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boston, 1979

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They were replacing the old rickety elevator with an automatic in Mike’s building after  the operator had learned too much, so Sid had to climb the stairs up to the penthouse floor. At least, Sid reasoned, he had worn jeans to clean up Baby Jake’s mess instead of his usual suit. The exercise didn’t do anything to brighten his foul mood. It wasn’t supposed to be his job to babysit; he could remember being young and afraid, paralyzed from the idea of getting caught, and he’d paid for it with a perforated spleen and a few teeth. He liked Jake, but the next time he tried to pull puppy eyes instead of doing his damn job, Sid was going to blacken them. 

When Sid finally reached the top of the stairs and unlocked the door, the dogs were the first to greet him. They didn’t bark as he approached, and wagged their tails furiously against the walls of the narrow foyer as Sid took off his leather jacket, begging for attention. 

Mike came through the kitchen doorway, looking crisp in a white shirt and grey pressed slacks. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel—he had as much trust in cleaning staff as he did in elevator operators these days. The dogs moved away when Mike whistled a high, clear note. 

“Is it done?” He asked. 

Sid nodded, certain that his voice would tremble. It had been a long time since he’d felt someone’s life slip away in his own hands. Maybe his mother was right after all these years, and he really was soft. 

“Good,” Mike said. He crossed the distance, grasped Sid by the jaw, and kissed him deeply. Sid tasted another man’s blood as Mike licked it off his lips, and the mint of the imported Swedish gum Mike’s wife made him chew so he’d quit smoking. The slide of Mike’s tongue against Sid’s still thrilled him after all these years like a lead pipe of desire to the gut. Sid would kill a hundred men if Mike would kiss him like that every night. “Go clean up,” Mike ordered when he pulled away too-soon.

The shower in the ensuite was modern like the rest of the penthouse, a sliding frosted glass door that kept the steam clouding beneath the spray instead of a curtain. Sid liked the image of Mike in here with a pair of rubber gloves, on his knees in his wool suit pants, scrubbing at the corners of the bathroom. Between his feet, the water ran from rusty to clear as the last of the evidence circled down the drain. 

Mike had come from the Italians, even though he was more Irish than Sid. He’d been their consigliere for long enough that he had grown ruthless and ambitious, and he’d had to break away. It wasn’t difficult for him to knock off Bylsma and take his place as the leader. The organization had been on its last legs, but Mike had shaken them up, drawing everyone into line and rubbing out anyone who wouldn’t obey his new laws. Sid had been quick to wise-up, and he owed Mike a lot. 

Sid’s racket had always been sports, and Boston was ripe with rich men who would bet with blind loyalty and bank accounts Sid could pluck clean. Yet despite the Red Sox, the last few years were lush with championships. When the Bruins and Celts were winning and the profits were slim, Mike had made sure Sid’s pockets were still thickly lined. Now that things were cooling off again, Sid was making money hand over fist. He’d learned other ways to curry favour with Mike, and any day now he was going to have enough money to move out of his dump of an apartment and back to Nova Scotia. He kept his mouth shut about how Mike’s old allegiances had brought their group in line with the Italians—it made life a lot more peaceful. 

The shower did the miracle work of loosening Sid’s tense shoulders. He dried off and wrapped himself up in the black silk robe that Mike kept at the penthouse for him. There was supposed to be a stash of his pomade in the drawer, but it kept disappearing on him. Sid scrubbed his teeth with Mike’s toothbrush and moved into the bedroom. 

“Are you hungry?” Mike asked from the kitchen, still puttering around in there. 

“No,” Sid called back. He could get something on the way back to his place when his appetite returned. It wasn’t too late yet. He used the mirror above the dresser across from the bed to try and fix his hair. Mike always said he liked Sid best when he was bare, but Sid never felt more naked than when his hair was a wreck. 

They had started fucking almost six years ago when Sid had been feathering it, and wore a lot of patterned shirts. In a private room of one of the strip clubs under the organization’s protection, Mike had one of the gorgeous girls twisting in his lap, one hand playing along the edge of white lace against the brown skin of her hip and the other wrapped around a fat, cherry-tipped Cuban. He’d looked at Sid sitting there quietly, taking measured sips of whiskey, and asked, “What are you, some kind of queer?”

He hadn’t said it with the unveiled derision of so many before, but instead with a heat that made Sid flush. And then Sid was kneeling between Mike’s knees, unbuckling his belt and pulling Mike out of his pants. In some ways Sid was still hungry for it like the first time, and the way Mike had said yeah baby, let me feel those cocksucker lips as if he’d been waiting for Sid his whole life. 

Mike finished up in the kitchen and was followed by the dogs’ clicking claws on the hardwood as he made his way toward the bedroom. “Good boys,” Mike cooed, a wholly different person around the dogs. He fed them treats in the doorway, letting them nearly nip his fingers off in the process. 

“Hurry up,” Sid complained. The dogs were cute, but he was a man with needs that Mike’s mere presence inspired. “I wanna go to bed, come on.” 

“Alright, alright. Time for me to fuck my bitch now.” Mike closed the door behind himself, leaving the dogs scratching and whining.

Sid flushed with shame, knowing that Mike only talked like that because he knew it got Sid hard. “Is that what I am to you?” He asked, his cheeks glowing and tight. 

“Do you come when I call?” Mike retorted, unbuttoning his shirt and revealing the sparse carpet of curling grey hairs beneath. Sid was going to rub his face on it. “Do you sit where I tell you to, and eat from my hand?”

“Yeah,” Sid panted. He leaned back on the bed, letting his robe fall open as he spread his knees almost involuntarily. 

“And as my bitch, it’s my right to breed you.” Mike pulled his shirt from his pants. 

Sid groaned and tilted his head back as Mike stepped closer and he tried to keep eye-contact.

Mike slipped his thumb into Sid’s mouth, and Sid curled his tongue around it, sucking in hopes that Mike would give him something more substantial soon. There were a few thick rings on Mike’s fingers, and Sid pulled off to mouth at those too. His hips twitched when Mike sighed. 

“Be patient, baby,” Mike said. “All in good time.” He pulled his hand back and wiped it on the side of Sid’s face. 

There was a process to getting Mike into bed, and it involved a lot of begging and whining and performance on Sid’s part. He laid back on the bed and untied his robe to expose his cock that was already mostly hard, while Mike walked away to fold his clothes and take off his watch and rings. 

“You can fuck me with your clothes on,” Sid offered, knowing it was futile. 

“There’s no fun in that.” Mike had a weird thing about keeping his clothes pristine, and Sid had picked up a lot of new habits because of it.

Sid tossed the pillows and blanket off the bed. He didn’t know why Mike bothered with any of it, since the penthouse was really just a fuck-palace and occasional holding cell. He stroked down his own chest and over the crease of his hip while Mike took his sweet-ass time. Mike didn’t like Sid to touch himself, but if he took any longer, Sid was going to do it anyway. “You could just have me naked all day under your desk,” Sid suggested as he trailed his fingers up the inside of his thigh. “Come all over my face and then just zip up again.” 

“I have more important plans for you than just being my office whore,” Mike said. He came back to the bed and laid himself over Sid. The heat of his skin was delicious, lightly furred all over where Sid was convinced he’d always be boyish. 

Sid wiggled his legs out from under Mike so he could wrap them around Mike’s hips and bring their cocks closer together. He didn’t have much more leverage than that, and used his hands to guide Mike back into a filthy kiss. It didn’t take long before Mike was grinding down, rubbing his cock into the soft crease next to Sid’s groin. 

Mike had a lot more stamina than Sid, which Sid chose to believe was a function of age rather than how desperate Sid always was for Mike’s touch. A little dry-humping could get Sid off if he wasn’t careful, and Mike would keep rubbing against Sid’s sensitive skin until he cried. Sid pawed blindly for the lube, which was always tucked somewhere at the headboard. When he found it, he pressed it into Mike’s hand and rolled out from under him onto his hands and knees on top of the black silk robe. 

“Oh, good boy,” Mike praised above the click of the tube’s cap, and Sid had to reach down and tug at his balls. 

He flinched at the cold lube when Mike squeezed a stream between Sid’s cheeks, but then Mike was rubbing it around his hole before he could open his mouth to complain. “Fuck yes,” he groaned instead. 

“Did your sweet little hole miss me?” Mike asked. 

“Mm-hmm,” Sid replied. Mike’s fingers were thick, but he just teased them against Sid’s rim without pressing in yet. 

“Yeah, looks nice and hungry,” said Mike, circling around where Sid was so sensitive. “Gonna make it red, stretch it out.”

Get on with it then, Sid wanted to say, but talking like that would only get Mike to slow down. He wanted Sid to plead and sigh, and when he played with Sid like that it was easy to comply. “Please,” he said, letting his voice pitch up a little, “I want you to.” 

Mike squeezed out more lube, and then sank a finger inside all the way. Sid shifted against the intrusion, hating the way the first finger alone wasn’t enough of a stretch and just felt kind of gross, but moaning softly so that Mike would give him another. Thankfully it worked, and Mike pulled out the one to press back with two right away. “There you go,” Mike murmured. 

Sid wasn’t content yet, but he let Mike finger him uninterrupted for a while. He could take Mike’s cock with limited stretching as long as he had enough lube—preferred it that way, even. He liked the way that Mike would just keep pressing in and in, Sid’s body taking it despite the burning ache because of how slick he was. Sid went down onto his elbows and arched his back. 

“God, your ass.” Mike slapped it, the crack sounding worse than it felt. Sid moaned again, and Mike pulled out his fingers to spread him open with both hands. Sid felt him spit onto his hole and then press back in again. “You want me to fuck it like this, or are you gonna ride me?”

Both were great options—Sid loved how deep Mike could get when they did it doggy-style, and he also enjoyed being able to control the speed on top—but part of Sid wanted it on his back where Mike could hold him close after the night he’d had. “Just want your cock,” he said, hoping that Mike would make the difficult decision for him. 

Mike hummed, hooking his fingers roughly inside Sid and pulling his willing hips backward. “I’d like to hear you ask politely.” He tugged more at Sid’s rim, then plunged deeper with his fingers still curled, missing Sid’s prostate and just stretching. It didn’t really feel good, but there was already sweat beading in Sid’s hairline. 

“Please fuck me with your cock,” Sid said, trying to twist his hips enough to get Mike where he wanted him. “However you want it, you feel so good inside me.” 

Mike straightened his fingers, going deeper. “More.”

“I love your big, thick cock, makes me come so hard.” Sid pressed his face into the mattress so his hands were free to reach back and hold himself open. He heard Mike practically growl when he did it. “Come on, please. I need it.”

“Okay, baby.” Mike took out his fingers and a moment later the lube-wet head of his cock was pressed to the rim of Sid’s hole. “Push back on it then, if you need it.” 

Sid bore down on Mike’s cock, feeling the first blunt breach stretch him wide. Mike was thick, and the perfect length to rub back and forth against Sid’s prostate if he angled it right. He sank backward on each hot, aching inch until Mike was all the way in, hips pressed snugly to Sid’s ass. Sid let out a shaky moan as he braced his hands back against the bed. It was so good to be full and stretched.

Mike hooked his fingers around the bend of Sid’s hips, pressing hard into the softer skin there. Sid swore he could feel Mike’s cock pulse. “That’s it, take it all. You’re made for this,” he praised, and Sid had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second. 

They set a rhythm between the two of them. It was slow at first, just Mike dragging his cock in and out by fractions. Once Sid settled around the girth of it Mike thrust harder until he was pulling out almost all the way every time. It shouldn’t have felt good, but Sid was groaning continuously, his cock stiff and twitching between his legs. Then Mike paused to shift a little, and suddenly he was glancing over Sid’s prostate with every thrust. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Sid chanted as Mike’s cock wrung pleasure from his body. 

“Are you getting what you need?” Mike asked. He stroked one hand across Sid’s thigh and then slid it up to the base of his cock. The force of his thrusts was enough to drive it through the barely-wet circle of his fingers. “Is my cock making that hole happy?” 

“Yeah,” Sid gasped. His mind was going hot and fuzzy. He was rocketing towards release, and he didn’t care about holding back anymore. Mike pounded into him a dozen more times before Sid came, clenching his eyes shut as the wave of pleasure shot through him. 

Mike kept going only as long as Sid’s orgasm lasted before he pulled out. “Alright, I think I’ve put in enough work,” he said. He rolled over onto his back next to Sid and then patted his thigh. “Time for you to say thanks.”

Sid was still panting, drifting back to earth on his hands and knees. His brain was mush. “What?”

“Come on, up here,” Mike wrapped his hand around himself. “Ride me.”

Sid groaned as he gathered his wits. Mike kept his cock upright while Sid swung his leg over and lined himself up. His hole was tender as Mike sunk inside him again. “I’m too old for this,” he complained. He wanted to curl up for a nap.

“Wait until you get to my age,” Mike said, although he still seemed fresh as a daisy. 

It took a moment for Sid to gain momentum again. This position stretched him in an entirely different way, and his legs were already trembling from being fucked. He braced his hands on Mike’s chest, the short grey hairs curling between his fingers. “Like that?” Sid asked, trying to keep up a pace. 

“I’ve had better,” Mike replied, which annoyed Sid enough to double his efforts and slam his hips down harder. His soft cock bounced between his legs, but it still felt criminally good to be forcing himself open as he rode. He worked himself until Mike’s chest started to heave under his hands. Mike stroked against the grain of the hair on Sid’s legs. “There we go. Now, tell me what you need.” 

“I need you to come,” said Sid, his voice sounding at least twice as wrecked as Mike’s.

“Is that all?”

“I need it inside me. Feels so good, fuck,” Sid moaned. 

Mike grabbed Sid’s hips again, guiding him to ride Mike’s cock just how he wanted it. “You want me to breed you?” 

“Uh-huh,” Sid said, rubbing Mike’s nipples and doing his best to clench his hole and give Mike a nice, tight place to dump his load. 

“Tell me, baby,” Mike demanded, voice tight. 

Sid could tell he was close, and this would push him over. “Come on,” he said, leaning fully into the fantasy. “Breed your bitch.”

Fuuuck,” Mike groaned, and came in hot pulses inside Sid. 

“That’s it, yeah,” sighed Sid, and he collapsed on top of Mike, cock still wetting him up inside. 

They laid like that for a while. Sid could feel Mike’s heartbeat through his chest, and their skin stuck together as they cooled off. Eventually Mike complained that Sid was too heavy, and they shifted onto their sides. 

Sid liked the part afterward almost as much as he liked the sex itself. He knew that if he really wanted to, Mike would let him stay in the penthouse all the time, but that would really make Sid feel like the mistress. For the moment, he just tried to enjoy Mike’s warm, amicable presence. The quiet space between was when he could pretend that the world was different, and they could just be together without the subterfuge. 

“Are you still okay to take the trip to Pittsburgh tomorrow?” Mike asked, stroking Sid’s sweaty hair back from his forehead. 

He didn’t think that Mike was asking if his ass was too sore from being pounded to go to work. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You can take my Chev, if you want,” Mike offered. 

Sid snorted at the thought of driving the ostentatious Camaro across state lines where he didn’t have the luxury of protection that he did in Boston. He was just fine with his old Buick, even if there was blood on the seats again. “I’m good, thanks.”

Mike stroked down Sid’s spine, eventually curving around to rest on his ass and squeezing a handful. “Sure you don’t want something to impress your little Russian boyfriend?”

Sid forced himself not to blush with shame, and wasn’t sure that he was successful. He didn’t know how Mike had found out about Geno, but he shouldn’t be surprised. Mike had fingers in more pies than just Sid’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I could arrange for a trade,” Mike offered. His fingers strayed between Sid’s cheeks and brushed over the wetness he’d left behind. “You never let me get you any gifts.”

“I don’t need anything.” Sid rolled his eyes and made a show of cuddling into Mike’s space, hitching his hips gently. It was true; he hadn’t fucked Geno and didn’t intend to. Mike was who he wanted, and he wasn’t going to settle for having his affections distracted that way.

Around eleven, Sid had cleaned himself up and was putting his clothes back on—his blood-stained jeans and a borrowed shirt from Mike because the one he’d come in with was a lost cause. While he sat on the edge of the bed putting his shoes on, he was almost persuaded to stay when Mike hooked a hand around the nape of his neck and pulled him back in for a kiss. It was the kind of kiss that promised more, but Sid had already figured out that Mike’s love was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. It didn’t do him any good to pine away after his boss. 

Instead he extricated himself and pet the dogs on his way out. “See you when I get back,” he called, and closed the door behind.