Work Text:
"I can't accept this job." His voice was low, firm, "It conflicts with my schedule."
"Schedule?"
"I have another job those weeks."
It was night time, after hours at a fresh client's office. Risotto had asked to meet elsewhere. But the man had said no.
He'd dealt with these types plenty. Rich, paranoid idiots who thought they knew better based on garbage they saw in television and movies. Always asked to meet him at times and in ways that made them more incriminating.
His usual clients dealt with sowing their sins proper; out in the open, during the day. It kept them hidden in plain sight, less suspicious, gave them alibis. And, perhaps most importantly, it kept them safe from meeting an end to the very services they sought him out for.
But try telling a self-important, mediocre asshole anything.
"Look, I'm paying you a premium rate as it is…” the client was frustratingly dismissive, an urgency in his voice, “I just need this taken care of."
Risotto stared back.
"I've given you my answer." His dark eyes shot, direct, "if you value my work, you'll be willing to wait. Otherwise, you can take your business elsewhere."
There was an exasperated sigh.
"You know I can't do that," the other man was growing increasingly stressed, "I've been told you do a clean job, cleaner than anyone else. What'll it take? Whatever that guy's offering, I'm willing to pay double."
"It's not about money."
"Well, what is it about, then?" Risotto didn’t like the tone of his voice. "Because I was told you were the best in the business. I need this job done , as soon as possible. And if you're not willing to meet my request-..."
The man stopped.
A small noise started to creep from his throat, eyes slowly widening as a reflex.
Touched the back of one hand with the other.
Looked down.
A wash of horror drenched his face, wiping clean the arrogant, unhappy scowl he'd been wearing before.
Hot skin started to press and seal to shape around the object forming beneath; scissors. He cupped his free hand over his mouth as a terrified moan escaped.
It served well to muffle his raw, ragged shout when the blade broke through.
Risotto stood up, huge hand making a grab for his head, clutching, pulling him close by the hair. Leer unwavering, the intensity of it could cut with how fiercely red his eyes burned.
"I have another job. If you don't take my answer, you'll have wished your death was as clean as any of my other jobs. Have I made myself clear?"
The man nodded quick and desperate, eyes wild and teary beneath the curve of Risotto’s palm.
"Good."
The solid, monotonous tap of a knife against board sounded with each of his hard chops. It was among a gentle chorus of noises; a soft rolling boil from the stove, the muffled chatter of birds outside..
And the squeaks and murmurs of tiny, excited voices from the dining room.
He smiled.
He could hear the creaks of wood from one of them, presumably Melone, shuffling, shifting, struggling to sit still in his chair.
Risotto looked up, over the counter. Sun filtered through the blinds and lit up the cool, white floor tiles that projected the sounds. Daylight scattered through the bay window in long, slotted rectangles over the solid wood table, set with placemats, a vase in the center, and two little plates. He could see the children at each of their chairs.
Melone, as he’d expected, was refusing to sit still. He kept standing up, peering over the back of his chair, laying down flat with his belly across its surface.
Anything but finishing up his snack.
Risotto lifted the filled cutting board to a pot on the stove and slid the chopped vegetables into it with one steady sweep of the knife. Turned the heat down to a simmer and covered it. He settled the knife and board into the sink, washed up, then dried his large hands on the kitchen rag hung on the handle of the oven while looking over.
Eyes were still cast to the dining room in a fixed, dutiful watch.
“Mel,” he spoke up, warm but firm. “You know you can’t leave the table until you finish up? Look at your brother; he’s already worked through almost all of his carrots. You don’t want to be stuck here all alone while he gets to go play, do you?”
“I don’t like carrots,” he fussed. But he settled upright on his chair at least.
“Now, that’s not true,” Risotto asserted, “You ate all your carrots the other day. Come on, finish up.”
And Melone gave a little huff. Sat at the very end of the chair and took a carrot stick in his bitty fist, took a bite. So young, he chewed it with his mouth open.
“Daddy,” the other, older voice soon spoke up. Truthfully, Risotto was around the kids almost more than their real parents, so they took to referring to him as such. With how much more committed he was, it was a title he was happy to co-opt. “I finished my snack! Can I go play now?”
His eyes were wide and excited through the magnification of his bright red glasses. Loose, blond curls sat in a mess over his head.
“Good for you, Gigi; did you finish your juice?”
“Mhm!” he picked up his juice box, made a loud slurp with the straw to show.
“Good boy. You can go play, then.”
“Okay!”
The tiny boy scooted out his chair, slid off quick. Scampered off into the living room faster than Risotto could say ‘Gigi, don’t forget to clean up after yourself!’
He sighed. Out of earshot. And of course he’d never raise his voice at his babies.
He came into the dining room, started gathering up Ghiaccio’s plate and empty juice box.
“So eager to play his game… I told him, he could only get it if he did his chores… and here he is, playing it instead of his chores,” his voice mild as he expressed to Melone, “I’m going to have to speak with him later…”
But he heard the boy start to whimper over his held carrot stick.
“...Daddy… I wanna go sit with Gigi…”
Risotto let out a sigh.
“Sweetheart.. Remember, I told you…”
“I knooooow..” he pouted. He brought the carrot stick to his mouth again, took a nibble. His chewing was slow, deliberate in his efforts, like he was having trouble.
Risotto frowned. Looked at his plate…he’d still only worked through half of the carrot he’d picked up since Risotto had first spoken to him. As distracted as Melone usually got during snack time, this wasn’t like him.
Risotto set Ghiaccio’s things back down, then settled down on one knee beside Melone’s chair. A big, soft hand ran to smooth over his tiny back. It was large enough to cover nearly half of him.
“What’s up, little one?” His voice lumbered out so gentle, “Is something the matter?”
Melone sat still… crossed his little arms… stuck out his lip… then his face softened..
“My tummy hurts…”
“Oooh.. That explains it,” he rumbled. His other hand slid in to spread wide over his small belly. He grinned at how his body tilted forward and leaned into its soothing heat. Could tell he was being honest with how well he took to it. “Well. In that case.. Daddy’s not going to make you finish your carrots. Do you think you know why your belly hurts, though?”
“Umm…” his little face twisted as he considered, hard. Then hesitated as he came to an answer.
“You can tell me..”
“Well..” he fidgeted. Wriggled his legs and tucked in one to sit atop, “I’m… a little sad…”
“Aww..” his voice tender, “that would do it… Why are you sad?”
He shuffled the placement of his little legs as his tiny expression worked through a range of emotions. Struggled to manage through them as Risotto watched him, patient. He was rubbing a comforting thumb where he held his hurt belly. Saw as his eyes opened wide in a plea, tears starting to well in them.
Melone opened his little mouth and sniveled out.
“You love Gigi more than me…”
“Oh sweetie..” and Risotto moved in, pressed his big forehead up against his. He could feel his heat so close, could feel the little huffs of breath from him as he sniffled. “You know that’s not true..”
“Uh-huh.. You played with him last night and not me… I know you did, he said …”
“Aww… You were sleepy, little one. I didn’t want to wake you up. Sometimes Daddy shows you love in different ways.. And letting you sleep was my way of showing love then.” He slipped his large fingers to weave through his soft, fine hair. Still so new..
“I still wanted to play though…”
Risotto pulled away only a moment to look at him in pity. He looked so upset, like he'd been cheated, spurned.
Poor thing.
He moved back to wrap his big, warm arms around his little body, took him into a loving hug. He felt how Melone nestled his small head up against his thick chest, safe.
He stirred at his outward neediness.
Not yet.
“I’ll tell you what. Daddy’s going to shower.. Why don’t you go in the living room, watch your brother play his game, settle down a bit, and I’ll be in there. We can play our own game to make up for it, just the two of us. Does that sound nice?”
Melone was still making little sniffs while snuggled to his shirt. Stubby fingers gripping the fabric, clutching tight. But Risotto felt Melone nod against him and, with it, he drew away from the hug, pushed his lips into a firm kiss to the top of his small head.
“Okay. I’ll see you soon, baby.”
Lively music filled the room as Risotto entered it. He matted the end of his towel against his damp hair as he watched. The television was on and the children were occupied with the bouncing movements stretched over its glass screen. Now-overcast sky lit through the drawn windows, muting the living room in a wash of gray that was counterbalanced by the light of the game's colorful visuals.
Ghiaccio was laid across his belly on the area rug on the floor, controller in hand.
Melone was sat at the edge of the couch cushion, tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth, as if concentrating, another controller in his lap. His hands were too small to hold onto it, but he tapped at the buttons while it sat in place.
Risotto stood watching a moment before wrapping the towel around his waist, tucking it secure.
"Gigi… which guy are you again?"
"I'm the dragon."
"And which guy am I again?"
"You're the little dragonfly following him. He keeps my guy from dying, see how he changes colors?"
"Oooh, okay!"
Risotto walked to settle in beside Melone on the couch. Looked. Melone's controller wasn't plugged in.
"Sweetie…" he started as he leaned in, soft, "How's your tummy feel?"
"Um…kinda better.." his eyes were still focused enough on the screen as he spoke, but he kept looking at Risotto, torn.
"Are you having fun with this game? Or did you want to play our game? Daddy doesn't mind if you would rather play later."
Melone kept looking back and forth between the game and Risotto.
"Um.. Gigi.. will your guy die if I stop playing?"
"Uh-uh, it's okay! If you stop playing, a computer plays for you instead."
"Oh! Okay!" Hastily, thoughtlessly, Melone pushed the controller off his lap and onto the leather couch, starting to turn towards Risotto. It slid over the edge before falling, clattering onto the wooden floor.
He looked, blinked at it for just a moment, then back towards Risotto, uncaring.
The man sighed, smiling knowingly.
It couldn't be helped.
He was only three, after all.
"I wanna play with you, Daddy!"
“Okay!” he smiled; he could feel his chest welled with affinity. It was nice to see him so innocently eager, so wanting for him and his company.
Adults were restrained. They presented themselves dishonestly, skated around within the confines of social convention.
Children, on the other hand, were loud . Boisterous. Raw and honest with their feelings. They could come across as blunt, barreling, rude, sure. But when they showed outward love and attachment? It was assured to be always genuine.
With the kinds of people he usually dealt with, this honesty was more refreshing than he could ever communicate.
“What kind of game did you want to play?” His tone was friendly, but lumbering in baritone.
Melone had since poised himself on all fours, hands perched on Risotto’s toweled knee.
“Can we play the kissy game?” He wiggled excitedly as he said it, “I like that one..”
“Ooooh.. That’s a good one..” he answered fondly, voice tinged with a quiet excitement. "Who should go first, though?"
"Hmm.." He scrunched his face in thought, then pipped, "I want a kiss first!"
His pupils were blown and rounded, filled with such earnest desire.
Such a precious boy.
Who could say no to him?
He wasted little time. Pitched forward, his lips pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. It was hard to hold his mouth flush to his skin when he heard that first giggle. It made him smile too much.
“What are you so giggly for?”
“It’s just nice!” He chirped, beaming, bouncing away as he did. His smile was lit up, rounded cheeks just barely catching bits of moving colors from the television behind him. Clumsily, he shifted and clambered more into that warm lap, then wobbled forward and gave Risotto a teeny kiss on the cheek, along his sharp jaw.
Risotto couldn’t help but feel warmth bloom from it.
So cute and small, tiny lips puckered…
It figured that the only thing that could make him feel so weak was someone so little and vulnerable.
Risotto stretched and splayed a veiny hand over Melone’s back.
He followed his move with a kiss to Melone’s nose; the slightest touch got another laugh out of him. There were gentle, short vibrations beneath his hand as he held him, so much of his torso could be felt with a single hand.
"My turn," he squealed excitedly, getting in close to Risotto’s face. Melone stuck both of his hands on either side of Risotto's stocky head, thumbs against hard cheekbones. He held himself steady as Melone calculated his aim. A little teeter forward, a careful, dainty peck was placed against his mouth.
Risotto pecked back.
"Ooh… someone's moving fast..", and Risotto's tone changed. Lower, but still tender.
"I just.. really want you to play with me like you did with Gigi…"
He could still feel his small hands pressed on either side of his head. Leaned to relax his cheek into one of them affectionately with lidded eyes. There was a light pattering of rain that could be heard from the sil, though it was mostly drowned out by the persistence of the game's music.
"Okay, baby.."
A big palm moved to cup against Melone's face and gingerly ran a thumb over his soft cheek. Rosey and plush… Nothing like the sharpness of his own.
He cocked his head to the side and dipped forward. Pressed his lips against his tiny ones, felt them let out a happy, muffled coo.
His other hand drew to the back of Melone’s head and he pushed his kiss in deep.
Murmured, "Are you still okay?" smothered against him, so patient and doting.
"Mhm…"
A gentle smack of mouths sounded before he tilted his head the other way. The hand that was held against his hair eased down again, worked over his neck, over his small shoulders, stopping to rub slow circles over his upper back. Loved how Melone arched and nudged just to weigh into his petting through their kiss.
He broke away for a moment to look him in the eyes. They were large and round, still filled with need.
Their desperation was matched.
He could feel primal heat rushing to his loins beneath the towel that covered him. Felt how Melone’s knee sat along him, against where he firmed up.
Did he notice?
He didn’t seem to as he adjusted his posture to stay balanced atop him.
“Mel..” he breathed as he touched their noses, feeling his tiny fingers starting to grip his hair, “Can Daddy give you big boy kisses?”
Melone sat there for a moment to register what he was asking of him. Then he gave a quick nod and Risotto careened back.
At first, he only pushed his mouth up against his, just like before, feeling the boy mirror his earnesty.
So close, he could feel how heat radiated from his rounded face, hear his tight breaths, take in the smell of him...
He loved how he smelled… so new and untainted by sweat and grime.
Still only building gradually, his large mouth parted to take in his tiny lip. The end of his tongue dipped against it, smooth, warm, wet. When he let it free, he felt Melone try to mimic with the testing poke of his own tongue.
Cute.
Seeing his opening, he leveraged into it.
Little jaws were forced apart around the girth of slippery muscle when he bulled to taste inside. Pressing to his roof, curling and running against slitted rows of tiny baby teeth, he could feel Melone's voice pitch high and whimpery around him. He worked over the little tongue housed here, lifted it to run beneath its smooth underside, felt it weakly trying to lick back.
He wondered if he tasted as good, as warm and heady, to his precious boy as he did to his daddy.
He let slip a stifled moan. Cock jumped beneath his towel as he did.
Felt a tiny gasp around his weighty tongue.
Now he'd noticed.
Hands lithely shifted over Melone's body. One spread thick fingers to weave through his thin, blond hair. The other fit deftly beneath his shirt, to the small of his back to feel skin.
He could feel Melone trying to talk, slithered heavily out as he did.
Given room to speak, his baby whispered.
"Daddy, your peepee…"
"Yeah?" his voice grumbled.
"It's happy…"
"It's because of you, sweetie…"
There was a dull thrumming of thunder, distant outside.
Fingers started to bore beneath the stretch of waistband, of the small sweatpants he had on. They sank in, up to his knuckles, felt the skin of his bare ass. He was deliciously soft…
Sounds of the game hung in the background. Still busy and caught up in it, Ghiaccio hardly paid mind to what was going on behind him beyond occasional glances.
It was usual enough.
Melone was starting to pant quick and rough and Risotto's jaw dipped back towards his open mouth. Felt the boy's hands wrap around his head, around the back of his neck, and start gripping his hair tight in their kiss.
The man openly rolled a groan into it, deep and throaty, now that Melone knew how badly his daddy was yearning.
Hands started a sliding push to work his pants down. Felt a cheepy Mmmph against him once he'd brought them to his knees.
He parted the kiss, his sweltering, desperate heaves of breath out against him.
"Mel… lay back on the couch…" he rasped, "Daddy wants to kiss you in a special place…"
Knowing what this meant, knowing how his daddy had taught him, Melone followed direction, tottered off his lap and rolled to his back. His pants were still snug around his knees when he curled and tucked his legs in close, grinning sweetly, obediently, excitedly up towards him.
"Like this, Daddy?"
Risotto made quick work of tugging his little pants off the rest of the way, over his legs, his sock-covered feet.
" Exactly … Such a good, sweet little boy..", stopping to take hold of his little foot. It fit so easily between two fingers. He thumbed right up against the ball of it and gave it a gentle squeeze, felt how all his little toes curled over his press from beneath the fabric.
It got a chirpy laugh out of him that made Risotto smile.
“You're so cute…” he grumbled as he let it go, loomed over him, gaze wandering, cock aching . And then he spoke, firm, clear, full of love.
“Show Daddy your veevee.”
Melone listened. Grabbed his tucked knees, parted, spread wide for him, stars filling his eyes.
Risotto throbbed. Smooth, unmarked skin all around, bright, glinted pink sat between his thighs. The little petals of his labia were just beginning to sprout and his beady clit stuck there like a cute, tender button.
And he was just sitting there, smiling, presenting it all to him.
Of all the people he’d maimed, the lives he’d stolen, the throats he’d cut, and the prey he hunted, none was as delectable and drove Risotto as horrifyingly mad as what was so easily laid out before him now. All it took was the right opportunity, honeyed words, a bit of patience, and mild assertion and he had these kids begging him, asking him to feed and sate his hunger.
They trusted him wholeheartedly.
Trained to say all the right things when questioned.
Taught to offer up themselves for their sweet Daddy’s approval and love.
And yet, ultimately, he knew it was him that was so desperately caught in this snare, the grip of his love for them. Did they know how obsessively, impulsively he bent his schedule around tending to them, seeing them, holding them as much as he could? Did they know how he craved their company, how much he thought of hearing their little voices, seeing their clumsy mannerisms, and coddling their small bodies when he was away?
He could feel his blood rushing around the scent of the warm, wet skin beneath his lips where he buried a kiss.
Were they getting the attention they needed when he wasn't around? Were they behaving? Being put to bed at a good time?
He was hopelessly devoted to them. Like any good parent should be.
He was a victim to the hot, bitter taste that filled his mouth when he dipped his tongue and lapped it broad against such sensitive folds.
A victim to the legs that clamped and squeezed his ears and shivered with the arch of a back and the clutch of little hands in his silvery white hair.
A victim to the little sobs and squeaks and whimpers sent out into the open air, among the chatter and noise of the game, the clatter of steady rain, the roll of thunder outside…
And once it was all over, once he’d engorged himself on every ounce of flesh his little one had offered up for him to taste, suck, kiss, and devour, he was left gasping with a slick, wet, dripping chin held huge between glistening thighs, at the end of a trembling, mewling body.
His craving satisfied, his addiction reinforced.
Sleepy eyes glazed down towards him, glittering with beaded tears that wet his cheeks.
He was tired, spent. He needed a nap.
“Okay Daddy..” his voice murmured distantly, "It’s my turn…"
Risotto started to move his towel aside. He didn't expect much, didn't need much. Just a little kiss.
"Just one more, sweetie," he whispered down at him, "and then I want you to rest. You've already given Daddy more than enough love."
"I can't that week."
He was stiff, resolute; brusque as usual.
There was a bit of a rough laugh in response.
"Don't tell me,” the voice that chided him was of a familiar client this time, a regular. “It's that babysitting job you took up?"
"That's right," his tone dry.
The other man leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk, hand holding a lit cigar. He took a long, slow drag, let out a puff, then tapped the end of it over an ashtray.
"Word is, it's a couple of kids from those neglectful drug peddlers. I get calls from them all the time, asking for you. Dumbasses don't even realize who you are."
"They trust me."
"They can't be paying you much. Couple of fools like them could hardly afford to pay off a drug mule, let alone the time of an assassin to watch their kids.” His feet resettled off the desk and he leaned over it, arm propping his head. “What are you, a bodyguard?"
"Not exactly. I just take care of them."
He scoffed.
"Big guy like you?"
"That's right."
"Hard to fuckin believe… I've seen you kill a man without even looking at him. Don't exactly seem like the domestic type… If it's not about pay, what is it? Why the hell are you doing it?"
Risotto’s answer was curt and honest.
He dealt with sowing his sins proper.
"I just like kids."