Tribute

Wong Yun Fat breezed through his paperwork, barely registering and certainly not caring about the jarring sounds of Master roughing Michelo up. Halfway into a year into their operation; Master needlessly, and often brutally, punishing subordinates seemed routine.

Wong's eyes carefully scanned over minuscule text, following complex loopholes and confusing logic. With a bright red pen, he annotated this and that, noting who was trying to get away with what. Glancing at an antique clock, he noted that it was well into the witching hours of the night.

Rubbing his watering eyes, he noted he was already half-way through this pork-filled bill. He nibbled on pignoli cookies that Michelo had brought hours ago, cherishing the sweet, chewy texture and pine nuts.

The almond sweet stuck in the Prime Minister's throat when he heard the wet thud of Michelo's back hitting a wall, followed by the hard crack of his head and a soft gasp, from across the hall. At least the Italian never gave Master any satisfaction of hearing him scream. With effort, he swallowed, drew a line to mark his place, and stood up, draping his coat over him. Wong didn't so much walk as he did glide down the hall, distant anger guiding his steps. The Chinese man had known it was only a matter of time before Master would take it too far....

"If I ever hear you questioning any of my orders again, this will feel like nothing more then a gentle eartug compared to what I will do to you next! Do you understand me?!" The Prime Minister heard the metal soles of Michelo's toes drag on the ground as the old man lifted him into the air and toss him carelessly.

So soft, it was almost a whisper, "Yes, sir."

Michelo had been raised to fight like a tiger, but submitted to Master's cruel hands without complaint. When someone had so much control over you already, it was always best to submit. To submit and bide your time. The hard smack of flesh on flesh and the sound of Michelo's knees hitting the floor greeted Wong from behind the door in the dark room where he fancifully made a chessboard of gundams to play with.

Standing in the middle of the board, surrounded by the statues of the God, Nobel, Ashura, and Skull Gundams, Michelo sat on his knees, bowing before the triumphant Master Asia. His hair messed and head bowed, Wong could only grasp a hint of Michelo's bruised ego in his lowered eyes, purpling pout, and bloodied nose. One gloved hand was wrapped around an elbow. Bright jewels of blood spattered on the cold marble. Wong saw the redhead lick his lips.

"Now then." Master growled, unsmiling, down at his wayward pupil, "Have you embraced the wisdom of obeying your superior's commands?"

"I have, sir." Michelo nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"Do you see the path of ruin that awaits those who question those that see beyond what is in front of them?!"

"I have, sir."

"You know that Domon had nothing to do with today's invasion, don't you?"

"I do, sir."

Master screamed, "Then you also know that to jeopardize our goals for the sake of petty vengeance and lies is the pinnacle of foolishness, don't you?!"

Wong himself almost flinched at the outburst; Michelo cowered, turning his head to the left, away from his Master's rebuke. A lightning fast hand crashed into the Italian's temple in a thunderous slap. He grabbed the smaller man by the collar of his shirt and yanked him off his knees. Small hands smeared blood and sweat into a carnation pink streak across the marble. Michelo fell forward, his chin supported by Master's fist, hands hanging limp, "Do you?!"

"I-I understand, sir."

Cold now, Master snarled, "Do not let it happen again, Michelo. I will give you what you wish, but remember that you sold your soul to me."

"Yes...Master."

That got the Prime Minister hot; he gnashed his teeth at Master taking possession of who Wong claimed as his. As he was about to call out at them, put an end to this humiliation, Master spoke: "Submit yourself to me; give me that tribute you seem all too happy to offer."

Michelo's eyebrows twitched displeasure, but with a soft sigh, he crawled on his knees to Master. The Italian bit the middle fingers of his gloves and pulled them off, tossing them away with a flick of his head. Naked hands glided slowly over Master's legs, his thumbs working swirls into the older man's inner thighs.

Wong's eyes widened, I am not seeing this....

Master's placed his hands on either side of Michelo's head and pulled him forward. Michelo responded diligently, nuzzling the old man's crotch, gently breathing hotly onto it. The Undefeated closed his eyes, groaning softly, gently massaging Michelo's scalp.

"Now, Michelo."

With a quick yank, Michelo loosened Master's drawstrings and pulled his pants down.

Heart quaking, Wong suppressed a gasp as Michelo lovingly licked at he old man's head, sliding his tongue down his length as Master disappeared down Michelo's throat. The Italian apparently had no gag reflex.

Had much practice, Michelo?! Wong jealously demanded through telepathy as the man he was talking to bobbed his head, working his rival with a professional zeal. The old man himself closed his eyes and growled in ecstasy. The deep throat gradually became shallower as the Italian pulled away to lick along warm veins. Mockingly pretty eyes looked up into Master's face with a dull enthusiasm and Michelo dipped into Master, swallowing his length again. Rough hands kept the younger man on him; any lesser person would have gagged by now, bit, done something. The redhead recited the Dante in his head as he worked skillfully to please his master, locking his throat and unlocking it how the old man liked, playing with him with his soft hands.

Despite who was on the receiving end of Michelo's devotion, seeing his own pet with a yet-unknown skill worked its own magic in Wong; he was burning to get hold of what was his and test some of those skills himself. The Italian's wandering eyes caught Wong's without any registration of emotion. Wong gasped as Michelo worked with an increasing fury, eager to make short his work. Those hot sienna eyes watching as he expertly dragged his teeth enticingly along Master Asia's length caused Wong to shiver.

Fondling had its own reward for the redhead, their tensing gave him fair warning to lock up his throat as to avoid choking. Bile rushed to his throat and back down as he was filled with the old bastard's bitterness. He eagerly sucked it all away to clear his mouth. A pearly strand leaked out of a corner of his mouth. Master Asia lovingly wiped it away, looking into those eyes tenderly.

"Beautiful."

Red in the face, Wong turned on his heel and silently left.

I've got a permanent hankering for delicious Wong porn. So, if anyone would oblige me, I would gladly oblige them with whatever they want.