A/N: Oh no… Microsoft wants me to buy Word… I'M POOR WHY DO I NEED TO PAY YOU SO I CAN WRITE GO BOTHER RICH CEOs OR SOMETHING! *gasp* Not that this had anything to do with my story… Why is life so expensive…? I'm feeling sad so I'm definitely going to kill a character in this chapter. Because I can cope like an adult.

Go to your bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.

~William Shakespeare

Chapter 14 – Broken Things

Antonio had hoped that Bassanio would come back later in the day, but he didn't. He had the staff draw up a bath and stayed there long after the water had cooled, just reliving kissing Bassanio and touching him and how glorious it had felt.

He was happy, elated even, that Bassanio had feelings for him. Antonio wished he could content himself with just that, but after what Bassanio had said, confirming that he was still planning of marrying Portia, he felt as empty as he had before. Everything had changed, and yet nothing had changed at all. Bassanio would get married, but now there would be unspoken feelings and desires between them that they could not act upon. It would drive them apart…

Antonio didn't think that Bassanio would want to have an affair with him behind Portia's back. He was nothing if not a loyal person; he would never want to hurt Portia. And even if he did want to… Antonio knew that he would follow Bassanio's lead regardless. If he wanted to have an affair, Antonio would whole-heartedly agree to it. If he didn't, Antonio would step back and let him go.

But if they did go down that path, Antonio would fall more and more in love with him, but they would never really get to be together. It would break his heart, and the longer they acted upon their feelings the worse it would be for both of them when Bassanio finally chose to be with Portia and her only. And that would happen eventually. Bassanio must want a family and grandchildren, something Antonio could never give him. The days of being satisfied with adventures on the open sea, having grand adventures, were over. They had grown up, and their dreams had to grow up with them.

His morose self-reflection was interrupted by his butler Vincenzo who had a message from the family's legal council. Antonio and his parents were Shylock's only living blood relatives and were therefore going to receive all of his possessions. With Antonio's permission, said possessions would be delivered to the manor later that day.

The items had already arrived by the time Antonio had returned several hours later from his dueling practice with Gratiano. There were surprisingly few things: a small collection of books, clothes, letters, and the like. All furniture, any items of value, and the small sum of money in Shylock's possession had already been seized by the notaries to pay off Shylock's debts. Apparently Shylock had been more destitute than he had let on.

"Nothing in these items indicate any sign of witchcraft," Antonio said to Vincenzo as he scanned the titles in Shylock's small library. "Poetry, histories, law texts… It's all very normal…"

"Perhaps he kept the tools of his dark trade elsewhere, my lord," Vincenzo suggested.

Antonio nodded and frowned. "Fine by me, so long as the state doesn't thrust those on us as well. These letters can probably be burned." He flipped through the envelopes; most were from usurers and debt collectors, except for one. "This letter is addressed to my mother." Shylock had opened it and read it, but why had he kept it? Antonio removed the letter.

From Commissioned Officer in Charge of Overseas Trade, Naldo de Santis

To Lady Adrianna Romano

It is with a heavy heart that I must write to you this day, May 28, 1885, concerning the welfare of your husband, Lord Alvise Romano. Word has reached us that his vessel, Bella Donna, never made port in Manati, Cuba. We believe that due to a storm system in the area that his ship sank, as we have not received word from him or his crew. If he has not made contact with you or the state by September 15 of this year than he will be officially declared dead and is estate will pass to your eldest son, Antonio Romano. Please write to us if you receive word from him before this date or any time after. You and your family have my deepest condolences.

Antonio groped for a chair and sat down hard.

"Is something the matter, my lord?" Vincenzo asked.

Antonio wordlessly handed the letter to him and rested his head in his hands. All that time he had been waiting for a letter from Cuba, but his father had never even reached his destination. Antonio had realized the likelihood of a shipwreck after his father had not written, and had silently begun to grieve him for several weeks. But now that the letter had confirmed it, all he could feel was anger.

"Shylock had that letter for months!" Antonio seethed. "He must have intercepted it and, upon seeing it, began to plot against me. He knew he would inherit the family business should anything happen to me…"

"My lord, the 15th is tomorrow," Vincenzo murmured, supporting himself against one of the foyer's walls. As a boy Vincenzo had come to work at the manor for Antonio's grandfather, Armin, and had risen from grounds-keeper to head butler in the service of Alvise. He was very fond of the family and losing Alvise was like losing a family member, not just an employer.

Antonio knew that his mother was scheduled to return by the end of September. When she found out she would be devastated, and Antonio would have to be the one to tell her. More than the thought of never seeing his father again, the thought of holding his mother as she wept broke his heart. He felt Vincenzo's weathered hand on his shoulder and took comfort in the older man's respectful gesture.

"What am I going to do?" Antonio asked him. "We'll need to make funeral arrangements and tell the investors and the partners…"

"There's plenty of time for all that," Vincenzo said gently. "Noting can be done until the morrow, as morbid as that may be. May I suggest my lord just rest for now? You've been through much and more lately."

Antonio nodded and asked Vincenzo to move the rest of Shylock's items to the attic. He took the letter with him and trudged up the stairs; his body felt heavy with the weight of responsibility that would be on his shoulders when the morning dawned. With his father declared dead, Antonio would become Lord Romano, head of the estate and the Romano Trading Company. He passed up the comfort of his bed and the familiarity of his study and went to the family library instead.

Alvise had done most of his work in the library. He could be found on most days in a quiet alcove in the back left corner of the room. The walls were lined with shelves that reached to the ceiling, and the rest of the library held a large globe, several long table and comfortable chairs, and a baby grand piano. Alvise had always said that libraries were places of contradictions. It was the quietest room in the house, and yet full of thousands upon millions of words. The texts consisted mostly of histories and religious texts from across the globe, but the dust motes in the air gave the place a fantastical appearance, as if magic seeped from the books and filled the room. For these reasons, Alvise loved the library.

The Romano fortune was old money, built up over the centuries by generation after generation of smart and hardworking Romano men and women. Armin Romano had made the family name famous throughout Italy when he had gotten involved in the underbelly of Italian politics and the Roman Vatican. He had ultimately gained the honorary title of Prince of Neo Venice, but the power had corrupted him and he'd been asked to step down. Instead of taking his place, Alvise stepped aside and let his boyhood friend Escalus take the crown. Alvise had taught Antonio that power corrupts and should only be given to those who want it least.

Antonio didn't like to think about running the family business, or all the power and responsibility he would have to carry. When Antonio had told his father that he did not want to be the head of a vast trading company, but he would do so to honor his father's legacy, Alvise had been pleased. "You are an unselfish boy," Alvise had told him, "and I hope will grow to be an unselfish man, firm but just in your ways, a leader without pride or greed. That would make me very proud."

What would his father have said if he knew about his feelings for Bassanio? Would he have been disgusted? Ashamed?

My entire life is a mask, a lie. The lie of a perfect son, taking over the family business, expected to marry a woman of class and social status… But that isn't what I want.

He tried to imagine going to bed with a woman every night for the rest of his life. It was what Bassanio wanted, why couldn't he also want that? He tried to picture this woman's face, but all he could see was Bassanio's wide smile, his beautiful hands and slender fingers… The way those fingers had brushed Antonio's bare skin, sending chills of pleasure through his body.

Do you really want to go that far?

Antonio's face burned. He had been in the throes of passion, common sense long gone, and would have most certainly made love to Bassanio right then and there if Vincenzo hadn't knocked. Sex with Bassanio had never even crossed his mind before that morning. There would have been no going back if they had done that…

But Bassanio had wanted it, he had said so!

Antonio collapsed into his father's arm chair, feeling anxious and shaken. It was madness, torture. How could he properly grieve his father's death when all he could think about was Bassanio? He occupied every thought Antonio had, every inch of his mind and heart. It was exhausting and a bit obsessive, but how could he stop?

Perhaps having a third party to talk to was the solution. He decided to go see the person who had helped him last time he felt as though he was losing all control of his mind: Giorgina. He told Vincenzo that he'd be back in time for dinner and took his horse to Giorgina's tavern.

The sun was beginning to drift toward the horizon where the sea met the sky. The tavern was not yet full of its usual occupants, although several tables were full of seamen who had come in to port that day. The smell of the sea was always present in Neo Venice, but it was especially pungent on the sailors who hadn't bothered to wash before going for an ale.

One of the captains, a red-haired man in the sharp crimson coat of the British Navy, toasted Antonio with his tankard as he talked in. Antonio nodded politely, sat down at the bar, and waited for Giorgina. Soon she whisked out of the store room and met his gaze with a surprised smile.

"Well," she laughed, "if it isn't the man who cheated death! I had begun to think a celebrity such as yourself was too good to visit my humble tavern."

"Perish the thought," Antonio smiled, already feeling his spirits start to lift. "I'm afraid I am in need of your wise council again."

"Troubles of the heart?" she winked.

"You could say that."

"Alright, just let me bring that smelly, briny bunch over there their beer and I'll be right back," she smiled, piling half a dozen pints on her wooden carrying tray and carrying it off with a swirl of skirts and bouncing curls. Giorgina was a bright soul in a darkening world. If he had to marry a girl, it would be her, social status be damned. Out of any woman he knew, he thought she might be able to make him happy. Maybe he could even come to lover her eventually-

"Alright, hands to yourself, Captain," Giorgina said in a slightly scolding tone. Antonio frowned and turned around as one of the long tables full of dingy sailors burst into laughter.

"Have a heart, miss," their captain, an unwashed greybeard in a soiled blue overcoat, crooned as he ran his hand up Giorgina's back. "I've been on a boat with this ugly lot for two months! Makes a man miss a pretty sight like you somethin' fierce!"

He pulled Giorgina roughly into his lap. She protested and tried to wrench her arms away from his grip. "Let me go! If you want a girl to fondle go find yourself a brothel!"

Antonio's grip fell onto that man's shoulder and he squeezed, hard. "Let the lady go."

The man jerked away from Antonio's hand, letting go of Giorgina long enough to allow her to get away. The captain shoved Antonio back and lurched out of his seat; he was well on his way to being very drunk.

"S'not nice to deny a man some company," the captain growled. Although he looked to be in his fifties, the captain was tall, broad shouldered, and barrel chested. He was missing several teeth and sported a white scar that stood out on his sun-weathered brown skin.

"She clearly does not want the pleasure of your company," Antonio said evenly. "I suggest you apologize to Giorgina and stick to drinking your ale."

"Or what?" the captain sneered, spitting at Antonio's feet.

"Or I'll have to ask you and your crew to leave," Antonio replied coldly, resting his hand on his hilt.

The man spluttered, and the bellowed with laughter. His crew joined in, pounding the table with their cups and spilling their ale. Antonio could see where this was headed, so he nodded at Giorgina to get behind the bar.

"Show some respect," the British captain said in choppy Italian. "You are addressing-"

"I don't give a rat's arse who I'm addressing!" the surly man snarled. "He's a boy who need to learn his place!" As if to punctuate his sentence, the man swung his wooden tankard at Antonio's head. Antonio ducked but failed to avoid getting splashed with ale. He came up fist-first, delivering a crushing uppercut to the grotesque captain's jaw. The man stumbled back and fell into the table.

"I don't wish to fight you," Antonio said with the full authority of the Head of House Romano, "but if you insist of behaving thus I will personally escort you out."

His crew shouted threats in return and drew weapons. The British captain, who must have recognized Antonio as a lord's son, and his crew rose from their tables to stand at Antonio's back. This show of support filled Antonio with a fierce pride.

"Oh no," Giorgina shouted indignantly above the din. She was standing on a stool to put herself at the same height as most of the men. "Don't any of you even think about brawling in my bar! If it's a fight you want, take it outside!"

The captain's first mate hauled him to his feet; the man was bleeding from his upper lip where he'd bitten it when Antonio had punched him. When he bared his teeth, they shone red.

"I challenge this rich snot to a duel," the captain roared drunkenly, drawing a wicked looking kopis from a sheath at his hip. As Antonio lead the man outside, he was already devising a strategy. He knew two things about how the duel would play out: one, the man was drunk so his moves would be clumsy and sloppy.

Two, the man was arrogant, judging by his sword, so he would try to show off to his crew. Their admiration was very important to him, and the kopis earned him just that. Antonio doubted that the captain knew how to use the blade properly; it probably was a fake. Antonio doubted the captain had the money to afford an antique Greek blade from the 5th century BC, or that he had the skill to steal it from someone wealthy enough to own one.

Now I want one, Antonio thought absently as he drew his slim fencing sword. He faced the captain, putting his back to the setting sun. Another technical advantage, not that he'd need it. Don't get cocky. Treat this duel like any other.

Antonio held his left hand behind his back, angling his body so his right side was facing his opponent. He leveled this blade at the captain; fencing was a gentleman's sword craft and, if mastered, could win in a duel against much sturdier swords. The captain gripped his sword with both hands and Antonio groaned. The kopis was meant to be wielded with one hand so the other could hold a shield-!

Without warning, the captain lunged at Antonio, knocking his sword to the side with a savage blow and smashing his head into Antonio's. Everything went dark briefly as Antonio fell to the ground, his ears ringing and his forehead throbbing. The British naval officers booed the foul play while the captain's crew cheered him on.

The pain made Antonio angry. He rocked to his feet; holding his sword firmly but not too tightly, he feinted a stab at the man's left arm. As the captain brought his blade up to parry, Antonio switched directions and gave the man a shallow cut on his inner thigh. As the man cried out more in protest than in pain, Antonio's blade danced, cutting his right arm, chest, and stomach in a matter of seconds. They were shallow cuts and barely bled, but proved a point: The captain was clearly outmatched. The man stumbled away and dropped his kopis.

"Done so soon?" Antonio hissed. He could feel blood running down his brow. The captain snarled, grabbed his sword, and made an attempt to disembowel Antonio. Antonio blocked the blow and quick-stepped back, and then forward again to jab the man in the shoulder. One had to use quite a bit of force to make a wound from a fencing blade fatal, which was convenient in a city where murder was a crime punishable by death. The fencing blade allowed for quick, shallow, painful cuts and jabs.

The captains legs buckled and he dropped to his knees, covered in half a dozen bleeding wounds. Antonio held the tip of his blade to the man's throat. "If you ever show your face in this tavern again, I will make sure that you and your wares are refused in every port from here to Bangkok. Do you understand?"

"Piss off!" the captain spat.

Antonio's temper flared. He raised his sword, only to be stopped by a pale hand on his forearm. He turned and met Bassanio's blue eyes; a small gasp of surprise escaped his lips.

Bassanio smiled. "You won. Walk away."

Antonio's anger seemed to dissipate. He nodded, sheathing his sword. The captain and his crew taunted him as he pushed through the crowd on onlookers that had spilled out from the bar and wandered in off the streets. The British officers clapped him on the back and congratulated him on his victory.

"Brilliantly fought, my lord!" the red haired British captain said, shaking his hand vigorously and slipping back into English.

"Have we met?" Antonio asked, also in English.

"Oh, you wouldn't remember me," the captain laughed, "but I have been something of an advocate in Great Britain for your father for a number of years. Last time I was in Neo Venice, you were just a lad. Rowan's the name."

The name rung a bell. "Ah, my father has spoken of you. I greatly appreciate the show of support you and your men gave me. Is your promotion to admiral still up for review?"

"Yes, sir," Captain Rowan nodded.

"I will write to your commanding officer with my recommendations," Antonio said with a half-smile. On the morrow his word would hold the same weight his father's had…

Rowan's face lit up, "You do me a great honor, my lord! If there is anything I can do for you, please just ask, anything at all!"

Antonio nodded politely and continued to the bar with Bassanio. If you would be so kind as to search the high seas until you find my father alive and well, I would be eternally grateful.

Giorgina leaned over the counter and planted a kiss on his cheek. "My valiant knight, protecting my honor! Thank you, Antonio."

"I made you a promise," Antonio said with a weary chuckle, aware that Bassanio was glaring at them, which amused him. "How about a pint for me and my friend?"

"We should get you cleaned up first," Giorgina said, squinting at the abrasion on his head with some concern. She took his hand and lead him to the back room, "Come with me." Antonio glanced back at Bassanio, whose lips were pursed in obvious disapproval. Antonio wanted to pull him close and kiss him right there in front of everyone.

But instead he followed Giorgina to the back room, where she poured cool water over a cloth and told Antonio to sit on the counter. He did as he was told, and she leaned against the insides of his knees and dabbed at his wound.

"Hold still," she scolded him as he winced.

"Are you alright?" he asked her softly. "I apologize for not asking sooner."

Giorgina looked from him to Bassanio in exasperation. "He's too self-sacrificing, am I right?" she asked Bassanio. He nodded absently, and then glowered at her as soon as her back was turned. Antonio decided he liked this possessive side of Bassanio.

"If he ever returns, you send for me at once," he told her.

"The son of a lord has much better things to do to than look after me," she chided him. "Besides, I can look after myself." Bassanio rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"I should buy you a dagger and teach you to use it," Antonio muttered. He was genuinely concerned for Giorgina. If he hadn't been there, an honorable man like Captain Rowan might have stepped in to defend her, but what would happen to her when there were no gentlemen around? She was alone in the bar without the owner most of the time… And what if the other captain was lying in wait for Giorgina after she closed down the bar for the night?

"You'll make me the scourge of Neo Venice," she laughed, wiping away the blood that had run down his brow.

"I can do that," Bassanio interjected, motioning to the rag in Giorgina's hand. She looked at him in surprise and he looked away, frowning. "That is, if you have work to do or something…" Giorgina looked at Antonio with a raised eyebrow. Antonio coughed to hide a smile.

"Very well," Giorgina said coyly, tossing him the bloody rag. "Take good care of him." She closed the door behind her and Bassanio stepped forward. Antonio smiled softly as Bassanio approached him. He dabbed at the cut with a little more force than necessary.

"Ow," Antonio protested, ducking away from him.

"You and Giorgina seem friendly," Bassanio muttered petulantly.

"Jealous?" Antonio asked, pulling Bassanio closer by the hem of his shirt.

"No," he protested, attending Antonio's wound more gently. "I was watching the duel though. You handled the brute in a very… lordly manner." He allowed himself a smile. "I was impressed."

His comment made Antonio remember his father again. "Bassanio… I received word about my father today."

"Good news I hope," Bassanio said, ducking his head to meet Antonio's gaze. Antonio shook his head and told Bassanio about the letter. Bassanio's face fell when he was done. He didn't offer any verbal condolences or reassurances that everything would be alright. He just wrapped his arms around Antonio's shoulders and pulled him into his chest.

Antonio returned the embrace, feeling suddenly vulnerable. He began to shake, and without warning the tears came. He buried his face in Bassanio's shoulder and cried silently, the sobs wracking his body. The weight of the world weighed down on him, and he held on to his love and prayed it would pass. He had always been so strong for Bassanio, for his mother and father, for the ones he had loved. It was exhausting; he wanted a moment of weakness, a moment of truth where he could admit that he was scared.

Maybe he didn't need distance from Bassanio to grieve. Maybe in his arms was the only place Antonio could truly grieve. Bassanio held him and rubbed his back between his shoulder blades. He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. After a while Antonio felt embarrassed and pulled away, apologizing for his lack of self-control.

"Hey," Bassanio murmured, gently turning Antonio's face to him. He rested his palm against Antonio's cheek, brushing away a tear with the ball of his thumb. "I know it may not seem like it now, but you'll get through this."

"Everything is changing so fast," Antonio whispered. "I feel like I'm losing control."

"Fate is a force we can't control," Bassanio murmured, smoothing back Antonio's hair. "Everything is changing all the time… Let's get you home, alright?"

Antonio nodded and eased himself off the counter. He and Bassanio walked with Antonio's horse back to the manor. When they were away from the bar and one the empty, dark streets of Neo Venice, Bassanio slipped his hand into Antonio's. Antonio squeezed his hand, thanking him for his support.

Maybe my strength was never my own, maybe it was always him…

At the manor's gates, Bassanio looked up at him. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Tomorrow my father will be dead," Antonio said by way of an answer. "Everything will change… I would like to say I'm okay, but you know me better than that."

Bassanio looked torn as he looked at his friend. "We need talk about something."

"What's that?" Antonio asked, but Bassanio walked away. Antonio stared after him in confusion for a moment, then went inside and gave his groom his horse. He entered quietly, so as not to disturb the staff, and walked to his room with a heavy heart. As he was undressing, he heard a tap at the window. When he opened it, Bassanio dropped from the branches of the tree that stood outside onto the floor of Antonio's room, nimbly as a cat.

"What are you doing?" Antonio whispered in surprise.

"I didn't want you to spend the last night of your father's life alone," Bassanio murmured, his eyes flicking from Antonio's face to his bared torso. "But… I need to tell you something. Portia and I talked, and after we are married, we'll be leaving Neo Venice."

Antonio's breath caught in his chest. "Where will you go?"

Bassanio shrugged and looked at the ground. "We're not sure yet."

Antonio sat down on his bed, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of living life without his father, with a grief-stricken mother, with enormous responsibility, and all without Bassanio. It sounded like a hell crueler than God or Dante could have possibly imagined.

"I'm sorry I have to tell you this now," Bassanio said apologetically. "It's just, after this morning… I feel as though I am being unfaithful to Portia so soon before we make the biggest decision of our lives. I feel terribly guilty…"

"I'm sorry," Antonio murmured.

"But," Bassanio said, "I think I would feel worse about leaving you to deal with all of this on your own, so… I will stay with you tonight, but this has to be the last time we do anything like this. Not for any law, for the sake of my conscience…"

Antonio nodded slowly; he understood and respected Bassanio's wishes, and felt touched that he would compromise his morality to be a good friend. But as he watched Bassanio shed his shirt, he felt his heart break, slowly and agonizingly. Every tick of the clock sounded like the cracks in his heart spreading. He knew Bassanio would chose Portia, but he never thought they'd leave.

Please don't leave me here in my misery… Don't you see how much I need you, how much I love you?

As Bassanio lay down in his arms, Antonio pulled the covers over them and held him close. He rested his head on Bassanio's curls and breathed in his scent, memorizing every breath. He focused on the way Bassanio's fingers slowly brushed over Antonio's arms where they circled his chest. His bare skin was warm, almost hot against his own. Antonio curved his body to fit around Bassanio's and thought, over and over again, I love you, I love you…

"Where ever you go," he whispered as Bassanio's breathing became slower, "I wish you happiness. I truly do."

Bassanio awoke in the early hours of the morning when Antonio shifted beside him in his sleep. Bassanio rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. He wasn't sure he'd ever had a better night's sleep. When Antonio had held him, he had felt so safe, so secure… Bassanio felt fears and anxieties he didn't even know he had just melt away. It was if he had surrendered something deep inside him, and in that moment he had been completely at peace. No worries disturbed him that night; he felt horrible for admitting that to himself considering the pain he knew he was causing Antonio.

I am truly, completely, and reprehensibly selfish.

He looked down at Antonio, who was sprawled on his back with on hand on his stomach. Bassanio frowned when he saw Antonio's wound; it wasn't healing well, that much he could see. The wound had closed but the young scar was bright red, and the veins around it were dark. He touched it lightly and Antonio's whole body jerked. He blinked, and then stretched languidly like a cat.

"You need to see Dr. Marcos," Bassanio murmured worriedly.

Antonio rolled over on his side to face Bassanio and folded one arm under his head. "Good morning to you, too."

"I'm serious," Bassanio muttered, nodding to his wound. "That doesn't look good. Does it hurt?"

Antonio shrugged noncommittally. "Not as bad as it used to."

"You aren't going to see the doctor are you," Bassanio sighed.

Antonio smiled softly. "I will if you want me to." The way he looked at Bassanio when he was no longer trying to hide his feelings made Bassanio feel weak at the knees even though he was laying down.

"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that," Bassanio whispered.

"Why?"

"It makes me want to kiss you again."

Antonio covered his eyes. "Better?"

"No…"

Antonio laughed softly. "You're being unfair, telling me we can't behave like lovers one moment and then telling me you want to kiss me the next."

"Mixed signals are my specialty I suppose," Bassanio muttered, his face growing warm. Lovers…

Antonio looked out the window. "The sun hasn't risen yet."

"Your point being?"

"You said tonight is the last time we can do anything like this. It's not morning yet."

Bassanio felt light headed. Desire, an overwhelming amount of it, clashed with guilt in the confines of his heart. "It wouldn't be right…" Remembering how kissing Antonio felt was drowning out his morality, but where had his morals been yesterday morning, or the night before that?

"Dawn is a few minutes away," Antonio murmured against his neck, his lips slowly moving along his jaw line.

Bassanio felt his resolve weakening. He wanted to give in so badly… He looked at Antonio; the naked longing in his eyes was the straw that broke the camel's back. He pulled Antonio down on top of him and felt immediately and utterly overwhelmed. The feeling of Antonio's lips, every inch of his body weighing down on him, his smell, his hands where the pinned his arms down… it was intoxicating. In one smooth motion Antonio rolled over, sat up, and pulled Bassanio into his lap. He kissed Bassanio slowly, gently.

"Why are you holding back?" Bassanio asked breathlessly.

"If this is the last time I get to kiss you," Antonio murmured, his hands caressing Bassanio's bare back, "I want to make it count." He kissed him again, deeply. "I don't want to lose myself in passion, not this time." He pulled him closer, his kisses growing deeper. "I want to remember every second of this. I want to remember it for as long as I live."

And so Bassanio kissed him, a let himself feel everything, heart-wrenching pain and pleasure and something a lot like love all tangled together. He felt it with every heartbeat, the way he could feel Antonio's heart beating where their skin pressed together. It was a kiss that went beyond lust, beyond desire; it was the kind of kiss that could inspire poems or incite wars. And as the sun broke the horizon and flooded the room with orange light, Bassanio felt sad because he knew that he would never be kissed this way again for as long as he lived.