It wasn't him. He had stared at the image in the small mirror for countless minutes-- occasionally the cheek would twitch or brow would furl in sync with his own, but it could not be him. There was something similar but so unfamiliar in those pale green eyes. Hurt, pain, anger, loss, and defeat. Paranoia and madness lay just beneath the surface, awaiting a moment’s weakness. There was none of the spark he once had almost two decades ago. It could not be him.
For once, you caught him off-guard, padding quietly into the sideroom still wrapped in clothes of mourning. The funeral had been today, though fortunately it was the only one you had to attend. Still, one too many. Your hands wound around his waist, cheek rubbing against his bandages. It was all he wore as he stood there, unflinching as you touched him, still staring blankly with a twinge of some inscrutable emotion. “Il mio bello. Do you now believe what I have told you? That you are beautiful?” Comfort. Your body leached the warmth from his, dispelling the last of the winter’s grip. For a moment, it was blissful. You needed not to think of a grieving wife standing over a grave anymore today. You had no heart to recall his nights of terror, pulling away from you in his sleep, pleading in desperate Romanian to stop. You had made the mistake of trying to hold him down as he thrashed, fearing for his safety. Instead, the concern was misplaced as you were bucked off and shoved to the ground before he awoke trembling. It was easy to forget in quiet moments like these just how strong he truly was, what damage he was capable of.
Broken out of his reverie, he set the mirror down on the sidetable and sighed heavily. “Nu. I don’t know this man. El este frumos să te uiți la, da, but he is not me.” Vali turned in your hold and took in your attire with a wince. This was his doing. “--un monstru.” His lips brushed gently against your forehead, tired of crying, knowing apologies were useless. Words tickled against your skin, whispered to soften your inevitable ire. “Lorenzo. You should have called your guards that night, stii? You should have.”
“So more men could die?” Your voice was sharp and too loud for the small room, but the sting of betrayal rushed in. Had you felt nothing? Was the man you loved truly torn away forever? With a rough shove, you pushed him away, seeking his eyes. They could not lie to you, even when he held these emotions so closely to his chest.
Vali shook his head and reluctantly met your gaze. Broken.. he understood what he must look like to you. He remembered that strange man in the mirror and how lost he appeared. Maybe they truly were one and the same. “Doar un singur om, iubitul meu. Only one man.”
The slap was deafening, powered by days of worry over you. Even in the dim light, the rise of angry red to his cheek was visible, still turned from you in acceptance of the blow. Fury could not begin to describe your emotions, roiling and bubbling fiery in your veins as you glared at him. The betrayal was still there under the surface, but for different reasons. “Idiota! You seek my death as well if that is your grand solution. Do you not understand what that would do to me? To lose you?” Waves of hot anger gave way to bone-chilling fear as you gripped his arms, nails sinking into tanned flesh. The first tears of distress prickled in your eyes, threatening to give away this mask of anger and annoyance.
“Da. I understand what it feels like to lose someone, Lorenzo.” The words would have almost sounded accusatory if not for the slight waver. Fresh grief from an endless well. The response seemed so obvious as it was all that ruled his life, his reason for being, his reason for continued existence. Your argument was absurd. So he laughed. Tears fell down his cheeks as the laughter rang out; it hurt to hear, sharp and painful as broken glass.
As remorse for poor wording dawned, you stiffened, words stumbling past your lips in apology. You had not intended to belittle his loss. “Caro, I didn’t mean--” This reaction was unexpected and, in truth, frightening.
Perhaps the fear showed too much on your face... The laughter cut itself short and he fell silent, instead watching you with alien pale eyes, expression a mix of bewilderment and curious calm. Fingers grazed your cheek with feather-light touches, tracing the line of your jaw, memorizing it once again. The tears had dried in ugly streaks along his cheeks but were not wiped away; he had become too enraptured with something you could not see. At last his path trailed across your lips, gently quelling further apologies. “Las-o baltă, amantul meu. We have both lost loved ones and... I-- I have grown tired of de trai în durere... living in grief.” He frowned, mulling over his thoughts, halted by his inability to voice them properly.
Acutely aware of his frustration, familiar with his struggle to find the words, you encouraged him as best you could. You kissed the fingers pressed to your lips before taking both of his hands in yours. These moments were a careful dance, tugging him out of his silence with skillful stepping. Too fast and he would pull away. He needed guidance, permanence, faith. Even the barest reassurance seemed to bring him courage, so you waited patiently, squeezing his hands warmly. You could wait and would wait.
“La naiba, you KNOW I am not good with words, Lorenzo...”
“I know no such thing. I have heard your beautiful declarations of love and have not found them lacking.” Your smile was self-congratulatory as you watched him blush under your gaze. Perhaps he could feel something other than pain. “Please try, il mio tesoro.” His hands fidgeted in yours, warm with a ruddiness that now spread throughout. So susceptible to praise. You would have to remember that.
Vali’s gaze wandered to the ceiling as he tried to make irrational feelings into rational sentences. It was a hideous sensation: he had a confession of great weight crushing him but grew agitated that he could not voice it as you, eloquently and fully. “Nu cred că mai puțin de mine... I am not a poet.”
Though touched with the first twinge of impatience, you did not roll your eyes-- a minor victory you could celebrate later at your leisure. “I’m not asking for poetry. Just truth. Manage this and it will be better than any overly flowery sonnet to my ears.” With a gentle hand cupping his head, you guided his gaze back to your face, away from a barren ceiling that gave him no answers. It would do nothing if he were to sense your eagerness, though. The careful dance... yes, you would have to remain calm. Placating. Safe. Without a further thought, you leaned in for a brief, chaste kiss, more peck than passionate. “I want to hear.”
“Amintiri. I keep them to hurt myself, stii. I don’t want to forget.” With hesitance, Vali reached for your waist, uncertain if you would run or simply cease to be if he didn’t hold you. Foolish ideas but too many had already slipped away in a moment of inattentiveness. The thought brought an involuntary whimper sounding like a wounded pet. It disgusted him and he rallied. “But--” Nervously, his tongue ran over his lips, buying time as he found words. “The amintiri hurt you, too, nu? My grief... it... it is hard to be close because...” Futilely he waved at the blank space between you and he, trying to convey the problem but undoubtedly failing.
“Because?”
“Because... Sanda.” The response rolled off his tongue warmly and not without the barest hint of a smile. The brush of happiness, though brief, brought life into his eyes and smoothed over the uneasy tension in the room. But like that, it was pulled back, tucked away into secret corners of his heart, and the urge to flee welled up in him.
Fortunately, your grip on him had not lessened. If he ran, you would be the anchor that stopped his flight. For a wiry duke, you could be willfully “heavy” and unmoveable. Still, even for a so-called anchor, it was ill-advised to remain in these troubled waters. You needed to bring him back to that spark of life you had witnessed. Careful, always careful. “Sanda... I’m unfamiliar with that word. You will have to teach me.”
Vali tilted his head, an odd habit that reminded you of a dog listening to its master, but not understanding the command. He held silent with the puzzled expression for a long minute, thoughts obviously passing behind his eyes as he gnawed on his lip. Finally, a response. “Nu.”
While he often resorted to cleverly switching tongues when it so pleased him, this was the first outright denial. However, you were not dissuaded by the usual show of obstinance. “Vali. Do not make me beg. If that is what I must do to wring a word from you--”
“--nu. Because she was not a word, Lorenzo. Sanda... Alexandreina... was a woman. Eu nu pot rezuma o persoană. I... I would do soția mea o nedreptate. Eh, injustice.”
You could not control the look of mild shock that crossed your face; while it was no surprise that it was she that still held his heart, it was the first time you were given a name. Names held power with Vali-- he had only given you his after a year of questionable courting. To volunteer this willingly, to trust you... perhaps not all hope was lost. A start. His grief had a name in part, though you certainly would not press now for the children. For the moment, you were content not trusting yourself to speak and wait, for what response could be given?
He stood spine straight, rigid in your hold, wondering if he could take it back then wondering why he wanted to take it back at all. Her name was an opiate-laced blade: when he spoke it, he felt light and pleasantly numb, all while he quietly exsanguinated from the wounds her loss had inflicted. And the wound would not heal, had not healed for almost two decades, was occasionally ripped open and left ragged as when he had given away their home. But for some reason, he refused to die from the pain-- though he was beginning to suspect he sought it willingly. He had failed her, them, you, his country. There was no punishment suitable so instead he remembered his family and ached in areas that could not be touched or seen. It sunk into his bones, crushing him until the emotions were too weighty for him to breathe... until he let go of the memories for a short time only to repeat the process when he began to heal. There would be no reprieve. He would not be whole. It was the greatest penance he could inflict upon himself and he was his own merciless torturer.
Thoughts turned to you in your silence as he pressed your hand over the marks you had given him, over his heart. “Dacă aș putea eliminarea acestei inima mizerabilă și vă permit să citiți conținutul său, am face-o. I am not elocvent; I am not you, Lorenzo. But...” Words drifted off, exhausted even from the effort to make sense of the crux of the problem. Vali parted from you in silence and retreated to the cot. Weak, vulnerable, emotionally battered. Without grace, he sat on the edge of the bed in a boneless fall.
“I wish you would not do that. I have never asked for perfection in our banter and yet you have always managed such on your own. Don’t be so reluctant. I do not bite-- well, in this context...” The attempt at humor was weak at best and for the moment, you were diligent in mentally berating yourself. By the grace of furs tossed to the floor, your knees were spared from the agony of kneeling on a cold, unforgiving surface between his legs. You eased your hands up his thighs to comfort; to intrude upon this revelation with less innocent intentions would be decidedly crude.
Vali’s fingers carded gently through your hair as he steadied himself. These emotions were draining-- physical strength was no match for the weight of his heavy heart. “I am not blind, amantul meu. Amintiri... of her... hurt you because--” He paused, groping at words desperately, fumbling. “-- because they keep me from you. Ai înțeles? If I let go and să fie fericiți...” Fingers drew out of your locks so he could clench them into tight fists with nails digging into his palms. It hurt, it hurt, but it was not a physical pain. Had you not been there so close, had he not feared hurting you in his rage, he would have fled. But instead he shook, fighting against this barrier. “Dacă îmi permit să fie fericiți, I will have failed her again. I suffer this because it was her, not me! Acesta ar trebui să-am fost eu! Acesta ar trebui să-am fost eu! Nu înțelegi? Dacă aș merge mai departe, ea moare! Nu am voie fericirea pentru eșecurile mele.”
There was no hesitation as you rose and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing his face against your still-clothed torso. The fight ebbed away in your hold as you rocked him gently, hands rubbing calming circles over his back. None of these things came as a particular revelation; Vali needed no torturers when he did well enough on his own. But the pain he felt bled into your own subconsciousness, raising aches when you saw him hurt so. This had to end before both people tore themselves apart on the razor’s edge of misery. Your voice was low and soothing as you continued to hold on. “I did not have the opportunity to meet her, but I do not need to in order to know she was a good woman.”
Reticent, Vali nodded, rubbing his cheek against the rough fabric. His hands again found your waist and held on just as tightly.
“If there is anything I have learned, caro, it is that you do not love lightly... that you devote yourself wholly to one... and will pay any price to see their happiness.” His hair, his weakness. You stroked the crown of his head, threading fingers through the tangled locks as he had with you, knowing the effect it would have. He must be calm and rational, two traits he was quite infrequently blessed with. At last his grip on you loosened as tension flowed out of him, signalling your chance to press on. “You wish for my happiness as well, of course?”
He pulled back just far enough to look up into your eyes, face filled with intensity and sincerity. “Da. Ce trebuie să fac?” His hands knotted themselves into your clothing, bracing himself for whatever you asked. It would be yours. Failure again was not an option.
You cupped his jaw tenderly with both hands, equally intent. “Anything?”
The blush returned in full force as well as a squirming in his stomach, yet he nodded.
“Forgive yourself.”
It was like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of him and making it difficult to breathe. He pulled away from your hands, head shaking in denial of your request. He could not give you that. What would she think? A person cannot be simply forgiven for the death of another-- your mourning clothes were ample reminder that he had committed acts that couldn’t be excused.
“Ottoman forces killed your family. Not you. It was the godforsaken Pazzi that killed Giuliano. Not you. And I dare say it was your horrid prince that killed my cook when he had you beaten senseless for not being a cold-blooded killer to his liking.” With a firm tug of hair, you commanded him to look at you again. Your fury returned tenfold, but none was directed at him. Betrayed, injured, punished for showing emotion, for having a heart... a sick feeling curled in your belly like a serpent as you thought of all that had been done to him. Little wonder he was scared of these feelings; you were not without sympathy.
Vali glanced to the side as he had difficulty being caught in your intense look. Even turned away, he could feel your eyes, waiting for him to obey. Unfortunately, that was not so easily done. “It was my blade--”
“--that they forced into your hand.” It wasn’t an entirely reasonable argument, but you would not let him escape this. Enough suffering. You would not let him shy away and continue to hold this.
Still he rallied, unwilling to let go of his misery. Sanda... if he forgave himself for her death and let himself be happy, what would she think? “Nu vreau să o înlocuiască. She cannot be forgotten so readily, Lorenzo.”
With gentle hands, you freed yourself from his grip to sit at his side. His shoulder became your pillow as you spoke, warm and comforting. It was a constant reminder that he still lived, that his beloved prince had not taken him from you forever. The anger subsided with that thought and instead brought a pained whine. However, he was alive and such images had no place tormenting you right now. You were alive. “Clarice and I married by proxy-- I do not know how common such things are in your homeland-- and love was not strictly a necessity. However, over time, I have come to hold her with great reverence in my heart. Mother of my children...” The pause has heavy, filled with sorrow that you had been so careful to hide. His grief fed frequently off yours and this was the pain understood intimately by both. The words needed not be said. “Yet by loving you, it does not diminish my feelings for her. The human heart does not contain a finite amount of emotion-- indeed, I have seen what yours is capable of and still find myself in awe.”
His hand reached for yours, fingers intertwining as he sat in silence, mulling over your words. In theory, he understood: he could love two people with equal passion and do neither a disservice. And yet this self-proclaimed traitor still feared that he would hurt her. In the spring, so many ages ago, he had promised her his heart. To protect her. She would be his only. But then again-- “Do... do you still have it?”
“Hmm?” You were grateful for the interruption from more unpleasant thoughts. “Have what?”
He balked. “Nu face nimic.”
After all this time, you figured he would have learned your dislike for such things. It was one of the few times you did not attribute his reluctance to learn to mischief, though. Still, this did not mean you had to tolerate it. “Don’t do that.”
Automatically, he opened his mouth to apologize but had in fact learned better. Instead, he settled for an apologetic hand squeeze. “Darul meu pentru tine. My gift.” The blush returned in an instant, forcing him to duck his head to hide it with unruly hair. “Nu, nu. Not that one. Her... your ring?”
You knew what he meant but still toyed with the idea of increasing that blush several times over. Your smile said what you did not; that particular jest would be saved for more appropriate times. “Of course. It has been a reminder of fonder times-- a piece of you when you were so far from me. I have always kept it close. Its... symbolism is not lost even on old men like myself. No, I would not part with it ever.”
“I had told her that the one that held the ring would be first in my heart. Poate că este încă adevărat, stii? Is it ever, ahh--” It was a question you could not answer and he should not ask. Still, he needed to hear the words. He needed absolution. He needed to know that he was not going to cause her more pain. Vali turned to look at you, hand still holding yours for support. “Vă rog. Spune-mi... am I allowed to let go?”
For the second time that day, you were at a loss for words. The obvious answer was not necessarily the right one. Did it come from your own needs that you would ask him to let her go? Was the desire a guilty one? No. As he watched you in earnest, patiently awaiting your decision, you understood that it was the only response that would bring him peace. His love for you had come at a high cost, but it need not be so. Your voice was soft, barely a whisper. “Yes. Let her live happily in your heart as she was. Amintiri. Free but never forgotten.”
The effect was almost immediate: a faint trembling in his limbs, eyes closed against the sensation, without naught more than a soft, pained hiss. Whether this was a temporary reprieve or the long-suppressed start of healing, it mattered little. For one glorious moment, it did not hurt. Breathing did not pain him as a reminder of his continued existence. He could let go and still love. It became a mantra, whispered in his brain over and over, demanding it take root.
“Vali?”
“Vreau să fiu fericit.” Trance-like state broken, he looked at you as if seeing you truly for the first time since his return, spark of something alive in his eyes. Not broken. Not dying inside. It was the man you loved that had left so long ago. “Even if just for tonight. Sunt obosit de rani... of hurting you.” He tugged your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles reverently, smile peeking out as his lips worked. “Miluieşte-mă pe mine păcătosul, domnul meu.”
There was hope found in that old teasing, a return to happier times. The scourge of whips and the heated irons had not torn the good man away. “You will have to work for my forgiveness. Are you quite up to the challenge of taking instruction in matters of atonement?” Your tone spoke of jest, yet thrill such opportunities posed made it difficult to keep lust from tinting your words.
“Lorenzo, învață-mă.”
You struck like a cobra: with surprising speed, you shoved him down onto the bed and slithered on top. Too many clothes... you silently cursed yourself for lacking the foresight to take them off before entering, so your own penance was pulling them off messily as you still tried to pepper his throat with needy kisses. He provided some assistance, obviously wanting the same outcome, but grew distracted by touching your skin. Like you, his flesh was aflame, searing, almost too hot to touch but you needed that burn. Teeth sunk into the flesh of his shoulder, leaving another mark if only for the night. The only response was unabashed moaning and writhing beneath you; he was not holding back. If such was the case in all things... you slid off him much to his displeasure, though it did finally give you the chance to relieve yourself of the remaining garments. “On your knees. Now.”
No hesitation. Vali gracefully slid to the ground in front of you and gripped your thin hips, mouth seeking you out without being asked. He worked you to hardness with lips and tongue alone as you held his heavy mane away from his face. You had taught him well and he, in turn, had learned perhaps more than you realized. Occasionally he would pull off with a wet pop, lick his lips and delight himself with sucking on the skin of your balls. When he did return his mouth onto your member, he waited and watched you, eyes peeking up from beneath damp bangs.
“Ah, ragazzo, you don’t need me to tell you.” With a sharp tug of his hair, you made it clear that now was not the time for such shenanigans. Still, the willingness to try was a delightful change of pace. Without being bidden, he leaned in, taking you in as far as he could manage, albeit still choking from his efforts. He was not dissuaded, though, having learned well through prior sessions. Again he took in almost everything, nose brushing lightly against your tight curls, eyes watering... before pulling off with a coughing gasp. Efforts should be rewarded. “Sono molto orgoglioso, caro. Very good. Very, very good.” Hair made a great lever as you pried him off and directed him back to the bed.
A graceful beast, more coordinated than any human should be, as he followed your unspoken orders accordingly. He put extra sway into his hips as he crawled onto the bed, even having the audacity to glance over his shoulder at you. There was no stubborn clinging to old notions of propriety in this role, not now. Entirely situated on the cot, Vali arranged himself on his stomach, watching you with predatory eyes. Even naked and sprawled on the small bed, he was dangerous.
However, this was all part of his allure for you. There was no “taming” him; at any moment, he could kill you, break you, tear you to shreds... but he wouldn’t. No, as you straddled his legs and raked your nails down the uninjured sections of his back, you knew that power was controlled-- under your control-- and he willingly tamed himself. As with his love of public displays, the thrill of holding his figurative (and perhaps, one day, literal) leash was arousing. Cupping his buttocks, you rubbed your cock along the cleft, head enticingly catching every so often on his still-tight entrance. Just as the finer points of fellatio had rubbed off on him, his somewhat brutal loving had been incorporated into your own style. Still, you should at least fetch the oil...
“E bine. Vă rog.” The tremble in his voice had nothing to do with distress. He needed this as badly as you. If he was allowed to let go, he was allowed to be happy. And though he blushed at the mere thought of it, this made him happy. The physical connection made him delirious and weak at the knees. The desire roiled in his abdomen, leaving him grinding against the sheets for a measure of relief. “Lorenzo, please.”
A darker part of your brain demanded you take him at his word and force your way in with no preparation. However, there were many times you had to be the rational one; a compromise would be reached. Also, you were curious as to the new limits of his tolerance. “On all fours, caro. And do not make me spread your legs for you.” For good measure, you added a swat to his ass as you moved off him.
The abrupt spank brought a shocked yelp but no disagreement. As asked, Vali rose onto his hands and knees, obediently shifting himself to give you access. His own erection hung heavily between his legs, unattended and maddeningly hard.
Perhaps out of pity you rewarded him with some firm strokes, though not enough to satisfy. If he was being unguarded tonight, would he finally admit to pleasure? “You will release twice tonight, mio cuore. However, lesson learned last time: you will remain safely on the bottom.”
“D-da. But why do I think you will not let me off easy, amantul meu?”
Your hands again grasped his firm buttocks, a delightful side effect to constant exercise in his craft. Without warning, your tongue dipped in past the puckered muscle then lapped delicately. His whole body shivered and tried to move away, but the fight was short-lived. Hands dug into the sheets and he held himself in place, panting. “As suspected. You DO enjoy this. You have simply been too stubborn to acknowledge it.”
The urge to deny the accusation was as strong as his need to rock back against your mouth. Happiness. Pleasure. Intimacy. He wanted all these things and his past refusals to let you love him as he so desired had bought him nothing. Vali whined but nodded his head, writhing in place, desperate for more contact.
“I wish to hear your consent.” As to prove your point, you lazily dragged your tongue over him again, sending him into a fit of moaning.
At first, he could only give you a strangled cry in response. The quaking in his limbs as he fought to control himself was worsening; if you did not continue, he would not be able to control himself. Already one hand sneaked back to grasp his aching cock, desperate to relieve some tension, only to have it swatted away by you. “Lorenzo, please! Te implor.”
Another night you would have let him have a partial victory and take him after breathy begging. But not tonight. He would not hide from his pleasures anymore. “Tell me.” Another spank, this time reddening the other cheek. “Do you enjoy this?” More sharp swats to his backside followed for good measure. The bonus of seeing his naturally tanned skin made glowing was appreciated.
From a strangled cry to a tormented scream of frustration, he broke. He pressed back towards you, demanding, needing. “YES. Doar-l dracului, goddamnit. DO IT.” There were no more words only angry growls, furious that you would deny him this. His head hung limply with his nails digging into the sheets beneath him, waiting. The burning creep of embarrassment was still there but ignored and quieted. You saw nothing wrong with providing this relatively forbidden pleasure; the reason for blushing was misplaced.
Fingers joined your tongue, preparing him, but also rewarding his acceptance. Two fingers became three, coaxing the still tight muscle wider, as he rocked back, gasping softly under his breath. Occasionally you would catch him off-guard, nipping at his rump and dragging your teeth along sensitive skin, adding teeth marks to the already flushed skin. Every new torment brought a different hushed moan or plea; from the cadence of his needy whines, you understood he was close though still intent on holding off. On one particular bout of talent tongue flicks, he buried his face into the pillow and screeched, fingernails nearly shredding the sheets. You were not timid, opening him wider to your assault, penetrating him with tongue alone; some rational part was still worried that Vali was not as... trained in these matters and would cry and ache through the process. And the majority of your brain was perfectly okay with this outcome.
Though nearly in tears already, Vali rose his head and tried to appeal to you between whines. “N-nu pot. Nu pot lua mai. PLEASE. I need...” His head dipped again as he rocked back against your mouth, shuddering. There was no specific rule set on his actions; you had not imposed any such restrictions. Still, he willingly waited for your permission, begging with sobs and half-muttered pleas. This torment was almost impossible to bear as it left him feeling empty-- a craving that would have scared him and denied vehemently a year ago.
You were not without a streak of mercy; between his shivering legs, you stroked him firmly, intent on allowing his release. At first touch, he yelped-- undoubtedly painfully sensitive from lack of attention-- but soon changed his melodious song of weeping pleas to gratitude. “Va tutto bene, amore.”
Release was sudden, desperate, brutal. WIth little concern for appearances, Vali worked himself into your hand, gasping with each ecstatic spasm. He was sated but not at all; more was needed and the pressure to find second release would not wait until he calmed from the first. Carefully, he eased himself away from you and turned, intent on pouncing on you and riding you into the mattress as he was certain both craved. Still on hands and knees, he padded forward, closing the distance, attempting to bully you onto your back with his larger size--
“-- not tonight. You cannot be trusted on top like this when I am required to walk anywhere the next day.” It was a lie; the brutal rutting of last time had been immensely satisfying, but you were not going to back down so easily. Especially not after you had prepared him so well.
The only response you got was a discontented growl, though he did temporarily halt his pursuit. Instead, he pulled your hand to his lips and proceeded to lick off his own fluids as you watched. Blood was not the only bodily fluid he minded tasting, it seemed, since he lapped at your palm without reservation. The gentle ministrations turned painful as teeth nipped at your wrist; despite your resistance, the play was getting rougher the longer you waited. Given no relief to his continued arousal, his patience was at a fine edge. You were released but only to free his hands to firmly suggest you lie back. Lips on yours and chest pressed to yours, Vali continued to force you into a prone position. Need overrode his natural tendency to acquiesce to your wishes and force was dimly presented as an option.
With surprising strength, you caught both of his wandering hands and held them away from your body. Misbehaving would not be tolerated. In the small sideroom, there were few options that caught your eye to remedy the situation; in truth, you knew that most measures to restrict him would be on the honor system. A roll of clean, unused bandages that sat not that far from the cot could be used beyond their intended purpose-- what time he had not spent sleeping with nightmares or weeping in various corners of the room you spent patching him up regularly.
Vali followed your gaze, at first confused but eventually understanding your intent as you still kept his hands at bay. Immediately, he slinked backwards, curled at the top of the bed with wide, frightened eyes. “Nu vreau să fie prins din nou. Please. I will behave.” Absent-mindedly, he rubbed at his wrists, memory still fresh of tortures past. The scary beast had retreated and all that remained was the scared child once more.
“Vali-- no, damnit. I’m sorry.” Reaching for him, you took him back into your arms, pressing his head to your shoulder as you tried to comfort. That look of hurt never suited him and you had already seen far too much of it these days. Nevermind kicking yourself-- had his katar not been safely tucked away, you would have sworn you had been pierced through the heart. Nose buried into his messy locks, you whispered more apologies. “Caro, shh, listen. I’m sorry. You know that Florentine tactics are not those of your prince. I would sooner take the whip to my own back. Calmează-te, te rog.”
For a long moment, he remained still in your arms, comforted in your hold. His prince had taken him down from the chains with caresses and assurances, petting him in a cruel imitation of kindness, whispering deceitful words about how there could be no trust in this world except in him. Vali had felt only confusion and anger, fighting against the lies. It was a ploy to buy his allegiance, which he had already proven a thousandfold-- But this... this moment was real. And you still loved him, Vlad’s reassurances be damned. Reflecting on his reaction, he felt the fool as well, upset at himself for even comparing the two. You might raise a crop to him, but for mutual pleasure. You understood his trust; you understood his pleas to stop. His cheek nuzzled your shoulder and he laughed weakly. “Da, but you do that sort of thing for fun, stii.”
“... ass.” To back up your assertion, you swatted him on the rump and scoffed.
Vali pulled back only far enough to kiss you tenderly; his hands found your again to squeeze them warmly. “Am încredere în tine cu viața mea și dragostea.” As proof, he held up his wrists together, offering himself to be bound.
The offering was not accepted as he had intended, though. With the resistance dissipated, you easily bowled him over onto his back, arranging yourself between his legs as you again covered him in kisses and nips. Even in terror, his erection had not entirely flagged, now pressed against your stomach as you sprawled on top of him. With a deliberate slowness, you moved his hands above his head and held them there for a moment. There would be no need for bindings. “They stay here.” When you received a curt nod, you released your grip on them, knowing they would remain until given permission. On many a night, you had speculated on this obedience that surfaced even when he shied away from this other role. However, reflection for such things was best left for long meetings with the Signoria. Your hand wrapped around his cock and worked it roughly, wanting him to get close once more. It felt like months since you had him like this, primarily because such had been the case; the need he felt early that drove him to madness was now completely understandable.
He watched you with a hunger, bucking greedily into your grip as you stroked him. As requested, his own hands did not move, but he did oblige you by spreading his legs wider, offering more up for the taking. When you did not immediately take his silent consent up, he wiggled closer, urgency growing. “We will become old men if you don’t hurry up, iubitul meu.”
“Impatient. If you would like, we may delay this another few months--”
“NU. Isus dracului Hristos. Jur pe Dumnezeu că vă sunt obtinerea mai rău decât mine. Si asta NU e un compliment. Ai susțin că Florența nu participă la tortură, dar te implor să difere...” An indignant rosiness returned to his cheeks as he continued to berate you, albeit still obeying your command. It was not difficult to infer frustration from Vali; strong emotions generally caused his Italian to fall off like an inebriated novice on a slick rooftop.
The tirade was cut short as you hitched up his legs and stroked your erection over his still-slick entrance. It was a good enough method of gaining his attention. “You either talk too much or not nearly enough. I am beginning to suspect that there is no middle ground.” The head played over the muscle, not even entering, just applying delicious pressure. Still, you hesitated, holding back. “Are you certain that you do not wish me to use the oil? It can be... rough going.”
Bound to the bed as he was, Vali could not reach out to reassure you. There would be pain but he would not hide from it. Some part of him wanted it to hurt perhaps in lingering need for penance. The thought was pushed away quickly and he nodded once more.
“I will stop if you ask, Vali. If it hurts too much.”
“Știu. Tu nu ești el.” A sense of intimacy wrapped him in a warm embrace as he regarded you with an unwavering gaze; he did not shy away, did not look away, did not pull away.
The first push was always the hardest-- using as much restraint as you could afford, you pressed in slowly, inch by inch. Despite the preparation, he remained tight with little to ease your penetration. Yet for you, it was deliciously tight, almost too much so. You could feel him wince from the sensation, but he gave nothing more than a silent whine. Moving your hips, you tried to force him wider and, by the third thrust, could fill him in one smooth motion. Rhythm was kept slow and safe-- you would wait for his cue.
Excruciating pain, unlike that he felt in battle from any sort of weapon, flooded his body. He was being ripped apart; there was no room for you even though his body gave way with each push. Despite the wish to retreat and carry on numb, Vali stayed with you, watching you as you worked. The pain was so intense, but he feared you would stop. His hands itched to touch you, briefly rising off the bed before setting them back down with force. He would not disobey. In his struggle, the pain lessened and the build of pleasure gradually built. Whining turned to moans and the tension that had locked his legs around you eased. He wanted more... There was no one here that would judge him, even he tucked his legs in against himself, giving you even more access.
Permission granted, you increased the speed, driving him into the mattress with your weight. While you knew from personal experience that the raw pain was not so easily dismissed, he made no move to dissuade you from rough treatment. As a reward, you cupped the back of his head and pulled his mouth to yours, kissing with teeth and tongue clashing. It had been so long and the need for him had not subsided, only multiplied. Hands wandered his chest, searching, sliding under bandages to feel more skin. Some was slick with new scars, scars that did nothing to detract from his beauty. Leaned over as you were, you had ample access to slip your roaming hands between his ass and the mattress, holding tightly as you pounded into him. Merciless. The need was furious and unrelenting, demanding satisfaction.
Vali kept true to his agreement with hands knotted together above his head still, though the need to pull you in for more contact was maddening. He had denied himself the ability to enjoy intimacy and had a year to make up for. Unfortunately, the best he could do was wrap his legs around your thin waist to demand you become part of him. No longer could he exist without you. At last the tears began and he turned away, hoping you would not confuse this anguish for another pain.
There was no confusion, though. You guided his attention back to you, pausing to sweep back his sweaty bangs. It was an odd moment for tenderness, yet you had learned that he did not allow his body go where his heart could not lead. With a tug, his hands were freed from their invisible shackles, lacing your fingers through his. “Mine.” Even as you were relentless in your thrusts, ever closer to climax, you peppered his chest with kisses. Affection with basic need.
No longer bound, he slipped from your fingers and wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. “Yours.” There was no preamble, only the sudden tensing of powerful muscles as he rolled you and he together, placing himself on top. There was no break in the rhythm as he arranged himself on your lap, straddling you as he continued to pleasure himself unabashed. There was no fretful battles with emotional boundaries. With his head thrown back, his too-long hair tickled along your thighs with each bounce. He was a freed beast, uncaring of anything but that which made him happy. Sweat trickled down his sternum past the bandages. His back arched, muscles along his stomach tight, open for your fingers to explore each dip and ridge in his form.
And explore you did, hands slick and pulse pounding. For a moment, you allowed yourself to marvel: each roll of his hips, dark locks bouncing in rhythm, parted lips, and blissful expression. He had never truly given you this-- all of this-- locked away in his own prison. With a rough upward thrust, you dragged a laughing shout from him, causing him to open his eyes and focus on you. Vali planted his hands on either side of you, grinning wildly, mischief obviously now afoot. He rocked back in counterpoint to your thrusts, clenching muscles tightly as he do so. Groaning through gritted teeth, it was clear he was nearly undone by this new tactic. All it required was one more hard push--
He saw whiteness than nothing, collapsing in a panting heap on your chest, shivering though burning from the inside. The orgasm had torn through him as a bolt of lightning, searing every inch of him. Though, through the sensory overload which blinded and deafened him, he could still feel your rhythm growing steadily off kilter and knew you were just as close. He gave one more concerted clench of muscles, tightening around you, moaning against your flesh.
While certain questionably useful traits unusable outside the bedroom had rubbed off on Vali, you had taken his ferocity. Nails dug into his hips, giving you leverage to drive into him. When at last you released, the vicious grip only increased, drawing fine streams of blood in delicate crescents. Littered with new marks-- all yours-- there would be no mistaken that he was spoken for. The thought sent a final shiver up your spine as the spasms of ecstasy slowed. As far as you were concerned, his prince could go fuck himself; Vali was yours.
Straddling had prevented the majority of his weight from settling on you; however, Vali was currently engaged as a human blanket. It was too warm to stay like that, but between the sticky fluids and your arms wrapped securely around his back, there was little chance of escape. His cheek was pressed over your heart, listening to the racing beat slow gradually as you calmed. It was reassuring in itself, but he was more enthralled with how it echoed his own perfectly. One and the same. However, the ensuing silence also allowed the edges of doubt to creep in. “Aceasta va dura?”
“Only if you allow it.” Content with being mildly crushed by his weight, you made no move to dislodge him. There was some thought to, perhaps, parting in other ways; the futile writhing of your pelvis did not accomplish what you had hoped, however.
Unceremoniously he rolled off you, grimacing as you slid out and exposed the ache that would follow. The move did not take him far, though, only to rest against your side, curled. “What if I don’t want to go back în Țara Românească? Să fie un ucigaș?” LIke a child, he tried to bury himself against you, trying to hide against reality. He would have to return or they would chase him. He had to kill or they would kill him. Or you. There was no hiding.
“Firenze is always looking for a good cook.” You would not let his mind turn this way so soon. There had been too much accomplished tonight to concede and let him to fall back into darkness. Though weariness gripped your entire body, you eased fingers through his hair. His burrowing ceased and he leaned into your touch. When you were able to raise the strength to do so, you resolved to congratulate yourself.
Vali snorted and kissed your chest, nuzzling his scratchy stubble against you. He was allowed to be happy. He was allowed to love you. And he was allowed to let go of the guilt. “Știi că none of this would have happened if you had just made ‘un om cinstit’ out of me.”
Your eyes drifted closed as you smiled. “Va bene. But you are wearing the dress.”
