Within the Walls of the Cathedral
Of course, nothing belongs to me...
"Lovino, do you remember our mother?"
"Etruscia? Of course."
Lovino remembered. He remembered her alright. . . her kind face, her soft skin, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. It was a joyous laugh, always filled with mirth. Feliciano and Lovino were only babies back then, barely walking, but he remembered glimpses of memories. At first, they were all happy; music, food, dancing. Every night after exuberant parties, she would take their tiny hands. lead them to their shared room, and kiss them goodnight. She would sit for a minute, singing them a beautiful lullaby, to calm them down. When sleep finally tugged at the corners of their eyes, she would stand up and quietly leave the room.
Lovino never knew where she went at night, but now that he was older, he could guess. In the morning, a man would come out of her rooms, always different, sometimes more than one.
Then one night, strange men joined their festivities. Foreign. Scary. One man looked at Feliciano and his brother with greed. The foreigner left their mother's room the next morning and many more mornings in the following weeks. Lovino remembered a change in Etruscia. She started looking paler, always tired. When he would ask her about it, she only kissed his head and had him brush her hair or go outside and play with Feliciano.
Then. . . she got sick.
Violent fits shook her body. She would be in the garden and suddenly collapse to the ground. She would cough and cough, her frame heaving, gasping for air. The brothers would run to her crying, Lovino taking her hand and squeezing as if for dear life. And then all of a sudden, she would settle, somehow finding her breath again, latching onto beloved oxygen. A final spasm of coughing would produce droplets of blood, little rubies tumbling onto the ground.
This would happen a lot. As the days passed by, the seizures occurred more frequently until one morning when she didn't recover, she couldn't find her breath, she wouldn't get up again. They were mortified, and they wailed, screaming their throats raw. The strange foreigner pulled them away, telling them to call him "Rome".
Lovino didn't remember his face as mournful and anguished as his, only sly and victorious. But he remembered those eyes, the glazed, lifeless eyes that would never crinkle in laughter ever again.
He nodded slowly. They were sitting side by side at a long oak table. An old man sat at the head and scowled at them. "If you are finished, go get ready for bed. Don't forget your prayers."
"Yes, Vatican." Turning back to his brother, Feliciano smiled, "Do you remember what she taught us about pleasure?"
He nodded again.
"Good. I'll come to your room after the final bell. Goodnight."
"Good night, Feli."
Lovino picked up his fork and took another bite of his supper as his brother left the table. The old man watched his leave with disapproving eyes. He sighed. That busybody was never satisfied unless they prayed every second of the day.
It was a while after the midnight bell from the church tower. He lay there, staring out of the glass-less window. Maybe he wasn't coming. . . maybe he changed his mind.
A small bug landed on the sill. It stayed for only a moment before taking off up towards the ceiling. He sighed. The bed creaked and he snorted in surprise. A laugh erupted from behind him. He twisted and his head collided with an arm. Rubbing his forehead, he scowled at the shadow above him. "Will you be quiet? We're going to get caught!" he whispered, hitting his brother's chest with his fist.
Feliciano just rolled him over and climbed into bed wit him. His brother's smile was visible in the silvery moonlight streaming in from the window. It was his, that smile. He wanted to be selfish and keep that cheeky grin for himself, but he knew that was nearly impossible. He returned it with a small smile and snuggled closer.
It had been a such a long time since they had slept together. The Vatican had separated the two Italies and claimed that they devote themselves entirely to God. But he wanted to devote himself entirely to his younger brother, not God. God couldn't hold him like this, couldn't share his bed.
No, he wanted Feliciano. He wanted his brother for himself.
Ever since they were reunited from the clutches of Antonio and Rodereich, the two have tried to spend every waking hour together. They claimed it was to make up for years of lost time. Lovino enjoyed the nights the most, the time when they could embrace each other free from the hawk-like gaze of the strict Catholic priests. Under night's shadowy veil could they escape from their public image, the personifications of their country stamped on their asses. But those precious midnight visits had grown few and far between. Riots, poverty, and clashing cultures kept the brothers busy. The people were in desperate need of guidance through the tough union of the north and the south, and the pope thought religion and faith was the way to do it. This stole even more time away from Feliciano and Lovino, and Vatican kept a close eye on them. Two brothers sleeping together, at their age, was unseemly and very much against Catholic values.
Lovino wanted to laugh at Vatican's reasoning, because that asshole did not even know the extent of it. He would be absolutely mortified if he knew of their intimate embraces, their secret rendezvous, their passionate nights stolen in the sanction of the dark.
That's where they were now molding together on the stiff mattress of his bedchamber. Feliciano always came to him saying if Lovino tried sneaking to his room, they would surely be found out. He agreed, he was more than willing not to have to deal with the rambling priests and the stealthy guards. It was like a maze out the after dusk, avoiding watchmen, slipping though secret passages. The ancient building seemed to urge them on by providing them with staircases hidden behind tapestries and crevices tucked into window sills.
Lovino shifted, pulling his brother's head in towards him, fingers running through coarse lockes of chestnut. Bending his head down, he breathed in, eyes fluttering closed. Feliciano's hair smelled so nice, it was embarrassing. Sometimes, he came up behind him in the courtyard and unconsciously stopped to sniff his head. It was a strange quirk of his, but he was sensitive to smell. Feliciano's scent was one of the reasons why he was inclined to feel more than plutonic love towards him. The Italian's brother's natural romantic tendencies didn't help.
Tonight was a warm one, the sky clear with brightly shining stars blinking down on them. He looked back out at the window at the yellow harvest moon. He smiled. He couldn't imagine a better way to pass the autumn evening, here, his precious little brother curled up in his arms, body fitting perfectly together with his. Feliciano's hand reached up and grabbed his, giving it a squeeze and turned his head to look over at him expectantly. Lovino smiled again and kissed him softly. His brother was always demanding kisses, little affirmations of their affection, and he was always willing to smother him in them.
He placed a second kiss upon his shadow laced lips and cupped his cheek. Feliciano leaned into it, nuzzling into his palm. Then, without warning, he was flipped upon his back, and Feliciano crouched over him hands on either side of his shoulders. "I want to do it tonight, Lovino" he whispered into his ear, long bangs feathering the side of his face.
"Huh?"
"I said, I want to do it, don't you dare ask me what." Lovino nodded slowly and grabbed Feliciano's face again pulling him down to his waiting lips.
Taking that as permission, Feliciano grinned silently and happily took control.
Okay, yes, I know I should be writing the third chapter of DoC, but I can't seem to get started on it. I'm not sure why...
I love my historical fiction to be historically correct, but in this case, I felt it necessary to tweak it a bit or else it wouldn't work. Technically, the Italy bros didn't exist when the Etruscans were around, but. . . I don't know. I kinda had to because of how the story started. It began with me getting sick and having horrible coughing fits, enough so I couldn't breathe for periods of time. It scared the crap out of me. I write my fics in World History and Algebra 2 so when I started coughing, I began to think about how the Romans slaughtered the Etruscans. Thus, the mother of Italy, Etruscia, was born. I wrote the flashback and just decided to go with it and wrote Italiacest :] Arrivederci!