#secondo ghost

you missed your Papa. and he’d missed you, you know, though he doesn’t like to let on just how much.

"what will you do to earn it?” he continues. your brain stalls for a moment as you struggle to come up with something worthy of him. you’d been hoping he’d be desperate enough for you to skip the theatrics tonight, but you knew that Secondo’s streak for the dramatic could rival even his little brother’s.

your eyes alight on the end of the cigar in his hand, glowing faintly red in the dark of the room. an idea forms in your head, slow and torturous— you’re sure he’ll like it though.

Secondo always did like to inflict pain. and you were happy to take whatever he wanted to give you.

you stick your arm out, your gaze still lingering on his cigar, and he seems to take your meaning after a moment. a deep, rumbling laugh starts in his belly and makes its way up his chest.

“really, dove? you’d let me mark that pretty skin of yours just to get my hands on you?”

“i’d do anything if it meant you touched me,” you murmur and he makes an approving noise. Secondo’s free hand sneaks down to snag your jaw in an iron grip and he draws your face up, forcing you to look only at him. you can’t see what he’s doing in the other, but you can feel him moving as he keeps your gaze on him.

you’re unprepared for the pain of the burn as the cigar lands with the glowing side down on your skin. truthfully, it’s not as bad as you expected, but it’s still a struggle to keep your arm extended for him as he grinds it into your skin. you bite your bottom lip, never daring to look away.

“thank you,” you breathe, as quiet as a whisper, and he laughs again, finally releasing your chin. the cigar lifts from your skin and you bring it in close to yourself, nursing the wound.

“I am not, cucciolo,” you say with a smile, and he practically whimpers at the pet name. you’d known it would do it for him, known that he liked hearing how beneath you he was at times like these.

“I can’t— I can’t hold it much longer, please, move—“

he could physically force you out of the way, you both know, Secondo larger and stronger than you by magnitudes. but that’s not part of the game you both play, the power exchange you love to enact. your word is law for him: and he needs your permission to get to use the bathroom.

“piss yourself,” you order, folding your arms across your chest. he stutters, looking at you with wide eyes.

“what?”

“piss yourself. if you can’t hold it much longer, then go ahead and piss yourself. you’re not getting permission to use the toilet before the hour is up, no matter how much you beg me. I told you that you’d wait another hour before you could, and I meant it.”

“but—“

“but nothing. if it’s really that desperate, if you absolutely have to go right now, then piss yourself for me.”

he squirms in place for a moment, visibly taking in the information. his hand, which until now has been grabbing his crotch in a desperate attempt to hold his bladder for just a little bit longer, leaves it’s position.

you smile.

a dark patch begins to spread across his suit pants, turning the already dark grey fabric an even deeper shade. you watch the relief on his face as he pisses in his suit, liquid puddling below his shoes as he goes.

“wow, you really couldn’t hold it, huh?” you say, a mocking tone in your voice, and his eyes open and snap to you even as he continues to make that dark patch even larger. he seems caught between shame at what he’s done and the pure relief of getting to let go of what he’s been holding for hours.

“my little cucciolo…”

as he finishes, you step delicately around the puddle on the floor, reaching out to gently pat his cheek. Secondo groans quietly, looking down at the mess he’s made— the mess he knows you’re going to have him clean up.

“fuck…” he murmurs quietly, and you giggle.

“felt good, hm?”

“yes. incredible…”

“good,” you say, stepping away from him. “once you’re done cleaning this up, you can have your punishment.”

“my… punishment?”