It is not that there is safety in the makeshift loft made from a wall of the abandoned theater. The place is, in truth, rickety, damp, and perhaps in violation of many city codes. Yet, it is the only home that Cesare has ever really known. Perhaps security is a better term for it, a need for his own space, the cocoon that keeps him somewhat sheltered from the rest of the world out there.
And a dark world it can be.
He was quiet as Paolo poled him home, eyes staring ahead to the front of the gondola and out to the waters ahead. Cesare asked no questions of his friend, nor made little comment more than on the state of Carnivale's end.
"Thank you," Cesare whispers as the gondola comes to a breezing slow near his corner of the world. He rises, careful grace in his steps. He hopes his prince is at home, as there was little communication before his sudden departure from the auction, though Cesare can imagine that such a prince may have other duties to attend.
Your friend was likewise silent, his usual stoic self. Like Brutus or Cato at the prow suddenly. As he steadies the gondola at the steps of your flat, he turns to look to you, he offers you his hand. "Have a good night, old friend. I will see you soon..." And in the background you could hear the others start to sing.
Paolo pushed the black swan vessel from your stoop and disappeared a moment later...
The place has no windows, amice! While this can be a plus during the day, how am I to leave a porch light on for you? When you open the door, there is immediate warmth, despite the dankness of the loft, there is something that happens when Alire cooks that makes it seem cozy. Smells, so many delicious smells reach you...
Orange...
Honey...
Coffee...
And he is not in a suit! Do you need to rub your eyes, amice! He is in a plain white pull over, short-sleeve shirt and the trousers from earlier, looking very relaxed, very European. Two plates are on the small table. There is something he is doing with fish, again. Fish and fruit. Is there a better combination? Ah, with a marscapone creme sauce.
How he loves you...
The evening's drama only now begins to dissipate. "Alire," Cesare whispers, the name always said with sweet admiration now filled with an immediacy. Cesare closes the door behind him, and waves his hand absently behind him while muttering a few words. In truth, it happens so quickly that Cesare seems to be unaware of his own actions.
He steps down into the loft, and immediately heads your direction. "You are so beautiful to see, bello," Cesare offers, hands immediately coming to cup his lover's cheeks. A kiss is immediately placed at Provencal lips, where his own tug softly once, twice, three times.
"You are alright, yes?" Cesare asks hurriedly, as if Time is of the essence.
The immediacy catches him off-guard, but the kiss is pleasing. Such immediacy he can get used to. Such immediacy he can sink into. The Prince of Poitiers returns the kiss as much as he is kissed, his hands setting down the implements of culinary creation and coming to your face as well.
Parting with a smile, Alire then peers at you a little. What a question. "Oui... I am okay... you look worried, bello," he smiles again, turning back to the fish, a glance to check on it. "I did not stay long at the auction. I wanted to come home and wait in case you called. I think the better question is are you alright, tesoro. I saw you leave with Eduard," Edward Meurelle.
"Ah, there is fish, fresh mullet from the lagoon, some shellfish as well, the sauce is ready, soon the fish will be. Would you like some wine? I had some sent from Zecca's."
"Wine would be..." Cesare just smiles. Did you know he had such cheekbones? He stares a moment, staying nearly flush, even though you turn to see about the fish. For that matter, he turns too and looks down into the pan. "I was worried...I...left with Edward, because there was some problem, bello. Some woman, a threat. She appeared at the auction and I was informed, that was the call," Cesare waves a finger, "...that I needed to help contain and remove her. We took her," he grumbles it, "...to the prisons."
A sigh comes at the mention of it. He hadn't felt flustered by it before, but now Cesare's brow knits and he looks down to the floor. A prison.
"But, as long as you are alright. If you are," Cesare says ominously, "I bet it is better than the fate of that woman."
A problem? "The two of you handled it very well. I was not aware there was a problem... to the prisons?" A vampire matter, then. To the prisons. His hand rests upon your waist and Alire remains flush with you. "I am fine, tesoro," he murmurs. "You do not have to worry. Here, let me get you some wine, hmm? I am sure the prisons were a hard place to be..."
You and I both have that particular problem...
"The woman ... probably we should leave her fate where it is, decided... it would seem. I will lower the heat on the fish... it is almost ready, a few more minutes..."
He leans in, his hair golden-white-bright as he does so, closely cut as it is, very modern, and his mouth pulls at yours and for a moment his hands clasp with that... intensity you know boils beneath the surface. "I missed you... when I miss you, I start to cook for you..." He smiles to you, another kiss and he parts. "Go have a seat, ami... rest... you've had a busy night..."
There's a grin for the cooking. Oddly enough, Cesare thinks it may be true. But after an inhale and a nod, he turns about to walk over to the sofa. Maybe it was more affecting than he thought. Cesare drops himself onto the old seating, and sighs as he extends his legs and tosses his arms, folded, over his closed eyes. What a night.
The wine is uncorked with a popping sound, two glasses are filled halfway, a liberal glass, and then, with a last look to the fish, Alire approaches the sofa, hand extending, the offering of wine held out to you. White wine. Something for spring. Perfect with the mullet and orange.
"I remember the first time I returned to Chinon," he says softly. "A friend of mine... it was his home, where he was born, and is his home again. You remember the brother of Richard Lionhearted? Him...well, he acquired it during the French Revolution, it and the lands around it. He rebuilt it all, everything restored with the exception of the dunjon," he murmurs. "Anyway, I used to help him with Poitiers when he was the law of the land, so to speak. The first time I returned to Chinon, I guess it was before world war one, it was... amazingly difficult. To be ... in any such building was hard, but that one in particular. The prisons here... are ... much like those that we had to endure. I will say that I may go to Chinon comfortably these nights and marvel at the work Guillaume has done. Time, bello, is the only thing that will make such things easier..."
He takes a swallow of wine, his hand brushing your hair. "I am a bad lover, yes? I do not tell you as soon as you come in that I love you. Handsome Venetian lion that you are," Alire grins. "I better get the fish, before I burn it and we have to rely on toast for dinner..."
Cesare reaches out and grabs your arm. "I don't need the fish yet," he whispers. "Just you," said with earnest expression. The glass is held with his other hand, but Cesare begins to release his grip once he realizes his pull and the cling of his fingers.
"I am sorry," he whispers. For much. His own sudden need since all of this has taken place. The constant requirement to know where you are and that you are alright. To see you if you have been gone too long. An anxiety unfamiliar. Cesare smiles and drops his hand. "I love your fish," he whispers, taking a quick drink.
There is reassurance in the sky blue eyes, an understanding smile. "Do not apologize to me, Giancarlo Cesare Perilli." He is not troubled by it. Does he not also worry when he cannot find you? When you are later than expected? It is to be expected, perhaps, this intensity. This need of you both to be comforted. The intensity you have for each other only deepening. "I am suddenly not hungry," he grins, "...but I do not want to start a fire. That would be messy..."
A joke!
Bending, Alire kisses long and sweet, even grinning into it, tasting the wine from your lips. "We will squeeze onto the sofa, hmm? I will turn down the fish. We can have it later..."
"Mmph," Cesare says, finishing another swallow. He looks over to the fish a moment, then looks back to you. "It'll be fine," he whispers, settling against the sofa once more, his shoulder into the threadbare cushions so that he might face you.
Another swallow is hurriedly downed, and Cesare looks into the glass of white. "We...haven't talked much about it of late. Those memories," he says softly. "I...don't know sometimes," he admits nervously, "...what they all mean."
Smiling, Alire relents on the matter of dinner, joining you on the sofa and taking a very healthy swallow of the wine as well. As you speak of memories, he is putting a large shoulder to the cushions of the sofa, a hand resting on your leg, his other holding the wine. "It is much to process," Alire nods. "It will take time, tesoro. I remember, I used to have nightmares... I would ... have to deal with memories when I was awake. But over time this lessened. With you, you are experiencing things you only recently remember, are in tune to remember. And they are not pleasant memories, I don't imagine. Unless," a small smile, "...you remember that time in the Alps when to keep warm we shared more than our cloaks and blankets and furs." Another kiss.
He cannot help it. It is intense, open and clasping. "I am sorry," he breathes there, a little self reproach. "I am sitting on a sofa with you, you are so handsome, I just have to... but... it is a serious thing.... I am listening, tesoro..."
The other grins slightly, color rising to his cheeks. "I remember," he whispers, "Hohenzeller." Lips twist. "I couldn't believe," he smirks, "...that we both had sentry duty at the same time." Cesare laughs and puts a hand over his eyes as if to ward off the embarrassing memories. "Ah, and then our sleep at the same time. I should never have been put so close to you. And with most others out on their patrol?" Gah. Whose idea was that? He barely kept his hands contained beneath the coverlets.
"The worst part was," Cesare smiles, "I only really had wanted a kiss or two. Or three." The worry turns into wistful bemusement at the recollection. Not all of them are so bad.
"And I see," Cesare smiles, "...that some things have not changed." For that, he is glad.
No, not all of them are bad. "Those are the things that sustained me," Alire murmurs. "At first it was hard to think of anything other than the dank cells. But I had to remind myself, over time, that our lives did not begin in those cells no matter how they ended there. So... time, tesoro, it is true that it is the healer of all things."
And Alire d'Avignon should know...
He takes another swallow of the wine, smiling at the glass. "No... some things have not," he notes. "I am still the same in bed, all or nothing. I am still quiet, but... not so quiet," Alire smiles, having fun with himself at his own expense. "I do not know that I have changed all that much," he peers at the air and wonders. Hmmm.... maybe that is not such a good thing. "It is so easy to become stagnant, living for so long. I hope I do not bore you in the end. Ah," he makes a dismissive wave, ".... I have seen this all before..."
He was listening, your young -- and old -- man. There were nods for your observations, and Cesare takes your words most seriously in all things. You know better. You have always known better. He understands that now.
But, at the murmuring of 'seeing this before', Cesare looks up from his glass, held between you as you face each other on the sofa. "Seen which?" Cesare asks.
Blonde eyebrows cant upward, then he smiles. "Oh... it was just an expression, bello," he says softly, "... it does not matter. I am making fun of myself. So much time has passed but Alire is still Alire," he smirks. Even the self-effacing humor.
"More wine?" he wonders. "It takes so much for me to feel it. I like the taste of it, even if it has been reduced to flavored water for all that it affects me. I should have gotten more bottles," his mouth twists. "But then, if I have too much, how will I get upstairs? You would have to carry me, yes? Unless," he suddenly thinks, "...we take our drinks upstairs and put off dinner for a while."
Alire stops making fun and he looks at you seriously. "Sometimes... I just need to feel you all around me. To know that it is real, Giancarlo. When you sink into me... it is a comfort. To feel I am loved and wanted..."
"You know how much..." Cesare murmurs, staring now. The blonde hair. Those eyes. Each feature is touched in his look. "Wanted more than any man has ever been wanted. Loved. So much so..."
Cesare grins, surprised at his words. An effervescence he only recently has discovered. A gift of declarations and convictions. He didn't know he had so many. Cesare's tongue slides across his lips, a mouth that now speaks words so easily.
"When," Giancarlo's head tilts slightly, his eyes closing, "...I am with you, I know it is where I should be. And when I am away from you, I know there is only one place for me to go. It is wherever you are, Alire." He smiles, and golden strands in his hair seem to sparkle. "It is too hard for me," Cesare pauses, "...to tell you how I feel when we are together. But," eyes tighten, "...it is like I am finally fitted to the only piece of the puzzle for me. Two pieces, tab into slot..."
"And...that moment, when you see the pieces fit. The joy that is there. Completion. It is perfect."
"It is good to have someone to say such things to. To love. To trust. It is .... very freeing to be able to give oneself away," he says, and he leans in against you, smiling as you have a sudden, bulky Templar giving you part of his own weight. "Do you feel better, tesoro?" Not worried about cells and criminals now?
"I think you should take me upstairs," blue eyes look at you from an angle and eyebrows lift a little in a look that seconds that motion. Grinning, Alire sits up. Though he is hungry for more than fish, such things are never brought to you to bear. No, he does not like to .... subject you to what he must do to stay as the Alire you have known all these years.
But, it does not end or begin with blood. For him it never has...
He wants your strength, your love, or boldness, your skin. "I like to work puzzles," he seems to note casually. Following the earlier metaphor, it is not so... casual...
Upstairs. The eyes open and Giancarlo nods. He smiles and pushes against the sofa to stand, downing the last of his current glass in the same motion. Quickly he sets the glass down on the small table, and extends his hand to you.
Hand into hand, piece into piece...
Alire rises, wine downing as he goes. He sets his glass aside. Fish and orange and marzipan can wait. He'll heat it up again for a midnight snack. Better that than you...
No... he has only done that once. It didn't make him comfortable. It didn't sate him. He needs the blood of the holy to do so. Hard to come by... he has to make friends with priests...
Or haunt cathedrals and confessionals...
Hand in hand and piece to piece, he moves with you to the stairs leading up to the loft itself. He pauses there a moment, peeling off his shoes and his socks.
And then with a smile, he climbs up, a glance down to you as he goes...
Posted by rowan at March 01, 2004 07:22 PM
