CHAPTER 14
A/N– Hello everyone! Okay so if you don't hate me by now, all of you Lovino fangirl-ers out there, you will for sure after this because this chapter is dark, you have been warned. Although, that hate is nothing but closeted love, keep lying to yourselves all you want :P
Warning - Since it has been brought to my attention that my non-graphic smut scenes are still too graphic as per the Guidelines of Fan Fiction dot net and my stories risk being reported and deleted, and also since I don't have the time or the desire to write 'watered-down' versions of my fics expressly for the above-mentioned purposes, I have decided to censor completely all smut scenes from my stories here from now on. Therefore, if you want to read the full version of the upcoming chapters which may or may not contain such scenes (e.g. this chapter), you can do so on ArchiveofOurOwn – the story has the same title, penname GarGoyl (Lilly of Fire).
The thick wooden door creaked open, allowing the Chief Inquisitor's tall, black-clad frame into the cramped stone cell, the man's footsteps light against the thin layer of straws scattered on the floor. The Spaniard stopped in the middle of it, waiting patiently for the door to be locked in his wake while his eyes trailed slowly over the limp figure slouched near the wall.
The young bishop sat curled up on a torn, hay-filled mattress, his arms pulled upwards by the shackles hanging down from a hook. His head was bowed, dark chestnut strands of hair falling damp and in disarray over his forehead and he did not lift his gaze to meet the monk's as he entered, or when the other walked up and knelt next to him. The only movement he made was to pull his knees even closer against his chest in a mostly futile attempt at preserving what remained of his dignity as Antonio's gaze wandered over the bare, abused expanse of skin which was now covered in a thin layer of grime. Still, the poor state he was in did nothing to diminish the accursed charm the Chief Inquisitor could feel emanating from his being, slowly taking over his senses and further clouding his judgment.
"Why do you refuse to confess? Hmmm?" the Spaniard inquired, fighting to keep the growing irritation from his voice.
Although… it wasn't that. It was despair.
He was losing, losing, and he knew it the moment the tips of his fingers tilted Vargas's chin upwards and those impossibly beautiful hazel eyes, half-lidded and surrounded by dark circles, met his.
Lovino was shaking under his touch, even as his jaw clenched with infuriating determination. He was nearly frozen, his back hurt horribly and his joints ached from the pressure, but he was far from broken just yet. "I will never confess to your lunacy!" he hissed between tightly pressed, colorless lips. "You are mad! You are a rabid dog and you will rot in the deepest corner of Hell for everything you did!"
The monk nodded slowly, a soundless sigh making his chest rise and fall before his hand clamped around the Italian's throat brusquely and he slammed the prisoner against the wall with all his strength, causing a groan to escape the younger's lips as his ruined back met the ice-cold, rugged stones.
"There is no escape from this!" the monk spat. "What do you think your demonic mistress will do for you, you fool?! If you refuse to confess, there will be NO absolution! Your soul will be destroyed!" His fingers dug viciously into Lovino's throat as he spoke, nearly cutting off his air supply. "Why don't you understand?! WHY DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?! I-… I can't save you! Like this I can't save you!" he nearly begged towards the end, voice cracking and fading to an almost whisper.
"Then d-don't fucking s-save me!" the bishop croaked, struggling for breath. "You'll kill me a-anyway! N-No matter what I-… I'll burn…"
"Your body will burn, yes, but your soul will endure! Your soul will know God's infinite mercy," Antonio replied, almost gently this time, his grip loosening. "All you have to do-"
Lovino coughed, panting and trying to jerk his head away from the offending hand. "All I have to do is what, admit to a fucking bunch of lies your madness has twisted in unimaginable ways?! I may have done many bad things in my life but I am not a demon worshipper! Everything is a fabrication and you have no proof! YOU HAVE NO FUCKING PROOF!"
Like hell he was going to give in! Never! The Church had already taken enough from him – his youth, his ambitions, his brother, and now it would take his life too, but he wasn't going to admit to a bunch of lunacies to 'save his soul'! If there was a God, then He already knew the truth and if God was to pass judgment on him, the Spanish dog would have no say in it either!
To this Antonio snorted and shook his head, pulling away and sitting back on his heels. "You deceitful servant of Satan," he whispered, "I have no proof?! I've spent all of my life in nothing but toil and prayer until you tempted me! Until you scorched my flesh with impure desires!"He held up his hands, palms open upwards, and stared at them in disgust. "Now this body… has become filth under your touch. You have soiled God's temple!"
The Italian shrunk further, uselessly trying to get away. Just how insane was this man?! "What the hell are you even saying?! I never fucking touched you!"
"DON'T YOU DARE DENY IT! DON'T YOU DARE!" the monk shouted, lunging forward and gripping Lovino's throat again. "Last night your soul left your body and you came to my bed! I had you in my arms! Your hands touched me, your legs were around my waist, your lips-… And this morning my cross lay on the floor, torn from my neck by your hands and my clothes… bore proof enough of what you made me do!"
Lovino closed his eyes, cringing inwardly and finding it pointless to reply any longer, to deny anything. A pounding ache had nestled itself behind his forehead and there were too many words, too many and none of it made any sense, there was no limit to the absurdity. He just wanted to sleep. Or die. Anything but this.
"Confess!" the Chief Inquisitor whispered, releasing him and pressing closer, almost resting his forehead against the Italian's temple. "…why do you resist me? Why are you doing this to me, Lovino?" Trembling fingertips rose to the younger's cheek, ghosting over it in a shy caress. "Do you despise me because you won? Because I gave in to you?"
The bishop exhaled and sniffed, briefly licking chapped lips. "Just end this… Just end it," he murmured, nostrils flaring and turning his head away from the other's touch.
Antonio snorted bitterly. "End it? Is that what you think I'll do? No, querido, it won't be that simple… you see, it's too late for that now…"
That was the last thing he said.
In the next moment Lovino's legs were pulled from him and knees parted forcefully before he found himself lifted off the mattress and hoisted into the monk's lap. He felt the cross hanging on the Spaniard's chest digging into his bare skin as the other's torso was pressed against his, then the Chief Inquisitor's fingers digging mercilessly into his raw back. The horrible realization hit him in the same time as the pain and suddenly any torpor was gone, replaced by unforgiving awareness.
"D-Don't touch me! DON'T TOUCH ME, YOU FILTH! LET GO OF ME, YOU RABID DOG!" the Italian screamed, struggling against his restraints and trying to kick the other away, but to no avail and his screams and curses fell on deaf ears.
[...]
By now, Lovino had stopped struggling, he'd stopped trying to scream or protest in any way, only choked moans escaped him and his eyes were closed. No, this wasn't his fault, the Devil had made him this gift, this offering and he was simply taking it, enjoying it to the fullest. With every glance, with every smile, with every seductive sway of hips cleverly concealed under the black robes of purity Lovino Vargas had offered himself to him, and if Hell had the right to take his soul, then Antonio had the right to take his body.
"…stop," the bishop begged almost inaudibly, between sniffs, as the monk rested his forehead against his, panting and making the soft steam from their breaths mingle. "…please."
Antonio was close now and his arms wrapped tightly against the Italian's waist, lifting him up against his body.
"…s-stop… I…" Lovino's head fell against the Chief Inquisitor's shoulder. "…I confess."
The grip around his body tightened even more and the monk craned his neck to press a kiss into the Italian's hair, smiling.
"I c-confess! …please, just-… just stop."
But nothing stopped, not until an eternity later, when all strength and will had left Lovino, his throat was sore and parched, his eyes stung even dry and the rest of his body felt like one large open wound prey to the freezing air of the cell. There was a horribly victorious smile on the Spaniard's slightly flushed face when he raised his hand to stroke his cheek, ever so gently, lingering even as he kissed the younger's forehead.
Maybe it wasn't all lost, not just yet, Antonio decided, his other hand delving and extracting a folded handkerchief from one of his pockets. He shook it out with a lazy flick of his wrist before pressing it over the bishop's nose and mouth.
April 1545 (app. two months later)
A rosy sun was rising over the jagged ridge of the mountains visible in the distance through the tiny, barred window. It was the first sight meeting Lovino's tired eyes as he finally opened them and shifted on the narrow wooden bench which served as a bed. A rough pillow had been placed under his head and an itchy woolen blanket kept the morning chill away, reason for which the Italian didn't try to kick it away at first. His bones hurt and his whole body felt terribly weak, as if after a grave illness.
With some difficulty, he sat up, throwing a confused look around. The miniscule room looked every bit like a prison cell, except it was pristine clean and there were no chains anywhere. In one corner, an old monk was seemingly dozing crouched on a small stool, but became suddenly alert at the sound of his stirring and offered him a severe frown.
"Where am I?" Lovino demanded, or rather tried to, because the words only came out in a husky whisper.
But the monk said nothing in reply, simply standing from his seat and walking out of the room and the former bishop flinched as he heard a key being turned in the lock. So he was imprisoned alright. But-…
Finally, he pushed aside the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bench, muttering a swear as his bare soles made contact with the cold stone floor. He stood, shivering a little in the simple black woolen robe which as it turned out he was wearing directly on his skin, tied with a plain piece of string around the waist, and a wave of dizziness washed over him with the sudden motion, making him bend over and support himself on his hands on the bench.
How long had he been asleep?! And why had he slept so heavily in the first place?!
Taking a deep breath, Lovino straightened his back – his last full memory was of the dungeon of the Ecclesiastic Tribunal, where he'd been whipped and-… But after that, there were only disparate glimpses, bits of consciousness among slumber which made no sense. Still, he could feel that quite some time had passed…
Slowly, still unsure on his feet, the Italian made his way to the window, squinting when the crude morning light hurt his eyes. Outside, stone walls met his gaze and beyond those, steep mountain slopes dotted green with the first signs of spring under the clear blue sky. There was no sign of the winter he remembered and the landscape was entirely unfamiliar.
"What-…" he murmured, the breathtaking view doing nothing to appease his growing dread.
Behind him the door opened again and Lovino turned abruptly, eyes widening in horror at the sight of the Chief Inquisitor. Gulping, he took a step back, sticking his back against the cold wall and averting his gaze when the Spaniard drew closer.
"I see you finally woke up, Lovino," the monk said gently, a light smile on his handsome face which made it all the more disturbing.
"W-What happened?" the younger stuttered, hugging himself awkwardly. "Wha-.. What is this?"
"Andalucía," Antonio replied, clasping his hands behind his back with an expectant air. "This isolated place will do you good – here is where you will remain in claustro, as a simple monk, and you will repent properly so that your soul can be saved. I will see to it that you do."
The Italian blinked, uncomprehending. "What have you done?!" he whispered, white in the face.
"I made them believe you died and I had your body stolen from the dungeons of the Ecclesiastic Tribunal, then from Rome and eventually from Italy. To make everything go smoothly I had to keep you mostly sedated for the duration of the journey here, you got sick but I couldn't take any risks… You know that as per the law, even the bones of heretics must burn, so all in all it was quite some trouble keeping you from the stake, all these precautions were necessary. But don't worry, everyone ended up suspecting your friend the cardinal Bonnefoy…" the monk explained with the same blood-chilling softness in his tone, watching him intently.
Lovino inhaled sharply, fingers clenching helplessly in the fabric of his robe. He didn't even dare think what might have happened to the Frenchman, let alone ask. He barely dared to breathe. Damn Bonnefoy and his stupid plan! He'd so foolishly overestimated the bastard's chances of success and even to a greater extent he'd underestimated Carriedo's insanity!
"But…why?"
Antonio sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose that, in the end, you won. I couldn't resist you… and I couldn't give you up." He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. "But there's still a chance-… you confessed, so there's still a chance for you to be saved after all. I asked the Holy Father to relieve me of my duty in favor of a wiser man and maybe this was meant to be, just like this. Because this is worth everything. As is my love for you."
Lovino swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly dry, and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. This just… wasn't possible! He couldn't-… Even death had been denied to him?! Was he to rot in this monastery, no, in this room for the rest of his life?! To repent… Was this repentance?! Carriedo was a hypocrite, there was nothing noble in his scheme, he just wanted to keep him as his pet, as his fucking toy!
"You're mine, Lovino Vargas," the monk whispered, slender fingers reaching up to stroke the Italian's dark chestnut strands.
He flinched violently when Antonio's lips found his and his hands fell limply at his sides, tears finally free to slide down his cheeks.
To be continued
Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)
A/N - My deepest apologies to a certain Roman emperor who wanted to see the world burn, starting with Antonio and Lovino. I'm sorry but… not on my shift. Nope. Even I have limits, people :)))))))