Fanfiction: Dolci Tentazioni (The Borgias)
Title: "Dolci Tentazioni"
Status: Complete
Fandom: The Borgias (2011)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Micheletto Corella/OMC
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: T
Genre: slash, AU, original male character
Warning: underage, prostitution
Summary: Micheletto indulges his sinful cravings...
Dolci Tentazioni
The stench of the Tiber clung to him upon waking, reminding him of screams and blood and coupling between gravestones.
Not that Micheletto felt any regret or doubt about his chosen path or the nature of his talents, but no man liked having the past breathe down his neck. It fanned the skin, moist and cold, it crawled with the worms of decisions made, like the rich soil of the potter's field.
The dead providing sustenance for vermin. Not so much different from the living.
The straw-filled mattress and pillow rustled as he moved, lifting the scratchy wool blanket. Fingers of early sunlight poked through the cracks in the shutters, illuminating sparse furniture. Whatever ornaments, comforts and colors the whorehouse had once possessed, time, dirt and poverty had long since scrubbed them away.
Micheletto rubbed his dry eyes, inhaling deeply: unwashed skin, burned down candles, rotting meat and fruits. A pity. He had dreamed of nothing, a black void of oblivion, embraced in the warmth of the bardassa.
He rolled out of the bed, in truth no more than a pallet, and reached for his buckskin trews and shirt. He continued dressing, aware that the boy had woken, was counting the scars on his back. The same he had kissed and licked last night, now watching Micheletto with eyes that had given him his name: Cielo.
"Tell me about love," Micheletto demanded, tone flat and even.
For a moment only the sounds of fucking, drunken ranting and consumptive coughing answered him. Then Cielo chuckled and stretched languidly, exposing bruises and ribs that tried to poke through his pale skin.
Despite being half-starved he was pure temptation, dark hair and alabaster complexion, the first hints of muscles he would not live to develop, and a pretty mouth and clever tongue he used well to service men. Dangerous too, because if one squinted and knew to make the connection, the boy seemed the brittle shadow of one Cardinal Cesare Borgia.
"You have come to the wrong place, my lord, if you had hoped to find it here."
This was why Micheletto had followed him yesterday, up decrepit stairs despite his better judgment: the boy talked as if he had been raised far from these filthy streets, had some cheek and spirit left. Both would be used up soon enough. Knowing that Micheletto had given in to the cravings of his body and stolen a taste of it for himself.
"I expect no more than coin can buy." Micheletto adjusted his doublet, the leather soft and loose from wear. "Another I asked said it hurt."
"Like life?" Cielo asked, eyes shining bright with shrewd wit. "Then I gather that love ended in tragedy."
The fool Paolo came to mind, found hanged by the rabble like a lesson, one his master's sister had learned very well. "It did."
"Hm," Cielo hummed. "My answer would be that it is like the sun. It can warm or burn you."
Micheletto nodded, in truth none the wiser. The concept was too alien for him to grasp, like pain that did not carry a sweet edge, like moral obligations, like mercy, like trying to hide the darkness at the rotten core of men.
Tossing the boy the other half of his well-earned coin, Micheletto reached for the curtain that separated the tiny bedchamber from the corridor, leading downstairs to the back of the tavern.
Cielo caught the copper scudos and tucked them away, nimble-fingered as any thief; the Matron would demand her share later. "Will you come again, my lord?"
"Maybe."
Micheletto left, in a better mood than he had come with. One more body floating down the Tiber would be of no consequence. Not even his own, when the time came.
The End
Status: Complete
Fandom: The Borgias (2011)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Micheletto Corella/OMC
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: T
Genre: slash, AU, original male character
Warning: underage, prostitution
Summary: Micheletto indulges his sinful cravings...
Dolci Tentazioni
The stench of the Tiber clung to him upon waking, reminding him of screams and blood and coupling between gravestones.
Not that Micheletto felt any regret or doubt about his chosen path or the nature of his talents, but no man liked having the past breathe down his neck. It fanned the skin, moist and cold, it crawled with the worms of decisions made, like the rich soil of the potter's field.
The dead providing sustenance for vermin. Not so much different from the living.
The straw-filled mattress and pillow rustled as he moved, lifting the scratchy wool blanket. Fingers of early sunlight poked through the cracks in the shutters, illuminating sparse furniture. Whatever ornaments, comforts and colors the whorehouse had once possessed, time, dirt and poverty had long since scrubbed them away.
Micheletto rubbed his dry eyes, inhaling deeply: unwashed skin, burned down candles, rotting meat and fruits. A pity. He had dreamed of nothing, a black void of oblivion, embraced in the warmth of the bardassa.
He rolled out of the bed, in truth no more than a pallet, and reached for his buckskin trews and shirt. He continued dressing, aware that the boy had woken, was counting the scars on his back. The same he had kissed and licked last night, now watching Micheletto with eyes that had given him his name: Cielo.
"Tell me about love," Micheletto demanded, tone flat and even.
For a moment only the sounds of fucking, drunken ranting and consumptive coughing answered him. Then Cielo chuckled and stretched languidly, exposing bruises and ribs that tried to poke through his pale skin.
Despite being half-starved he was pure temptation, dark hair and alabaster complexion, the first hints of muscles he would not live to develop, and a pretty mouth and clever tongue he used well to service men. Dangerous too, because if one squinted and knew to make the connection, the boy seemed the brittle shadow of one Cardinal Cesare Borgia.
"You have come to the wrong place, my lord, if you had hoped to find it here."
This was why Micheletto had followed him yesterday, up decrepit stairs despite his better judgment: the boy talked as if he had been raised far from these filthy streets, had some cheek and spirit left. Both would be used up soon enough. Knowing that Micheletto had given in to the cravings of his body and stolen a taste of it for himself.
"I expect no more than coin can buy." Micheletto adjusted his doublet, the leather soft and loose from wear. "Another I asked said it hurt."
"Like life?" Cielo asked, eyes shining bright with shrewd wit. "Then I gather that love ended in tragedy."
The fool Paolo came to mind, found hanged by the rabble like a lesson, one his master's sister had learned very well. "It did."
"Hm," Cielo hummed. "My answer would be that it is like the sun. It can warm or burn you."
Micheletto nodded, in truth none the wiser. The concept was too alien for him to grasp, like pain that did not carry a sweet edge, like moral obligations, like mercy, like trying to hide the darkness at the rotten core of men.
Tossing the boy the other half of his well-earned coin, Micheletto reached for the curtain that separated the tiny bedchamber from the corridor, leading downstairs to the back of the tavern.
Cielo caught the copper scudos and tucked them away, nimble-fingered as any thief; the Matron would demand her share later. "Will you come again, my lord?"
"Maybe."
Micheletto left, in a better mood than he had come with. One more body floating down the Tiber would be of no consequence. Not even his own, when the time came.
The End