2P GerIta: Fallen

3

I stayed practically the same from before my confession to directly after it. I followed all of Luciano's orders perfectly, obeying all commands without hesitation, doing exactly as directed without so much as a second thought. Perhaps the only noticeable difference - which wasn't necessarily new behavior from me, it was merely more profound and noticeable to Luciano now - was how much I stared at the Italian as he went about the actions of his day. A few times, he swiftly turned and harshly smacked me across the face, sometimes even splitting skin with the force as he hissed in Italian about me being a perverse German bastard, trying to undress him with my eyes, fucking him in my mind. And it wasn't like I could argue much against that....

It was only occasionally in the beginning that he would catch something other than lust behind my gaze, only a few moments that he glimpsed love lurking there. Those times his reactions were much greater, more violent, easily more terrified of me, of my feelings, of my heart. I was meant to be cold-blooded and ruthless, no strings attached, no emotions between or besides. Yet here I was now, feelings flicking through my eyes to his; and he detested it.

At first.

However, Luciano was narcissistic at heart, and there was a part of him - a rather large part - that lived for my attention, my devotion, my idolization. Even as he despised the changes, he relished in the worship I gave to him, on a whole other level from the efficient obedience I had displayed before. This was love, and he knew it, and he knew to like it and use it as he could and saw fit to, bending me to his will as easily as putty in the hands of a true Italian artist. And I was content to let him do so - I had no illusions about the man I fell in love with, the one who had ensnared me in his cruelty and his unyielding relentlessness of life as he pursued all his desires with the same driven passion to succeed. The goal was to make myself one of those desires then.

Of course though, only in my own style. My own smug, derisive style.

It wasn't shocking that I ended up in the torture chamber for one too many sexually-implicative statements, with just a few more explicit excuses - for any lapses in the perfection Luciano demanded - over his limit for me.

The first time I was taken into the dark stone room and thrashed to within an inch of my life was over some tardiness to training, which I had excused with a mockingly suggestive explanation of a dream with the fierce Italian being more than willing to keep me company in my abandon for the training.

And the implications were hardly brash I thought - considering some of the things Kuro had been known to say in the past, never mind myself - but it was just enough to merit some punishment given the circumstances.

The only thing truly different then was my reaction. Usually, I took everything in silence as Luciano gave it to me, broken skin to broken bones alike: not a sound. This time though, I couldn't quite manage silence - a small cry escaped my lips after mere minutes of the knife grazing my skin and leaving deep red arcing lines in its wake. I knew Luciano recognized the masochism behind the sound - especially as its frequency increased the longer his actions drew on - but he looked confused to hear it coming from me in this context.

It wasn't until I quietly pleaded for him to mark my neck, cut my face, all the better to have him closer and have the pain greater, that I saw him truly relax comfortably into his element, and a smile even graced his lips briefly, small and wicked and rather unbeknownst to Luciano as blood poured from my body under his touches and I felt all the weaker under his powerful whims. Still, I had the strength to twist my head enough to ghost a kiss over the inside of his wrist as he trailed his knife passed my mouth along my jaw.

"You revolt me," he snarled, digging the blade in deeper.

"I love you, Luciano," was all I replied with, and I would have kissed his skin once more had he not moved on with the torture, away from my mouth that was seeking him out. Yet the rest of that time - and really, every time after - I refused to stay silent, instead expressing my satisfaction and appreciation as the torture proceeded and my masochism won out at the sensations.

And this was only more apparent when it was someone other than Luciano who was "punishing" me, if only because I knew Luciano did not like to share his toys, and I could easily get myself to be considered as one of them if I showed him I could have fun with another.

From the same breach in protocol that one day I missed training, I was expected to believe I had also deeply offended Kuro as well, which earned a delightful round of retribution with the small, blacked-haired man and his katana. And regardless of if it was lust for blood or flesh that spurred us - or the desire to provoke our leader - we thoroughly enjoyed our engagement in discipline. As pain rolled through my body in waves, I would be quick to shove my tongue deep into his mouth, grinning inwardly as I would see Luciano's body twitch and a slight flush of rage paint his face for a moment at our actions, or more specifically, mine. I hardly cared at all for the man whose body I was desperately touching and having beat mine in return, my eyes only for the indignant, furious Italian in the corner watching. Until it was too much.

And then he was yelling at Kuro to get off - cutting his hand open to ensure he would cease wielding his Japanese sword - and then for the pair of us to stop acting like wild animals as we separated and Kuro was dismissed.

"Jealous - really, Luci?" I smirked.

And then there was the instant bristling and rise to his own defense as he screamed some more at me and I couldn't fight back a chuckle - which quickly dissolved to a moan as Luciano slapped me smartly, taking his turn to smirk. I knew he hated it when I was cocky, but I could hardly resist the temptation to goad a reaction out of him; every emotion earned from him was a step towards the final emotion I sought being pushed out of him. I wouldn't stop until then.