Disclaimer: They lied. Dreams don't come true.
Warnings: Slash and language--some of these are less canon and more humor, but others are my opinion of Cesare, Chiaro, etc.
Author's Note: Yes, the shirtless Chiaro is fanservice. In a few, there are OC; forgive me. Thanks to Echo in the Dark for thingy numero eighteen.
Twenty Things
Chapter Four
By Cory
Once, I dreamed of angels and demons...and power over all man. Beautiful dreams steeped in blood and smelling of rot of the Tiber River. Pleasant nightmares that got me through the years.
I don't know when they began to change; only that my empty days were filled with you, and so the nights were no longer of importance. Then, somewhere along the way, my cruel, awful angel, you invaded my sleep. You ruptured my beloved agony and strangled me slowly with a single glance.
Gods may not cry, but they do dream, and tonight I will dream again of angels and demons...and ecstasy in your arms. But you will not be with me when I wake, because you are gone, having left me for an innocent maiden with eyes that sparkle kindly and hair of spun gold.
Damn the injustice of this world.
16) Cesare both revels in and aches in the knowledge that Chiaro is gone and is never coming back, but his memory is still perfect and fresh in Cesare's sophisticated mind.
"He's gone again, my lord."
"I'm aware of this, Volpe."
"How far did you send him this time, sir? Perhaps he should be here by now..."
Cesare gritted his teeth and kneaded his forehead. Volpe and Chiaro were at each other's throats in an attempt to better themselves before their master.
Volpe and Chiaro were at opposite ends of Cesare's world. First there was Volpe, whom Cesare used as a servant and confidant. If Cesare needed something done and rest easy, knowing that his whims were as good as achieved as long as Volpe was the taskmaster. He believed in utterly no nonsense and leisure before any act was completed to the zenith degree. Then there was rash, compassionate Chiaro. Cesare did not trust Chiaro as much as might have been healthy (considering that Chiaro was the one who had captured his heart), but trusted him enough to "protect" him and save him from being eaten from the inside by his shuddering, parasitic demons. As such, they took it upon themselves to embarrass and outdo each other in every possible service. At first, it had been amusing, but now it was impeding on interfering with Cesare's plans.
Cesare was preparing to coolly order Volpe to keep his mouth shut about Chiaro, thank you very much, but was interrupted by Chiaro himself suddenly opening the door with a jolt. He, surprisingly, was shirtless, with a small cut on his lip. Perspiration was running down his torso, and his muscles clearly quivered from exertion under the golden skin. His hair was stuck at odd angles and streaked with dark patches of sweat. He was panting and mumbled out a halfhearted apology to Cesare; his eyes, however, were trained on Tagio, who was smirking in triumph at Chiaro's apparent shame before his master.
Cesare had been standing near the doorway and had looked over with a raised brow when Chiaro had barreled inside the room, but when he witnessed that Chiaro was very much shirtless, his two servants observed him making a strangled but clearly happy sound, go bright red, and then stride away quickly, fanning his face. Chiaro simply pulled a confused expression and Volpe remained serene as ever as he demanded that Chiaro pull a shirt back on.
17) Cesare likes to see Chiaro sweat. There'something so forbiddingly exciting about watching the salty droplets trace his skin, though he is just so jealous of them.
A smile from Chiaro was a gift often bestowed, but nevertheless treasured every time. There was something was so alien but curiously invaluable about each brief flash of teeth. Cesare was uncertain if such an attachment to even the barest hint of an upturned lip was healthy. Chiaro was an enigma, a blend of grins and regretful tears, and Cesare wondered what masterpiece of God was serving him to affect him so with a simple smile.
18) Cesare likes Chiaro'smile.
Cesare had never had any qualms about sex. He had done it and he had liked it, and had not a care in the world who knew. He had experimented in his youth from a startlingly young age with women; he was no different than the other boys in Perugia school who took the liberty of charming a maid into his bed one night or another. Women were nice enough, but then he had tried men.
Men were wonderful, he discovered. Men not only seemed to enjoy his body even more than the women had, but they (for the most part) understood the loveless need behind the lascivious act. Sex, in and of itself, was one place where he could relinquish control and allow himself to be commanded in a way that was not shameful (depending on his partner, of course). And Cesare knew how to get any man he wanted: a simple show of false favoritism towards a particular lowly soldier, a doe-eyed smile and seemingly innocent lick of tongue upon his lower lip, or a little swagger accompanied by half-lidded eyes, and the man was in the bag—or, rather, within Cesare's bed chambers. It was all part of the little game he played, with him the constant victor. It was easy to ignore the occasional broken heart in favor of his grand scheme.
But Chiaro had been different. He was unconquered and unattainable. Chiaro, his knight-errant and peasant prince, was in love with Cesare's sister.
Was Cesare dementedly covetous, infuriated, haunted, and suffering? Most certainly.
Was Cesare in love? Of course not.
No, love was something Cesare doubted he had the ability to feel anymore. But Chiaro held a certain regard with Cesare that he felt was stronger than he felt with anyone, even his exquisite, long-gone mother. The link was as immoral as it was strong, and Cesare knew only Chiaro's death would bring an end to it.
The nightly enticements became few and far between as Cesare brooded on Chiaro's absence, wanting nothing more than to leave his station and find Chiaro himself. What he would do when he found him was uncertain, but most likely something along the lines of slow torture and the eventual breaking of the assassin's sanity.
Because that was the punishment that Cesare justified for his little assassin doing this to him. Cesare was weak with Chiaro, and for Chiaro to leave him was unforgivable—unthinkable, until it had happened. Every touch that eroded the demons from his taut skin and every glance that launched sinful fires in the pit of his stomach had been torn away without his consent, and for that, Chiaro would suffer dearly.
19) Cesare likes how his angel fears he may be lost forever.
You're like water. I used to grab at you, try to catch you. I'd think I had you, but you'd slip my fingers; refused to be contained. There's something fluid about you. You never stay in one place long. I know that know. You're as strong and impossible to suffer through as a tidal wave, drowning everything moronic enough to stand in your way.
I'm stupid that way. I want to drown in you.
Come back.
20) Cesare likes Chiaro's unique fluidity, in every sense of the word that made no particular sense at all.