Light & Water Ch. 01

It was at those moments that the Italian would brush closer to him, guiding him by the elbow to a particular statue, a jewelled artefact behind glass in the Palace… and his touch would linger, fingers firm and questing, curving to hold his arm.

Dan listened to Cesare talk about the great buildings of the city; the Basilica, the Procuratie… he could name all the bells in Il Paron, and explain when and why they were rung.

'Marangona, for ringing when work started and ended. Maleficio, for executions, Nona for the ninth hour, Trottiera and Pregadi to call the meetings in the Palazzo. In 1902, the whole tower collapse. Boom!'

Another large gesticulation. Dan decided that, if he taught classes with this same enthusiasm, Cesare must be a great teacher.

'My God! Was anyone hurt?'

'Non, non… un miracolo, they say. No-one was hurt. Not even a pigeon!'

Cesare grinned as such a bird flitted by Dan's head, making him duck.

By the time the autumn light was fading, Dan was happy to be entranced. He watched Cesare's face as he spoke, in his mind already tasting his skin, kissing his lips, following the treasure trail of hair from the base of his throat to wherever it roamed, yet content to let those thoughts contain his desires.

The urgency of first attraction had subsided a little; no more the desperation to grapple with clothes and flesh, though every part of Dan's body seemed to have eyes to follow Cesare with, hyperaware of the physical space he occupied. He felt a visceral pull towards the other man – his scent, his warmth, the solidity of his presence – but the promise was almost as good as the image of its fulfilment.

Dan was about three-quarters certain that, if he asked, Cesare would come to his room, but puzzled over how to ask the question.

As they stood once more in front of the Café Quadri, debating whether or not to try for a table in the ristorante, Cesare asked if he was tired.

In truth, Dan's feet had been aching for a while. The square was huge, the buildings massive, and the entire place a riot of colour and sensation. He had a mild headache, but it didn't seem to matter.

He couldn't imagine doing anything else other than walking around Venice with this man… well, hecould, but there was the issue of how to bridge that gap.

So, he said he was fine.

Cesare opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, and just smiled instead.

It hit Dan like a thunderbolt, the stupidity of it. The way two grown men could tiptoe across eggshells with each other, terrified of being seen to speak a truth. He squinted at the antipasto on the menu, pinned outside the café, and said:

'It looks very full. If there aren't any cancellations, where's better to try?'

Cesare named a handful of ristoranti and osteria he'd tried, and suggested one.

'It's quite near my hotel. I'm staying at the Locanda Barbarigo… very beautiful. It's close to the Canale so, at night, you can hear the gondoliers sing.'

Dan bit his tongue, spurring up the words before they had chance to escape him.

'That sounds wonderful. Maybe we could go to your hotel – I'll buy you a drink in the bar. Repay you for such a fantastic day.'

The look on Cesare's face was worth a thousand uncertainties. His eyes lit up, and he nodded with surprising restraint.

'Molto bene… I would like that very much.'

It grew dark as they walked, and Dan felt Cesare brush closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, their fingers nearly touching. When he glanced at the Italian, he was looking straight ahead, with a expression of fixed determination.

Dan wondered whether or not to grasp his hand, but decided against it, however tempting.

***

The Locanda was an old hotel, or at least, an old building. As with everything in Venice (or so it seemed), Cesare had a few words to say about its history.

'All this,' he said, as they stood outside, 'was the Palazzo Barbarigo, the house of a family of glassblowers, long time ago. Sixteenth century. They did all these mosaics for their house.'

Dan looked up at the colourful murals that decorated the small building, intense against its bright stucco and painted woodwork. It was dwarfed by the buildings around it, but was perfect within that – as if it could have been built no other way.

'I do have a confession.' Cesare's voice was low, directly by his ear. Dan felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

'Hmm?'

'The hotel is only two floors. There isn't much of a bar – but we could take a drink in my room, if you like.'

Dan felt the smirk spread across his face.

'OK. To be honest, I wondered when you'd ask.'

Cesare laughed softly.

'Please. Wait a few minutes, then ask for Signor Rossi in the Arlecchino Room. I have some brandy up there, is that — '

'Fine.'

Cesare looked over his shoulder once as he walked away. Dan briefly considered the implications of their separate arrival, and decided that everyone must have their own Blackpool.

The Locanda was very pleasant – small, cosy, decked out in frighteningly detailed seventeenth century Venetian style. Gauze and gilding covered every available surface, huge mirrors hung opposite the tall windows, and it made Dan think of his grandmother's Victorian parlour.

Still, the young woman at the desk was very helpful, and directed him to the correct room on the first floor. She seemed surprised that Signor Rossi had a visitor, which Dan supposed boded well.

There were only a few rooms, and Cesare's was the smallest. White predominated, as a theme, in the heavily gilded repro Rococo furniture, the flimsy curtains, even the drapes over the four-poster bed, far too big for the room, but impressive nonetheless.

'It's like a theatre set,' Dan exclaimed, as Cesare opened the door, already clutching a half-full tumbler of brandy.

He looked around the room and grinned at Dan.

'Si. Not exactly my taste, but very comfortable. Here, a drink. Napoleon brandy. It's good.'

He pushed a second glass into Dan's hand and closed the door.

'Scusi… I know it's ridiculous to be nervous, but — '

Dan took a sip of the brandy to Cesare's gulp. Strong stuff to be tossing back like water. No more games, he decided.

'Cesare?'

The confident, demonstrative man of the day was gone and, in his place, there was a lost boy, his eyes crying out from a man's face.

'It's all right.'

Dan stepped closer.

'Look. I can go if you want — ' A look of hurt crossed Cesare's face. ' — or I can stay. We can have the drink, and we can talk. Would you like to talk?'

Cesare sank onto the white-covered bed, holding his brandy in both hands.

'Oh, Daniel… sei un angelo.'

Dan stepped closer, linking his arm around the dark wood of the post and pressing his temple to it. It felt cool, when everything else was suddenly warming up. He wondered idly if he should have stuck to his guns and left men out of it.

'No. But I'm listening.'

Cesare looked up at him with grateful eyes.

'It's very difficult for me, being… omosessuale. I come from a very old-fashioned, very Catholic family, and my job — ' He held up his hands, the brandy in danger of sloshing over the glass. 'I don't tell people.'

Cesare paused, taking another gulp.

'I am a man of twenty-eight years, in the twenty-first century, and I don't tell people, Daniel.' He stared at his black leather shoes, giving his toes an experimental flex within them. 'I am afraid. Always, afraid. It's archaic.'

Dan put his glass down and lowered himself to the bed.

It was the closest they'd been all day. He felt Cesare's breath jar as their thighs grazed each other, their shoulders and arms pressed together through the burdensome fabric of clothes. He took the Italian's hand, prising his fingers from the glass.

'Don't be scared.'

Cesare gripped Dan's hand tightly. He was sweating.

'Bacciami,' he whispered, eyes closed.

Leaving the other glass on the bedside table, Dan leaned forwards, taking Cesare's jaw in his free hand. He stroked the stubble with his thumb, enjoying the roughness and the tremor his action caused.

He touched the Italian's lips lightly with his own before returning, pressing into him in a fuller kiss.

Cesare moaned, releasing Dan's hand to clutch at the lapels of his jacket, rake hungry fingers through his hair, and grip his shoulders. His firm, dry lips opened, and he drank in Dan's kiss like a drowning man.

Their tongues danced, wet and firm, tasting and testing each other. When Dan pulled away, a soft cry of disappointment broke from Cesare's lips. Dan dove straight for his neck, licking, kissing and nibbling at the flesh. He traced the smell of cloves and citrus to a shampoo, perhaps shower gel, and burrowed into Cesare, trying to devour it all.

The Italian flexed against him, tugging at Dan's hair.

'Si, cosí, cosí… '

Dan's fingers found the opening of Cesare's shirt, warm against his body, and slipped inside, buttons pinging open on their progress. The hair on his chest was thick and coarse, but not abundant, covering the upper part of his torso and pecs.

Dan found his large, flat nipples and began teasing them to life with pinching, rolling motions. Cesare's breath was hot on his neck, his hands pulling Dan's leather jacket down, away from his shoulders.

'Daniel… the bed. Please?'

Dan pulled away, nodding, stripping his clothes as quickly as possible. Cesare followed suite, hands shaking as he unbuttoned his trousers. Dan helped – sexy strip shows were nice, but needed a certain time and place. This wasn't it. As Cesare rolled backwards onto the bed, pulling the last leg free, he seized and flung the suit pants away as if they were on fire.

Crawling up the covers to meet his mouth again in another hard, determined kiss, Dan felt Cesare's hands glide across his back, the Italian's body arching to meet him. His hard cock, still encased in his underwear, grazed Dan's hip, feeling hot and damp through the cotton.

Dan sat up, his knees across Cesare's waist, surveying his body and his flushed face, eyes glazed with pleasure. The Italian stretched his hands out, murmuring words too quick for comprehension, his fingertips skimming Dan's biceps.

He was well built – the body of an active man, but not an athlete. Dan stroked his hands thoughtfully down Cesare's torso, feeling the crisp hair give way to softer skin. He ran his thumbs over the contours of muscle and bone, revelling in the twitches it brought to the Italian's imprisoned cock.

Cesare ground upwards, his bottom lip in his teeth, eyes closed.

'Santa Maria… Daniel, please.'

Dan's own cock was craning upwards, his balls massaged by the movement of the man beneath him.

He hadn't come on holiday for this. Not for a fuck, not to be a counsellor – but there was Cesare, was writhing between his legs. It didn't seem real, in this room of fantasy and pretence. A space between times.

Cesare's hands dropped to the pillow, his head between them as he looked imploringly at Dan. His eyes begged for comfort, contact… everything that, by his own admission, he forbade himself. Dan could not remember feeling so powerful.

'Tell me what you like,' he said, quietly.

Cesare swallowed.

'Fuck,' he managed. 'Fuck me.'

Dan nodded, easing him out of the tight cotton briefs, wet with precum. His cock was thick, heavily veined and hard as a rock. It sprang to attention as Dan pulled his underwear down, peeling the briefs past Cesare's hairy thighs. The head was almost purple, pearly drops of liquid seeping from his piss-slit. As Cesare moved to get condoms from his suitcase, his cock twitched visibly, begging for release.

He thrust the wrapped condom into Dan's hand and lay back down on the bed, face down, gathering the pillows into his arms.

'Please… fuck.'

'Lube?'

Dan unwrapped the condom and slipped it over his achingly stiff member. So much for taking time over a thing. Could the Italian be a virgin?

'No… there's some sun cream on the nightstand. Daniel — ' Cesare twisted to look over his shoulder. ' — not in culo. Please? My thighs… I don't want to feel… un finnochio. It will still be good for you. Tight. Prometto.'

Dan tried to disguise his frown. Such a nice, good-looking guy — Cesare's apologies struck at his heart. He grabbed the sunscreen, after a couple of fumbles, and smeared some liberally on his cock. It was cold, but felt good.

With his fingers slippery and gentle, he massaged the backs of Cesare's thighs, until the crisp curls of dark hair grew flat and wet. The Italian moaned appreciatively, and squeezed his legs together as Dan's fingers dipped into the dark crevice between them, just below his arse.

Dan smoothed the lotion all over Cesare's thighs and buttocks, making tentative voyages towards his arsehole that, each time, were met with a whimper. He stroked his perineum instead, fingers brushing the rear of his scrotum, until Cesare's whole body seemed to tremble with pent-up lust.

'Daniel, now! Please… voglio venire con te. Not long now.'

'Shh.'

Dan stroked the back of his head as he positioned himself over Cesare's legs, guiding his cock into the crease between thighs and buttocks.

Propping himself on his elbows, he slid in gently, eliciting a long, low, guttural moan from Cesare.

Dan started with a slow, steady rhythm, each stroke propelled from his toes, rubbing as much of his body against Cesare as he could. A delicious friction resulted from the contact of their skin, and the slick penetration of his cock.

It wasn't as tight as fucking his arse – or as wet as the couple of women Dan had screwed – but Cesare's obvious pleasure made it a highly charged erotic experience. His muscles clenched around Dan's cock while, his own member rubbing against the sheets and covers, his flesh shivered and shook. He mumbled curses and sweet nothings as Dan fucked, slowly and steadily building his pace.

Cesare arched back into each thrust, calling for more until Dan increased his speed. Anchoring himself against Cesare's knees, he began to thump harder into the other man, silencing his moans with the pressure of his body, until the only sound in the room was the slap of Dan's balls and pelvis against Cesare's skin, and two sets of heavy, ragged breathing.

Dan felt his balls tighten, white-hot fire coursing the length of his dick as he got ready to blow. Cesare gave a soft whimper into the pillows, bunching up handfuls of the sheets as Dan pressed a hand down on his back.

'I'm coming… fuck, yes… now… '

He exploded, bucking into the Italian's body with more force than he intended, filling the condom with a copious load. Less than a minute later, Cesare stiffened, groaned what might have been Dan's name, and lay still, breathing rapidly.

Dan sat back to remove the condom, and realised that he'd left a vivid red handprint on Cesare's back, where he'd held him down. And he wasn't moving. His cock now flaccid, shrivelling, he held the cooling condom in his fingers and felt slightly sick.

***

Wordlessly, Dan got off the bed, flushed the condom and wiped his cock clean. A quick glance in the ensuite bathroom's mirror proved he hadn't sprouted an extra head or devil horns – his own, scared, pale face looked back at him.

He splashed it with some cold water, and stepped back into the room.

Cesare was sitting up in bed, his stomach matted and smeared with his own cum. He had piled Dan's clothes at the foot of the bed, and looked thoroughly dejected.

He looked up when Dan entered.

'Grazie, Daniel. You were very good to me… I understand, you want to go now. I am sorry.'

Dan felt his insides crumble, struck with the lightning of guilt.

'No. No, Cesare… I thought — no. That was great… you were great. I — ' He swallowed. 'Well, I can't just go.'

Cesare looked perplexed.

'I didn't offend you, when I said about not to be, you know, finocchio?'

'No… I understand.'

'Si?'

Dan walked over to the bed, naked and vulnerable. 'Yes.'

It could be a difficult thing for an Italian man to accept the idea of being fucked in the arse. So many cultural precepts made it a joke, an attack on what it meant to be male. Dan leaned down and gave Cesare a brief, chaste kiss.

Sitting there, amid a snowdrift of covers and pillows, the light filtered through the white gauze curtains, he looked frightened and confused.

'Daniel?'

'Yes?'

'I go back to Modena in a week.'

Dan climbed back onto the bed, insinuating his arms around Cesare's thick waist.

'I go back to England in a fortnight.' He planted a firm kiss on the Italian's responsive lips. 'We have a little time.'

Cesare stifled a yawn, and smiled. Outside the little room with the antique mirror, night was drifting in over the canal, and a gondolier began to sing.