fanfiction - the borgias: now does our world descend - cesare/micheletto
title: now does our world descend
pairing(s): cesare/micheletto, cesare/ursula
rating: nc-17
word count: 1000~
disclaimer: not mine, not for profit.
warnings: spoilers for 1x06; breath play
author's note: title from an e. e. cummings poem of the same name. cesare's crazy sort of messed with the attempted pwp.
summary: in which cesare works through some things. with sex.
Three weeks with Ursula have come, gone; the sweetness is over. Cesare readily gives into the Other, leaving behind the day full of confrontation, and with it too His Eminence Cardinal Borgia. Tonight it is merely Cesare whom Micheletto answers when called.
Cesare does not speak of Ursula, though at the place where he asked her to throw away their pretense he greets Micheletto with a kiss. It takes Micheletto by surprise, the touch far too kind, but changes with Cesare crowding him against the pillar, saying, “Call me by name.”
“Borgia,” Micheletto says. Cesare remembers sparring and instruction, a fight between Borgia and Baron; remembers the real fight with Baron Bonadeo. Cesare can almost hear himself telling Ursula, he fought; he lost.
“No,” Cesare says, leaning in close to hold Micheletto in place with hands on his face, squeezing his jaw. “Try again.”
“Cesare,” Micheletto’s low voice supplies. Cesare hums his approval, but Micheletto is continuing, “And what am I to be called?”
He is uncomfortable, wary of another game, but this is not the seeking of a substitute as it is the claiming of something closer to comfort. Cesare’s hand circles Micheletto’s throat, earning a wince from him as Cesare tips his head back sharply.
“I would call you by name, of course,” Cesare says, their mouths brushing, his fingers digging at the rapid pulse. He whispers in an ear, “Micheletto.”
Cesare slots their hips together in a slow shift, pace increasing with each press and release of his hand around Micheletto’s neck. Micheletto desperately inhales the short streams of air that are granted, until his footing falters and Cesare must relent.
Cesare keeps Micheletto pinned between his body and the pillar, letting him cough and wheeze, giving the man time to recover. Cesare smiles, grazes the back of his knuckles against the tender throat. “Do you trust me as I you, Micheletto?”
Micheletto turns his head, dragging in a steadying breath. Cesare keeps smiling as Micheletto nods.
Ursula is gone and Cesare will find her, but for now he is the Other.
Micheletto swears an oath to Cesare with his body. The strength in his hands that curl around Cesare’s thighs is the declaration, the warmth of his mouth around Cesare the seal. Cesare leans against the door inside his chambers with words of acceptance, but he must pull away.
As they regard one another, Cesare says, “I would have you strip now.”
Micheletto is awkward, but not shy. He pulls on the laces of his shirt, his tunic; undoes the strings of his breeches, his boots.
Cesare watches the clothing drop to the floor as he frees himself of the rest of his own. He keeps a hold of his tunic though, sweeping down with the cloth in both hands. Micheletto almost moves, but at the last second allows himself to get caught for Cesare’s humor.
Cesare laughs, feeling manic with the need for it to never stop, but he stifles it. “I would have you astride me, Micheletto. Does this sound of a good idea?”
Micheletto doesn’t respond. Cesare twists the cloth tighter, winding it around his fists and closing the space. He backs them towards the bed, daring Micheletto to speak with a grin that splits his face wider and wider.
Cesare eventually drops the tunic in favor of wrapping his arms around Micheletto, the man grunting as Cesare lifts to bring them on to the bed as one. It is a tangle of limbs and maneuvering to find their place, Cesare settling into his between Micheletto’s legs.
He reaches out and lets his fingers drag along Micheletto’s flank to the high curve of his hip. Micheletto’s body is tense, but he does not move. Cesare shifts, planting hands on either side of his shoulders. “Or should I have you like this?”
“Is this how you would like me to be?” Micheletto asks. He adds with a bit of a sharp edge, “Cesare.”
“I think I would.”
Micheletto seems made of silent resolve. Cesare finally does succeed in breaking through the man’s stubborn need to simply take though, as a leg is shrugged down from a shoulder and caught by Cesare’s elbow, the angle changing for far better.
Micheletto arches up with a start, back coming off the bed. His eyes close, and Cesare hisses, “Open your eyes, my sweet.”
He obeys, managing to sound both quite wrecked and annoyed as he says, “Yes, Cesare.”
Cesare laughs, his hips snapping forward harder, harder; every other meet has Micheletto grunting out hefty exhales. Cesare can see every conflict that flickers across his face.
The fire continues to rage in the hearth beside the bed, flames throwing shadows with illuminating licks. The color of Micheletto’s hair is deeper, redder, his beard a brighter orange. The hollows in the contours of his body are made greater by the casted darkness that looms beyond.
Micheletto is so wet from the messy application of oil; the sound of their fornication loud and obscene in the bare room. Micheletto twists against the manipulation of his legs by Cesare that forces him to rock back onto Cesare’s cock in a bruising pace.
“Do you think you could spend just from me?” Cesare asks, changing to short, shallow thrusts. “Or would you rather take yourself in hand?”
Micheletto shakes his head, closing his eyes and Cesare stills completely. He reaches out to tap on Micheletto’s chest. “Eyes open.”
Micheletto hesitantly hooks a leg around Cesare’s waist, opening his eyes, and Cesare feels shudders go through him. He cradles Micheletto’s opposite leg, holding it against his chest as he leans to wrap his free hand around Micheletto’s throat.
Cesare pulls out, pushes forward, a slow fill that turns into a heavy grind. He clenches his hand around Micheletto’s neck tight enough to cut off air. Cesare presses, releases, again and again, harder and for longer until he feels Micheletto go taunt, scratching at Cesare’s arms as he spills between them.
Cesare drops onto him, lips to Micheletto’s throat, and finds his own completion as Micheletto painfully regains his breath.
Where Ursula had demanded the cost of Cesare’s affections, he remains with Micheletto. Cesare chases away her smell that lingers, leaving instead the impression of Micheletto in the mattress.
Cesare whispers into the disappearing night, “You will not leave me as well, Micheletto.”
“Not until I fall, Your Eminence, or you should send me away,” is the murmured, but no less true, response.
Cesare already feels the return to grander responsibility.
pairing(s): cesare/micheletto, cesare/ursula
rating: nc-17
word count: 1000~
disclaimer: not mine, not for profit.
warnings: spoilers for 1x06; breath play
author's note: title from an e. e. cummings poem of the same name. cesare's crazy sort of messed with the attempted pwp.
summary: in which cesare works through some things. with sex.
Three weeks with Ursula have come, gone; the sweetness is over. Cesare readily gives into the Other, leaving behind the day full of confrontation, and with it too His Eminence Cardinal Borgia. Tonight it is merely Cesare whom Micheletto answers when called.
Cesare does not speak of Ursula, though at the place where he asked her to throw away their pretense he greets Micheletto with a kiss. It takes Micheletto by surprise, the touch far too kind, but changes with Cesare crowding him against the pillar, saying, “Call me by name.”
“Borgia,” Micheletto says. Cesare remembers sparring and instruction, a fight between Borgia and Baron; remembers the real fight with Baron Bonadeo. Cesare can almost hear himself telling Ursula, he fought; he lost.
“No,” Cesare says, leaning in close to hold Micheletto in place with hands on his face, squeezing his jaw. “Try again.”
“Cesare,” Micheletto’s low voice supplies. Cesare hums his approval, but Micheletto is continuing, “And what am I to be called?”
He is uncomfortable, wary of another game, but this is not the seeking of a substitute as it is the claiming of something closer to comfort. Cesare’s hand circles Micheletto’s throat, earning a wince from him as Cesare tips his head back sharply.
“I would call you by name, of course,” Cesare says, their mouths brushing, his fingers digging at the rapid pulse. He whispers in an ear, “Micheletto.”
Cesare slots their hips together in a slow shift, pace increasing with each press and release of his hand around Micheletto’s neck. Micheletto desperately inhales the short streams of air that are granted, until his footing falters and Cesare must relent.
Cesare keeps Micheletto pinned between his body and the pillar, letting him cough and wheeze, giving the man time to recover. Cesare smiles, grazes the back of his knuckles against the tender throat. “Do you trust me as I you, Micheletto?”
Micheletto turns his head, dragging in a steadying breath. Cesare keeps smiling as Micheletto nods.
Ursula is gone and Cesare will find her, but for now he is the Other.
Micheletto swears an oath to Cesare with his body. The strength in his hands that curl around Cesare’s thighs is the declaration, the warmth of his mouth around Cesare the seal. Cesare leans against the door inside his chambers with words of acceptance, but he must pull away.
As they regard one another, Cesare says, “I would have you strip now.”
Micheletto is awkward, but not shy. He pulls on the laces of his shirt, his tunic; undoes the strings of his breeches, his boots.
Cesare watches the clothing drop to the floor as he frees himself of the rest of his own. He keeps a hold of his tunic though, sweeping down with the cloth in both hands. Micheletto almost moves, but at the last second allows himself to get caught for Cesare’s humor.
Cesare laughs, feeling manic with the need for it to never stop, but he stifles it. “I would have you astride me, Micheletto. Does this sound of a good idea?”
Micheletto doesn’t respond. Cesare twists the cloth tighter, winding it around his fists and closing the space. He backs them towards the bed, daring Micheletto to speak with a grin that splits his face wider and wider.
Cesare eventually drops the tunic in favor of wrapping his arms around Micheletto, the man grunting as Cesare lifts to bring them on to the bed as one. It is a tangle of limbs and maneuvering to find their place, Cesare settling into his between Micheletto’s legs.
He reaches out and lets his fingers drag along Micheletto’s flank to the high curve of his hip. Micheletto’s body is tense, but he does not move. Cesare shifts, planting hands on either side of his shoulders. “Or should I have you like this?”
“Is this how you would like me to be?” Micheletto asks. He adds with a bit of a sharp edge, “Cesare.”
“I think I would.”
Micheletto seems made of silent resolve. Cesare finally does succeed in breaking through the man’s stubborn need to simply take though, as a leg is shrugged down from a shoulder and caught by Cesare’s elbow, the angle changing for far better.
Micheletto arches up with a start, back coming off the bed. His eyes close, and Cesare hisses, “Open your eyes, my sweet.”
He obeys, managing to sound both quite wrecked and annoyed as he says, “Yes, Cesare.”
Cesare laughs, his hips snapping forward harder, harder; every other meet has Micheletto grunting out hefty exhales. Cesare can see every conflict that flickers across his face.
The fire continues to rage in the hearth beside the bed, flames throwing shadows with illuminating licks. The color of Micheletto’s hair is deeper, redder, his beard a brighter orange. The hollows in the contours of his body are made greater by the casted darkness that looms beyond.
Micheletto is so wet from the messy application of oil; the sound of their fornication loud and obscene in the bare room. Micheletto twists against the manipulation of his legs by Cesare that forces him to rock back onto Cesare’s cock in a bruising pace.
“Do you think you could spend just from me?” Cesare asks, changing to short, shallow thrusts. “Or would you rather take yourself in hand?”
Micheletto shakes his head, closing his eyes and Cesare stills completely. He reaches out to tap on Micheletto’s chest. “Eyes open.”
Micheletto hesitantly hooks a leg around Cesare’s waist, opening his eyes, and Cesare feels shudders go through him. He cradles Micheletto’s opposite leg, holding it against his chest as he leans to wrap his free hand around Micheletto’s throat.
Cesare pulls out, pushes forward, a slow fill that turns into a heavy grind. He clenches his hand around Micheletto’s neck tight enough to cut off air. Cesare presses, releases, again and again, harder and for longer until he feels Micheletto go taunt, scratching at Cesare’s arms as he spills between them.
Cesare drops onto him, lips to Micheletto’s throat, and finds his own completion as Micheletto painfully regains his breath.
Where Ursula had demanded the cost of Cesare’s affections, he remains with Micheletto. Cesare chases away her smell that lingers, leaving instead the impression of Micheletto in the mattress.
Cesare whispers into the disappearing night, “You will not leave me as well, Micheletto.”
“Not until I fall, Your Eminence, or you should send me away,” is the murmured, but no less true, response.
Cesare already feels the return to grander responsibility.