Work Text:
Secco is filming. He's usually filming. He watches his lover's victim through the viewscreen and then with his own eyes, switching back and forth to make sure his hand is steady enough and he gets the good parts on camera, but unwilling to completely watch via the viewer. He's here now and so he often wants to see it now, live.
The body is loud. They usually are. Cioccolata definitely knows exactly how to silence someone if he has to - Secco once watched him carve out someone's voicebox from behind to keep them from yelling for help - but today's not that kind of day. Today's the 'we killed everyone else in the building already so now we can take our time' kind of day.
Secco thinks the Boss told them to go here. He doesn't really worry about that kind of shit - he doesn't have to. Cioccolata is not technically his spouse or his guardian or his power of attorney or any of the legal things you'd need to be to handle someone else's finances, but Secco hasn't signed his name in about three years now and he doesn't think his bank would even recognize his own attempt at it if he bothered. Cioccolata just...handles all of Secco's pay. He also organizes most of their work for them.
It's not that Secco can't. If Cioccolata's busy, like he was last month, then Secco can book their flights or rent their helicopters or talk to someone on the phone for long enough that they think he's a bit dim but they'll listen to the stuttering man on the other end.
It's that Secco doesn't want to, and that's the fun of Cioccolata. Cioccolata likes to do everything, likes to be in charge, likes to make decisions that are both good and bad for Secco, but Secco has long come to the conclusion that Cioccolata won't kill him, and he's decided that's enough for him for now.
So he keeps the camera steady and he comes a bit closer, but not too close because sometimes he gets blood on the little lens if he does that, and even though this is meant to be a mindless pet following a master's orders, it involves moderately delicate technology and some careful coordination and planning and honestly, sometimes Secco wonders how anyone buys his dumb act when it's clearly just that. Cioccolata at least knows he's not that stupid. It's why he's interested at all. Cioccolata likes broken toys, sure - as Secco films the screaming man currently having a speculum forced between ribs three and four, he is collecting proof of that right now - but that's because Cioccolata throws the broken toys away afterwards. He doesn't collect trophies from the bodies. They don't need those. Cioccolata wants the memories alone, no sentimental skin lamps or drinking their blood or any of that crap.
Secco sighs and shifts his weight and Cioccolata, one hand wrist-deep in the screaming man's chest cavity, looks over at him. Secco thinks he's petting his heart before it stops beating; he does that sometimes. Secco wonders what it feels like. Probably like raw chicken that's moving on its own to a tune only it can hear.
"Sugar cubes after, pet, we're busy right now."
Secco didn't intend to get a reaction, so he blinks and looks at Cioccolata again. Cioccolata, who Secco picked because he's smart, seems to think something's going on. Is something going on? Well...Secco knows the answer to that, he supposes, but he hasn't really figured out what he wants to do about what's going on.
This delay seems to be enough for Cioccolata to decide it's fine to go back to what he was doing, which is fair, because this is Cioccolata-time (Secco-time comes afterwards, always, but that's alright because it's always and the expected consistency makes all the frayed edges of Secco's mind feel a little more whole). But the discontent - the awareness of the gap between their play and Secco's reality - itches and it doesn't feel nice and before he really notices it, Secco is gnawing on his own lower lip, and then on what parts of his cloth-like stand he can pull into his mouth from its mask over his face. He's growling to himself, distracted, and--
"Secco, keep the camera there, I don't want to miss this--"
Secco feels the guiding hand on his and he knows what Cioccolata wants, and he'd very much like to go ahead and do what's being asked, but something about his body doesn't want to listen and he feels his teeth grinding, angry and not happy despite the fact that he usually likes doing this and--
And Cioccolata notices this time, really notices, and he looks back at Secco, one hand in the man's chest (no longer the screaming man's chest, because he's sort of gurgled to a stop by now) and one hand on Secco's in an attempt to guide the camera back up from having drooped down to film the edge of the bloody table and the man's relatively uninteresting hip.
"Do you want one now?" Cioccolata sounds...Secco isn't really sure, actually. He's not really had a lot of reasons to learn how to read Cioccolata's moods, when the whole point is that Cioccolata's the one who gets to decide what's happening so he's the only one who really needs to understand what he's thinking, but Secco thinks maybe Cioccolata's hard to read right now because he sounds uncertain. Which has only happened a handful of other times.
Secco can't say the same about himself, unfortunately. He's always struggled with knowing what emotion is gripping his body. Right now he grits his teeth and moans through them, trying to squeeze his frustration through his vocal cords. Cioccolata takes his hand out of the man's chest to lean it onto his own hip, watching him with narrowed eyes.
"You know I love when you're a good boy for me, Secco, but you're supposed to wait until we're done."
Secco knows. That's why this is frustrating. Something hot bubbling up in his chest, Secco grips his head in both hands, camera ignored and pointing skyward, still gripped in one of them. He sinks down into a squat, vocally groaning to himself.
Cioccolata's hand is then on his shoulder, which means Cioccolata's followed him down to the floor. There's silence for a bit, which Secco doesn't really appreciate right now, and he hits the nearest leg of the table that the man's body is on. Cioccolata briefly wrestles him for the camera, which Secco releases with another angry groan, and places it somewhere behind them. Secco doesn't bother looking to see where.
"Secco," and Cioccolata's voice isn't his Secco-voice, it's his talking-on-the-phone-to-the-Boss's-lackey voice. The figuring out information voice.
Secco is already whining high in his throat. With hands free, he grips the back of his neck in both hands.
"This is the third time this month."
Secco knows.
"You're not acting like yourself."
Secco knows. He grips the table legs with both hands and gives it an experimental tug. It doesn't feel very sturdy. Secco is very strong, he knows this because Cioccolata told him so and also because Cioccolata once asked him how many people Secco could kill with his bare hands in a row, without his stand, and they tested it and it was a lot. Secco stands briefly, only long enough to flip the entire table and the now-silent bleeding man onto the floor, and then squats back down.
Cioccolata is sitting on the floor, knees bent, watching with an expression of deep thought as Secco looks at him and then rattles the table again for good measure. He's angry. That emotion, at least, he's pretty sure he can say he's feeling right now.
"I know." Says Cioccolata, and all at once his face is split wide with a grin. There's flecks of blood across his jaw and cheek and Secco knows Cioccolata told him to watch out for contagions last time he did it, but Secco still wants to crawl over and lick it off. "I'll get you something to help you relax."
Candy? Secco feels a bright spark in his heart (and his stomach) but it extinguishes itself almost immediately, because candy hasn't been enough for a few weeks now. He shakes his head, sighing in aggravation.
"You're distracted from our work. And from everything else." Cioccolata isn't quite looking at Secco. He's looking at his own hands - bare and filthy with blood and little sticky entrail bits that Secco thinks he heard Cioccolata call something specific once, something about what holds organs in place - and smiling to himself. "It's not enough again, right? You know we're playing, so that takes the fun away?"
Secco freezes this time. They don't often talk about it. Breaking character is not entirely tantamount to putting their actual relationship on hold, but everything they've built, they've built around the game.
But that's why this, Secco's distraction, is so upsetting. Cioccolata's right. Secco perks up again and hops over to him, still in a deep squat, and nods vigorously, entire torso bobbing.
"Hmm… Last time we fixed this, it was fun, but…" Cioccolata's grin is back. Secco feels that lightness come back to his own chest and edges closer, a nameless energy singing right through to his fingertips. "But I've got a better idea." And then Cioccolata opens up his coat, reaching for his inner pocket, and Secco nearly knocks him over when he launches himself forward and grabs his arms. Candy before the end of a job isn't terribly rare, but candy mid-kill is nearly unheard of. Cioccolata definitely wasn't finished with that man, even if he's not screaming anymore, so this is--
Secco catches the sugar cube in his mouth and hums, high-pitched and happy. Cioccolata pets across the top of his head as he sits back up straight, pushing Secco off himself as he goes. Secco obligingly flops across his legs instead, head on his thigh, shoulder on the ground so he can stare up at his face.
"I'm going to need you to come along while I break into a veterinarian's office, pet. You deserve a better treat."
***
Secco, back in a world before he was a patient that met Doctor Cioccolata, back in a world where Cioccolata still had a flimsy cover of a legal job instead of where he'd end up working, had done drugs. Lots of them, actually, with a particular haziness towards what they were supposed to do or what they even achieved. Just not thinking about upsetting things has always seemed like the easiest way of dealing with life, but his mind's always needed help to switch focus.
He hasn't done anything like what he did before since he's met Cioccolata. He hasn't needed to.
But now, as he waits in the car while Cioccolata leaves it parked and running — heaters pointed at Secco, who gets cold easily this time of year if he decides not to wear anything, and it's late enough at night he didn't bother with clothes when they left their house — he knows that's about to change.
It's going to be different than before, though, going to be different than sniffing spray cans for a tiny brief kick or from tying off his arm and just taking a gamble on whether or not what he'd bought from his dealer was actually what he'd been told it was, and wasn't cut with shit that would kill him.
Now, Cioccolata is here to figure out exact doses and give it to Secco himself, and Secco gets to try a new drug that, according to Cioccolata, is useful for humans too but is so often used for animals that it's the perfect one to use for this. That this means Secco gets to have something good dogs get.
By the time Cioccolata returns to the car, Secco is splayed across the entire front, and he greets Cioccolata opening the door with an upside-down grin from his position with his head leaned back into the driver's seat.
***
"Just a little at first, Secco. I want to see how you take to it."
Secco isn't afraid of needles, although they're far from his favorite thing. He bares his teeth and huffs through them and turns his head away anyway, mostly because it means Cioccolata moves closer to preemptively hold him steady in case he struggles. He smells nice. Secco presses his head into his chest and digs the side of his forehead against him with a wide grin—
"Sit still, Secco, or I'll miss your vein and we'll have to do this again."
That's not true. Cioccolata has correctly found and kept a needle in the vein of someone who was actively fighting him while Secco could only barely hold them in place — Cioccolata is smart and strong and he could definitely, definitely give Secco this tiny experimental dose of ketamine even if Secco tried to wriggle away. Secco's grin spreads wider at the thought and he giggles to himself, but he stops rubbing against Cioccolata.
The needle hurts and he hisses through his teeth, but it's quick and it hurts less than he thinks he remembers it hurting when he did this himself a few times Before. Cioccolata's gloved finger presses against the tiny hole it causes, applying pressure, and Secco watches him.
"H-how fast does it work?" They hadn't discussed that, and Secco hadn't wondered until right now. He doesn't always use words for questions, either, but right now it's quicker and the entire set up to this required some talking anyway.
"Oh, fast, my good boy," Cioccolata starts, and Secco feels a lightness in his chest, "You should be feeling it before you can ask me any other questions."
Secco thinks that sounds impossible, but Cioccolata often specializes in impossible-sounding things, so he takes him at his word. He sits more heavily against the wall to wait, and then there is...something.
Like a raindrop hitting a pond, it causes a disturbance but it's made of the same stuff as what it just joined. Secco feels a softening and a light thrill sings through his chest, nothing magical or transcendental and also nothing that takes away his knowledge that he's a human man who used to have a lot of human problems, but the awareness feels just slightly more pleasant.
"...Hmm." He vocalizes to himself and for Cioccolata's benefit, and sits back deeper on the floor.
They, or rather Cioccolata, ensured the play corner of the bedroom was set up for this. Secco is sitting on a dog bed meant for the largest Irish wolfhounds and Great Danes of the world, and it's actually very soft and definitely big enough for himself, even if both of them together don't always fit. Cioccolata rarely actually joins him on the floor except to rub his back, anyway, so it doesn't matter. Why would a human lay in their dog's bed, after all?
Cioccolata grips his chin and brings him closer, peering at his eyes and then shifting his hands to take his pulse at his wrist like he's moving a doll, or an animal, or one of the walking dead that his targets and patients all are before Cioccolata kills them. Secco doesn't like being ignored but Secco does like the flattening, soothing sense of being objectified so earnestly. Cioccolata means it, is interested in him, and would hurt him or ignore his protests at least a little to wriggle them towards getting what he wants.
Secco moans to himself. He'd expected to feel relaxed, maybe content, but already he feels an unexpected effect of warmth and stiffening between his legs.
"Enjoying yourself? Good. You've been such a good boy, Secco, and today is going to be a very very long treat for you…" Cioccolata notices that Secco is getting hard, Secco can tell because Cioccolata looks at him and then pointedly stops looking, and...hmm.
Secco is still easily keeping track of everything he usually does, although even as he has that thought, he finds the frustration about it from the past few weeks is slow to follow. It's there in his grasp but it evades his clutching hand like sand. He's never so literally watched a worry slip away. He can even still see it, but they can't touch each other. The worry sticks to itself, bizarrely clean and pristine despite what it's made of; it makes Secco think of a puddle of vomit on carpet, before it sits for long enough to soak in.
Cioccolata stops petting his head and Secco whines, but that doesn't solve the issue, so he looks up at him, rocking forward from his heels to his toes. His balance evades him for a moment and he places his palms more firmly against his play bed.
"Is that enough?" Cioccolata asks with a smile already forming, and Secco feels a flash of delight at realizing Cioccolata wants him to argue.
He shakes his head vigorously, and realizes it causes his vision to...not drag and blur, but it needs a moment to catch up. He doesn't feel nauseous, but his mind moves a little slower than his body, but he's also so damn aware of everything still. "I want more! More, C-Cioccolata!"
"Hmm. You're a greedy pet today...but I did say good boys get good treats, didn't I? Alright, let's see…" and Cioccolata goes from playful to serious in a moment, reaching into his container of stolen vials, and with a syringe he withdraws...more liquid. A lot more, actually, enough more compared to the first syringe that Secco finds himself almost questioning it.
"Lay down for me," he coos, and Secco does, while wondering why sitting was alright before but now it's laying down and what this might mean about whatever this does when there's so much more of it all at once—
His thoughts all scratch at his mind and he wants to not keep track of them, but between his legs also gives a small throb as he curls up, elbows and knees on the floor, belly against his thighs, laying in a position not unlike a cat might assume.
Cioccolata finds his vein with none of the fanfare of before, and the injection takes a little longer with more liquid, but it's still done quickly.
"I'm so curious to see what you think of this, Secco. What a brave boy, what a good boy good boy—"
Secco relaxes at the praise, eyes wide and staring and the soft non-focus that sometimes comes with Cioccolata's cooing returning. Maybe the ketamine really is helping. He wonders what more of it feels like if the effects are so soft.
And then Secco
is also
soft.
Did he make a noise? He forgot to make one on purpose and can't remember if he used to do it on accident or not. Maybe he did. If he shifts to the side, he might be able to see the answer, but rolling over in real life is a full softness that distracts him. He stares out across the vast space of the bedroom and tries to decide how much he recognizes. He's not too concerned about whether he can or not, but he finds he's growing curious about where he is.
In a bed. It's soft. He noticed that already, he thinks, which means it's probably a consistent truth. That's nice. He'd like some more of those. Are there other truths in here?
He feels a hand on his face in the same way he would know it happened if he read in a book that someone had touched his face. Slowly, he turns his head to see what's attached to whatever touched him.
Green hair, pink skin, white teeth, more teeth showing than most mouths Secco has stared at before.
"I almost thought I'd given you too much for you to be able to play, Secco," and Cioccolata doesn't sound afraid but he almost never, ever does, and that's as far as Secco's thoughts seem to want to reach about that topic. The rest of his possible planning drifts away with a pat to his head, like he can save it for later or maybe even for never.
Secco says nothing and he forgets maybe he ought to, or that he used to. He doesn't grunt or howl but as he stares he gradually smiles, teeth showing like Cioccolata's do.
"Roll over, Secco. I want to pet your belly. Wouldn't you like that?"
His belly.
He's got one of those, if Cioccolata says so. Secco is not entirely sure he can feel it.
Cioccolata's hands are warm on Secco's naked side and hip when he pushes on him. Secco loosely moves under his prodding and stares up at the ceiling. Resisting doesn't occur to him. Secco was happy in his first position and he's still happy now, so Cioccolata can decide which position he stays in. If it makes Cioccolata happier to see his belly, then Secco will let him look at it.
Warm hands on his belly, from ribs to navel and back. Each cycle of warmth is a surprise that Secco doesn't expect up until he supposes this, like the soft bed under him, is one of those truths that just is ever-present.
Cioccolata's hand touches lower, too, a fact Secco notices more with his eyes than with his body, and which he neither minds nor desires more than the hand on his belly. He looks down and watches a hand stroking a half-hard cock that gradually grows softer.
"Too much for this play though, it seems." Cioccolata's voice is just as vibrant as usual, and no less important, but Secco still feels like he's in the next room over from the experience of hearing it. "That's fine. Maybe you'd rather be a real dog for a while first." Cioccolata looks at him, and Secco stares at green eyes until he sees just them and until they're louder than Cioccolata's voice.
Secco forgets he's being spoken to, and then Secco doesn't even remember that he's forgotten something at all.
Something directs him to look at the ceiling, which is blank and boring, and Secco's eyes drift to the side until he's propped over to lay in a position that lets him see more textures and colors. The room, a room, a familiar room for sure, but Secco stares at it like a stranger. It's so benign in its memory, nothing scary or comforting attached to it at all, it simply is and it's something he recognizes. Secco reaches for specifics out of curiosity and his hand reaches through a void for the answers, and by the time he's pulling his hand back in to see what he found, he's forgotten what he reached into to begin with.
Secco is adrift in so many thoughts that can't touch him, and he slowly grins to himself in delight that he can't examine them. Doesn't want to. Doesn't feel compelled to. He doesn't remember how he got here but it's so nice and easy, so kind on his brain, and he's smiling so hard he can feel the air on his gums.
"Enjoying yourself, Secco?"
Secco yips, a high sharp noise of agreement, and he looks around twice and then three times before he figures out where Cioccolata is. Sitting next to him, in front of the doggy bed, it turns out. "It's like vomit," he offers up to the other man. (Other man? The man? The only man in the room? The thought lingers until it disappears when Cioccolata answers.)
"Hm. Like being purged of what you don't want?" Cioccolata's voice is a toneless sound, only the words coming through to Secco's awareness. It's like reading them.
Secco sighs deeply and wonders if he wishes he couldn't read, but as quick as the thought comes he forgets why knowing things might be stressful. "Yes, yes, yeah, Cioccolata, and that it's all contained in a bubble as long as I d-d-don't touch it."
Cioccolata makes a noise that lights up Secco's entire chest and brain with white heat. It's probably laughter.
Secco lays there and doesn't think and this happens for a long time or maybe just a little while. He shifts and looks at himself, still nude. He isn't cold. "C-C-Cioccolata?"
"Yes?"
Secco looks down and realizes Cioccolata is there, in fact, he's leaning in and touching his closest thigh - petting it, really, not sensually but in a way like how one would pet an animal. "Why aren't-t-t-t I, uh. Why aren't I cold?"
Cioccolata's expression connects to something in Secco's brain and heart at the same time and Secco feels a blast of cold, very suddenly, despite that not being a problem a moment ago. Worry? What's in Cioccolata's expression that would make Secco worry? "I turned up the heat before we started."
Cioccolata is not, Secco is realizing, fully dressed in the sense that that usually means for Cioccolata. He's in pants and a tank top instead of long sleeves. His legs are crossed so Secco can't tell if he's barefoot or not from his angle, and he doesn't try to sit up and move to change that.
Cioccolata is watching him and Secco both can't tell why and isn't really worried about finding out. But it reminds him of other things, and he drifts through them without letting a single one really touch him.
At the level of his hips, the petting from Cioccolata has morphed into something lighter, more exploratory. It's still soothing and feels nice, though, so Secco sighs and lets his legs relax more. They fall naturally further apart.
A hand is on his cock again. Secco doesn't think he's hard, but without looking to check, he's also not certain he can be certain. He sighs again because it tells all the muscles in his body to relax and he likes how that feels.
"I don't want my good boy to get cold."
Secco likes hearing that. He smiles, giddy, and then says, "I'm not always sure you actually like me. M-m-maybe if some, someone else was d-desperate enough like I w-w-was and they could, could play fetch the way I do, maybe you'd like them better. Give them my sugar cubes." Following this admission, Secco tilts his head back and closes his eyes, because he's starting to realize there's something he can't ever quite catch at the edges of his vision and he wonders if his vision is out of the picture, that he'll be able to see those mysterious shapes better.
Now that he's lighter for the admission, for the other untouchable vomit-bubble that he's let drift away from him so it can't touch him and bother him anymore, it doesn't occur to Secco that Cioccolata has been unusually silent for an unusually long amount of time.
He can see the little sparks better with his eyes closed, in fact. Traces of light, still barely there to look at in and of themselves. What they seem to be for instead is leading him to think of his own scenarios. A room similar to their bedroom opens up behind his eyelids and Secco wonders if it'll be like one of those spot the difference pages and it'll give him a hint about how to stay like this forever. What truths will be different in this other room?
The next time he opens his eyes, he sees the room sideways. He realizes this means he himself is probably sideways. There's something wet on his lips. He curves his mouth and purses his lips and tries to kiss it, but it's scratchy and it isn't Cioccolata's mouth against his.
It's a washcloth, he can see it now. It's warm with water. Cioccolata is nearby, staring at his face, expression unreadable except for how attentive it is.
Secco leans back and then waits for his eyes to catch up with his head so he can see again. In front of him on the doggy bed's cover is a pile of...well, that's sort of funny, isn't it?
"You s-s-said there weren't s-s-s-s-id, s-s-side--"
"There's a few side effects, at higher doses administered quickly," Cioccolata says in his work-call voice, "Most aren't life threatening and are over quickly. Yours took effect a little later than I expected it would happen at. Here, Secco, I'm picking you up." Cioccolata is already suddenly closer, must want to do exactly that very much, because it seems it's already happening. "You can sit on the bed, on the people bed, for a minute while I clean your bed off. Isn't that exciting, good boy?"
Something is not correct about Cioccolata's tone, but Secco couldn't say what it is. But he does limply allow himself to be picked up - "S-s-so strong," he moans, and Cioccolata doesn't smile at him for it the way he usually does about compliments - and carried to the human bed and dropped onto his side again. Cioccolata moves around, not soundlessly, but not in a way that distracts Secco from the soft examinations that his mind presents to him.
When Cioccolata rejoins him, it's to lay behind him on the bed. Secco wriggles against the covers, feels sloppy and slow on something as soft and giving as this multi-layered, very tall bed, and wishes he was in the one on the floor again instead. He turns himself over only with much effort and, given how often Cioccolata touches his arms during it, apparently much help.
"Did you want to stay up here?"
"Huh?" Secco's eyes are wide and his mouth stays open. He likes how he feels but he's starting to not like Cioccolata, right now. "W-w-why?"
Cioccolata is watching him with that weird expression, the one that makes Secco feel cold. Secco feels his lips pull away from his teeth and his chest rumbles with a growl that ends up dying higher in his throat as a frustrated whine.
Cioccolata stares and then his face cracks across with a sudden smile that rings so fake that Secco wants to bite him, so he grabs for Cioccolata's hand with his own and does just that. "I just want to make sure my pet feels well enough to play on the floor." Cioccolata is lying but Secco can't tell about what and the issue of that sounds like a problem for future Secco, so it's very rude that Cioccolata is making him wonder about it now.
"Uh-huh! Uh-huh! You can't feel it, too? That's, that's dumb… I wish you could."
"Feel what, Secco?" Cioccolata has not removed his hand from Secco's mouth, and in fact Cioccolata's chest rumbles with a noise that Secco knows is a moan that means Cioccolata is enjoying himself. Maybe biting him is actually helping?
"The...the room. Th-this room. It's ours. I want t-t-t-to be on the f-floor, Cioccolata, that bed feels better, you said I c-c-c-could be a dog you said I could be a dog, d-d-d-d-don't lie to me! S-stop, stop sulking!" The frustration leaves his body through his words and Secco finally lets go of the hand he's been speaking around this entire time. There's spitty toothmarks left on it. A string of saliva stretches from Cioccolata's hand to his mouth until it breaks as Cioccolata shifts away from him.
And then closer again. Secco is picked up and he squeals with surprise and then delight. "Alright, pet, alright." Cioccolata's voice suddenly sounds like himself again, and Secco wriggles to try to butt his head against Cioccolata's chin. They shift sharply. "Don't make me drop you, Secco, you won't even properly feel it until later if you break something." But Cioccolata's voice drips with that sticky clinging pressure it does when they're playing and now, now Secco feels that warmth again.
He can't place it until he's suddenly on his back again and his eyes catch up enough to his body to be able to let him see the ceiling. He looks down and sees Cioccolata above him, eyes on his face and then trailing down his body. Warm hand on Secco's chest. Watching with his eyes helps his body remember what touch should feel like, but it's still just an echo.
When Cioccolata circles around one of his nipples, it takes several rounds for Secco's body to catch up to the teasing, but gradually it pebbles up and Secco finds his back arching. Like a dog in heat, he thinks, and that clicks something else in his mind so cleanly together that he groans out loud. It grinds from behind his teeth, high then low and then just wordless noisy babble.
"Good boy, good boy, now that's the sort of noise I want my good little puppy to make, you're doing so good Secco, such a good boy…"
Cioccolata babbles too but it's words, the same message over and over, and like the hands slowly circling around on his torso the repetition is the only thing that can get it through to Secco's slow brain as it runs a few beats behind reality.
He realizes there's a hand on his balls maybe after it's been there a while, but all that means is that when he looks down to confirm and he sees Cioccolata's hand disappearing down between his legs, that the soft pleasure of it amps up so quickly he arches his back without question.
"In the mood now? It's fading off well for you now, hmm?" Cioccolata moves - looks at his wrist, which has a watch on it, Secco notices now - and some part of Secco's brain might have known before that this means Cioccolata is doing math in his head, comparing process times of the drug to how long it's been to how much he gave Secco, is taking note of the ideal dose for them to fuck during - but all Secco knows now is he wants Cioccolata to do whatever Cioccolata wants, and whatever Secco wants, and he wants that to happen forever. Right now, it feels like it could go on that long.
"Now Secco," Cioccolata is closer now and there's no longer a hand on his testicles and Secco whines, high in his throat, rotating his head from side to side to rub his cheeks against the softness of the doggy bed with its fresh cover pulled over it, "Dogs don't fuck on their backs, do they? Don't you want me to fuck my puppy right? I want to make sure you feel it, pet, you're such a good boy for me, let's turn you over so I can get in deeper, that's right, good boy, just like that…"
Secco's chin is digging into the doggy bed now and his palms are flat and he realizes eventually that this is because he's stomach-down across his bed. His knees are digging into the soft but sturdy material and maybe by instinct, maybe because of Cioccolata's hands urging him to do so, Secco leans into his knees and his shoulders on the floor and pushes his hips up.
It's so warm in the room that even when he eventually realizes his ass is exposed, flesh spread apart by hands on his cheeks, and there's something wet and slick being dragged across his hole, that Secco doesn't feel a chill from it the way he normally does. He sighs happily as wet noises happen from behind him.
Oh, oh it's warm because that's a tongue, he realizes as he feels breath against his hole and then the drag of teeth further along his cheek, where the skin isn't quite puckering anymore. Secco presses back into it and the tongue buries itself deeper inside of him, but it's not really deep. Secco's been a good boy, right, doesn't he deserve to be mounted properly? Secco whines high in his throat, keens into the doggy bed, and it's right when he's fully forgotten he could even use words to ask but is desperate enough to shift and look behind himself to silently plead that the pressure leaves altogether.
"Good boy, Secco," and the lack of tongue in his ass means he gets to hear the voice again, and Secco presses his entire face down into the doggy bed with a moan while he listens to it. "What a good dog you are, what a good puppy. Do you want me to fuck you like this?"
Secco just jerks his hips back, tries to fuck back onto the air, doesn't even think about the cock that's hanging half-hard and heavy between his thighs because all he wants is something in his ass again.
"You do? What a needy mutt you are…"
Secco whines, desperate and patient all at once, a buttery softness rolling from his head to toe to cock and back. There's pressure, real pressure this time, against his ass, but Secco is so relaxed it doesn't even occur to him to tense or fight it. He howls, loud into the dampening effect of the pillow, but Cioccolata just laughs and leans around to watch his face, and whatever he sees in Secco as he grinds his mouth against the bed and drags back off it again, lips pulled aside and eyes wide, must tell him it's fine to keep going because the pressure doesn't stop, and Secco is so so glad he's just doing whatever he wants right now, it's easier that way, the momentum offering to carry Secco right along with it.
He nods his head, breaths noisy and vocal and wordless as he arhythmically jerks back onto the finger(s?) pressed into him.
Eventually Cioccolata's face leaves his sight, but Cioccolata's voice picks back up instead. It's more than enough, especially since Secco can so easily see a version of Cioccolata at the edges of his vision no matter what anyway. His hair's down and matted in the funny way it is after showers and he's petting Secco's head in the vision and also, Secco thinks, from behind in real time, which makes sense because Cioccolata moved behind him to—
"Good boy, what a good boy, you're so relaxed like this Secco, what a useful puppy you are."
Secco is gradually aware that what's filling him up must be Cioccolata's cock, not his fingers, and did they get there fast or slow? Does he remember other times? He can't remember specifics but it's all so very familiar and safe and he arches his back further, feels the way his muscles are all warm and responsive and how it doesn't hurt at all for Cioccolata to be going so deep and so fast like this, and when Cioccolata pulls on his ear while saying "You're so easy to fuck like this, Secco, what a good dog, just let me do this for you," Secco feels something spark somewhere between his legs and under his ribs and he thinks he yells. His ears ring with it and his cock moves on its own, maybe, and when he presses a hand down on the fabric under his hips there's a damp slick spot that sticks to his fingers when he collapses onto one hip, sprawled on his side.
"Oh, Secco." And Cioccolata's hand is on Secco's wrist, directing Secco's fingers to his own mouth, and Secco obediently sucks on them. It's salty and bitter and he doesn't remember a hand on his cock before, and the surprise of coming just from being fucked barely reaches him.
"Lay there, pet, lay down, careful with your head, good boy—" Although as Cioccolata pulls at Secco's top leg and slides in to fit against Secco's ass while he's laying on his side, Secco thinks it's clear that Cioccolata is not intent on being all that careful. Secco is jostled and barely stays on the doggy bed. He thinks the bed itself shifts with how vigorously Cioccolata grips his hip and top leg and fucks into him. Secco has no idea if Cioccolata came already or not, if this is round two or still the first one, but if he thinks about it he's pretty sure the most Cioccolata has ever come inside of him in a single session before was three which prior to seeing with his own eyes Secco would not have believed was possible.
So Secco lays his head down and watches his master thrust up against him, comfortable in the warm air and on the stiff-but-soft texture of the foam doggy bed on the wooden floor.
"Secco?"
Secco blinks. His cheek is against something soft and he just finished speaking to Cioccolata, he thinks, which means this is a surprise. He thinks maybe his eyes were closed while he was talking to Cioccolata before, though, so maybe it was the Cioccolata that was in the 'spot the difference' version of their bedroom and not the warm-handed Cioccolata that's rubbing his back right now.
"Sleepy, pet? Or just drifting? Hmm, which is it, and can you even tell, Secco, my good boy, my good little doggy…"
Cioccolata is in a great mood, which makes Secco rub his head against his lap and mumble non-word noises on a heavy sigh. Secco also has no idea how he got here from before, but that's probably fine.
"Do you remember coming in my mouth, you naughty puppy?"
Secco's mouth opens with surprise and consideration and, slowly, he shakes his head.
"Silly boy, of course you don't."
And so on. Secco drifts and each time he wakes up from thinking about himself and Cioccolata and dog houses he's seen before and many he never has, Cioccolata is there in this specific version of their bedroom. And each time this Cioccolata in this version of their bedroom meets back up with Secco, he tells him what happened in a giddy voice that makes Secco just want to keep letting Cioccolata do more, do whatever he wants.
"An-n-n-nything," Secco moans while he's bent in half, legs folded against his own chest, Cioccolata riding him. It's rare to watch his own cock disappear up inside Cioccolata like this, makes him feel like a dog in heat finally getting to rut into his master, and Secco moans with his mouth hanging open. Cioccolata has occasionally stuck a finger or two or his entire cock in Secco's mouth, something Secco half-remembers happening and half-remembers being told had happened, and his lips and tongue and even parts of his gums and throat feel sparking and sore. "Do anything, Cioccolata, just t-t-tell me—"
"Tell you that you're the greediest little puppy I've ever met, Secco?" Cioccolata pulls off of him and Secco doesn't think he came yet, but Cioccolata did, a thin smear of white across Secco's belly because Cioccolata comes with less and less fluid each time this happens, "Always."
Secco has had a needle in his arm multiple times. He doesn't ask what's happening anymore, or pretend to be afraid, but he does insist on a reward each time he sits through it nicely. He's pretty sure Cioccolata always says yes.
Secco wakes up.
Secco wakes up and his mind and body seem to be in the same space. When he turns his head to see where he is, it's his sideways view of the rest of the bedroom from the doggy bed on the floor. Instant relief hits, but he can't see Cioccolata and the hazy dreamscape is gone, and when he turns his head his vision keeps up instead of lagging, so he goes to sit up with a soundless whine caught in his chest—
"Secco? Lay down, pet, you must be tired."
"C-Cioccolata!" Secco falls back down and only doesn't hit his head on the floor because Cioccolata's arm turns out to have been what he was already resting against. He wriggles in place to turn over and face the other man and nuzzles his head into the gap between Cioccolata's chin and shoulder, breathing in deep. Cioccolata smells like sweat and sex and whatever cologne it is that he's usually wearing. "Sore," Secco reports.
"I bet you are."
Secco's ass can finally tell how much work it's been put through, a dull tension aching through it, but it's not quite painful. Unlike Secco's arm, which aches from multiple needle point dots he can see when he bothers to look at it. Whatever dose Cioccolata liked him best at, it looks like it was a lot of work to keep him there.
It's now that Secco realizes Cioccolata is actually laying behind the bed and on the floor, between wall and the doggy bed, in order to have been spooning him before and holding him possessively in his arms right now. Secco sighs, eyes closing.
"I wasn't sure you'd be able to come like that, but you must have liked it."
Secco just hums, slowly nodding his head against Cioccolata's neck. After a moment he closes his throat to raise his vocal pitch higher and whines, inquisitive.
"Oh, of course I liked it too, you ridiculous mutt!"
Secco lays there, being held and wondering where on the sliding scale of just less-drugged to sober he is, for an unknown amount of time. It's still warm enough to be naked and not under the covers and not feel cold, especially with Cioccolata so near. He can feel the stickiness of come drying across his ass, across his balls even when he shifts his leg. It sticks the little hairs on his lower belly together. He's filthy and Cioccolata must be too, and he doesn't want them to move from this.
Right as Secco is drifting back off, he hears the softest voice in his ear, surely a holdover from the 'spot the difference' bedroom with the other Cioccolata, but it's Cioccolata's exact pitch and tone that whispers in his ear, "I love you."
Secco doesn't answer, because it can't be real and because dogs don't talk anyway and Cioccolata told him he's a good dog today.
But he falls asleep thinking about that, and nothing else.