He had stood outside for ages, I realized. Unsure whether to press the intercom and ask me to buzz him in, instead he had waited for someone to walk out and let him make his decision in a snap.
But the stretch from the vestibule to my front door was long.
From the look in his eyes, I could tell it had taken him everything to come here – to face me after what he had done, to come look me straight in my brown irises that would never be blue, and not fall down.
His hand was clutching the sill, tightly.
"I had to see that you were okay."
His voice was raw and raspy, a mess to say the least. He looked all the same as I had last seen him, except he was wearing new clothes... but the same old trench coat. Not warm enough for winter. But warm enough for him.
I looked back up at him, raking my eyes slowly over his full appearance and swallowed with difficulty. He wasn't limping. Wasn't bleeding. Wasn't wounded from what I could tell, and the skin around his knuckles were healing up nicely. No infection. But no stitching either.
He had come here tonight to see if I was okay, but the way I saw it, it wasn't to reassure my comfort, but his own. What we had done in that bed had been worse than what he had done in that alley.
But we had both been willing participants there.
So many buts. So many excuses.
"I'm fine," I whispered, hugging the cold wood of my door. I wanted to say more, but as always, my tongue tied up when he was around.
I had hoped I would gain enough strength one day to fight him... fight that knot that always lodged in my throat, but today wasn't it. Today... today was about something else.
"Do you want to come in?" I opened the door more for his broad frame to slip through. When I saw his hesitance, I added; "Please." He knew I wasn't fine at all, but I still needed my answers. Still needed... closure.
He had left with a purpose, but had come with an equal one.
With a harsh exhale, his shoulders dropped. He walked in stiffly and reluctantly and didn't go further than the hallway as I closed the door behind him. Locking us in.
And here we were again, weren't we.
I edged around him and took the lead. He followed me like a soldier, taking the couch while I took the armchair. He didn't sit until I did.
And for the first time since our time together, I uttered another word instead of my usual. "Talk."
His fists tightened and threatened to break the healing skin on his knuckles. I was commanding him and his control didn't like it. They struggled under the pressure, but then he eased up.
"I don't know what to say."
It was my turn to ball up my fist. He knew more than what he was saying, but he didn't know what to say; That was the long and true translation.
"Tell me why they went after you," I said, trying to swallow past the lump in my esophagus again. It didn't budge. "Who were those men?"
"Mafia... they were Mafia."
"And what does the Mafia want with you?"
His head dropped. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't—"
"Yes, you do!" I yelled. The sound tore from me, piercing through the dead silence. Tony's eyes stayed downcast, but his whole body was wound tight like... like a violin string. "You killed somebody that night you came to me. That night... with the blood. What. Happened. That. Day?"
His posture cracked, and stiffly, he cupped his eyes with one hand. Just like that, I knew I had pushed him back to that evening.
"I told you..." He rasped, lowly. "Wrong place, wrong time."
I couldn't take this anymore. "Tony... what... happened?"
And then, like one of his tunes, he snapped and went into a tailspin.
"Christ! Melody, I don't know! I was walking down a street when I heard noise coming from a building. Someone was crying... screaming like they were being tortured," He cupped his face with both his hands now, his shoulders shaking with pent-up anger. He was back there, in the moment, chasing the sound. "I went in. The building was abandoned... nothing but plywood and concrete..."
Back in that trigger house... moving in... eye in the scope... hallway one clear, over. Roger that, steady forth.
"I stopped when I heard another sound... that's when I saw it."
We've got eyes on the target. Armored C4, repeat, armored C4. Move out everybody, this is not a drill!
Tony slowly lifted his eyes, and what I saw... was gruesome.
"He was just a kid, Melody. A goddamned kid. Couldn't have been more than 20, beaten and caved in by these men who were speaking to him... I didn't hear their words. I saw the kid throw up, bleeding from his mouth, his head, his knee... he passed out and I... I..."
Boom.
Just like that night in the alley with the Devil, just like with those Russians, he had been triggered like a weapon and acted on instinct. Something inside him snapped, a shortcut in his brain.
"Blackout," I whispered.
How ironic his mind was a black void, yet still escaped to a darker place when it sensed danger.
"When I came to," Tony stared dead ahead, his face carved like stone. "Everyone was dead but the kid. I don't remember what happened. I was kneeling over one of them... I was covered in blood. The kid was on the floor and he was holding a gun. He was pointing it at me. He looked scared shitless." He cupped his face again and hid his pain. "So I ran. I ran to the first place I could think of."
Here. I closed my eyes. Me.
Tony lowered his head and knelt over on his elbows. I could do the rest of math myself. He hadn't remembered anything, but that kid... if he had survived, he had obviously ended up in the wrong claws again and given up Tony. A matched description was all it took before someone would point the gun in the right direction. He truly was at the wrong place at the wrong time. He had been triggered in the wrong moment... caught up in a war that wasn't his.
"You're not safe with me."
I opened my eyes and looked at him. Again, his words were subtext; That's why I left.
The subtext to the subtext was even deeper.
I shouldn't have kissed you. Shouldn't have stripped you bare. Shouldn't have laid you down on that bed and sunken inside you, only to leave you broken and used when morning came.
But the irony was... I knew I hadn't been safe with him. We hadn't been safe, but I had never felt safer in his arms.
The exhale he had breathed against my mouth as we had come apart in ecstasy together had been my promise that as long as he lived, I was safe.
Just not with him.
I stood up and wiped my cheeks when I knew I was crying. Wordlessly, I walked up to the violin which Dan had stored in a corner where it wouldn't stare at me. The second I pulled it free, I felt him shift behind me, the air tensioning up.
"Play."
His body stiffened and his voice thickened. "Melody..."
I tossed the suitcase at him, and he caught it, military reflex. "Play."
His expression went morose and he lowered the case onto the couch. "No."
"How else will you find answers?" I whipped the blanket off my body and clipped my eyes away from him. "Play. I won't watch."
I started for the kitchen, already aware of the heavy footsteps that would follow me. They thudded harshly against the floors, but no hands tried to grip me and stop me.
"Melody."
I spun around when he was right behind me, folding me up against the counter. I felt his body seep into mine, the thick aura of his envelope me.
– I blamed it on chemistry.
My hand grasped around the base of his neck and his lips hissed as they came down upon mine. In a roaring battle, our mouths clashed, my own parting and making way as he wound his own hand around my head and plundered his tongue inside me.
My body arched and the counter moved. I didn't realize I was pushing him against it until I felt his grip of control on my arms. Was I leading the symphony? They were ripping at his shirt, making buttons fly everywhere.
"Melody—" His bruised lips were swollen and his eyes were thunderous as I ripped free of them, meeting his raging gaze.
This was happening again. But on my terms.
I might not have been safe with him, but he was doomed without me.
And he hadn't come to play the violin this time.
A sharp intake of air hissed through his lips as my mouth descended on his bared chest and kissed his pec. My teeth nipped at the flesh, sunk into his nipple which hardened at the contact. His deep groan made me feel his grip on my hair twist as I moved down, pulling, ripping, untying his belt...
"Melody, stop," His chest pumped as my hand went into his pants and found his erect length. He went completely rigid when I dropped to my knees and pulled him free. The whites in his eyes overpowered the blue. "Melody—"
He was a control freak. And I was taking control.
"Fuck!"
He roared as I took him into my mouth, letting him inside my warm wet heat. He nearly ripped my hair out and gripped the counter for leverage when I brushed my tongue against him, tasting his salty, earthy flavor.
And just like that, I knew had finally broken through to him; Broken through his barrier as he had broken through mine.
"Melody," He gritted as his grip on my hair twisted tighter. "Fuck, stop..." Yet despite his words, he pushed me further down on his cock, letting my throat gag around him. I drew back and swallowed, then sucked hard on his tip before sliding him deep into my mouth again, letting him hit that spot at the back of my throat he seemed to like.
He let out a blasphemous curse. My hands were resting on his thighs, but now itched closer to his length. While my head bobbed back and forth on his cock, my palm found his heavy sac beneath and gently squeezed it. His cock did a hard jerk inside my mouth and he yanked at my hair again, letting out a harsh grunt.
"Jesus... Christ, Melody." His hand combed through my hair, getting caught in tight curly tangles, before grabbing the back of my head again, holding it all there as I went deeper, choking and feeling the water pile in my eyes. "Stop, Mel... fuck, you need to... stop..."
But he wasn't stopping himself. His hips were taking control and started thrusting forward, sliding himself in and out of my mouth while pushing my head to meet every brutal thrust. I gurgled on all the saliva that was gathering in my mouth with the precum from his tip I now felt tickling along my tongue as he himself slid back and forth. He fucked my mouth relentlessly while rasping my name as a curse and a blessing at the same time.
"Melody. Melody, Melody, Melody... Stop," He groaned, but forced my head forward, my mouth closing around two-thirds of his length. "Fuck, stop!"
Maybe he wasn't aware that he was doing it himself. Maybe he was too far gone to realize he was the one guiding me and I was his fucktoy now, wantonly just kneeling before him with my mouth open while he fucked me mute. Maybe, he didn't realize that while he was cursing at me to stop, his release was shooting down my throat.
"Fuck!" He groaned as he unloaded everything he had, keeping me locked as I gagged, my mouth fighting to contain it all. I couldn't. It dripped past my lips, onto my chin as he jerked again, landing another taste of himself in my throat.
By the time his last load dribbled down my chin and landed in my lap, the indents his fingers had made on my scalp felt permanent. When he let go and pulled me off his semi-erect cock, it felt as though he ripped his fingers out of my skull and left craters behind, deep, deep craters like the one he had made at the back of my throat.
His breath hard and erratic, unapologetic. He was downright panting and I now saw the dark patches around his underarms, drenched with sweat. A coat of it shone on the exposed parts of his chest and neck and mixed with the musk of his arousal in the air.
My chin was wet with him, my lap had splotches here and there. My lips were glossy and bruised from his assaults and my mouth felt raw.
Still, what felt most brutalized were my eyes. As my tongue licked across the seams of my lips, our eyes met. Mine wide and expanded, his dark and unencumbered. Angry.
"Get up," He hissed, gritting his teeth as he fixed up his pants with harsh movements. When I arose to my feet, wiping away what was leftover of him, he abruptly grabbed my wrist and stopped me.
My movements stilled, but not for long. Before I could do any more, he walked around me and yanked me along, dragging me towards what I realized was my bathroom. He pushed me inside and closed the door, then immediately begun stripping me out of my dirty clothes, wringing it off with no grace whatsoever. My protests died on my tongue as he reached inside the shower and turned the water on, setting it to scalding, before pushing me under. He came in with me.
Giving no attention to the fact that he was still wearing clothes himself, he pressed me under the spray and made sure the water cascaded down my front, washing him off. The hot water burned his scent off me, made me whimper when he took the shower head off the stand and brought it closer to my skin, until the water felt like thousands of small razor blades cutting me. And still, it wasn't enough.
"T-Tony," I breathed when he set the shower head back in its place and instead reached for my soaps, taking my coconut scented soap and pouring a generous amount of it into the palm of his hand. He began lathering it onto my skin, rubbing and scrubbing until my skin felt as raw as my throat. "Tony, wait—"
He took the shower head and brought it my skin again, washing off the soaps without listening to my protests. When I tried to stop him, he grabbed my wrist and forced my palm up against the slippery wall of the shower. He kept us like that, unmoving. The only thing that moved was the water pelting over my skin that would've been red by now if it could. Instead, it just glistened, pretended to feel nothing. Which was the farthest thing from the truth.
I was throbbing. I tried to disguise it, but I couldn't stay still. My thighs squeezed together to close off the water from tickling down there, tormenting me even more. But torment was his favorite play.
He sensed my squirming, and without any hesitation, he brought the shower head down to my sex. I gasped and jolted when he angled the spray just right, making it hit my folds which I tried to keep closed. With a kick from his foot, he spread me wide open. And then, I cried.
The powerful, scorching spray of the water hit me centered and made my knees buckle and my breath become shallow. I was panting within seconds, squirming wildly against his bulking frame, bracing myself against the wall with my one hand. The other had locked itself around his hand, the one he used to hold the shower head, but instead of trying to push it away like I should have, I was making sure he kept it in place. Right where I needed it.
But it wasn't enough, still.
"Tony," I cried and choked on a moan as I felt him shift the shower head ever so slightly so the spray tickled up and then down again. "Oh God, Tony, please, please..."
His free hand came to my heat, and with rough fingers, he mercilessly spread me apart and allowing the water to tickle me even worse; I let out a scream.
But it was never enough.
Not even when I felt my ōrgasm welling up and my knees giving up from under me. Not even when I lost my breath and felt it jolt through me in a hopeless mixture of euphoria and torment. My cries weren't enough.
Tony slowly let his hand slide further between my legs, and without a moment to prepare me, buried two fingers deep within me. I shouted and screamed, clutched my thighs around his hand as he began pumping, torturing; I was going to come apart in his hand. Figuratively and literally.
"Tony!" I screamed and dug my fingernails into his wrist as he somehow managed to make the shower head still hit me where I wanted it, the same time his large palm cupped my heat. I was gyrating against his fingers, grinding uncontrollably until I finally felt it happen. Until...
I came apart with a tortured cry. I spasmed around his fingers and nearly lost my balance on the slippery wet floor as it all poured over me, everything. I heard a vague clatter and realized Tony had thrown the shower head on the floor to catch me as I climaxed, throwing my head back against his shoulder.
But did he really catch me or was it another sugar pill?
When my cries finally died and the fire between my legs stopped, I realized he still had his fingers within me. It was only after almost two minutes of panting against him that he decided to remove them. Or maybe it had been that he couldn't. My walls clenched around him as he withdrew and revealed to the both of us how shiny they were, covered in my juices.
Still panting, I watched as he lifted that hand and brought it out of my vision, to what I had to assume was his lips. I was tired, but I couldn't stop myself; I cocked my head up and sideways to catch as he sunk only his index finger into his mouth and tasted me, licked me off and then swallowed.
Never before had he tasted his symphonies...
His eyes met mine and then his hand moved towards me. His eyes were nothing but black pits of darkness, but they looked at me with something much more consuming than the dark.
The other Tony.
Anthony.
"Taste yourself."
I didn't realize he had curled all his fingers down except for his middle finger. Fuck you, taste you.
Control.
My mouth opened on its own accord and I watched as he slipped his finger past my lips, gliding it along my tongue like his cock had. I closed my lips around him and swirled my tongue to suck him.
Slowly, he moved his finger back and forth, back and forth, fucking me with it. My core began to throb again as I tasted myself, the tangy, yet sweet nectar of my own ōrgasm. Still having his lingering on my tongue, the two combined into a savory, dirty flavor that now danced on my tongue like a spicy salsa. I wasn't ready when he abruptly pulled his finger out of my mouth.
Wasn't ready to wake up. Wasn't ready to...
There were two hundred things I wanted to tell him, talk to him about, but they all died as he let go of me and stepped out of the shower, his wet clothes dripping on the floor. Slipping through my numb fingers. I couldn't move as I heard him peel it off, dragging the stubborn material off his chiseled body. All I did was close my eyes and accept the cold truth that hit me.
I had been the violin this time. He had played with me, felt with me, and now as he grabbed a towel and wordlessly walked out of the bathroom, it was like the first time I saw him play; He had picked up the violin, abused it, forced it to play by his tune, and then, as if not caring one shit about its mangled body afterwards, he shoved it back into its suitcase and left it there to bleed alone.
And now, as the door stiffly closed behind me, I realized he had done just that again. All too willingly. Just like the violin, all I had craved was to trigger him, and hadn't I done that?
Irony was cruel.
How right I had been. He hadn't come to play the violin this time.
• • •
Desperation is a taker's best customer.