Chapter Text
Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven
— Genesis 19:24
In the city of Milan, the night was calm. The stars twinkled happily in the sky, unperturbed by the cool breeze that swept across its streets and the country around it.
The pale milky light of la luna set aglow wisps of golden hair. These strands were akin to fine-spun gold in the sunlight, but bathed in moonlight, they seemed almost like threads of starlight.
William Solace, partly-prodigal son of British businessman extraordinaire Apollo Solace by his late wife, leaned against a particular window-frame on the third storey of a particular mansion at the edge of the city. He had a smug smirk on his face. He had just managed to scale the side of the manor without waking anyone, after all.
There was another man within, intently reading a tome by the flickering light of a multitude of beeswax candles. As they burned they filled the room with the sweet smell of honey, and William could not help but breathe in the delectable scent.
The man’s eyes flickered to William when the Englishman cleared his throat. The sound of the book slamming shut echoed in the silence of the night. To say that the man had been startled by the appearance of William would be to do ill-justice to the astonishing feat of dexterity that William performed at that moment.
The book which the man had been reading sailed through the air in William’s direction. He gripped the edge of the window-frame with all the strength that he could muster and swung his body back as far as he could.
Much to William’s surprise, as well as to that of the man within, William caught the book in one hand and kept his balance. William looked at the heavy leather-bound tome in his hands, then he glanced at the man within. “Buena sera, amore mio, Nicola,” he said, with an English twinge to his voice that he could only hope Nicola would find endearing, “How fares the Bastard Prince of Venice on this fine night?”
A momentary dread settled over Nicola. The way that William spoke the words ‘amore mio’ stabbed fear deep into his heart. There was a twinkle in the Englishman’s eyes that said that those words were more than just jest, or simple endearment. They meant something, and Nicola feared that most of all.
In truth, Nicola already felt as though he were committing the most grievous of sins. Lying with another man as he should with a woman. Yet, he could not defy the desires of his flesh. No part of him had ever found women attractive, and thus he’d asked men instead to satisfy the deepest needs of his body.
Nevertheless, all of those that had come before William were meaningless trysts. They were meant merely to alleviate the desire that built within him on his long trips away, serving his father, known to many as the Merchant King of Venice, as a representative.
For a moment, Nicola wondered whether he had gotten himself mired far too deeply with William. He considered telling the Englishman to go home. That their arrangement was over. Yet, despite himself, looking into William’s eyes, he could not bring himself to. There was something fragile in those eyes of blue so similar to the sky that he’d felt the need, from the beginning, to protect.
Nicola felt vexation at himself for being weak, but he could not even begin to consider the consequences of being strong. The mere thought of William being hurt was something that he could not, for some reason yet unknown to him, understand.
As though in response to the turmoil within Nicola, the curtains framing the window billowed inward. The cool wind that was to blame swept into the room and snuffed the candles that yet burned. In moments, the room was plunged into darkness save for the pale light of la luna.
In the darkness, Nicola could see clearly the twinkle of mischief in William’s sky-blue eyes. Nicola would have been lying had he said that he did not enjoy that twinkle on most occasions, but on this one, he merely found it frustrating.
Nicola did not like it. He might have, within him, some strange compulsion to protect this man that stood on his window-sill, but it did not change the fact that the flippant way with which William regarded their secret nighttime trysts was all but acceptable.
Nicola di Angelo had been born into the Venetian aristocracy, despite his reputation of being the bastard son of Ade di Angelo, the Merchant King of Venice, wealthy and with a burgeoning trade despite the failings of many of his contemporaries, the man who held Venice in a vice-like grip. Because of his heritage, there was good reason for Nicola to find the matter of reputation, especially his and his father’s, to be of great import.
Nicola, after all, had spent long enough trying to prove to the world that he was more than just a bastard son that bore the name of his great father. He was as much his father’s son as were his half-brothers and sisters. Where his father was a powerful man, he would someday forge a legacy much more powerful.
Perhaps, Nicola mused, things were done differently in Great Britain. The country had, after all, long since wrenched itself from the admittedly vicious clutches of the Church. Nevertheless, no matter how things were done in that nation far across land and sea from Italy, Nicola and William were in Milan.
Here, in Italy, Nicola and William were at the heart of the purview of the Church. Here, they were under the heel of the Papacy, and William’s flippancy could very well get not only himself killed, but also Nicola, and that knowledge did not sit very well with the Bastard Prince of Venice.
Nicola narrowed his eyes when he saw William looking at the floor. Moments later, before he could say anything, William jumped off the window-sill and landed with a loud thud.
Like a tempest, the uncertainty in Nicola was whipped up into a fierce storm. With all the silence that he had no right to have in his fury, Nicola tossed his blankets aside. He rose from his sheets like an olive-skinned spectre of death. He clambered down the side of the bed, footfall stiff but quiet.
Nicola moved across the floor like a ghost. He was silent, but within he was bristling with anger. This was the reason that he despised William’s flippancy at times. It often led to brainless carelessness. William reached outside the window to pull the shutters closed, but he did not get a chance.
Before William could say anything, Nicola had already grabbed him by the thin silken shirt. He pulled the witless Englishman away from the window before shoving him at one of the nearest walls. “Idiota!” exclaimed Nicola under his breath, taking one step toward William.
William was taken by surprise by the sudden viciousness of Nicola. He had not expected it, nor could he even begin to think what he could have possibly done to earn the Italian’s ire. William stumbled back, but stopped himself before he hit the wall and caused any more noise.
William took a step forward as well, only to come nearly nose-to-nose with Nicola, who had moved faster than he had expected. So caught up was Nicola in his anger that he completely forgot that William was not Italian by heritage. “Vuoi che ci prendano?!” he said, shaking his hand in what was vaguely the direction of the half-closed window.
William’s eyes were fearful, yet they lacked any comprehension of what Nicola was saying. He hadn’t the faintest hope in highest Heaven nor deepest Hell of understanding Nicola’s angry but whispered words. “Forse quel fottuto libro avrebbe dovuto colpirti e sbatterti fuori dalla finestra!” said Nicola, stabbing a finger at William’s chest. He gestured again at the window.
While he was afraid of what Nicola was going on about, William could not help but admit to himself, if not to the Italian, that he found Nicola’s anger quite adorable. There seemed to be something endearing about the way that Nicola lost all pretence of calm, though William also had to admit that he could not put a finger on the ‘why’ of the matter.
William was shaken rather literally and rather rudely from his thoughts by Nicola. Nicola had grabbed fistfuls of his loose linen shirt, which he’d worn out of necessity that night, and because it was not too cold. “Mi avrebbe risparmiato un sacco di problemi—”
“—sciocco insopportabile!” said Nico. He reached up and poked William’s temple repeatedly and rather painfully with his index finger, punctuating each syllable of his words.
William was beginning to feel irate himself. He swatted away Nicola’s affronting hand. Perhaps it was on purpose, but William was certain that Nicola underestimated his own strength. William’s temple hurt.
Nicola had the gall to look incensed at being interrupted from the lecture that he was delivering. He glared at William with exasperation, but the only response he received was a blank, uncomprehending look.
“Nico, Nico,” said William. He was glad to use the name that he had, after many failed attempts at persuasion, finally convinced Nicola to allow him to use. William relished the syllables as they rolled across his tongue and slipped past his lips.
“Nico!” said William, a third time. Nicola hissed at him for raising his voice. He felt heat rise to his cheeks as he smiled apologetically. Nicola was beginning to regret ever allowing William to use that nickname.
“Caro mio!” said William. “I did not understand a single word that you said!” he exclaimed, using the same hushed tone of voice that Nicola had used on him earlier. The one difference was that William found it necessary to stifle a chuckle, his irritation dispelled by the utterly perplexed look on Nicola’s face.
The light of la luna was not much to go by, but William could tell well in the dim glow that Nicola was completely befuddled.
“Ah,” remarked Nicola. Normally, he was confident and collected, silver-tongued and an eloquent master of words despite the tiny number of them that he used. In this, he found his talents failing him.
There was a hint of surprise in Nicola’s voice. It had pushed his anger into a throbbing ball at the back of his mind. It was almost as though he had not realized that he had forgotten to speak in the one tongue common to the both of them.
“Ah, indeed,” said William, daring to crack a smirk. He tried to take a step forward, but Nicola did not budge. His cheekiness earned him nothing but a withering glare from the still-incensed Italian. “Caro mio,” he said, only to receive a tap to his cheek. It was not hard enough to cause pain, but the message was clear as day; Nicola was rather uncomfortable with the affection. “If you worry for our secrecy, I can assure you, no mere sound like that can wake the slumbering.”
“And if you worry that on my way here, perhaps I was seen and recognized, I can assure you that none of those who are still awake at this late hour could recognize me.” Nicola raised an eyebrow. William’s claims were worthy of a healthy dose of scepticism, after all.
“Between the darkness of the night and this—” explained William, gesturing up and down at himself. He was wearing an old silken shirt and ratty breeches. Nicola had to admit that it was the sort of fare that neither noble nor commoner would believe the son of Apollo would wear. “—I doubt that there were any that recognized me.”
“Now,” said William, attempting again to take another step forward. He was rebuffed. “Pray, tell, caro mio, what was it you said to me?” he said.
“I was merely…” Nicola’s words faltered as he attempted to grasp for the proper witty thing to say. What he settled on wasn’t necessarily the most pleasant, though he doubted William would have much of a problem with it. Perhaps it was sometimes insulting to be so patronizing, but he did rather enjoy pulling William’s leg, all issue with affection and falling in love with a man aside. He enjoyed it quite often. “I was merely expressing my delight to have your company on this fine evening, bello,” he said.
William could not, despite his efforts, stem the tide of heat that rushed to his face. Nicola, when he spoke in English, spoke it with a twinge of Italian that William found so inexplicably alluring. Perhaps it was the way that it seemed so exotic and strange that he found attractive. He did not know. He did not particularly care to know. All he knew was that he could easily fall asleep to the sound of Nicola speaking English.
It took a moment for William to gather his wits about him, but when he finally did, he decided to be more forward. Because it seemed that Nicola was not about to budge from where he stood, William decided to do the next best thing. He wound his free arm around Nicola’s waist and pulled the Italian closer.
Nicola raised an eyebrow at William, but William merely ignored him. “Oh yes,” said William, in as dry a voice as he could muster. It was often the sarcastic tone that Nicola used against him, so he saw no fair reason why not to use the same. “I believe you,” he said.
William, truth be told, was delighted to join in this verbal sparring that Nicola had initiated. It was a duel of wits that left his cerebral needs more than satisfied. It was a dance that he and Nicola often danced, and one that William was becoming more and more proficient at with the passing of the days.
Sarcasm was evident as day in William’s voice, though that was entirely the point. “For delight,” he said, seemingly musing out loud, “is something that one expresses whilst shaking the object of said delight in what can only possibly be construed as anger.”
Nicola rolled his eyes. It was a gesture both rude and impolite, yes, but shrouded with the darkness of night and cloaked in secrecy by the silent shining of la luna, Nicola and William could both afford to ‘forget’ their gentlemanly manners.
Tonight, there was only Nicola and William. The rest of the world was blind to their tryst. “Yes, indeed,” he said, taking a single step forward. His movement forced William to take a single step back. “Delight might very well be expressed in anger. Consider, perhaps, bello, the mother whose only and most beloved son ran away for months, only to return laden with riches.”
William had to admit that though he loved their contests of wit, he found it rather unfair that Nicola seemed to have a noticeably better grasp of argument than he did. Nicola often won their verbal sparring, and even when William won, he could not help but think that Nicola had merely allowed him to.
“Would it not then be with good reason that she shake her son in anger despite the delight that she must assuredly feel as consequence of her son’s return.” Nicola had a grin on his face that told William that he had been had. In sarcasm, William had put forth a claim, and with confidence, Nicola had dismantled it. “However, I do believe that this is irrelevant. Perhaps, instead, I should ask you to consider the following question: will you not enjoy watching me as I kiss you with the same anger with which I spoke?”
Nicola took another step forward. William took another back. And then another, which William felt was necessary when Nicola pressed their lips together.
Even in mere kissing, both young men wrestled for control over the situation from the other. Yet again, William found it quite unfair that Nicola had the edge. He hadn’t the faintest idea why Nicola seemed so experienced sexually when he himself had not even deigned to experiment like his father had so helpfully suggested, but such was the truth of the matter.
Nicola pulled away from William and smirked. The curl of his lips was visible in the light of la luna. “I shall consider your eagerness to kiss me as a sign of agreement, bello.” William chuckled and nodded. “Then be prepared for I shall kiss you with fire and impart to you the knowledge of how much I have longed for your comfort this night.”
William’s eyes, blue as the daylight sky, twinkled in the dim light streaming into the room. Looking into those cerulean depths, Nicola was no longer able to restrain himself. He pressed his lips hungrily to William’s, and he slid his tongue home into the warmth of William’s mouth.
Nicola had not expected to discover something new about William’s sexual tastes that night, but perhaps he should have expected it. William often surprised him, after all. Nicola’s rough but somehow affectionate kiss elicited a groan of appreciation from the other young man.
“How much you’ve longed for my comfort?” said William, when the two finally pulled apart for air. Nicola rolled his eyes again. “What, caro mio? The horsehair bed, goose down pillows, the best quality linens, a manse the envy of all the lords of Milan, and a whole cadre of servants is not comfort enough for you?”
Nico’s hands roamed up William’s chest. His touch was maddening for the Englishman. His fingers, light and tender through the sheer fabric of William’s shirt set alight blazing trails of sensuous pleasure across William’s skin.
There was no need for Nicola to ask if William was enjoying himself. His groan of delight was more than enough to answer that unasked question. “Yes, yes,” said Nicola, “but those are the meagre comforts of luxury enjoyed by any who come upon wealth in this earthly life.”
Nicola traced a single finger down the side of William’s face, following the curve of the Englishman’s jaw. William shivered at the touch. “I find myself yearning more and more these days for comfort more exquisite,” he said, breath ghosting past William’s ear, “Something more… exotic.”
William often forgot that in Milan, he was the exotic one, not all the Italian men around him. “Perhaps,” said William. “Or is it because I am a guilty pleasure of yours?” Nicola’s heart hammered in his chest at William’s words. They were getting uncomfortably close to a truth that he did not wish to acknowledge at that moment. “Because the comfort I offer is of the more… sinful variety?”
In truth, William had meant everything in jest, but when Nicola froze, he felt apprehension seep into his bones. Had he done something wrong? Had he pressed the wrong button? Nicola’s seeming discomfort lasted for only a moment, and William was left wondering whether Nicola was hiding something.
William did not have much time to think. Before he could say anything, Nicola’s fingers were on his flesh again, and his thoughts melted into mush.
Nicola was hell-bent on drawing forth sounds of pleasure and arousal from William. Anything to drive away the terrible thoughts of fire and brimstone and the crumbling of his father’s carefully-built empire that haunted his nightly dreams.
Nicola’s fingers untied the cords that held close the breast of William’s shirt. When he was done with the trifling task, Nicola brought his fingers higher. He wrapped them around either side of William’s neck and rested his thumb on the ridges of William’s jaw. He pressed his lips hungrily against William’s for a number of minutes, until the burning in his lungs told him that it was time to part for breath.
“I was not expecting you to give me company this night,” whispered Nicola when they finally pulled apart. He was roundly ignoring what William had said earlier, about sinful comfort. He did not want to deal with that just yet.
Nicola closed his eyes and sighed against William’s neck. His voice and his words were laden with desire despite his reservations. The way that his warm breath wafted over William’s neck made the Englishman shiver with want.
Nicola took another step forward. William tried to take another back, but his heel was met by the wall. In truth, he was beginning to struggle with maintaining his grip on the heavy book that was still in his hand.
William did not wish to drop the tome. He’d made enough noise with his ill-thought jump from the window-sill. He did not wish to make another horrendous racket by letting a book of such constitution loose.
To allow the book to slip from his fingers, as far as William was concerned, was altogether farcical. The last thing that this night, which William hoped would be filled with sensuous pleasure the sort of which he’d only ever received from Nicola, needed was for the rest of the inhabitants of the manse to stir from their night-brought slumber.
“I understand,” said Nicola, rubbing William’s jaw idly with his thumb. Truth be told, William’s appearance had managed to render him incapable of being as sharp as he typically was. He was trying his best to make it seem as though there wasn’t anything wrong. At the very least, he remained fully capable of that.
“It was what we arranged,” said Nicola, looking into William’s eyes, “However, I also do understand that for the reason that our trysts are done in secret, in the darkness of night, they cannot always occur how we plan them.”
William could not help but chuckle. It felt rather nice for Nicola to be so understandable, though, if what he knew of the Italian was accurate, he was certain that there was something more to it. If there was one thing that William had learned living with a family of businessmen, there was always an ulterior motive.
“I was, however,” said Nicola, puzzled by the thoughtful expression on William’s face, “I was under the impression that your father had detained you, perhaps for some meeting under the secrecy of night that only merchants of such calibre would be privy to.”
William could not help but laugh even as Nicola frowned at him in confusion. The mere thought that his father would include him in any such thing was laughable at best. He had brothers and sisters, both whole and half, who were possessed of more in their little fingers of his father’s trust when it came to trade than he in his whole body.
All of William’s brothers and sisters were more apt at handling trade and finances than he. His father, however, had not always been a businessman. Apollo had once been a rather successful physician, and had found the beginnings of his wealth there.
William took more to that side of his father. He could not comprehend why, but the great merchant Apollo seemed to find the thought of him being a physician especially appealing. As far as he could tell, his father doted on him moreso than anyone in the family.
At the same time however, Apollo had made it resolutely clear to William that Apollo would rather burn down the family’s ancestral home in the outskirts of London than leave the business to him. William did not know if it was because he didn’t have the skills to be a businessman, or if Apollo merely wanted to ‘encourage’ him to be a physician.
Nevertheless, William suspected that Nicola had asked because Nicola had concerns about Apollo speaking to competitors behind his back. “Caro mio,” said William with a confident smirk, “Could you not have just asked if you wished to know if father was meeting your competitors behind your back?”
Nicola stared blankly at William for a moment. He had not even considered that possibility. He had meant the question in only the most innocent sense. Nevertheless, Nicola took a breath to get his thoughts together. He needed to act as though that was exactly what he’d been getting at, if only to keep up the appearance that he was not having second thoughts about continuing this affair with William.
“Ah,” said Nicola, pressing a brief kiss to William’s lips. He felt the skin of William’s neck warm underneath his fingers, and it threatened to throw whatever thoughts he’d managed to cobble together into disarray once more. “But bello,” he said, “I did ask.”
Nicola grinned. “Perhaps your father does you great disservice by claiming you’ve no tact for the trade. You very clearly know how to play the game. Though you may very well miss one thing here and there.” Nicola cursed himself silently. Now he was cornered. He had to reveal what he’d done to ensure that he and William would at the very least meet.
“Oh really?” said William, cocking an eyebrow at Nicola. “What I know of playing ‘the game,’ I’ve learned from you, caro mio,” he said, “Though do tell, what might it be that I missed?”
Nicola did not think it was a very good idea to reveal what he’d planned, but he didn’t think there was any other way out of the corner that he’d managed to trap himself in. “Ah bello,” he said, with his characteristic, confident smile, “You are brilliant in your own way, but you often fail to see the—” Nicola removed one of his hands from William’s neck and waved it in the air, attempting to find the right words, “la grande foto.”
William furrowed his eyebrows and looked intently into Nicola’s eyes. There was the confident, sometimes-arrogant look in those dark eyes, but there also seemed to be some distress that William could not quite put a finger on.
The epiphany struck William like a brick wall, and he found, in that instant, that he understood how it must have felt for Archimedes in the days of Ancient Greece. He felt no resentment for what Nicola was implying, in fact, he felt like running in the buff through the streets screaming ‘Eureka!’ at the top of his lungs.
“Father trusts me not with any of his clients, even the smallest,” said William, rather thoughtfully. Nicola’s could not help but feel somewhat proud that William was able to put two-and-two together, though he was concerned that William would be hurt by the truth. “I was perhaps too absorbed by the delight of being given an excuse to speak with you, caro mio, and being trusted with your father’s account that it never crossed my mind.”
“Did you, perhaps,” ventured William, unsure, but confident in his answer, “arrange the circumstances with which we met?” William’s voice had wonder threaded through it. He had not considered that he would ever attract the attention of such a powerful man, much less, one willing to go to great lengths to gain his own attention. “Did you also arrange my fathers confidence?”
Nicola responded with the only way he knew he could keep up the charade: a cheeky grin worthy of any of William’s countrymen. “Sì, bello,” he said, “Is that a problem?”
Nicola swallowed his reticence and pressed his hips into William’s. William’s lips parted so slightly, but well enough to allow a breath of pleasure through them. Nicola suspected that William would have no reason whatsoever to think that his manipulations were any problem whatsoever. However, he was unsure if William would see right through the facade of confidence that he was putting forward.
“No, amore,” said William, panting with need from the way that Nicola was pressed against him. He leaned against the wall, desperate to escape this tormentous closeness, but all too eager to take things a step further, most likely in the direction of the horsehair bed he’d mentioned earlier.