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Pietros flopped back into the fluffy comforter of the bed, Barca covering him like a blanket. His hands worked their way around to the back of Barca's neck, pulling him closer, pulling their mouths together as if Pietros' needed the breath in Barca's lungs in order to survive. The boy smiled and laughed, simply beside himself with anticipation as the hitman worked his jeans and helped shed them from his body. "Oh god..." He rasped breathlessly. Seeing Barca in such a state of undone passion nearly left Pietros undone as well. He arched his back and hips, pushing himself into Barca's hands with reckless abandon, his head craning back to give the man better access to the skin of his neck. 

Was this really happening? For weeks they had to hide their emotions and desires for each other, always on alert that someone would find out, but now there were to be no interruptions; no inhibitions. Pietros felt like his skin was on fire, prickly and hot but without pain; Barca's hands and mouth the only salve capable of soothing. Pietros sent his fingers combing through Barca's hair, issuing a gentle tug when Barca's hands brushed his erection, setting it free from the confinement of his underwear. He took a deep breath through his teeth and laughed again. If this was real, this was the most amazing thing to ever happen to him. If it wasn't... well it was still a damn fine dream.

Once Barca's hands were free from their task, Pietros set to work removing the much too cumbersome shirt from his lover's torso. He pulled the material up and over Barca's head but left it encircling his neck, and once Barca's face was obscured with fabric, Pietros set his lips upon bare chest now exposed to him. Fuck, he wanted to take the time and explore everything. He also wanted to see stars immediately. His whole body squirmed in delight, unable to make up his mind. "My god, I need you too..."

Tag Barca

The professional façade the young boss and his personal bodyguard were forced to adhere to was getting harder and harder to hold the further down the hallway they walked towards their suite. Barca had outdone himself this time and it almost made him laugh out loud to think that not more than a month ago the thought of spending any time at all with the older man was in an of itself torture. At that time, as far as Pietros was concerned, Barca had more than earned the nickname of Beast and thus he had wanted nothing to do with him; a cold blooded killer that never questioned orders. But, as fate would have it, spending time with Barca had also meant getting to know the man deeper than his outside appearance. Pietros would have never guessed there were any layers under that scowl but he was definitely proved wrong. So now, here he was, pretending with all his being to be casual, cool and calm when Barca was promising all the time alone together he possibly could. Gooseflesh prickled his dark skin with anticipation.

The boy rolled his eyes and shook his head when the hitman cleared the room before letting him enter. An action that once was disturbing, now endearing. "Bar--" He called out abruptly when Barca quite literally swept him off his feet and carried him as if a rescued princess to the bed. Pietros's face lit up in laughter in response to Barca's question. "Actually, I quite like what's in the room more...." Sitting side saddle definitely wasn't sufficient, so Pietros took it upon himself to wiggle around until he straddled Barca's lap between his thighs. This way he was taller and was able to slightly tilt his man's head back to place a chaste kiss upon his brow. Perhaps another to the tip of his nose. And another to his jawline.

In an instant Pietros went from turned on to desperate. His hips swayed, grinding himself against the other as his hands greedily slipped up under Barca's shirt, fingertips tracing over the hills and valleys caused by taut muscle. Barca's skin was full of rough scars -- all proof of his loyalty to the family. Pietros no longer thought of Barca as a mindless zombie doing his father's bidding but rather a fierce protector devoted to his house. In the same instant, Pietros bent his neck and hungrily set upon Barca's mouth, licking the corners and nipping at his lips. "Barca..." He whispered, "I can't wait any longer..."

Tag Barca

Cyrus Romano was an intimidating figure of physical prowess and influence. His stoic face and calm confidence commanded authority, begging no one to question his words. The man was unapproachable to most, save for his only son who saw no issues in voicing his own thoughts. By all rights, Pietros was a mutt, an illegitimate child that often received quiet scorn even among his father's own men. But the feeling was often mutual. Pietros had no interest in continuing his father's legacy despite the continual training to do so. Cyrus had spoken to him earlier that day informing him of his intentions, "Alec will take care of everything, but you will be acting as head. All decisions must flow through you and I will have Barca at your side." 

Pietros scoffed, "Barca? The beast?" 

"It is for your safety and my peace of mind," Cyrus retorted.

"His presence deprives me of both!" And that had been the end of the conversation as Pietros had turned on a heel and returned to his room with a brisk stride. He shook his head full of springy curls and inwardly cursed. Perhaps if his father could have found a less lucrative business the need for safety and peace of mind would cease to exist. He sat down at his desk and rested his forehead in the cradle of his arms and there he must have fallen asleep because the suddenness of the famed beast across the threshold of his room was ridiculous. 

Pietros rubbed at his dark eyes and sat back in his chair, swiveling around to face his father's man. "No shit?" he frowned. This was going to be a long six weeks.