The target lit another cigarette, glancing around disdainfully as he was shepherded into the rickety cable car. Opening one of the small flapped windows high in the side walls, he tapped off the accumulated ash.

"Is all this really necessary? I’ve never had these kind of security issues with your employer before."

"And he expresses his deepest apologies for the unorthodox nature of the meeting, sir. He has reason to be cautious lately, I’m sure you understand."

The other man laughed, shook his head. "Boy, your employer has never deigned meet me in person, how cautious does he need to be? Even so..." Eyes narrowed beyond the smoke and cigarette glow. "You’re the most diverting escort he’s given me in a while."

Pietro turned to face the window, rolled his eyes. The come-ons had begun when he'd picked up the guest at the train station, to escort him to the hastily rearranged meeting. They hadn’t stopped since.

Of course, he had copious amount of information about his charge, and had altered his appearance to suit. The most influential and charismatic drug dealer this side of Naples, Antonio DiFilipo apparently liked his companions fragile and submissive, and to reflect the importance of the planned deal, a fragile, submissive companion had been supplied. Even though Pietro was inconspicuous enough, said companion had introduced himself simply as `Sergio`. No one was expecting him to use his real name, so there were no suspicious questions.

He has no reason to think DiFilipo cared what his name was. His charge wasn’t interested in his life story, that much was certain.

He watched the man’s reflection in the glass, pretending his attention was focused on the line of fir trees outside the window. DiFilipo was handsome enough, a little older, a little taller. His dark gold hair was styled to fall as though a lover’s fingers had just tousled it. The strong lines of his shoulders flexed as he sat down, grumbling under his breath at the slow ineptitude of the cable car, arms stretched across the tops of the empty adjacent seats. The action tugged the dark green silk shirt a little tighter across his chest. He loosened his tie, and crossed one leg over the other, ankle resting on one knee.

The entire pose was a display for his benefit, he supposed.

Dutifully, Pietro caught the caramel gaze in the dirty glass as the lights of the car flickered precariously to life, feigned a coy little blush, lowered thick lashes to shroud wide blue eyes. DiFilipo chuckled lowly, as if to say "gotcha!”

DiFilipo cursed loudly past his cigarette as the cable car lurched into motion, beginning its slow ascent, reluctant and tentative as though it might flee back to the safety of the station on a whim. At this time of the evening, at this time of the year, there would be no one else up at the observation point at the end of the ride.

"So...what kind of sweetener would I have to put into the deal to keep you for the rest of the evening, after we’re through here?"

Pietro turned, a soft humourless laugh on his lips. "What makes you imagine I’d be for sale? What makes you think I’m part of the deal?"

"Well..." The small car swayed slightly as DiFilipo stood, a slow smile on his lips as he took lazy stalking steps towards him. "Your boss is the kind of man for whom everything has its price."

Pietro stiffened as hands rested on his shoulders, slowly sliding down his upper arms, a thin ribbon of smoke drifting up from the cigarette, the scent rich and bitter at the same time. He looked up at the other man with a small, grim smile. "And you think you can afford me?"

"Oh, I think it could be--"

DiFilipo’s words were drowned out by a loud protesting shriek of the cables supporting the car, as the slow progress jerked to a halt. The lights flickered for a moment, before extinguishing. The only illumination was the lights of the city glittering below in the violet dusk.

The grip on Pietro’s arms was thrown off kilter by the sudden stop. Cursing under his breath, DiFilipo looked around with a scowl, taking several quick drags on the cigarette as he paced the small distance to the closed door of the car, staring down at the station far in the distance. Not for the first time, he got the impression that DiFilipo wasn’t entirely comfortable with the setting, neither the space nor the height.

But he waited, infinitely patient, as the new information seemed to process through his charge’s mind, and those eyes turned back to him, a predatory smile covering the unease, whatever he had begun to say earlier forgotten.

"I don’t think you’re that expensive..."

"Really?" He laughed a little as the hands returned to his shoulders, DiFilipo moving close enough that he was efficiently trapped between the taller body and the edge of the row of seats behind him.

"You know, it could be worth your while too." Lips brushed against his ear as DiFilipo leant down. "There’s a lot of expensive merchandise under my care." He gestured to a silver attaché case sitting on one of the seats. "I don’t think your boss would notice if just a little went missing."

Pietro closed his eyes, lips curved in a practice-perfect sultry smile. "It’d be more than my life was worth if I was caught."

"This one deal is worth more than your life..." The patronizing little laugh was accompanied by a slow warm brush of lips and tongue along the shell of his ear. He shivered, let himself be caught off guard and unceremoniously spun around. Hands on the edge of the window to keep his balance, he felt a ghosted breath on the nape of his neck. "But don’t the possibilities of it entice you?"

"No." Another humorless laugh misted up the cold window in front of him. "But I might be persuaded, given a few...conditions."

He felt the smile against his skin, followed by a sharp nip. One hand slid down his chest, cupping over the front of his pants, squeezing once, before rubbing flat-palmed circles. "Conditions, such as..?"

He ducked under the taller man’s embrace, one hand gripping his wrist, twisting one arm behind his back as he reversed their positions. If DiFilipo was surprised at the unassuming speed and disarming power, he hid it well. He supposed it was something people expected when he mentioned working for his `employer`. The man didn’t suffer idiots, or those incapable of taking care of themselves, no matter how looks deceived. DiFilipo chuckled softly in slight concession, free hand lifting to take another drag from the cigarette.

"Such as, my time, my rules."

The infuriating chuckle deepened, mocking. "Feisty for such a little thing, aren’t you?"

`Little` earned a scowl and a sharper shove on the trapped arm.

"Careful, mio caro. I don’t think your boss would be impressed if you injured me." DiFilipo laughed, a smugness borne of surety in his voice.

Pietro had to reach up on tip-toe to speak against the side of the other man’s neck, voice husky, hand mimicking the exact caress that had been done to him, only diverting from the task to loosen the tie completely. Teeth nipping lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder, he murmured, "And if I promise not to leave too many conspicuous marks?"

"Well…” DiFilipo’s chuckle became a lower purred sound. “That’d be different..."

Pietro made vague little noises of agreement, lips moving along the back of the other man’s neck, fingers beginning a slow teasing massage of the flesh hardening beneath his touch. It was enough distraction that the other man never even noticed as his teeth tugged the loose necktie free from the collar of his shirt.

In fact DiFilipo only began to notice when he deftly caught the other wrist, quickly binding both hands behind his back with the tasteful silk tie. The cigarette dropped to the floor amid the faint struggling. Pietro crushed the glowing ember with his boot, riveted for a moment as the cigarette spat and hissed as it died.

"Are you usually this easy to sidetrack?" He looked up, brow raised. "Dangerous..."

DiFilipo glanced over his shoulder, still testing the binds. "No, not usually." That smug chuckle returned. "As however dangerous you think you can be, amato, you wouldn’t risk delivering me your boss if any harm came to me."

Pietro laughed softly, shaking his head as he reached up, grabbed a handful of blond hair, and yanked the other man’s head back. Voice low, he smiled darkly. "Do you want to find out how dangerous I think I can be?"

Hissing at the pull, DiFilipo smirked past any discomfort, struggling to keep his balance. "Yeah, why don’t you show me what you think you’ve got, hmm?"

One sharp well-placed swipe of his boot against the other man’s ankle sent the already off-balance blond sprawling to his knees, prevented from kissing the dingy floor of the car solely by the grip on his hair. The car rocked violently once, the cables creaked loudly.

Wordlessly, Pietro reached back under his leather coat, made a point of removing the matte black handgun from its side holster, placing it on the seat next to the briefcase. DiFilipo’s vaguely unimpressed stare didn’t waver; the charge knew his escorts never went unarmed, but it was useful to reinforce the fact.

The gaze widened a little when a black handled flick knife emerged from a holster under the other side of the coat, before the garment was shrugged off, draped with elegant carelessness over the side of the seat.

He let go of DiFilipo as the six inch steel blade sprang from its clip, the razor sharp tip stopping just a breath from the other man’s cheek. To his credit, DiFilipo hardly flinched, just flicked a lazy insolent gaze up to him, turning his head with the intention of running an innuendo-laden lick along the blunt edge of the knife.

Pietro stepped back before he could accomplish that, watching the inelegant flailing as the lean offset DiFilipo’s poise, without that grip to stop him falling. He watched impassively as the other man cursed and struggle to pick himself up from the indignant sprawl, dirt and dust from the car floor leaving smudges over that expensive suit.

Unbuttoning his own pants, letting the too-loose material fall to pool around his knees, Pietro sat down in the seat the blond had occupied earlier, legs spread slightly, arousal half-erect beneath the tails of his shirt. He waited in patient silence while DiFilipo righted himself, until the other man became aware of the unspoken demand.

He almost laughed at the look in those dark brown eyes, the indignant "Don’t you know who I am?!" expression. Instead, with a cold little smile, he crooked one finger, beckoning the man closer, grasping his hair mercilessly when he was within reach. The other hand ran the flat side of the blade along DiFilipo’s lips. Shifting a little in his seat, he guided the other man’s mouth closer to his hardening shaft. Voice soft, he smiled slightly, the tip of the blade grazing beneath the blond’s chin. "Try not to think about biting; you’ll have a little more to lose than I will if you do."

The other man looked up at him. Antonio DiFilipo wasn’t known for either his tact, or for letting anyone gain the upper hand. While he didn’t have much choice in the matter, there was still a moment of wavering before the caramel gaze lowered in the closest thing to resignation he was going to see. Full lips wrapped around his cock, with little preamble, the action no-nonsense and methodical. The heat and the tightness of that mouth would have done the job, but it was a little disappointing.

Pietro tightened his grip in DiFilipo’s hair again, seeing as that always seemed to get his charge’s attention, pulling his head back enough to look him in the eye without stopping the ministrations entirely. "And here I thought that clever mouth would be more talented than that." Sliding the blade a little along DiFilipo’s jaw, the grip on his hair loosened to a slow massage. "Try again."

He sat back, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as the other man seemed to war internally with himself. How demeaning, caught in this situation with a nothing more than a lowly messenger boy, just a pathetic kid sent to look after him. He laughed a little. Careful what you wish for, DiFilipo...

The laugh trailed off into a quiet gasp as the other man’s lips began to move again, mouth just as hot and wet, suction of his lips and cheeks just as tight, but something was different. Something deliberate about the slow rub of DiFilipo’s tongue along the sensitive underside of his cock. Something planned at the occasional scrape of teeth, the slight side-to-side tilting of the other man’s head. That movement sent pleasure circling the base of his arousal, as those lips caressed first in one direction, then the other. A sharper, hotter echo of the sensation flared at the head of his shaft, the hypersensitive tip receiving constant friction against the back of DiFilipo’s throat.

Pietro’s grip tightened, holding DiFilipo’s head still, moving himself against that torturously tight mouth. Just another little reminder who was in charge. Even past those almost pliant lips, the thrust of his hips was forceful, pressing him even deeper against the back of the other man’s throat.

In the back of his lust-fogged mind was the thought that when he was shut up, DiFilipo went up several notches on the pleasant company scale.

Moving the knife back just enough to avoid any sudden premature accidents, he continued thrusting, rough and fast, grace sacrificed in favour of indulging the cold chill of pleasure tensing his nerves, pooling at the base of his spine, making him shiver. Eyes half closed, his head fell back, unruly chestnut hair falling into his hazy line of vision, sweat damp tendrils brushing the nape of his neck.

Besides, it wasn’t as though he needed to be careful. DiFilipo wouldn’t be given all that much time to complain.

The thrill of that thought crashed into the rising wave of physical sensation, both meeting and rolling like charged thunder. His fingers tightened enough that the blond growled, but all those resulting vibrations did was serve to make him thrust harder, hips bucking almost off the seat, all his slight weight transferred to his back, his shoulders. He was almost silent as he came, nothing but a whimpered breath escaping ruthlessly bitten-shut lips. The heat around him intensified, hotter, wetter, sending another circuit of pleasure racing through his blood, only slightly weaker than the first.

For a second he just watched the darkening scenery outside the steamed window sway. He relaxed his hold as DiFilipo turned his head away, spat out what he couldn’t, or more likely wouldn’t, swallow.

Pietro leaned down, licked away a thin droplet of creamy moisture trickling from the corner of the blond’s lips. Eyes darkened to a midnight blue, he met DiFilipo’s gaze with a blank little half smile. If the other man thought that was it, then he really didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Yet, anyway. Time enough for that after. It was always a waste throwing away perfectly good entertainment before thoroughly enjoying it.

He pushed DiFilipo back a little, the other man rocking on his heels as he reached for the collar of his shirt.

There was a very unmasculine little yelp as the blade tore through the silk as though the material wasn’t there. The knife cut a little too close - he’d leave DiFilipo to decide if that was deliberate or not - leaving a long thin ribbon of blood dissecting his chest, from collarbone to navel.

"Faccia di merda..!” DiFilipo’s incredulous gaze flicked back and forth between him and the ruined shirt. “You’re lucky I’m making a small fortune on this deal..."

Pietro raised a brow. "You’re lucky I didn’t do that to your skin instead of your shirt."

Dragging the other man to his feet, Pietro repeated the process with the immaculately tailored suit pants, running a slow tear alongside the fly he didn’t have the patience to open. Jerking DiFilipo close, he kissed him hard, tongue thrusting beyond surprise-slack lips, before letting go with a none-too-gentle push. One of DiFilipo’s knees braced against the edge of the seat, but he still fell awkwardly on one shoulder, the window edge scraping his jaw. Strong thighs parted for leverage, the position put firm curves of an ass that bore the same unbroken golden tan as the rest of the man, on prominent display.

He took a step back, smiled a little. Now that was a view.

Leaning in just long enough to sweep a lick along the back of the other man’s neck, he stroked one hand over the blond’s ass, one finger running firmly along the crease, fingernail scraping hard enough to elicit a whimper. He backed away, voice half suggestion, half threat. "If you want to be ready for me, you’re going to have to do it yourself..."

A dark stare met his, glared over DiFilipo’s shoulder. The expression wavered for a moment, as if the other man didn’t know whether he’d be happier if that demand was retracted or not. Pietro watched him calmly, no indication on the pretty, placid face that the words had been anything other than utterly serious.

After a moment, DiFilipo straightened, muscles flexing again as he stretched. Legs apart, he arched his back slightly, hands twisting against the binds for the easiest angle, hesitating for just a second, before sliding one index finger past his own tight circle of muscle, drawing it back once before pressing back inside. Maybe it was the angle, maybe it was just the action - though the position didn’t allow for much depth, the startled look on DiFilipo’s face betrayed the fact that this was new territory - but he moaned like an expensive whore at that second touch, brown eyes drifting shut, cock twitching.

Pietro’s own arousal pounded again at the sight, making it difficult just to stand back and watch. He didn’t intend doing it for long, just long enough to leave DiFilipo unsettled. His hand dropped to the erection aching for attention, stroking slow and light in time with the blond’s thrusts and moans, spreading the drops of precum that beaded at the tip.

Tugging DiFilipo back by the binds around his wrists, one firm hand at the back of his neck was all silent indication needed to get him into the required position; shoulder and upper chest braced against the seat, knees on the floor.

Pietro knelt behind the other man, knees between the blond’s, spreading the strong thighs further to a suitable position. He could feel slight shivers in the muscles under his hands as he did do. Whether it was tension or excitement, he’d never been good at telling the difference. Not that it mattered. His grip became more brusque, less interested in the other man’s pleasure or otherwise, as he arranged the body beneath his at the right height

He frowned slightly at the thought; they were always taller than him, but it was a rare, highly brave or highly stupid man who ever called him `little`. He had a hunch DiFilipo was the latter.

Anger flaring, the first penetration was a hard, viciously rough thrust, fighting against the lingering resistance of the other man’s muscles around him until he was buried to the hilt. His bitten back cry, and DiFilipo’s much less restrained yell sounded unnaturally loud in the small confines of the car. The blond was cursing a blue streak at him, but the words washed over him, distant and insignificant as a radio left on in a room three doors away. He did wondered whether he should have gagged him. But he would have missed out should DiFilipo want to scream at any point. Besides, it wasn’t as though anyone could hear them way out here. No-one would come running to help.

Hands on DiFilipo’s hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises on that golden skin, Pietro didn’t give the other man time to become accustomed to the intrusion before settling into his own rhythm, pace relentless, thrusts driving in hard and deep. There was the faint cloying scent of blood under the sweeter musk, but he didn’t slow down to check.

DiFilipo’s yells and curses had changed somewhere along the line to long drawn out moans, little pained whimpers. Despite that, as he ran one hand down the blond’s chest, purposefully rubbing the long bloody knife scratch, the weeping erection butting into the edge of the seat with every thrust was hard as marble, hot as a fever. He gave the other man’s arousal one slow stroke, before his hands moved back to his hips. DiFilipo whimpered again, muscles clamping down reflexively.

The thrusts became faster, shallower, looking more for friction against his own cock than any mind of the man beneath him’s pleasure. The velvet tightness around him was all his mind chose to focus on, burying himself in the constricting heat with thrusts fast enough the sensation became one long constant blur. Head back, eyes closed, the faintest trace of a flush across pale cheekbones, he reached down again, fingers finding the blond’s cock, quivering for attention, DiFilipo’s pulse thundering against his grip as he stroked once, twice, gritting his teeth at the resulting tightness around his own arousal, sending almost painful jolts of sensation wracking through his body. Distantly he felt heat splashing across his fingers, heard the noises the other man was making.

All that existed for him in that moment was his own pleasure, his own climax, chasing every other coherent fragment from his mind, shattering it in a cold, numbing wave of physical feeling.

He drew back, the movement making them both gasp slightly. He fell back into one of the opposite seats. DiFilipo was still for a moment, before awkwardly levering himself up, turning around with a barely concealed wince.

Pietro’s thoughts had already moved on to other things, the most trivial of which was the realization that from this angle, he could confirm that DiFilipo was a natural blond. It seemed ironic that the most unbelievable thing about him was the only thing that wasn’t fake.

He also noticed with some disdain that DiFilipo seemed to believe one fuck made them friends, or some equally irrational notion. That infuriating chuckle was back, though hoarser, more tired. "You’re employer’s going to be fucking pissed off at you..."

"My `employer`," Pietro smiled emotionlessly, "wishes to express his dissatisfaction at your affiliation. He finds you unreliable and untrustworthy. My employer, as I’m sure you’re aware, requires absolute loyalty and dedication from those he chooses to do business with. And as I’m sure you’re also aware..." he stood, walking over. Leaning down, he tilted up DiFilipo’s chin. "Signore Gratteri, makes it a point to take care of...disruptive associates personally."

He took a step back, smiled as the penny dropped. DiFilipo stared at him, jaw slack. Then laughed harshly. "You’re not Gratteri..."

"Whether I am or not..." He continued smiling, eyes blank. "What you believe, DiFilipo, is of no consequence to me."

He jerked the blond to his feet again, rolling his eyes as the other man stumbled on the suit pants still tangled around his ankles. Yanking the cable car door open, Pietro shivered at the cold draught of wind that gusted in, chased out the steam and lingering scent of sex. Lifting the gun, silencer attached, he ignored the other man’s bewildered, fearful protests, any redeemable pride vanished in the face of death. Looking DiFilipo in the eye, his expression never changed, never faltered as he pulled the trigger.

He glanced out of the door as he shut it, just to satisfy himself with the view of the snapped tree branches far below, that had broken DiFilipo’s last fall.

Holstering the gun, he wiped the knife clean on the edge of his shirt, closing it. Taking time to tidy himself up he finally crossed over to the window, lighting a cigarette of his own, the flare of the flame the signal to put the cable car in motion once more.

By the time the car arrived back at the station, DiFilipo was nothing more than a fleeting memory.