Married to the Mobster

meditatively.
He wants to bring his brother up here. Why, I wonder? To see the view?
To tidy up a loose end?
Nah, I decide. If Lucifer was planning to off me, he could’ve done it there in the alleyway. I call down to the desk and give them the instructions. If nothing else, I’m curious to meet this brother.
“I want to see you again.” It’s out of my mouth before I can even think about filtering, almost before I’ve hung up the phone. Lucifer looks at me like he’s almost considering it, and then shakes his head.
“You don’t wanna know me. I’m bad news.”
“Yeah, you sure will be,” I agree. “That’s what’s so fucking hot about you.”
“I knew it,” he murmurs to himself.
I get up and walk over to him, watch him watching my cock, my thighs, my pecs. I know what I look like. I’m fucking beautiful, but so is he. He’s taller than me and hairy all over, on the chest, arms, junk…I fucking love it; I want to bury my face in all that fuzz and sniff him out, get high off his pheromones.
I’m right in front of him now, and I kneel down, looking up past his fat cock and his big velvety balls, right in the eye. “What do you know?” I ask.
“You’re crazy like I’m crazy,” he says.
I show him my teeth in a grin. “Hell, yeah. There’s not many of us around. When you’re ready to be King of New York City, come find me. Deal?” I nuzzle into his junk, sucking at his balls. The bruising on his side is really coming up now, and I figure he’s gotta hurt all over. Another suck job can only help take his mind off it.
I feel his hand on the back of my head, fingers twisting in my hair, and he presses me closer. I take the tip of his cock in my mouth gently, rolling it with my tongue. I can’t get enough of his dick, I don’t know what it is about him. He makes me want to pledge allegiance to his goddamn ballsack.
I’m in the middle of blowing him when there’s a banging at the door. I jump, but the guy just gives this sigh, rolling his eyes upwards.
“My brother has a perfect sense of timing,” he tells me, stroking my cheek. He even helps me up from my knees as though I’m the delicate one, when his whole side is blooming yellow and violet, and then he goes out to the other room. I hear the door opening.
“Fuck!” says a deep male voice from the other side. “Jesus Christ, put your junk away!”
“You interrupted me, Frank,” Lucifer says in this cool, autocratic voice. I lay it away in my memory, ’cause I know that’s what he’ll sound like all the time when he really hits it big.
I’ve never been so fucking sure of anything in my life as I am of this guy. It’s like a conversion experience.
Chuckling at myself, I stroll into the other room where Lucifer has left the door open for his brother.
“Yo,” I say with a raised hand when Brother Frank walks in, still complaining.
“Aw, come on!” he says, throwing up his hands when he see me in all my naked glory, too.
“Finch,” I say, walking across to offer a hand.
He actually shakes it. “Frank. What the fuck happened to my brother?”
I give a shrug. Up to these two to sort that out. “I just cleaned up the mess,” I tell him. Frank looks a lot like his brother: tall, dark, with the same blue eyes, only my guy is sharper, more refined in his features. Frank looks like he’s caught a fist in the face more than a couple of times, his nose large and twisted. His ears are cauliflowering. He looks older than the both of us, but it’s hard to tell what’s age and what’s injury when a guy’s been fucked up enough times.
Lucifer waves a cut-it-out hand at the both of us. “I’ll tell you all about it later, Frank,” he says, and turns away. “I just need my clothes.”
“What the hell is that on your back?” Frank asks him, his face screwing up.
“Cum,” I tell him, grinning. “That, Francis darling, is a physical manifestation of the love your brother and I have shared.”
Frank turns away, putting his hands up towards his head like he wants to cover his ears but knows he’s not nine years old anymore. “Fuck’s sake,” he mutters. He adds, “And it’s Francesco, dipshit.”
Lucifer reappears. “Where the fuck are my clothes?” he asks me.
I have to think about it. “Oh, yeah. I sent them for cleaning when you were asleep.”
“Well, shit,” Frank says. “Look at little Suzie Housewife here.”
Lucifer and I both ignore him. “You can take something of mine,” I tell him with a shrug. I don’t know how well it’ll fit him—he’s way longer in the legs—but I have sweats he can take. He follows me to the bedroom again. Frank waits in the living room, grumbling loudly.
“What’s your name?” I ask, as I grab out pants and a hoodie. He ignores the question and pulls on the clothes, staring down at the Harvard crest on the front of the hoodie. “My Pops’ alma mater,” I say. I want to keep him here, this sinful demon of a man, for as long as I can. Forever.
So I talk.
“Pops wanted me to go there too, but I took some time off after high school and now, I don’t know, I’m thinking something more arty. Or maybe, like, drama school. My sisters tell me I’m a drama queen all the time, so I figure, why fight destiny?”
Lucifer squints at me.
“Georgie, come on!” Brother Frank hollers from the other room. “I got places to be!”
“Georgie?” I grin. “Georgie.”
The guy looks pained, and not from the contusion taking up half his side. “That’s not my name.”
“Then why—”
“It’s what Frank likes to call me when he’s looking to piss me off. I can’t