MxM - Repaying a Father's Debts

[ClarkKent]

All Characters are 18+
Story to Smut Ratio Prefrence: 70/30
Time Zone: PST
Post Length: Novella (usually 5-8 paragraphs) Quality over Quantity preferred
Replies: At least once per week
Style: Dark Romance, Captivity, Power Play, Slow Burn, First or Third Person
Trigger Warnings: Non-Con, Violence, Slavery, & Death

Characters: OCs Only
References: I prefer to use face claims
MC: 19 year old Milo. He’s slim, slender, and physically weaker than any of the men on your payroll. He’s been sold to YC in servitude to pay off the debt that his father incurred with the mob.
YC: Mid 30s to early 50s, physically fit, dominant, powerful. He is the leader of the local mafia and known to be ruthless.

Prompt:
Milo was looking for a summer job online when his father stepped into his room. The look in the man’s eyes held sorrow for the words that were soon to escape his mouth.

“I got you a job.” He said, clearly trying to force a smile, though he couldn’t bear to look his boy in the eye. “You, umm, you start tomorrow.” He finished, his voice somber, clinging to remorse.

Milo’s eyes brightened as a sudden rush of joy filled his smile. He jumped from his bed, throwing back the covers and displacing his laptop. Throwing his arms around his father, he shouted, “Thank you!” over and over again. His excitement quickly faded as he realized the man’s own arms did not return his embrace, instead he stood there holding onto the shell of what used to be his father.

“What is it?” Milo asked, pulling himself away from the man, trying to look into his eyes, only for the man’s gaze to be averted from him. He’d become accustomed to his father being quiet, even somewhat distant in the recent past, however, he’d never seen him this somber. “Dad?” he asked, the only response was a quiet sigh that left his father’s lips. 

His dad put his hands on each side of the boy’s face, concern and regret clearly painted across his face. His voice was firm, heavy with the need to release the sadness that slowly consumed him. “Just get packed.” he began, “They will pick you up in the morning. Be a good boy, and you’ll be alright.” He pulled his son’s forehead into his lips, a gentle kiss that showed the love the man held for his only child. A single tear drifted down his face and he left Milo standing in his room alone.

The next morning, as promised, an SUV pulled up in front of the house. The only signal of their arrival was a single beep of the horn. Milo’s father opened the door, guiding his son to the vehicle, its blacked out windows keeping the secrets of what was to come within it. “Just be a good boy.” he said as Milo slipped into the back, his white skin seeming to shine along the black leather interior.

The SUV shifted from park into drive. Just at the vehicle started to move, the man sitting next to Milo raised his hand and the vehicle stopped, the back window rolling down. Before Milo could react, a hand gun slipped from within the man’s suit jacket and he pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening, and a single drop of blood landed on Milo’s face. His body shivered as he dared to look. His father lay on the lawn of his childhood home, a wound gushing out of the middle of his forehead, his body lying crumpled in the grass. Milo didn’t realize he’d been screaming, not until he felt the strike of metal on his own head, and his world plunged into darkness.