Antonio angrily scribbled out the notes he had made in the margins of his captain's log. He had just returned from two months on the Adriatic, and of the three ships he left Venice with, only two returned. Another lot of cargo gone. He might as well have poured whatever ducats he had in the Grand Canal. All that cargo now at the bottom of the Mediterranean.
He was so busy angrily scrawling at his log that he hadn't noticed he had put so much pressure on his pen that the nib tore through the paper. Antonio decided he should drop the pen for now.
Leaning back in his chair, the merchant closed his eyes and crossed his arms at his chest. He took a deep breath, but the exhale was shaky. If he didn't come up with the money in time, he was destined to die. He couldn't lose to the Jew. He wouldn't. No longer living meant no longer winding down the labyrinthine streets of his home city, the twists and turns a comfort to only a Venetian man. No more could he watch the sun leave the dusk for the night over the waters with his friends, all laughing and singing during a gondola ride. No more of Lorenzo's pines for the fair Jessica, Solanio and Salarino's gossip, or of Gratiano's jests, or–
"Bassanio."
The name escaped his mouth before the other had even closed the door behind him. The brunette raised one eyelid to confirm the being that had entered the room. Sure enough, in all his glory, was the young lord, draped over the doorframe in a plain silk robe.
"What are you doing up so late?" he purred, not moving from his position. Antonio struggled to find his words, which wasn't unusual given his inability to think straight when the other was in a room. Bassanio's robe was a soft brown color, embroidered with gold and touches of red. He looked...regal. Antonio cleared his throat. "Going over the log from the past excursion. I suppose I'm still frustrated at the loss of another ship, you know, with Shy–"
"Don't worry about him. Should I woo that wench from Belmont, we'll have more than enough." That made Antonio's heart sink. He knew Bassanio's intentions were to save him from the whim of Shylock, but he would rather lose his life than lose Bassanio to another. Either way, he'd be dead. He looked at the flame dancing on the wick of his desk candle, the fire casting shadows on the wall. Antonio looked back at his work, blanking, and offered a mere nod at the other's words. He picked up his pen again.
Bassanio left his lurking position and sauntered over to Antonio. The merchant again began to scribble out the notes from his log to copy to his sales book. Everything seemed to be going down, save the cost. The other hoisted himself to sit atop Antonio's desk, crossing his legs. "I leave for Belmont tomorrow night."
Antonio muttered incoherently.
"Do you...not want me to go?" he chided. Antonio froze. Of course he didn't want Bassanio to leave. He would remain here, cautiously turning every street corner should he run into the bloody ebreo whilst Bassanio flirts his way right to his maiden's fair heart. And what then? Was he expected to live with the guilt of not only being indebted to this wife but knowing that he can't have Bassanio now that he belongs to her? He turned to Bassanio, candlelight reflecting in his sharp green eyes. He seemed sympathetic. "Fie, sweet Bassanio, forgive me. I only fear that–" He swallowed.
"That you should leave me."
Bassanio paused for a moment before a laugh like bells rang from his lips. He edged closer to the merchant. "Fearest thou that, Antonio?" He took the brunette's hands in his own, and pressed a kiss to them. He smiled. "Do you doubt my love? I'm doing this all for you, you know." Antonio gave a weak smile. He knew, he appreciated, but he could not bring himself to understand. After all, in the end Bassanio would still be bound by the sacrament of marriage to the lady of Belmont. Still belong to someone else.
The ebony-haired noticed his lover's hesitance, and tilted Antonio's chin to meet his eyes. He knew that a dark cloud loomed over the merchant's mind, engulfing his very being. He was in an eternal inner monologue of self-loathing, unable to think clearly due to his curse under Saturn. The only thing that really mattered at all to Antonio, was Bassanio.
The lord shifted to face the merchant and pulled him to kiss his lips. Antonio was caught off guard, but soon melted into the familiar feel and scent of Bassanio. How could he resist when faced with such temptation and desire? Bassanio's tongue delved into Antonio's mouth, tasting every bit of him. They couldn't get a satisfying enough taste off of each other's tongues. He pulled the merchant closer, Antonio rising from his seat as Bassanio tangled his fingers in his thick brown hair. Antonio's breath hitched in his throat; there was a certain magnetism toward Bassanio, unseen, but so strong. There was an unexplainable beauty about him, the contrast of dark hair and olive skin, that skin stretched over subtly defined muscle, the coruscation in his deep emerald eyes...
Bassanio let out a moan between their love-locked lips as he pulled the other closer, grinding against him. Their oxygen-starved brains pleaded for each other to part, but their fervor wouldn't allow it. They needed contact, they needed more, they needed each other. Antonio pulled away, breathing labored from the kiss. The sight of Bassanio's soft lips turned red caused a growl to escape him as he lunged forward to capture another kiss, trapping Bassanio's bottom lip between his teeth. The lord pulled Antonio closer, searching for more contact, when he leaned back and knocked some things off of Antonio's desk.
They stopped a moment, taken aback by the sounds. The merchant ceased kneading Bassanio's lips, and drew back. He looked in his lover's eyes to find them clouded with a lust and desire that could make him fall to his knees from admiration alone. His eyes wandered to the victims of their movements, some leather-bound notebooks now on the floor with papers strewn. Thank God his pot of ink had been covered, or it would ruin his notes, not to mention his carpet, or Bassanio's robe. That silk against his smooth skin... He looked back at his lover, a smirk gracing those love-bitten lips. "You know I hate being disorganized," Antonio said, lust dripping off his tongue as he spoke. There was a raspiness to his voice, as if he had gone hoarse with thirst. "I would suggest we move to a more accommodating–" His sentence trailed off as he saw the need in Bassanio's expression. "I want you now."
Such a simple plead, and yet enough to make Antonio want nothing more then to take him right there, whatever which way Bassanio desired.
The merchant smiled, mischief gleaming in his eyes as a low growl fell from his lips. He attached his mouth to the taut muscle of Bassanio's canted neck, tongue exploring, tasting every bit of it. Antonio nibbled softly at the skin, a content hum coming from the other as his eyes slipped shut. As the merchant kneaded over the Adam's apple, his bites became harder, sucking at the flesh to draw forth blood to leave possessive marks all over the lord's body. Bassanio lazily massaged the back of Antonio's neck, tension turning malleable as lithium in Bassanio's hands. Antonio's mouth peppered more kisses and love bites down his neck, across his collarbones, and down his chest. At one point, he was distracted by Bassanio's hand moving down to touch himself, at which he murmured a "I'll take care of it" against his skin and pulled the other's wrist out of the way. Bassanio gave a pout and an irritated sigh, but let the merchant continue. As he moved down, he pushed the silky robe off the lord's frame, torso exposed for his tongue to explore. Breathless sighs poured from Bassanio, Antonio occasionally hearing a sound like his name. Upon reaching his naval, Antonio stopped to look up at Bassanio, whole body flaming with desire and his own the like. Dropping to his knees, Antonio brushed the fabric of the robe aside to spread the other's legs more.
Bassanio bit his lip, the merchant's calloused hands massaging as he left ghostly kisses along his inner thighs. The lord's breath hitched with anticipation, Antonio's teeth gently grazing over the flesh, mouth always stopping before getting to his erection. He let out groans of irritation, a satisfied smirk about Antonio's face. The merchant began with agonizing languid strokes of his tongue against the other's member, savoring the salt-flat taste of him as well as every sinful noise that escaped Bassanio's mouth. His ears hungered for each moan, every overwhelmed pant that fell from his lips. After a breathy "Antonio," escaped him, the merchant could deny no more pleasures. He moved his head to take all of Bassanio in his mouth, The lord threw his head back, dark hair sticking to his face and neck from the perspiration. He drove a hand into Antonio's hair, tugging him deeper around his arousal and thrusting lightly for more contact. The merchant bobbed his head as he sucked and licked at Bassanio's shaft. When Bassanio's panting became faster, his breaths shorter, Antonio pulled away, causing the other to grown with frustration. He gave Antonio a look.
Impatient, Bassanio took Antonio's hand as he rose up, bringing it to his lips and peppering kisses along his fingers before taking them in his mouth. The warmth of the others mouth and the feeling of his tongue sliding between his fingers made Antonio aware of his neglected erection, other hand shedding his trousers enough to stroke his own shaft. When Bassanio had decided the merchant's fingers were prepared enough, he dragged the fingers from his mouth and laid on the desk. Antonio hesitated a moment. "Bassanio, this hardly seems comfortable..." The lord looked back at him with challenging lewd green eyes. "I need you here and now."
That was all the convincing Antonio needed.
He slowly pushed his index finger in the other's entrance, then the middle, gently scissoring. After deciding that Bassanio was stretched enough, a moan that fell from the lord's lips turned into a whine as Antonio pulled out his fingers. He steadied himself– one hand on the desk for support, the other tangled in inky hair– and sheathed himself in Bassanio. Another wanton moan from Bassanio, legs hooking around Antonio's hips. The merchant began thrusting into the body writhing beneath him, nibbling at his neck in attempt to distract him from the searing heat. Bassanio moaned at every movement, the pleasure and pain washing over him with ecstasy. His hands always seemed to find themselves in Antonio's thick brown locks, massaging at his scalp, hanging on a bit too tightly as the thrusts got faster. Bassanio's thumb slid to the muscle of Antonio's neck, just above his Adam's apple, and pressed hard, earning him a grunt as the merchant's breathing became more labored. With the loss of blood flow and limited oxygen going to his brain, Antonio could focus on nothing else but the man before him and his desire to have him. There was no Jew coming after him, no lady from Belmont that was to take his beloved away, no losing money every time he blinked. After all, he only loves the world for Bassanio's in it.
The lord's moans grew louder as Antonio hit the right angle, continuously abusing that same spot just to hear his own name drip off his lover's tongue. He choked the other's name as well, rasping as Bassanio's grip tightened. The lord came hard with a cry, driving Antonio to his orgasm. He withdrew himself and collapsed, body sweaty against Bassanio's own skin. He pulled the merchant into a deep kiss, smiling against each other's lips. Antonio backed away for Bassanio to stand (a bit uneasily) and pulled a handkerchief out to clean them up. Bassanio adjusted his robe, a singsong voice calling "Buena notte," to the merchant as he sauntered out of the office.
Antonio stood for a moment, trying to recollect himself from the dizziness. He glanced around the room, papers scattered, desk a disorganized mess. Bassanio's voice still ringing in his ears, Antonio knelt down before his desk to gather his things. This would take hours to redo. "Here and now," he had said. The present. This moment. Leaving no promise for another. Open for any time to be their last. Why did he allow himself to be tortured by such a man, submit to his every wish, unable to refrain from giving in? He gathered his things and stood up, tossing them on his desk. Taking a deep breath, he sat down.
Perhaps that's his own fault, for falling in love with a man like that.