*bites nails*
M - mercy
“Say. Say it Nesta and this will end well.”
The scene is a bedroom. The walls are lightly painted, a soft brown coating them and to most it’s lovely but Zlatan (same say he’s the villain of this story) finds it hideous. The setting is Italy, three hours before sunset, and white sheets a stark contrast.
Nesta, (Alessandro, our hero) is pressed against said sheets. His body, the long lean line of it, is face down, Zlatan’s hand pressing against the inward curve of Sandro’s back. Sandro is turned, so the left side of his face is facing Zlatan, his eyes (or rather eye) is narrowed, the pupil dilated so that the black is what Zlatan sees. Lips pursed and Zlatan wants nothing more than to force them open; put them to good use he thinks.
So he does, brutally kissing the other man. There is resistance of course, because that’s how it always goes. Sandro though, he can’t do this forever and his mouth falls open, seeking and demanding. Zlatan presses more of his weight down and the gasp from Sandro isn’t one of pleasure.
Zlatan moves, and for a minute Sandro is deceived. He thinks Zlatan is going to turn them, but this is Zlatan. Sandro should know as his arm is twisted violently behind his back and the pain sears through him.
“Last time for you to say it Nesta, or I’ll leave you whimpering and lying like this and I’ll leave and don’t think I won’t.”
“Mercy, mercy, please -“
Zlatan rolls them and moves, his nose bumping awkwardly against places they shouldn’t and Sandro is annoyed and he’s horny (he’s a man, what more do you want) and fuck it, he presses up and this time, this time Zlatan gives him mercy.
The scene ends, pale hands pressed against dark thighs, the way the white sheets flutter, trapping and lying abandoned next to dark walls.
“Say. Say it Nesta and this will end well.”
The scene is a bedroom. The walls are lightly painted, a soft brown coating them and to most it’s lovely but Zlatan (same say he’s the villain of this story) finds it hideous. The setting is Italy, three hours before sunset, and white sheets a stark contrast.
Nesta, (Alessandro, our hero) is pressed against said sheets. His body, the long lean line of it, is face down, Zlatan’s hand pressing against the inward curve of Sandro’s back. Sandro is turned, so the left side of his face is facing Zlatan, his eyes (or rather eye) is narrowed, the pupil dilated so that the black is what Zlatan sees. Lips pursed and Zlatan wants nothing more than to force them open; put them to good use he thinks.
So he does, brutally kissing the other man. There is resistance of course, because that’s how it always goes. Sandro though, he can’t do this forever and his mouth falls open, seeking and demanding. Zlatan presses more of his weight down and the gasp from Sandro isn’t one of pleasure.
Zlatan moves, and for a minute Sandro is deceived. He thinks Zlatan is going to turn them, but this is Zlatan. Sandro should know as his arm is twisted violently behind his back and the pain sears through him.
“Last time for you to say it Nesta, or I’ll leave you whimpering and lying like this and I’ll leave and don’t think I won’t.”
“Mercy, mercy, please -“
Zlatan rolls them and moves, his nose bumping awkwardly against places they shouldn’t and Sandro is annoyed and he’s horny (he’s a man, what more do you want) and fuck it, he presses up and this time, this time Zlatan gives him mercy.
The scene ends, pale hands pressed against dark thighs, the way the white sheets flutter, trapping and lying abandoned next to dark walls.