Of blossoms and boys

[il_valentino]

ctd from here...

Cesare disentangles himself from Isabel, steps over to the wrought iron railing. He leans over the edge, forcing himself to droop a bit, arms dangling while he presses halfmoon fingernails into his palms. Then he turns to her, eyes narrowed, and decides to plunge ahead - it's not as if she doesn't know or, at the very least, suspect what's on his mind.

"Daydreaming. Perhaps." He makes a little come, come here gesture, the prelude to a secret that is none, the overture to a wish she knows he harbours. It's all a matter of how to phrase it. Of how to please her while he's pleasing himself.

Once she's close, he leans over to whisper hot against the shell of her ear. "He would do well between us, I believe." His voice is hoarse and drops half an octave. "Perhaps he would taste sweet to you, too, once his legs are on my shoulders."

Comments

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

Cesare's jaw drops a bit at her free manner of speech. For some reason, it reminds him of a torturer showing his tools to a trembling prisoner. Like Miquel flipping out a small knife, one inch underneath Ramiro de Llorca's eye, before happily proceeding to clean his fingernails with it.

"Anything you say, bella mia." He claps a friendly hand on Jonathan's shoulder and leans over to whisper in his ear, warmly, conspiratorially. "She has a way about her, I swear... Hard to say no to her." His spine burns with a pleasant tingle as he watches the boy squirm - before he can relax and laugh with Cesare over their shared mock-confidentiality.

"Just... no Starbucks, please?" Cesare whines a bit. "I am sure I can cook up something better than that."

[isabel_giovanni.insanejournal.com]

She looks at him as if asking 'what?' and smiles privately. Surely he can appreciate not skulking about in shadows and not pretending to be anything less than what you are. Isabel kisses her fingers and then blows the kiss to him when he agrees with her. "Grazie."

Oh he enjoys this, she thinks when he whispers to the boy. She would allow a flush to grace her cheeks, but stops herself, sure that she is not supposed to hear the confidences exchanged.

"Starbucks?" She sniffs in disdain and disbelief. "I cannot believe that you would even entertain going into an establishment named after a whaler."

Isabel's eyes gleam and she can't help but run her tongue over her teeth at his last comment. He is already 'cooking up' something better; she can smell the changes in their blood and hear the newer rhythms of their pulse.

"That sounds like a bet to me," the words are offered in friendly challenge. "Shall we accept it?" Her eyes lock with Jonathan's as he nods and agrees with her.

[il_valentino.insanejournal.com]

He doesn't get her meaning, a whaler? but then he doesn't ask. The less said about those ghastly "coffee shops" the better; the swill they served up ranked well below what dregs he scraped from his small bricco when cleaning in it the morning.

The kiss she blows him makes him purr.

"Oh please, do," he rumbles gently. "You may consider the bet won already." He draws Jonathan a little closer, just close enough before he senses him hesitate and brace himself, then smiles like the cat that got the cream.

"What do I win?"