's face, cupping it to hold the other man in place. Not that he is hurrying to leave. And yet, he feels the pressing need to add:

"You are not going anywhere." They are kissing again, this time on Onofrio's terms. His tongue swipes over Howard's teeth before engaging in a feverish battle with the neighboring wet muscle. The irritable armrest separates the consigliere from climbing over his counterpart, but Onofrio readily ignores it in favor of depriving Howard and himself of a precious breath. His thumbs massage circles against Howard's temples while his tongue seeks another way to stain Howard's chin with a thick coat of their shared saliva. Through a wet layer of passion, the Giovino advisor manages to hoarsely command:

"Pull the lever. Underneath your seat. Down. All the way down, per favore." And then he mumbles some incoherent Italian before returning to his wits. "Recline. I'm-" he pauses to halt the kiss all of a sudden. Their lips fit like missing puzzle pieces, and slowly the consigliere separates them with a drawn-out pop. His head is spinning from the intoxication that comes merely from one man and not thirteen limoncellos. Onofrio blinks and regains his composure for a single beat. "We," he inhales the air between them. "We are not leaving until you fill my mouth."