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He Did What He Wanted

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This love Dan has for Pana has within it no outside, no breaks in its circular boundlessness. God, Dan hates love, this weapon forged to break his heart twice-wise.

(Pushing Pana to the floor of their room and aiming his Beretta, no room for misses, not while he has to keep Pana safe for kisses)

But then there’s Pana, perfect, lying on his belly by the bed blowing on his bright red fingernails, narrow ass framed in black silk embroidered panties and a garter belt, matching bra hugging his small tits and Dan has been smited thrice-wise, knowing black-rimmed eyes-wise, fluttering mink lashes wise.

They’re late for dinner reservations, French cuisine and a little contract killing for dessert.

"I don’t understand why you couldn’t wax last night," Dan complains. The rituals of femininity reduce him to a hulking incompetent bystander with a hard-on and nowhere to put it with Pana covered in sticky wax that threatens to un-hair Dan in painful patches if he dares come close.

Pana explains that it’s a fresher wax, that the silken skin of his legs and cock and balls (which are now his cunt, tucked mysteriously back between his legs) feels smoother by just a millionth of a smooth, that his chest is now his breasts, and teases cleavage, and Dan stops his half-hearted complaining and gets full-on hard when Pana snakes himself fluidly upright, steps gingerly into his open-toed black suede stilettos.

"Oh, good, my toes are dry," Pana breathes.

(Pana breathes, the breath of life in Dan’s dark, the only thing he needs besides cold bodies and lots of money that he doesn’t spend on himself:

1. The perpetual care of Ande’s gravsite near their former foster home Australia.

2. Five million for Pana when he turns twenty-one, and it triples every few years after that until Pana's thirty, with the provision that Pana must employ a driver and bodyguard from Liam’s team because Pana is a terrible driver who wants a ‘67 Camaro convertible in cherry red with the backseat replaced with a booming sound system, but he’s getting the backseat of a midsize grey sedan with bulletproof tinted windows.

3. Travel and all the food that Pana can eat, which is a lot.

4. That embroidered ankle-length gown draped over the chair at the end of the bed, custom-fitted to Pana’s body, his wide shoulders and torso, gathered at the waist to hug Pana’s form.

5. Miscellaneous Pana-related sundries. )

"I don’t know whether I should wear stockings with these shoes," Pana smirks, looking over his shoulder, painted nails just brushing the fabric of his dress. "I want to hear my garters snap. And unsnap."

"Just put on the fucking dress," Dan growls. His suits are bespoke, too, because Pana insists, tailor-made for his long torso and arms and thighs, and he loosens his tie as the room grows hotter with each article of clothing Pana slips into.

And Pana pouts and blows on his nails one more time but before Dan can get up and get Pana over his knees, Pana is hurrying to lift the v-neck gown over his long freshly curled hair, letting the folds of fabric slip down over his body, shimmying his arms into place and it’s too much

(literally too much, the dress cost five thousand dollars not counting alterations, and every bead on it is a semi-precious stone: nothing too good for his pretty Pana )

and Dan hates to waste money, but he also hates wasting a good show, so he ignores Pana’s cry of despair when the beading of the dress shatters all over their bedroom, savors the sound of ripping fabric and lifts Pana over his shoulder, tosses him onto the bed to mouth at the silk coverinh at the slit Pana’s created with his tuck.

"We’ll be late," Pana pants, his sharp high heels digging into Dan’s back and shoulders while Dan wets Pana’s panties and pussy with his tongue, torments his cunt-lips with his teeth. "We’ll miss dessert, we’ll miss the mark."

"My girl is dessert." Dan licks and impatiently levers up Pana’s hips, tears the panties to shreds and thrums his words into the slickness of Pana’s cunt. "So good. You’re so…fuck. He’s in the city two more nights."

"But he only eats dessert once a week, and this might be the only…Dan!"

Dan glides his long fingers up Pana’s smooth slit lubed with spit, lubes his dick with some Boy Butter (because he likes the name) and pushes up and in and glides it out, hips rolling along with Pana’s quaking body, swallows Pana’s mewls and sighs and sucks on his fat red tongue.

He wants to turn Pana around, take him on his knees, but the feel is too good like this,this perfect slip-slide rhythm he has going, and Dan comes too fast, overflows Pana’s pussy and his hips keep going while he rides the sloppy-slick fuck all the way out , until his balls draw and his chest heaves one giant breathe that pushes Pana deep into the mattress.

Dan manages to keep himself from completely crushing Pana, just barely, while Pana hiccups and sob-sighs, his body trembling with his orgasm while he kills Dan four-wise.

Dan changes his sticky pants and manages to catch Dunlevy while he’s finishing his last bite of his second steak; the big guy is a big eater and Dan can’t help but admire that when he puts one in his forehead and hurries home to hopefully die again five-wise.