[Laughter isn't a great sign. Or maybe it was. It wasn't particularly sinister, not in the cliché sense that one would expect from a villain, but that somehow just made it all the worse. A laugh like that made it appear like the guy was enjoying this. Like he genuinely got amusement from the situation of being caught off guard, and Ray scrabbling to very literally save his ass. Enjoying something like this just signals that he's a fucking sicko, but then again, he's the one instigating the idea of trying to fuck a guy while under his watch, so yeah, he probably was a fucking sicko. Or a psycho. Or probably both.
Ray does his best to keep up the macho act as Armando stands back upright, chest still puffed like it'll somehow be enough to get the mob guy standing down to his obviously superior alpha male status. Except it doesn't.
He's not even sure why he's surprised by the strike to his face, but he is. It hits like car crash, all the force that Ray himself would put behind a hit like that. It's an experienced swing from a guy who's obviously been through it all before, a guy who knows a thing or two about fist fights and the world of physical violence. So maybe he wasn't always a paper pusher for the mob, but plenty of them work their way up from the bottom. The hit may have floored Stanley if he wasn't sat down, instead snapping his neck sharply to the side as he takes the full force of it, grunting out a sharp sound of surprise and pain. His cheek and jaw take the full brunt of it, and without his hands there to be able to clutch for his face, he's left trying to experimentally move his jaw as he starts to turn back to Armando.
The glaring daggers look is just about to come, but then there's a hand at his throat and instead he's wavering between some muddle of anger, determination, fear and realisation. Realisation that every time he messes around with this, he risks putting his friend or family (Vecchio's family?) in danger. He wouldn't put it past this crazy to do it, either. Guys like this find ways, and their lawyers are good enough that nothing ever sticks.
By the time the hand releases, Ray's gasping for air, head lowering just slightly as he sucks in a few heavy breaths, enough of an excuse for his delay in doing as he's told. But he has to. There's no way around it right now. It doesn't help that even through all of this, his dick is staying hard thanks to that ever presence buzzing squeezing around it. Shit, he hoped it was the ring and the cocaine and not some sick, personal pleasure. He couldn't think straight.
And then, after a third deep breath, he slowly creeps his knees apart, but not before that glare of his is married with a determined spit of his chewing gum in Armando's direction. How he's managed not to swallow that by now is a mystery and a miracle, but at least he's getting rid of it effectively.]
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Ray does his best to keep up the macho act as Armando stands back upright, chest still puffed like it'll somehow be enough to get the mob guy standing down to his obviously superior alpha male status. Except it doesn't.
He's not even sure why he's surprised by the strike to his face, but he is. It hits like car crash, all the force that Ray himself would put behind a hit like that. It's an experienced swing from a guy who's obviously been through it all before, a guy who knows a thing or two about fist fights and the world of physical violence. So maybe he wasn't always a paper pusher for the mob, but plenty of them work their way up from the bottom. The hit may have floored Stanley if he wasn't sat down, instead snapping his neck sharply to the side as he takes the full force of it, grunting out a sharp sound of surprise and pain. His cheek and jaw take the full brunt of it, and without his hands there to be able to clutch for his face, he's left trying to experimentally move his jaw as he starts to turn back to Armando.
The glaring daggers look is just about to come, but then there's a hand at his throat and instead he's wavering between some muddle of anger, determination, fear and realisation. Realisation that every time he messes around with this, he risks putting his friend or family (Vecchio's family?) in danger. He wouldn't put it past this crazy to do it, either. Guys like this find ways, and their lawyers are good enough that nothing ever sticks.
By the time the hand releases, Ray's gasping for air, head lowering just slightly as he sucks in a few heavy breaths, enough of an excuse for his delay in doing as he's told. But he has to. There's no way around it right now. It doesn't help that even through all of this, his dick is staying hard thanks to that ever presence buzzing squeezing around it. Shit, he hoped it was the ring and the cocaine and not some sick, personal pleasure. He couldn't think straight.
And then, after a third deep breath, he slowly creeps his knees apart, but not before that glare of his is married with a determined spit of his chewing gum in Armando's direction. How he's managed not to swallow that by now is a mystery and a miracle, but at least he's getting rid of it effectively.]