[Fanfiction] - Cantarella - Dreams
Well, I've been watching The Borgias and it made me want to write Cantarella fic. Hence, on the 3rd of July, I commence my challenge to post something daily. I wish myself luck. I'm going to need it. :p
Title: Dreaming
Fandom: Cantarella
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Cesare/Chiaro, Cesare/Lucrezia (sort of)
Wordcount: 1000
Warnings: Some semi-disturbing imagery in Chiaro's dreams, implied incest in those same dreams. Lots of blood.
Disclaimer: Oh, if they were only mine...
Notes: I don't really know where this came from. But I can see some of it unusually vividly in my mind - usually I'm not good at picturing scenes I'm writing in my head, but this one was insanely vivid.
Summary: Chiaro dreams.
Chiaro sees Cesare nightly. He sees Cesare as a child again, innocent and anguished, all melancholy grace and quiet solemnity. He sees Cesare with his hair still short and his face still softened by naivety. Cesare drifts in his minds eye, reaching out cold hands that never quite brush Chiaro’s face. ‘Save me,’ Cesare whispers, and his ghostly vestments run red, blood streaming down to pool at his bare feet. ‘Please, Chiaro.’
Chiaro reaches out to him but Cesare is always just out of reach.
The blood rises, lapping at Cesare’s ankles, his calves, his knees. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says in his child-voice. ‘I don’t understand.’ His eyes meet Chiaro’s, wide and terrified.
His pain pierces Chiaro to the core, a needle sewing threads of white-hot grief deep inside his breastbone. ‘I had to go,’ Chiaro tells him. ‘I’ll still save you.’
Cesare smiles. He looks so small. ‘It’s too late,’ he says. The blood is at his waist now.
‘I promised,’ Chiaro reminds him.
‘I know.’ Cesare is bewildered now. He is seconds from drowning, the blood toying with the ends of his hair. ‘Why did you do that?’
The blood smothers him before Chiaro can answer. Snuffs him out like a candle. And Chiaro wakes, sweating and shaking, clutching at air with the taste of words he’ll never say on his lips.
*
There are worse dreams, though. Dreams of what could have been. Dreams where he pulls Cesare closer, instead of pushing him away. Dreams where Cesare’s lips are hot and knowing against his. Dreams where Cesare laces slender fingers with Chiaro’s own and Chiaro knows that Cesare is safe. Is whole.
He has dreams where Cesare comes utterly unravelled in his arms. Where Cesare forgets, just for a moment, who and what and why he is. Where Cesare is free. They move together in those dreams, climbing higher and higher before tumbling into an oblivion that stops just short of paradise.
Cesare curls up against him, nuzzling his throat, and Chiaro runs careless fingers through his hair.
‘I’m dreaming,’ Cesare tells him.
Chiaro laughs. ‘I’m flattered.’
‘No,’ Cesare says, sitting up suddenly. ‘I know I’m dreaming.’
‘Why?’ Chiaro asks.
Cesare’s eyes turn yellow. ‘Because this is the only world in which you do not betray me.’
Then there is blood again, dripping like tears from Cesare’s eyes. Cesare opens his mouth and crimson dribbles from between his lip. He chokes on his words, tyring to force them out as Chiaro watches, frozen in place. Blood spatters his naked torso as he gags, fingers clutching at the covers. He looks at Chiaro with eyes turned black and reaches for him. But Chiaro cannot move, and Cesare drowns slowly, desperate fingers never quite reaching Chiaro’s own.
*
He dreams of Cesare and Lucrezia, wrapped around one another as Eve twined with a serpent. Her blonde hair is a halo of gold as she rides him, her head thrown back as she takes her pleasure. One of his hands steadies her, the other caresses her breasts, stroking her as she gasps his name. They are exquisite, beautiful, perfect, horrific, bound together my blood and love and pleasure.
They lie together, sweaty and replete, still entangled. It is as if they cannot bear to be separated for a single moment, a jumble of limbs and tenderness.
‘Do you not…ever feel guilty about Chiaro?’ Lucrezia asks, her pink mouth resting against Cesare’s breast. She still looks so sweet, so innocent.
Cesare caresses he cheek idly. ‘Who?’ he asks.
And there is blood again, as there always is, gurgling greedily around Cesare’s naked body as Lucrezia drifts upwards, borne towards the starry skies. Cesare watches her float away from him as the blood devours him whole.
*
‘Drink,’ Cesare says, lifting his goblet in a toast. Chiaro does likewise. Cesare quaffs it in a single gulp but Chiaro sips, almost delicately, the wine lapping at the rim of the ornate golden cup. It tastes like blackberries and velvet, dark and warm and sinful.
‘Tell me,’ says Cesare softly, ‘am I your Saviour?’ His eyes seem darker than usual.
‘What do you mean?’ Chiaro asks. The wine is thick and heady against his tongue.
‘Am I your Saviour?’ Cesare asks again. The candles gutter and his face is plunged into darkness.
‘God is my saviour, surely,’ Chiaro replies, hesitant.
Cesare’s grin is wicked, teeth glinting white. ‘Whose blood do you think you’re drinking?’
Chiaro shoves the goblet away and it tips, crimson leaking out all over the white cloth.
Cesare tuts gently. ‘You disappoint me, Chiaro,’ he says softly. His eyes are golden. ‘At least Jesus got a kiss for his troubles.’
This time, it is only Cesare’s eyes that bleed. The crimson seeps out from his golden irises, unfurling into the whites of his eyes and finally snuffing out his pupils. He keeps smiling as his face cracks apart.
*
He dreams he is Cesare, and there is something inside him. Something scaled
and monstrous coiled up in his chest, bucking and writhing. He can feel it moving, pressing up against his ribs. Free me, it hisses. Free me.
*
He dreams he is Volpe, but this time it is Cesare in chains and shaking as the whip rips open his back. Stop, he tells himself, but his arm continues to move as the whip tears Cesare apart. Cesare doesn’t cry out, but he whispers Chiaro’s name again and again and again.
*
Cesare’s palms cup his face, Cesare’s mouth inches from his own. Chiaro can smell his breath, sweet and deadly. His lips are chapped and cracked.
‘I loved you,’ Cesare murmurs.
‘I know,’ Chiaro whispers.
Cesare shatters before their lips can meet.
*
Chiaro dreams a hundred dreams in a hundred different ways, but he wakes every time with the same, sickness churning his stomach and the same dread turning his thoughts black with despair.
It is too late, the dreams tell him.
It is your fault, they hiss.
You promised, they whisper.
You lied.
So should I go back on hiatus? :p
Title: Dreaming
Fandom: Cantarella
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Cesare/Chiaro, Cesare/Lucrezia (sort of)
Wordcount: 1000
Warnings: Some semi-disturbing imagery in Chiaro's dreams, implied incest in those same dreams. Lots of blood.
Disclaimer: Oh, if they were only mine...
Notes: I don't really know where this came from. But I can see some of it unusually vividly in my mind - usually I'm not good at picturing scenes I'm writing in my head, but this one was insanely vivid.
Summary: Chiaro dreams.
Chiaro sees Cesare nightly. He sees Cesare as a child again, innocent and anguished, all melancholy grace and quiet solemnity. He sees Cesare with his hair still short and his face still softened by naivety. Cesare drifts in his minds eye, reaching out cold hands that never quite brush Chiaro’s face. ‘Save me,’ Cesare whispers, and his ghostly vestments run red, blood streaming down to pool at his bare feet. ‘Please, Chiaro.’
Chiaro reaches out to him but Cesare is always just out of reach.
The blood rises, lapping at Cesare’s ankles, his calves, his knees. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says in his child-voice. ‘I don’t understand.’ His eyes meet Chiaro’s, wide and terrified.
His pain pierces Chiaro to the core, a needle sewing threads of white-hot grief deep inside his breastbone. ‘I had to go,’ Chiaro tells him. ‘I’ll still save you.’
Cesare smiles. He looks so small. ‘It’s too late,’ he says. The blood is at his waist now.
‘I promised,’ Chiaro reminds him.
‘I know.’ Cesare is bewildered now. He is seconds from drowning, the blood toying with the ends of his hair. ‘Why did you do that?’
The blood smothers him before Chiaro can answer. Snuffs him out like a candle. And Chiaro wakes, sweating and shaking, clutching at air with the taste of words he’ll never say on his lips.
*
There are worse dreams, though. Dreams of what could have been. Dreams where he pulls Cesare closer, instead of pushing him away. Dreams where Cesare’s lips are hot and knowing against his. Dreams where Cesare laces slender fingers with Chiaro’s own and Chiaro knows that Cesare is safe. Is whole.
He has dreams where Cesare comes utterly unravelled in his arms. Where Cesare forgets, just for a moment, who and what and why he is. Where Cesare is free. They move together in those dreams, climbing higher and higher before tumbling into an oblivion that stops just short of paradise.
Cesare curls up against him, nuzzling his throat, and Chiaro runs careless fingers through his hair.
‘I’m dreaming,’ Cesare tells him.
Chiaro laughs. ‘I’m flattered.’
‘No,’ Cesare says, sitting up suddenly. ‘I know I’m dreaming.’
‘Why?’ Chiaro asks.
Cesare’s eyes turn yellow. ‘Because this is the only world in which you do not betray me.’
Then there is blood again, dripping like tears from Cesare’s eyes. Cesare opens his mouth and crimson dribbles from between his lip. He chokes on his words, tyring to force them out as Chiaro watches, frozen in place. Blood spatters his naked torso as he gags, fingers clutching at the covers. He looks at Chiaro with eyes turned black and reaches for him. But Chiaro cannot move, and Cesare drowns slowly, desperate fingers never quite reaching Chiaro’s own.
*
He dreams of Cesare and Lucrezia, wrapped around one another as Eve twined with a serpent. Her blonde hair is a halo of gold as she rides him, her head thrown back as she takes her pleasure. One of his hands steadies her, the other caresses her breasts, stroking her as she gasps his name. They are exquisite, beautiful, perfect, horrific, bound together my blood and love and pleasure.
They lie together, sweaty and replete, still entangled. It is as if they cannot bear to be separated for a single moment, a jumble of limbs and tenderness.
‘Do you not…ever feel guilty about Chiaro?’ Lucrezia asks, her pink mouth resting against Cesare’s breast. She still looks so sweet, so innocent.
Cesare caresses he cheek idly. ‘Who?’ he asks.
And there is blood again, as there always is, gurgling greedily around Cesare’s naked body as Lucrezia drifts upwards, borne towards the starry skies. Cesare watches her float away from him as the blood devours him whole.
*
‘Drink,’ Cesare says, lifting his goblet in a toast. Chiaro does likewise. Cesare quaffs it in a single gulp but Chiaro sips, almost delicately, the wine lapping at the rim of the ornate golden cup. It tastes like blackberries and velvet, dark and warm and sinful.
‘Tell me,’ says Cesare softly, ‘am I your Saviour?’ His eyes seem darker than usual.
‘What do you mean?’ Chiaro asks. The wine is thick and heady against his tongue.
‘Am I your Saviour?’ Cesare asks again. The candles gutter and his face is plunged into darkness.
‘God is my saviour, surely,’ Chiaro replies, hesitant.
Cesare’s grin is wicked, teeth glinting white. ‘Whose blood do you think you’re drinking?’
Chiaro shoves the goblet away and it tips, crimson leaking out all over the white cloth.
Cesare tuts gently. ‘You disappoint me, Chiaro,’ he says softly. His eyes are golden. ‘At least Jesus got a kiss for his troubles.’
This time, it is only Cesare’s eyes that bleed. The crimson seeps out from his golden irises, unfurling into the whites of his eyes and finally snuffing out his pupils. He keeps smiling as his face cracks apart.
*
He dreams he is Cesare, and there is something inside him. Something scaled
and monstrous coiled up in his chest, bucking and writhing. He can feel it moving, pressing up against his ribs. Free me, it hisses. Free me.
*
He dreams he is Volpe, but this time it is Cesare in chains and shaking as the whip rips open his back. Stop, he tells himself, but his arm continues to move as the whip tears Cesare apart. Cesare doesn’t cry out, but he whispers Chiaro’s name again and again and again.
*
Cesare’s palms cup his face, Cesare’s mouth inches from his own. Chiaro can smell his breath, sweet and deadly. His lips are chapped and cracked.
‘I loved you,’ Cesare murmurs.
‘I know,’ Chiaro whispers.
Cesare shatters before their lips can meet.
*
Chiaro dreams a hundred dreams in a hundred different ways, but he wakes every time with the same, sickness churning his stomach and the same dread turning his thoughts black with despair.
It is too late, the dreams tell him.
It is your fault, they hiss.
You promised, they whisper.
You lied.
So should I go back on hiatus? :p