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Chapter Text

The night after the conclave, Giulio Sabbadin  stood outside the door to Aldo Bellini’s suite as he had so many times before over the few days he had called the Casa Santa Marta home. This time however he was nervous: the previous night’s chess game seemed a lifetime ago. Before dinner he and Bellini had played, Bellini had lost and in that moment he had decided to switch his allegiance to Tremblay. They had gone to see Lawrence, who had been horrified by the idea, but Sabbadin had held firm, had choked down his pride to fetch coffee for the man who would be Pope, while his friend, his mentor, his sometimes lover had debated theology with the other no-hopers, studiously avoiding his eye. As Senator Sabbadin’s son, he deserved to be Secretary of State, even if that meant betraying Bellini.

Now, following Thomas’ squandering of a valuable asset and Tedesco’s predictable violent implosion, they had an unknown as Pope, and Sabbadin for the first time in his life felt uncertain of his destiny. He knocked on the door.

After a few minutes and some hasty rustling, Bellini opened the door just enough to look round it. He was wearing trousers and a hastily buttoned shirt without the collar, the normally immaculate cardinal in an unusual state of disarray.

‘Giulio.’ He stated, like the name was a heavy weight ripping the bottom out of a wet paper bag. ‘You’d better come in.’ He stepped aside and ushered the younger man into the suite. An open suitcase was in the middle of the floor; the desk had been cleared of books and papers, once again shoved into the worn leather briefcase although with slightly more care than when Bellini had arrived. Bellini gestured to the armchair by the little table. The chess board and ash tray were still in position. Giulio took up his place as if nothing had changed.

‘So.’ He said after a long moment. ‘What’s next for you, do you think, Eminence?’

Bellini sighed and collapsed into the other armchair, head in his hands. ‘Giulio, I honestly don’t know. Benitez - Innocent - said that none of us would lose our positions if we want to continue. But the thought of carrying on…I don’t know if I can.’

‘Then leave it to someone who can. Someone who really wants it. Go back to the Gregorian University, go back to research…’

Bellini looked at his face with mounting sorrow. He realised he had spoken too sharply, too heatedly.

‘I am sorry, Giulio. I know how much you wanted - want - the position. I will make what recommendations I can on your behalf. And you’ll always have Milan.’

‘Aldo. It’s not just that I wanted to be Secretary of State. I wanted to be your Secretary of State, your right hand man…we could have been a team.’ We could have been us, he almost says. ‘Look here,’ he says, pulling out his notebook, ‘I voted for you five times, until it became clear the Holy Spirit lay elsewhere. Many of our brothers did the same or more. You may not be Pope, but the Lord clearly still has work for you to do. You matter, Aldo.’

And yet three times you denied me, Bellini thought but did not say. He sighed. ‘Giulio, I can’t tell you how much your devotion means to me. Has always meant to me. But it’s over, you must see that. Honestly I’m surprised you’re here not seeking an audience with Innocent.’ Bellini reached for the chess set, reset the plastic pieces and put the lid back on. He got up and tossed it into his suitcase.

‘Aldo, Io ti seguiterò dovunque tu andra i. How do you not see that, after all these years?’

‘Last night it looked like you’d make that same promise to Joe Tremblay, Guilio’

‘All’s fair in war and politics, Aldo, it doesn’t change - shouldn’t change us.’

‘Guilio, mio fratello, you must believe me when I say that I value your friendship and devotion most highly but there has never been and can never be an us.’

‘Then what about this?’ Giulio flipped to another list in his little black notebook, ‘all the times you called me in the middle of the night and I talked you down from the height of panic or the depth of self loathing? All the times you came to me in Milan or slipped into my room when we were both in Rome? Does that not count for anything with you?’

The bedroom door suddenly opened an ld both cardinals whipped their heads round to look. In the doorframe stood Goffredo Tedesco, patriarch of Venice, clad only in a short scarlet dressing gown. Guilio noticed that it revealed more of the Patriarch’s chest hair than he ever wanted to think about. He looked from Tedesco to Bellini, horrible realisation suddenly dawning on his face.

‘I should…I see…good night Aldo, Patriarch.’ He picked up his notebook and bolted for the door.

‘Giulio…’ Bellini started to say.

But it was too late.

Chapter Text

Bellini stood frozen behind the hotel room door as he heard Sabbadin’s footsteps stalking away down the corridor. Tedesco looked at the back of his head wracking his brains for what ons earth he could say. His old rival looked utterly broken in his rumpled clothes and even if he had not heard what he had heard, he could see this was more than the crumbling of a political alliance. He thought of the rueful handshake he and the Archbishop of Genoa had shared before he came over here and shook his head.

What was it about this infuriating man, this American with his borderline heretical views and hips that whispered that he knew how to sin even beneath his cassock that inspired such loyalty? It would be easier if he believed it was just sex, and indeed he had spent many an evening as the wine was flowing speculating in more detail than was strictly collegiate to his conservative allies exactly what Bellini may have done with or to Sabbadin, Landolfi, Dell’Acqua, Santini, Panzavecchia…even, Lord help him, his old friend Thomas. But he had seen the light of devotion in Thomas’ eyes when they had discussed potential candidates - he really believed in Bellini, regardless of what they might or might not be doing in their personal time. And he still keenly felt the disgust with which Thomas had stalked away from him on that first night of sequestration.

Bellini sank to his knees and began to sob. Evidently he had not quite turned into a pillar of salt, although Goffredo had started to wonder. He stalked over to the French window, opened it and began puffing on his vape, leaning heavily on the railing that surrounded the Juliet balcony. He was not good with emotion.

‘You cold fucking bastard!’ came a shout from behind him. ‘Are you really going to stand there fucking vaping that disgusting thing at a time like this?’

‘And what? What should I do, pick you up and cuddle you like you’re a kid with a skinned knee not the second most powerful man in the church who got exactly what he had coming to him?’

‘Except I’m not am I? Goffredo, I am just a man with a dwindling list of friends. I don’t know if I can do the whole hate-fucking thing much longer.’

Tedesco turned round, stowing his vape in his dressing gown pocket. ‘I don’t hate you, Bellini, I just disagree with pretty much everything you say or write.’ He shrugged. ‘But I rather like the challenge. You keep me on my toes. And as for dwindling lists of friends…Giulio is like a cat that you’ve had to give a bitter pill to. He’ll come round.’

Bellini flung himself down in one of the armchairs, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘How are you coping so well? Innocent doesn’t seem like he’ll be a friend to your causes?’

Tedesco turned to face into the room. ‘The issues were aired. My brothers felt I didn’t have the answers and the Holy Spirit found me wanting. What can I do but accept it?’ He crossed to Bellini’s armchair and stood behind it, gently pulling Bellini’s shoulders back and down and massaging along the top of the other man’s rope tight muscles. ‘We are, as you say, just men. And as our new Pope said, what matters is what we do next.’ He bent his head to feather a kiss against Bellini’s temple.

‘And what does the Patriarch of Venice propose we do next?

‘Well, that would depend,’ said Tedesco, whispering by Bellini’s ear. He rubbed his stubbly chin over the top of Bellini’s head and Bellini leaned back into his touch. ‘Might I invite his Eminence, Aldo, Cardinal Bellini, to resume what the Archbishop of Milan interrupted?’

‘I…I would like that very much.’

Bellini stood and allowed this infuriating man, the great hope of the most conservative faction, the man who willingly broke bread with JD Vance and Georgia Meloni, to lead him to the bedroom.

Was it so bad that his mind finally stilled when he was held in this man’s strong arms? That the surprisingly gentle touch of his kiss, his tongue greedily exploring his mouth, made him melt against his sturdy body? That he would kneel before him and take his cherry-tipped cock between his lips as if he were receiving the Host at the altar? That he would feel a sort of ecstasy and hope he had not felt since he was a very young man first discovering his vocation as Tedesco placed his hands on his head and murmured a litany sweet nothings in at least three different languages? A simple pleasure, freely given, almost something holy. Almost as though they were not even now answering the call of the abyss and plunging straight in.

Afterwards, as he lay curled against the Patriarch’s solid form and listening to his gently snoring breath and basking in the warmth of his body, Aldo Bellini fell soundly asleep for the first time in weeks