This fair morn'...

[il_valentino]

continued from here. Since I'd hate to see a 4-month-thread go pop...

The first rays of sunlight proper. Striations of dappled green on the ground, and the world made over, as new, uncovered by Phoebus, laying Gaia bare to the eyes of the human dross and rabble. Shame, really. The morning hour is so shy.

Cesare dully looks on while Krycek takes his leave from the furry little runt, ostentatiously rubbing in that the whelp avoided Cesare's touch... and God's blood, does it ever set him off.

"I must assume you've been goading me on," he tells the purple-streaked sky. "You were drunk and hallucinating, and probably walked into a tree. So much for your fabled invisible wall then, eh? Fine. Let's head back."

Comments

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

He lets them in - not a minute too soon, with weariness catching up with him again.

"Please excuse the mess?" he simpers, as if showing Alex in for the very first time. "It's so hard to find good staff these days." Grain of truth in that; for most of his life he was used to drop his things wherever, only to find them washed, folded, clean, neatly draped the next time he looked. In prison... well, not so much.

Walking over to throw open the panoramic living room windows, he stumbles over the empty grappa bottle. Shame about that one; nonna Pellegrini had chosen well. "Mhhh," he hums noncommittally, glances at Alex while kicking things under the table, "so not any time soon then. But, you know, there are times when even dead men swim upriver." Lowly chores done, at least as much as he can be bothered to care at this point, he flops down and closes his eyes, sinks into the sofa, all reason stilled for a moment in the rapidly cooling room.

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"I'm sure," he comments, wearily, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen stepping out of the way when Cesare cleans around him, strangely amused by the show of domesticity, a little put off maybe since he hadn't cleaned before.

"Fucking freezing," Alex grumbles, hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He's frowning at Cesare, at the grappa bottle, would have liked to see it full with something, would have liked another sip, would have liked a lot.

Staring at the back of Cesare's head, glaring at it really, he eventually moves to the sofa and drops down onto his, half landing on Cesare half off the Cesare and huddles close. "It's fucking freezing," he hisses into cesare's ear.

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

"Oof." Cesare wheezes as Alex lands on him. He looks down at the huddled bundle and raises one eyebrow. "Of course it's freezing. I opened the windows."

Reluctantly raising a hand to Alex's hair, he just sits there, watching their breath curl in the air. Now that he's Alex on his lap, what does he do with him? The question bears asking.

"Don't give me that Pass the Courvoisier look," he grumbles. "Or can't you bite the pillow without having a drink first? Liquid courage?"

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"Well, close them again," he snarls. Eyes rolling, he shifts on Cesare's lap, all knees and elbow, for maximum discomfort to the body underneath him. "No-one can get it up when their cock's turned into an icicle."

Alex turns his face to look up at Cesare, head cocked. Sly: "But what makes you think I will be biting in the pillow?" He smirks.

Then, an afterthought, "you do have some more of the good stuff around, right?"

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

"Ngk. Che fai-" Alex jabs an elbow into Cesare's solar plexus and pretends he's simply fumbling for a hold, "what the fuck? How can I move while you're gutting me?" He shuffles out of Alex's grip, at last, and hobbles over to the windows.

Leaning against the cold glass, he then eyes Alex shrewdly. "How about we strike a deal? Bottle of 48 year-old Armagnac for you, piece of your arse for me?"

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

Alex curls into the warm spot Cesare has left on the couch, leaning over the back to watch him, the arse, the back, the hair that falls into his face as he turns.

"My ass?" It's never available for no-one. "I don't let-"

Then he looks away, shrugs. "Armagnac any good?"

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

"Very good. The King and Queen of brandies, my friend. " He placidly looks on while Alex does his best to look cute. As if cute and inviolable ever went together. As if cute didn't just beg to be fucked into the floor. "Bellissimo, in fact. You sure you're not up for it?"

He's not tense or needy, no; just risen too early, after too short a night and too bad a dream.

"Anyway. I'll make some caffè while you reconsider."

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"Really," Alex mumbles, shrugs a little, and continues to watch, but then Cesare has disappeared through the doorway and bangs things around in the kitchen so Alex turns back, to cuddle fully into the couch, waiting until clangs don't follow clangs anymore.

He peeks over the back of the couch. "Where's that brandy?" he mutters, chin resting on the leather.

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

He comes back with a little tray, two minuscule cups of sweetly foamy dark-roast, not the vile supermarket Lavazza, and plonks them down near the couch. Alex scowls at him, sullen like Juan when he didn't get what wanted, a new horse, new sword, new this and that, and Cesare, the boy-bishop of Pamplona, had to fold his hands and stand back, demurely, watching his brother's star rise. Not that Juan had ever done a single deed that merited such advancement.

Shaking himself away from that unpleasant train of thought, Cesare disappears again for a second. Truth be told, he's grateful for the brandy, too.

He grabs the biggest, most bellied snifters he can find. Not that Alex would ask for a glass; given half a choice, chances are he'd simply slug it back.

"So," he mutters apropos, burying his nose in deep wood-scents, apricot, smoke, and beautifully toe-curling sheer alcohol, "any explanation for the... lack of a wall?"

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"Never heard of Venti, have you?" Alex mutters as he eyes the small cups, holding a sip of coffee, barely. The smell simmers and torn between the coffee and the alcohol, in glasses no-one should own and people only break when they are too drunk to give a care, he goes for the alcohol first and leaves the coffee to waft steam on the table.

Buried into the couch, brandy cradled in his hand and lifted to his lips he sips steadily, not setting down the glass, eyeing Cesare through the glass with one eye and over the rim with the other, distorting facial features to abstract paintings, broken people.

Mouth full of brandy he swallows, leans his head to the couch. "Someone's idea of a joke?" He shrugs. "Miracle from that god of yours that dressed you up in pink panties? Fucked if I know."

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

"Venti? Means twenty, my part of the world. Or winds, plural. Why?" he asks, not all that curious. The line of Alex's neck is far more intriguing, the greedy sharp bobbing line of his Adam's apple as he's downing the alcohol.

Cesare sets down his glass and puts an arm over the back of the sofa, to better anchor himself while crawling forward, to better hover near Alex's lips. Brandy and bitterness. Mh. "God's sense of humour doesn't extend that far," he purrs, then plants the softest of kisses on Alex's mouth.

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"Means big everywhere else." There's a cock joke somewhere, what with the tiny cups of coffee but he can't quite pull together the words to make it.

Cesare is close now. He smells of brandy and long nights. Alex squints at him over the glass, then shifts the glass to his lap.

"Not your god's maybe. Mine's a regular fucktard of a joker." Cesare's lips are still cold from their morning walk. Lips thin, Alex raises an eyebrow at him, then puckers his lips to a kiss, laconic twist to his mouth like it's the tail end of a joke. He hooks a leg around Cesare's knee, trapping him close.

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

"Big, è vero?" Not impressed. "You know, there's a reason there's no Starbucks in Roma."

Once upon a time, he would have squirmed out of the superficial hold Alex has on him. Once upon a time, if the other wasn't Miquel (or Taddeo) (who both how knew to handle him and make him meek) but any of the sleek boys from Trastevere, it might have ended in blood.

Just now, the enforced proximity suits him though. "Then perhaps you should become a Catholic," he whispers against Alex's cheek, his hand going for Alex's fly.

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"Yeah, big, not- like that." He nods at the cups, the joke still there, but it remains unvoiced. "There isn't?" Polite curiousity, or maybe just to say something that isn't a mindless stare and spread for someone else.

Alex shifts the glass to his crotch, small smirk. "I hear they have all these rules though about who you're allowed to fuck." He laughs. "Don't imagine your god is too happy with your cock going into a vampire cunt." He nips at Cesare's cheek. "Do you scream for him when you come into her?"

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

Damn. "You'd be surprised," Cesare deadpans, trying to shove away the glass without spill, "how firm madonna's grasp on theology is." Hah. He's got the wrist now, stroking Alex's pulse with a thumb while manoeuvering the hand to somewhere a little safer.

"God doesn't seem too concerned with my bodily functions, you know?" Soft laugh, trying to lick Alex's mouth. "I can't possibly imagine He'd much care for the sounds of my completion. Then again, in the olden days, He favoured Abel's sacrifice, not Cain's, so who knows." He nudges his trapped knee a little higher. "You're really very obsessed with Donna Isabel. You should try and meet her."

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"She fucks theology, I'm sure her grasp is quite tigt on you." He smirks back at Cesare, brandy spills with a hasty movement. Torn between alternatives for a moment Alex leans down and sucks it off Cesare's hand.

"Waiting for your introduction." Alex shifts a little lower on the sofa, not hiding his crotch overly much anymore. "No praise for you then? Nothing from your God?" He smiles and turns his face, playing a little hard to get.

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

Alex's tongue is rough and ready as it slurps Armagnac from between Cesare's thumb and index finger.

"My God," says Cesare, and it comes out as an almost-hiss when his hip gets a boneful of Alex's elbow, "my God tends to look the other way, both when you're good, and when you're being bad." His still-wet hand caresses Alex's cheek. Then it slips down and expertly twists open Alex's pants, shoves it down, two inch past the hips. Idly, Cesare notes that Alex's cock looks pleasantly... straining.

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

Alex teases along the skin, following lines and wrinkles, tasting salt and alcohol. Playful ends with a nip and a suck, then the hint of teeth at the base of the thumb and a grin hidden by his bent head.

"Being bad orbeing good now, huh?" He laughs, but the sound turns throaty when knuckles brush against his cock. He keeps his hips pressed to the sofa, not arching up, not mobving into the touch, the picture of pure control. Exposed, his bulge visible through the open fly, it makes him throb though, blood pulsing under his skin. He looks down at himself, then up at Cesare.

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

Blinking slowly, Cesare reaches down to free Alex and take his cock in hand, not really looking at it, meeting Alex's terrifically smouldering glare instead. "The distinction is meaningless," he says pleasantly, firming his grip, "and you know it."

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"Fuck," he mouths, eyes closing for a blink, then focusing on the coffee on the table, smacking dry lips for something, and he focuses back on Cesare, hips firmly unmoving. "Is it, really, to you? Thought you were going for the bad rather than the good in life."

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

"Then you mistake me," Cesare says softly, pleased by Alex's short moment of- what, surprise, pleasure? Abandon? With his free hand, he smoothes through Alex's hair. He loosens the fingers of the other, just enough to gently move his hand up and down. Not much. Just this side of pleasurable.

"Then you mistake me gravely," he repeats, near Alex's lips. "Bad things... one should ban them from one's life. Why give the devil more dominion?"

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

Chapped lips catch on Cesare's stubble with every inhalation. "You're saying you're not the devil," Alex murmurs. His fingers, glass set down somewhere, curl into the fabric of the long-sleeved shirt somewhere around Cesare's wrist, urging on or stopping, it isn't entirely clear at this point.

"Missing the horns, maybe, but not the intention. Defying your God by sleeping with the vampire slut and me, nice company you keep." He chuckles and bites at Cesare's jawline. "Does it get you off, being so wrong?"

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

He's of a mind to let go of Alex's dick, leave him bobbing. "You hurt me," he says. It sounds amused enough to be mistaken for a joke. "I'm a good Christian, for what it's worth. A good theologian, too."

Make me hit and choke you, why don't you. Eyes narrowed, he peers down his nose at Alex. Alex who's too close, all eyelashes and brows and bruised, mottled skin that could do with a good night's sleep and a dab of almond oil.

He doesn't miss the feeble, indecisive clutching and flicks against a fingernail against the tip of Alex's cock. "I'm not wrong," he hisses, evading the bite. "If there's a Satan round here, it's you."

[alexkrycek.insanejournal.com]

"Do I?" It's par for the course, less surprising than the quiet intimacy of early morning walks, and really, they are both stuck in their skins. "You look shocked," he mumbles, eyebrow raises in interest when the bags under Cesare's eyes twitch with narrowing muscles and the line of the mouth hardens.

Alex twists up for a kiss to steal, branding, burning - isn't that the whole holy water story on people's skins, forcing himself up on his elbow to take what Cesare twists out of reach.

The fingernail straddles pleasure and pain, Alex winces, a good humored smirk. "Maybe. But it's you who wants to fuck Satan, then."

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

"Shocked," Cesare echoes dully. "If the impression flatters you, by all means, go ahead. Be deluded." He grips Alex harder again, almost yanking him up and half onto his lap. "There are so many minor devils around, Sandro." His voice has dropped to an irritated, scratchy purr. "They don't bother me. And you? Are just a too-smug-for-his-own-good, gay little Russian-American jew boy. Those pants. Off," he orders.