una volta ogni morte di papa

by cattivelloed

Summary:

Goffredo Tedesco doesn't do graduate students, Americans, or flings with tourists. Aldo Bellini swore he wouldn't fall in love over a semester abroad. After a night out in Rome, suddenly everything is different.

Maybe one summer of shared cigarettes would be enough. Maybe it would have to be.
-
una volta ogni morte di papa: lit., "once every time the pope dies." fig., "once in a blue moon."

Notes:

you know when you get into a ship and you have a very particular motif in mind that feels so correct but you can’t find it anywhere so you have to create it yourself? this is that.

my grasp on the italian language is not what i’d like it to be, so i’ve begun dialogue in italian, then transitioned to english. let’s just pretend they’re speaking italian, because it's prettier that way :) italics are tedesco’s inner monologue (and sometimes for emphasis,) so unitalicized italian lurks here.

thank you for your consideration!

Chapter 1

Aldo Bellini enters his life like a cyclone, turning everything upside down and leaving chaos in his wake.

Goffredo Tedesco is well aware of his many nefarious tendencies. He is a man of God before all else. Which is precisely what makes his relationship to an Italian's treasured creature comforts so troubling. Food, drink. Tobacco. Sleep. And then there’s sex and everything contained therein, which is too much to think about without significantly more wine in his belly.

He’s furtively puffing at his e-cigarette (one of his many little compromises) in between gulps of pinot noir when a body that is simultaneously far too warm and far too close presses in next to him. Goffredo can barely hear a curt “scusi?” over the pounding of music that seems to grow louder and less familiar to him every day, but perhaps that was just part of aging.

The intruder is well-muscled for how slender he is, a gold chain peeking out above the neckline of a canottiera. The nape of his neck was glistening with sweat, the fringes of his buzzcut slicked to his skin. With a huff, Goffredo rolls his eyes and returns to his favorite of all Friday night vices. It was a Tuesday, but who could bother keeping count?

“Ah, mi dispiace.” The same voice suddenly sounds much warmer, dragging Goffredo from misanthropic stupor. If he were less proud, he might do a double-take, but he wasn’t in the practice of giving anyone that sort of satisfaction. He was handsome, the type of classical viso Italiano Goffredo had observed half-enviously half-lustfully far too many times. His tortoiseshell glasses and nose ring betrayed the youth that a dusting of chest hair protruding from the white cloth of his neckline might have concealed. Allowing his eyes to follow their most damned inclinations, he glances to the small but recognizable circle of a saint’s medal tucked underneath the ribbed material, hidden in plain sight. Not unlike the seemingly ever-winding snakes tattooed into olive skin hidden by dark arm hair.

And who are you, exactly?

Before Goffredo can halt this calamitous train of thought for himself, Aldo’s smirk pulls him sharply into reality. He was always less subtle than he intended to be in these moments. Which left him with two options, mock-offense to save face, or…

“Lascia che ti offra da bere.” He nods at the intruder’s cocktail, an Aperol spritz. Goffredo takes another mental tally in the “too young” column, but doesn’t rescind his offer. That would be rude. Unneighborly, even!

“Grazie, ma non sono solo.” Aldo says wryly, then jerks his head towards a couple tucked into a booth looking disheveled. A blush comes to Goffredo’s ears when their intimate glances turn into an impassioned kiss, which even he knew was slightly ridiculous, given their setting. But old habits die extremely hard, and harder still when you’re set in your ways for a living.

“It looks to me like you are drinking alone.” Goffredo mutters before he can help himself. “Ah, but you’re young, you’d probably like to join in.” He looks the younger man up and down again, as if willing a few lines onto his alarmingly handsome face.

“A traditionalist, are we?” It sounds like a slur coming from Aldo’s mouth. Yet he’s still smirking all the same.

“You’re too pretty to have to share anything, wouldn’t you agree?” Goffredo allows himself to meet Aldo’s gaze for only a moment, and then looks away to the conveniently-placed barkeep. Shushing Aldo's protests, Goffredo pulls a loose note from his pocket and pushes it into a waiting hand. “There, it’s done. Now you can sit.” Goffredo gestures to the stool next to him, which seems far too distant now that he’s used to this intruder standing so closely. And if he’s tempting fate this evening, which certainly appears to be the case, he’ll need to find a way to think of Aldo not as a stranger.

Before any more argument can arise, Goffredo reaches an arm around Aldo to drag the neighboring stool closer, and pats it- almost patronizingly. “Goffredo, and you?”

“Aldo.” He finally sits, and it could be Goffredo’s imagination, but he thinks he sees him scoot closer as he does so. “I’ll sit with you, but you have to dance with me after I’ve finished my drink. Si?”

Goffredo hates dancing. It’s the pinnacle of decadence, and besides, he doesn’t like to sweat. “Certainly.” After a beat, “why haven’t I seen you before?”

Aldo shrugs. “My family is from Calabria. I don’t make it to Rome often.” Simple enough.

Goffredo nods, takes another gulp of his pinot noir, noticing in the back of his head that nobody’s been able to distract him from a bottle of wine like this in a long time. Ever, maybe. “Mi, Veneto.”

“So what brings you here, then?” Aldo’s stare is almost too strong for Goffredo to hold, honeyed and warm.

“I teach. At one of the universities.” Goffredo’s ears feel warm again as he breaks eye contact to peek, again, at the raised fabric concealing Aldo’s medal.

“Who’s your saint?” Goffredo asks, deciding to be bold and reaching to graze the edges of the protrusion. When Aldo’s eyes frantically dart down to watch his fingers dance around the circle, Goffredo smirks. Aldo’s pointer finger slips under the gold chain and lifts it for Goffredo to see Tommaso D’Aquino. He nods and mimics the action, “Giuda Taddeo.” Aldo tilts his head rightward, but doesn’t ask, which Goffredo appreciates. Having to explain your association with the saint of lost causes is never a pleasure.

“Which university?” Aldo asks, breaking a silence that somehow manages to be dense in a discoteca.

Goffredo leans in so that his secret won’t be overheard, his lips hovering over the warmth of Aldo's cheek. “Angelicum.” When he pulls back, he can see the stunned expression on Aldo’s face, poorly concealed by a gulp of his cocktail.

“Really?” Aldo’s eyebrows are furrowed slightly. He looks Goffredo up and down, and after a thoughtful pause: “I can’t picture you as a professor.”

“Lucky you.”

“Lucky me?” Aldo smiles coyly. “You’re a bit of a totalitarian too?”

“More than you know.” That makes Aldo’s cheeks blush a soft shade of pink. Ha. I am not the only one with weaknesses.

“You have a… vocation, then? Or you just teach?”

Goffredo watches as the younger man’s eyes flit down to his lips and linger there as he takes a lengthy drag off of his e-cigarette. Suddenly, the saccharine berry flavor isn’t enough of a bite. “Eh, no, I…” How truthful can you truly be with a- yes, still a stranger? “I felt called, once, to serve. But God deserves better men than me.” His dry smile is a balm over self-deprecation. Even being that minutely vulnerable is new and therefore terrifying.

“I can understand that.” Aldo nods, a solemn look overtaking his face. “But remember that He loves all of His children.” Suddenly, Aldo’s left hand comes to rest assuringly on Goffredo’s right, the slightest squeeze somehow spreading heat from his head to his toes. Again, Aldo’s gaze is intense, but he feels drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Like a lamb to the shepherd.

Aldo continues. “And it’s almost more important than serving Him in an order or parish. You’re giving spiritual and intellectual guidance to those who’ll lead the flock. And He trusts you with that.” It’s incredible how sincere his voice can sound, the conviction that drips off of every syllable. Goffredo knows he must have a remarkably stupid look on his face, gobsmacked as this pretty thing works his way at light-speed towards his heart and soul.

“You speak well, is the parish your next step?” Goffredo asks, clearing his throat and hoping that will remove some of the roughness from his voice.

Aldo considers that for a moment, and Goffredo wonders if he’s considering liberatory honesty himself. “I don’t know.” He releases Goffredo’s hand to take another sip of his drink, and Goffredo has to silence the pathetic protests that bubble up in his heart. They were too old for holding hands, anyway. After a pause, “I feel God call to me so strongly, but I can’t help but feel like He’s asking the wrong person.” Aldo tilts his head as if arguing with himself. “But then, the Church needs more people like us, doesn’t it?” His voice is full of earnestness and truth, but Goffredo can’t help but burst into a fit of laughter.

Aldo’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and maybe embarrassment, judging from the blush that’s reappeared on his cheekbones. “What?! What’s funny, you disagree?” He says incredulously, leaning forward slightly, and Goffredo thinks he’ll have to laugh at Aldo often if that will be his reward.

“I’m laughing at your joke!” Goffredo replies back, just as incredulously, but his tone betrays the warmth he can’t help but feel at the younger man’s naïveté. New to Rome, indeed. “The Church needs more frociaggine like a rich man needs more money. Like I need more wine!” Then, a beat. He raises his hand towards the barkeep.

“Ah, no, you promised we’d dance. And you’ve still got… what’s that, a tenth of this left?” Aldo smirks and lifts the near-empty bottle of pinot to his eyes, examining the label. Goffredo, obediently, lowers his arm.

“I always thought those were rumors.” Aldo admits after a pause, taking the opportunity to fill Goffredo’s glass with the last of the bottle. Goffredo nods in appreciation, and takes a swig as he again debates the value of honesty. But then, if a giovanotto like this is going to spend a summer in the closet of the Vatican, he may as well know the truth.

“Walk through the Termini Roma looking like that,” Goffredo makes a show of examining his companion up and down again, and allows himself to savor it as he wouldn’t when trying in vain to be discreet. He really was lovely: trim waist, muscular shoulders, the hint of a five o’clock shadow. “And you will see rumors for yourself.”

Aldo’s eyebrows rise in shock. “You’re joking.”

Goffredo snorts. “No, or you’d be laughing.”

“What happened to vows of celibacy?!”

“Oh, is that why you aren’t a priest yet, Aldo? Because you’d want to be a man of your word?” Goffredo teases lightly, but he can tell from the stymied look on Aldo’s face that he was closer to the truth than expected. “Ahh, aren’t you cute.” Goffredo chuckles, reaching to pinch the younger man’s cheek in that diminutive way his nonnas always had. Aldo has his best glare on, but Goffredo knew an act well when he saw one. After all, he was a professional.

“Are you going to be a man of your word?” Aldo asks pointedly, shaking the ice in his now-empty glass.

“I’m yours.” He extends a hand playfully, and is pleasantly surprised when Aldo takes it, still smiling to himself as he drags Goffredo onto a crowded dancefloor.

As previously mentioned, he hates dancing, especially in a venue like this. At weddings, sure, but a sweaty crowd of fenoci palming each other desperately to pounding club music was… well, Goffredo felt it was disgusting. Maybe because he’d never done it before, maybe because he wouldn’t allow himself, and maybe because he’d never had a partner to dance with.

But Aldo was quite the partner, that much became evident. As if sensing his inexperience, Aldo turns away to wrap his thin fingers around Goffredo’s hands and places them on his hips. If Goffredo had been successful at ignoring the infuriating fit of Aldo’s jeans so far, it would be impossible now. Aldo sways rhythmically against him and Goffredo is entranced by the way the lights play against the ink snakes lining Aldo's arms, raised towards the sky. He feels like a deer in headlights, but his body seems to catch up faster than his mind. Thank God for wine, a prayer he’d whispered in his heart a million times yet never meant quite so sincerely as now.

As if to reward him for his good behavior, Aldo’s right hand reaches behind him to sink his fingers into the thick salt-and-pepper of Goffredo’s hair. As if compelled by Christ himself, a barely-audible groan escapes Goffredo’s lips, his eyes closing in momentary ecstasy. How can you know my body and soul so well to call each weakness gently by name?

If he’d been able to open his eyes, he would’ve seen Aldo looking back at him to smile smugly at the noise that just exited his lips. But it had been far too long since he’d allowed someone to touch him like this. And never someone this lovely. Aldo’s fingers stretch to scratch momentarily at his scalp, and Goffredo can't help himself any longer- he lowers his lips to the thin stretch of olive between Aldo’s neck and shirt, kissing his warm skin tenderly and wantfully all at once. He could’ve sworn he heard a gasp leave Aldo’s mouth, but it may have been wishful thinking. He’d accept it, in any case.

His kisses trail up Aldo’s neck until his nose is pressed against the damp of his buzzcut, his face turning upward to press his cheek to the side of the younger man’s head, the rim of his ear just close enough to kiss delicately. It was a gesture that was far too gentle for a stranger in the middle of a dancefloor, but he’d wished his own slapdash innocence farewell the moment he asked to buy Aldo’s drink. Now he was wine-drunk and half-hard and mouthing at Aldo’s earlobe like he might disappear at any moment. Gone as soon as he came.

What felt like suddenly, although he was blissfully unaware of how long he’d been at the younger man’s neck for (and had absolutely no intention of finding out) Aldo turns to place his hands on Goffredo’s chest. His face was pink and pupils blown wide, a small token of grace that made Goffredo slightly less aware of his own vulnerability.

Aldo leans in to be heard. “You’re better at this than I expected.” Goffredo likely could’ve heard him without Aldo’s lips pressed to his ear, but he wasn’t complaining.

“What do you take me for, a virgin?” Goffredo pulls back just slightly, mock offended. Aldo looks him up and down and shrugs devilishly.

He’s vexing. It takes some prick to leave me speechless. Goffredo is hooked from the very start. He takes another long draw from his e-cigarette to give himself an excuse for his stunned silence. Aldo holds out a hand. “May I?”

Goffredo acquiesces and is probably too enchanted by watching Aldo’s lips wrap themselves around the metal cylinder and suck. Immediately, and for Goffredo, shockingly, Aldo sputters.

“Ew!” And that really should’ve been his first clue. “You wouldn’t prefer the real thing?!” He's beginning to realize that this Aldo has a gift for incredulity.

Goffredo raises his eyebrows. “What were you expecting?!”

“Never mind.” Aldo laughs, shaking his head, and Goffredo finds a new reason for living. I have to do that again. As often as possible, even if it’s only him laughing at me making a fool of myself. “Are you going to smoke a cigarette with me or not?” Aldo says expectantly, looking up at him in a way that, consciously or not, would have Goffredo agreeing to saw his own fingers off. His gaze flickers down to Aldo’s lips again. No, not my fingers, that won’t do. My toes.

“You are a horrible influence.” Goffredo smirks as he pulls Aldo’s hand from his chest and begins guiding him to the door. But then- “should you tell your… friends where you’re going?”

Their eyes, as if in sync, dart across the room to find Aldo’s companions precisely where he’d left them. Glancing to his right, he catches Aldo snorting with a roll of the eyes. “See? I did you a favor.” Goffredo says pointedly, pulling Aldo away from the crowd and toward the exit. Their loss is my gain.

The cool night air and relative quiet of cars and people passerby on the street is refreshing. Goffredo finds himself sighing contentedly as he watches Aldo, leaning with his back against the wall of the club, light up. The leaning should have been another clue, but the orange flame emanating from the lighter accentuates the sharper features of the younger man’s face, and again, Goffredo finds himself in awe.

He must lose himself there for a moment, because when he reenters reality Aldo is looking at him expectantly and holding out the cigarette. Goffredo obliges and savors his first cigarette in, what feels like, far too long. He lets his eyes flutter shut as he soaks in the feeling of nicotine sparking his bloodstream. For the second time that evening, he lets out an involuntary groan. Aldo’s fingertips graze the buttons of his shirt, and Goffredo’s eyes flash open to find Aldo looking at him, surprisingly, quite tenderly.

“You’re very handsome.” Aldo says softly, making a bustling street in Rome feel like the smallest place in the world.

“So are you.” Goffredo replies, probably too quickly. “Obviously.”

Aldo smiles, and it should be a smirk, but it isn’t. They allow the thick air between them to stand in silence for a moment.

Finally, Aldo clears his throat. “Go on, hurry up.”

“Hurry up and…?”

Aldo’s eyes flicker between Goffredo’s gaze and the cigarette perched between his lips. “And help me finish this cigarette so I can kiss you.”

Goffredo’s eyebrows shoot skyward as if offered a priceless gift. A hand raises in apology as he obligingly chuffs another drag, and then passes the cigarette on to Aldo.

They enjoy the gentle hum of life around them as they proceed that way for a while, exchanging furtive glances in between attempts at nonchalance. Well, at least we could both be better at this.

Those few minutes feel simultaneously like seconds and hours. Normally these moments inspired minor panic and an unsustainable heart rate, but Goffredo found himself surprisingly calm for someone who felt as if they were vibrating.

Finally, Aldo drops the last vestiges of their shared sin to the cobblestone, and Goffredo feels himself gulp (not unlike a cartoon character.) In a moment that may have been slow or fast, it was impossible to tell, Aldo Bellini’s fingers twisted into his hair and Goffredo found himself truly and thoroughly kissed.

As in every area observed thus far, Aldo was divine. His mouth was soft and plush, tasting like cigarettes and alcohol and him, and that was a triumvirate that could stand to send Goffredo to an early but happy grave. Kissing a beautiful man always felt good, to be sure, but it was never this natural. This anxiolytic and warm. Ironically, these were terrifying developments in their own way, but that could be a problem for another day. Because Aldo was perfect, with the way he sucked at Goffredo’s lips with just enough pressure to send shivers down his spine. Goffredo braces them against the wall with a frantically placed right hand, pressing their bodies together. Unlike most things in Goffredo’s life, he didn’t find this act to be any sort of power struggle, he was content to follow Aldo’s lead and occasionally nip at his lips when he was being decidedly impatient.

Goffredo’s left hand comes to tug at the fabric covering Aldo’s stomach, just enough for him to be able to trace his fingers over the space where denim met the taut skin of the younger man’s abdomen. Aldo pulls away with a startled gasp followed by breathless laughter.

Goffredo frowns, unable to hide his insecurity. “No good?”

“No, no, you’re just going to have to touch my dick if you keep doing that.” Aldo giggles out, clasping his hand over his mouth as soon as the words escape his lips.

Feeling warmth spread over his skin, Goffredo smirks. “Is that supposed to discourage me?”

“Not even close.”

Before Goffredo can think better of it, he finds himself in the back of a cab. It’s awkward, with Goffredo unsure if the tension between he and his companion was quite so palpable to their driver, an elderly Greek man who only mutters a few words to them as he transports them far too slowly to the Prati district.

Aldo makes a good show of looking out the window to observe the passing gardens and architecture, and maybe he really is interested, but all Goffredo can think about is the magnetic feeling between their hands as they rest on vinyl seating. Thankfully, the cab’s radio is playing an old song, and that makes the quiet less unbearable.

They arrive at Goffredo’s apartment and he can’t throw a bill at their driver fast enough. Nearly falling through the doorway, Goffredo can barely manage to shut the door before pressing Aldo against the wall of his foyer, pinning his wrists gently to his sides.

Goffredo kisses like any moment might be his last opportunity, and Aldo can barely gasp out his protest in between the feeling of Goffredo’s lips against his: “You can’t- you can’t make a habit of pinning me against walls, you know.” It’s meant to sound much more serious than it possibly can with the shaking in Aldo’s voice.

“And why not? I think I like it.” Goffredo purrs, his head ducking to suck at Aldo’s jawline. “Maybe I’ll keep you just like this.”

In time it takes to blink of his wine-heavied eyelids, Aldo has turned the tables on him, pushing Goffredo’s back into the wall with gentle but decisive force. “And what if I like you like this?” Aldo mutters, glancing down at where their hips met.

“You’re lucky I’m drunk.” Goffredo replies, a half-growl with no bite to back it up.

“You walked a convincing straight line from that cab.” The corners of Aldo’s lips quirk up, and his eyes wander to meet Goffredo’s gaze again.

“I thought people your age didn’t believe in fucking drunks.” Goffredo teases and leans in, but his maneuvering is foiled by another outburst of laughter from Aldo.

“My God, a traditionalist indeed. But we’re not having that conversation right now.” The sound of Aldo’s laugh is even better this time, which shouldn’t be possible. “Actually, since you mention it, I was kind of hoping you’d fuck me.” Aldo’s grip on his wrists has loosened enough for Goffredo to lift his arm to cup the younger man’s cheek affectionately, calming Aldo’s giggles momentarily.

“Maybe if you say please.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Another fit of giggles. He could get used to a great many things.

With Goffredo still soaking in praise, Aldo drops to his knees, clumsiness aided by alcohol. Breathlessly, “I have a bed, you know!” Goffredo splutters.

“Tradition isn’t everything, do you know?” Aldo’s voice is pleasantly raspy as his long fingers make quick work of Goffredo’s belt, gazing up at him with another look that should be criminal.

Aldo can barely manage to undo Goffredo’s zipper and tug at his boxer briefs with trembling hands, which is terribly unlike him and implies something he’d rather not consider as he’s tracing his tongue up Goffredo’s cock for the first time. Reassuringly, the older man looks as if he’s going to collapse at any moment, his fingers gripping the straps of Aldo’s canottiera.

Aldo tries, desperately, to make a show of flicking his tongue torturously around the head of Goffredo’s dick. When he watches Goffredo’s eyes roll back into his skull, he takes care to pout his lips and suck- but just slightly, just enough to take the edge off. He can only manage the act for so long before another part of him takes charge, a part that he’d like to blame on the alcohol, and not some inalterable aspect of his self that makes him feel like he was born to do exactly this.

Aldo takes Goffredo into the desperate give of his mouth and he feels like his legs are going to give out. It’s so unfair, the way Aldo is sucking what feels like his few remaining brain cells out through his dick. Contrary to Aldo’s earlier supposition, Goffredo was no virgin, and he would be ashamed to admit how many alleyways, sofas, and seminary dormitories had seen his cock down another man’s throat.

But, and this was becoming no great shock, Aldo was truly blessed.

If the velvety pull of his pink mouth wasn’t enough, the perfect little sounds that filled the air when Aldo sucked him was reassurance enough that Aldo actually loved this. Goffredo always considered himself a bit Roman in that sense: his dick in another man’s mouth? What could be better! But a dick in his mouth, what do you take him for?

Suddenly, though, he can see the merit in bringing some passion to the activity. Aldo’s long, thick lashes flutter beautifully, the occasional flash of the hazel of his eyes sending goosebumps across Goffredo’s skin. In all of the distraction, Goffredo almost doesn’t notice Aldo palming at his erection through his jeans. Goffredo moves his foot, shoelaces still tied, to gently kick Aldo’s hand away from himself.

“I thought I get to do that for you.” Goffredo says, and is immediately humbled by the gruffness of his voice.

Aldo is still catching his breath, his lips already slightly swollen and gleaming a deep shade of pink. “You’d better get after it, then.”

He shouldn’t be allowed to still be this sassy when he’s that desperate. That much Goffredo does know. Leading Aldo by the hand to his bedroom, Goffredo decides he liked his view from earlier in their night too much to not indulge himself a bit more.

Nipping and kissing at the nape of Aldo’s neck again feels like a reunion between flesh and teeth. He can’t keep his hands away for long, and he finds himself pushing his fingers past the band of Aldo’s briefs to gently grip his erection, applying a gentle pressure. Aldo’s moan is high and keening, and Goffredo chuckles. “Ah, sorry, I almost forgot-“ he withdraws his hand from Aldo’s cock and holds his palm in front of the younger man’s mouth. “Go on.” Goffredo prompts, knowing it’s needless when Aldo looks practically cross-eyed with pleasure at the request.

Goffredo studies Aldo’s tongue like a dedicated scholar as Aldo laps at every inch of his palm. “You’re so good, aren’t you?”

That draws a strangled groan from what sounds like Aldo’s soul.

Goffredo chuckles, “You’re a good actor.”

“How- how do you figure that?” Aldo is breathless as Goffredo’s fingers find his erection again and begin stroking him torturously slowly. Goffredo can't help but notice that it's rosy and pretty, making him salivate. Goffredo swallows that shame down as quickly as it rises.

“You can’t make up your mind if you’re hard to get or not.”

Goffredo is surprised by Aldo’s stunned silence, and the bright pink of Aldo’s high cheekbones tell Goffredo that he’s hit close to home for the second time that evening. So maybe I do know you as well as you know me.

“Hush and let me take care of you.” Goffredo chides gently, and he can tell that Aldo tries to argue his innocence but is rendered unable by the feeling of Goffredo’s left hand coming to gently toy with his nipples through his shirt, his broad forearm braced against Aldo’s chest in a way that makes Aldo’s dick throb.

Goffredo asks a ridiculous question, “is this good?” As if Aldo’s noises weren’t bouncing off the walls to collide in a heavenly chorus.

Aldo can barely manage to nod his head affirmatively before Goffredo is increasing the pace of his hands, his thumb grazing the head of Aldo’s dick repeatedly. He’s surprised again by how quickly Aldo comes undone in his arms, spilling onto the tile floor. It’s a sight to behold, the way his face contorts just so: he feels foolish for thinking Aldo couldn’t get more beautiful, but he seems to be developing a knack for being proven wrong.

With Aldo’s slight frame trembling against him, Goffredo chuckles warmly. “I thought I was the virgin.”

“Fuck you.” Again, it would sting if Aldo weren’t bright pink and giggling airily.

“You’ll need to come up with something better to say when I prove you wrong.”

“Oh, are you anticipating doing that a lot?” Aldo leads back against him, allowing his body to rest momentarily. Always leaning.

“I’m anticipating doing plenty of things.” Goffredo murmurs, his lips finding the skin of Aldo’s right shoulder and pressing soft kisses there. Nudging Aldo towards the bed that seems too small for the first time in Goffredo’s life, the younger man takes the hint and begins peeling sweat-damp clothes off of their bodies.

“How should I-“ Aldo begins, and his question is rendered unnecessary by the push of Goffredo’s hands. Again, Aldo is perceptive enough to decode the words Goffredo is perhaps unwilling to say, and he crawls forward to position himself on his forearms and knees.

Goffredo pauses to enjoy his view yet again. It was something he had been ashamed of for a great many years, and probably still was a bit: a hairy ass made him feel like every bit of the gay man he didn’t ask to be. And this was another area where Aldo had been gifted. Just the right smattering of hair exactly where it ought to be.

And an ass like that deserved to be celebrated, it was his duty to appreciate God’s gifts to the Earth. This is the mantra Goffredo repeats mentally as he pulls Aldo to the edge of the bed by his hips, making a delighted moan flee Aldo’s mouth, and buries his face in Aldo’s ass.

It’s an addictive feeling, the scratch of his beard against the soft hair covering the younger man’s softer skin. The promise of beard burn on the delicate cream of Aldo’s inner thighs. Goffredo has to keep a decisive grip on Aldo’s slim waist as he jolts and jerks uncontrollably when Goffredo laves his tongue over Aldo’s entrance, tired of the teasing already.

Goffredo can feel Aldo’s cock drooling at the attention, his hole clenching desperately around Goffredo’s tongue as he fucks Aldo just lazily enough to be villainous.

“Please- please-“ Aldo gasps, his fingers tangling in Goffredo’s sheets. When he’s in a more cogent state of mind, he’ll rib the other man for the ridiculousness of them: the silk, the maroon that was eerily reminiscent of the cardinalate, all of it. But in this moment, the slick silk feels like worship against his dick.

“Please what?” Goffredo asks, his pointer finger, broader and warmer and rougher than Aldo’s, reaching to tease the slit of his cock.

“Jesus!” Aldo hisses, and Goffredo nips at his thigh, making him jump slightly in Goffredo’s arms.

“Cursing is a sin.”

“You’re eating my ass.”

“Mm, yes, but you were about to ask me to fuck you…”

Aldo splutters at the hypocrisy, his hips bucking into Goffredo’s touch. “Please.”

Goffredo sighs dramatically. “Alright, alright, but we’re going to work on your manners.”

Aldo breathes a sigh of relief when he feels the warmth of Goffredo’s thighs against his own. He opens his mouth happily to suck three of the older man's fingers, gasping in pleasure as Goffredo ruts fruitlessly against his ass.

Goffredo would like to say he opened Aldo slowly and sweetly, but the truth is that they were both a bit too impatient for that, and Aldo likely would have killed him if he’d taken even a moment of his sweet time. Instead, Aldo pushes back against every thrust of Goffredo’s fingers inside of him, his moaning reaching a pretty pitch as Goffredo teases the exact spot where Aldo needs him most.

Goffredo curses as he inevitably breaks away from Aldo to gather a bottle of a viscous liquid from his nightstand. Aldo raises his eyebrows. “Some respect for the vow of celibacy, indeed."

Goffredo narrows his eyes, unamused but thoroughly enjoying the sight of Aldo with his ass spread in the air like a feast made by Satan himself. “We can pray together, if you’d prefer that.” Goffredo feigns indifference as he dabs the liquid onto his fingers and strokes himself firmly. He watches with an obvious smirk as Aldo’s eyes dart down to stare at his dick.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to taste it again.” Goffredo teases, making Aldo roll his eyes.

“Don’t be so full of yourself.” Aldo chides, and then, “Actually, shut up and fuck me.”

Goffredo, as always, is an obedient servant. Aldo’s back arches even further, making Goffredo’s cock throb hard enough for Aldo to gasp out another curse- this time in English, but Goffredo won’t hold that against him. He's too consumed by the blissfully tight heat convulsing around his dick.

Tightening his grip on Aldo’s hips, Goffredo sets a pace that is intentionally frustrating. He doesn’t intend to lose any pride after so satisfyingly humbling Aldo with an orgasm, and the only way to ensure that is to fuck Aldo slowly.

As usual, things don’t go according to Goffredo’s plan. After a few seconds of steady thrusts, Aldo is whining desperately. “You’re a fucking dickhead.” Aldo chokes out, managing to kick Goffredo gently with his right foot.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Goffredo grins, and again finds himself flipped unceremoniously to be stuck between Aldo Bellini and a hard place. He gasps at the feeling of the cold air against his dick, but Aldo fixes that in short order. Goffredo is helpless but to grip Aldo’s hips again as he sinks himself onto Goffredo’s cock.

By contrast, the pace Aldo sets is relentless, and Goffredo finds himself again wondering how it was possible for someone to fuck the air out of his lungs. His hips ache slightly as Aldo ruts against him, drawing weak groans of exasperated pleasure from Goffredo’s lips.

Goffredo, then, is not surprised by how quickly he finds himself dangling close to the edge of finishing. For Aldo, seeing Goffredo under him, looking so disheveled and unable to hide himself was enough to make him feel a little light-headed. The white strands at Goffredo’s temple bobbing in time with his movements, Goffredo’s glasses pushed awkwardly against his cheeks, the pink flush of his neck. It was too much to take, and Aldo needed to taste him again: he grabs the gold chain around Goffredo’s neck and pulls, yanking the older man up to press against his chest.

Aldo’s fingers remain tangled in gold as he muffles Goffredo’s cries with a heated kiss, his toes curling when he feels Goffredo coming inside him as soon as Aldo can suck at his lower lip. He didn't think he'd ever made a man cum with a kiss before.

Goffredo curses like a sailor when he finishes, and Aldo makes a note to criticize his hypocrisy again later. For now, Aldo is happy to gently rock his hips in time with the rhythm of Goffredo’s, a smug look crossing his face.

When Goffredo slips out of him, he’s only alone for a moment before the older man is wrapped around him like a dependent animal. “Let me feed you arancini.” Goffredo purrs, rendering Aldo into breathless laughter.

“You sound like a grandmother.” Aldo teases, gently bumping the side of his skull against Goffredo’s forehead. "Give me a second to catch my breath, at least."

“I don’t care, I want to smoke a cigarette and buy you dinner.” Goffredo says warmly, pressing gentle kisses into the side of Aldo’s cheeks. It feels… oddly intimate for the moments after a one night stand, but Aldo supposes that they are in Italy, after all.

Before long they’re hastily assembled into their discarded clothing and stumbling out of Goffredo’s front door to light up. While their earlier cigarette had been complemented by the quiet of the street, this time they chatter like a pair of hens.

“What do you do, anyway?” Goffredo giggles in between haphazard puffs.

“I’m a graduate student.” Aldo answers easily, smiling as his fingers graze against Goffredo’s to take his due turn.

“Ah, yes, I could see that.” Goffredo says genuinely, nodding. “In what?”

There’s a pause that Goffredo would likely recognize as awkward if he weren’t in a state of euphoria. “Theology.” Aldo replies.

Goffredo snorts, looking at Aldo with the beginnings of confusion. “You’re a theology student, your saint is Tommaso D’Aquino, and you don’t attend the Angelicum? What sense-“

Aldo interrupts him handily. “I thought you were going to feed me, not lecture me.”

Goffredo nods in reluctant acquiescence and nods his head in the direction of the piazza a few blocks from his apartment.

As they stroll, Aldo changes the subject. “What’s your last name, anyway? I suppose I should know that by now.”

“Tedesco. And you?”

“Bellini.”

Goffredo nods. A strong Italian name. It suits Aldo well. He playfully extends a hand, pausing their walk momentarily. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aldo Bellini.”

Aldo mocks a slight bow of his head. “And also with you, Goffredo Tedesco.”

Goffredo scoffs half-affectionately. “You shouldn’t joke about things like that. Our liturgy is serious.”

Aldo bumps his shoulder against Goffredo’s. “Seriously outdated, maybe.”

Goffredo gives an offended “oh!” and Aldo cackles. Goffredo can almost forgive him, with how much he loves that damned laugh.

They bicker all the way to the arancini shop, and Goffredo shouldn’t be surprised that Aldo is a liberal. It’s always a disappointment, though. What’s happening to our young Italian men? Disgraziata.

But then they’re preparing to eat and they exchange a quick but meaningful look before bowing their heads in separate prayer, making the sign of the cross.

They’re silent for a moment as they scarf down their food. “Don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous-“ Aldo asks, “you just fucked the shit out of me, we’re sitting here eating street food, and we’re praying. I mean, it’s ridiculous.”

Goffredo has been tempted his entire life to agree, which is precisely why he can’t.

“Just because the rules are inconvenient for me, that doesn’t mean they aren’t rules or that I shouldn’t obey. God decides what we must do. Not men.” Goffredo says firmly around a large bite, shaking his head.

“You seriously think God cares about that when His children are starving, dying, suffering…?” Aldo replies, tone veering into genuine incredulity.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, that’s what we’ve always done.” Goffredo shrugs, as if it was that simple.

Aldo leans in, his face betraying his concern. “But don’t you-“

“Aldo! There you are!” A voice calls from across the piazza. Goffredo’s head snapped to see- yes, the couple he’d stolen Aldo from. They were still seemingly intertwined in each other, both smiling sheepishly. Goffredo didn’t know what to make of them as they approached their shared table. But… English? Why are they speaking English?

“We were looking for you!” The darker skinned young man’s voice was melodic, and for what it’s worth, the warmth of his greeting felt genuine to Goffredo.

“I’ll be right there!” Aldo calls, and Goffredo could break his neck at that accent. Un Americano? What did that make him, a vacation fling? I'd sooner die!

“Ah, I’d better go.” Aldo clears his throat and quickly stands, wiping his hands with a spare napkin. "Thank you for dinner, really, Goffredo."

“You’re leaving?” Goffredo says, feeling his heart drop into his stomach and praying Aldo can’t hear it.

“I’ll see you around!” Aldo replies with an obviously put-upon air of nonchalance, and in perfect American English to boot, which feels like a blade. He leans across the table to kiss Goffredo’s cheeks twice, and dashes away, meeting his friends before they can get close. And then Aldo disappears back onto the streets of Rome, laughing like he didn’t even notice Goffredo was missing from his presence. And that stung.

Gone as soon as he came. He had always known God had given him the gift of prophecy, but he’d never been so ungrateful for it as in this moment. And that was, so Goffredo thought, the last he would see of Aldo Bellini.

 

 

Chapter 2

Notes:

happy pride, everyone :) thanks for the support on the first chapter, you are all so lovely!

as you can tell by the updated description, this is going to be an (american) friday drop situation for the duration of the summer :) i hope this can spark some summer fun for folks in the northern and southern hemisphere alike!

Ironically, it’s only a few days later when he sees Aldo Bellini again. This time, he does do a double-take, and actually wonders if God is playing some kind of sick joke on him, sending him a series of indistinguishable bespectacled demon-twinks. But then he gets a better look, and no, that’s Aldo Bellini. The snakes couldn’t lie.

Aldo looks significantly happier than he did the first time they’d encountered one another. Not having been abandoned by his friends just yet, the three men are bouncing around infuriatingly on the dance floor, singing along to some pop song in English that Goffredo has only heard in a setting like this. His heart seizes as he watches Aldo grip his taller, paler friend’s shoulders dramatically and sing a flippant line about the possibility of going to hell into the other man’s bemused face. Does he even notice I’m here?

Goffredo feels incredibly foolish. Aldo’s clad in a crop top and jeans that are, somehow, tighter than the first night they'd spent together. Had he really thought someone like that was going to be taken with him for more than a few minutes? Loyal? At least I know I'm going to hell. No 'could' about it.

He knows he’s staring, so he pulls himself back to his wine and e-cigarette, which was even more disappointing than usual with two bonafide cigarettes still lingering in his system. Idiota. That’s precisely what happens when you let modernists like that into your life. The complete and total disregard for the rules. For tradition. It should be no surprise that similar carelessness had been applied to his heart. And not only that, but to lie! To mislead Goffredo into believing he was a paisano when he was just another tourist. A tourist with perfect Italian, what is this world coming to?

Goffredo is muttering to himself, his fingers tapping in barely-constrained annoyance on the wood of the bar. And then Aldo is pushing in next to him, yet again, and he could almost see stars- of fury, of course. Only of fury.

Goffredo glares at him stormily, and Aldo lets out a low whistle. “And here I thought you’d be excited to see me!” Aldo reaches to touch Goffredo’s forearm affectionately, and his mouth drops in surprise when Goffredo yanks it away.

“You lied to me.” Goffredo growls, but the pathetic look in his eyes removes any intimidation that could have accrued there.

“I- I did not!” Aldo splutters, clearly in shock at the accusation.

“You’re an American.” Goffredo hisses, and yes, it really does sound like a slur.

He has a point there, Aldo knows, but he’s not compromising on any front. “My parents are Calabrese, I told you!”

“Maybe so, but your passport is blue.” Aldo is drawn speechless by Goffredo’s ability to speak so venomously about governmental documentation, which gives the older man a chance to continue his interrogation. “Why are you here, then, anyway? Did you miss a flight?”

“I’m here all summer! I’m-“ Aldo takes a deep breath, bringing his fingers to soothe the bridge of his nose, and Goffredo feels as if he is seeing a vision into the future, when Aldo is his age and as weary as he feels. “Okay, I’ll admit I could have been more forthcoming, but…”

“More forthcoming!” Goffredo squawks. They are both reminded of their mothers, but those are thoughts neatly tucked away. For the therapist’s couch in Aldo’s case, and for the confession booth in Goffredo’s. “You still haven’t told me why you are here. ”

“What are you, a customs officer?” Aldo snaps before he can help himself. He shows his age when he’s guilty. “You won’t… you won’t be mad at me?” Aldo looks up at him from underneath his glasses, and Goffredo can’t believe he’s entertaining someone this childish. It works, of course.

“I am already mad at you, so you can only make it worse with more of your lies.” Goffredo downs the rest of his glass with ruthless efficiency, knowing he’ll need it.

Aldo sighs, and then the truth comes pouring out. “I’m taking a course here for the summer, and I just- to be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you would give me the time of day if you knew I was a graduate student.”

“So you admit it, then.” Goffredo says, and he’s somehow both wildly offended and electrified. “You were using me for my body.”

Aldo’s face is deadpan as he replies. “You’re actually ridiculous. That’s what you’re taking away from what I said?”

“No, actually, I also want you to tell me where you’re enrolled. And who with.”

The poorly-concealed wince that graces the younger man’s face tells Goffredo all he needs to know. “My God!” Goffredo’s pointer finger comes to prod at Aldo’s chest. “You are a menace!”

“It’s not as if the class is with you!” Aldo nearly whines, and Goffredo can admit he feels his knees weaken, but chooses stubbornly to ignore it.

“Maybe so, but you couldn’t have known that until after fucking me, hm?” Goffredo raises an eyebrow, and Aldo knows that he’s- yes, toast.

“Well… it’s still the truth, regardless of when I came to know it.” Aldo says with an air of finality that makes Goffredo scoff, and raises a hand to pour Goffredo another glass of wine. Manipulative little minx.

“So, what, then? You lie to me, get me in my bed, and then disappear?” Goffredo makes a show of grabbing the glass from Aldo’s lithe fingers and taking a drink whose length veered into dramatics. “And you think of yourself as some progressive, you’re just as much of a dog as my grandfather was, God rest his soul.”

“I told you I’d see you around, and here I am. Nobody’s disappeared.” Aldo reaches for his forearm again, and this time Goffredo allows it.

“Well.” Goffredo huffs. “It was still rude. You could’ve left a phone number.”

“I don’t have a phone here!” Aldo protests with an exasperated laugh, and Goffredo looks at him like he’s a used car salesman. “So you’re the only person in their twenties in all of Europe without access to a telephone.” He says dryly, and Aldo’s mouth drops in shock for a second time that evening.

“I’m being serious, I have a phone, but it’s in my flat at home- in England, I mean. I didn’t think I’d need it!”

Goffredo can tell he’s being genuine, but he’s too distracted by the unfurling web of absurdity in front of him. “So you’re telling me,” narrowing his eyes. He calls for the barkeep and orders Aldo an Aperol spritz, tapping his middle finger on the spot of wood in front of the younger man. “You’re telling me that you, with Calabrese parents, decided to go to Europe for a graduate program in Theology… and you didn’t decide on Italy?” Goffredo is half-heartedly attempting an air of bemusement, but his offense is real and obvious.

Aldo raises his eyebrows. “You do understand that Italy isn’t the center of the universe?”

That draws a genuine gasp of horror from Goffredo’s lips. What kind of fools birthed this child… “How dare you. It’s only the cradle of civilization, as you well know!”

Aldo’s fingers raise to rub at his temples in frustration, his elbows resting around his cocktail. “You’re insane. You’re not ridiculous, you’re actually insane.”

“Fine, so you’re here for the summer.” Better than a tourist, at least. “You’re going to have to start telling me the truth if you plan on using me for my body any further.” Goffredo’s lips quirk upward. Watching Aldo poorly conceal a grin in his straw was far too validating.

Aldo nods. “Okay, okay. No more secrets.” The younger man clears his throat. “But only if you keep buying my drinks.”

Goffredo snorts. “Typical. You come to my city, with your American entitlement, wanting everything provided to you…” And I’ll do it. Happily.

“Not everything.” Aldo hums pleasantly, tilting his head. “Just you.”

Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, Goffredo finds himself vibrating with desire to be yanked out of the bar and onto the street for another cigarette and kiss. His face, slack-jawed with sheer and unpracticed want, makes it obvious- and Aldo has that annoying smirk on his face again.

Goffredo clears his throat and scrambles for his e-cigarette, sucking a long draw whose pleasant crackle broke the silence between them. “You’re kind of a slut, for a theologian.” Goffredo says pointedly, ducking his head to look at the younger man through the top of his wire-rimmed glasses.

Aldo lets out a choked laugh. “Thank you, thank you.” He shakes his head, running his right hand over his short, dark hair. “You can see why the parish isn’t exactly calling for me.”

“You know that nobody follows that rule.” Goffredo rolls his eyes, and Aldo looks at him with bewildered exasperation.

“Yes, apparently not. Not even you, God’s most obedient servant.” It’s a phrase that should be a compliment, but it sounds like an insult coming from Aldo’s pretty mouth.

“There’s a reason I didn’t take a vow.” Goffredo says solemnly in between a mouthful of deep red.

Aldo furrows his brow again. “Wait, really? You were seriously considering it?”

“Well, of course.” Goffredo replies incredulously, gesturing to the air around them as if to invoke the entire context of their relationship. “I was a seminarian!”

Aldo is clearly shocked into silence, looking at Goffredo with wide eyes as his cheeks hollow around his clear straw. After a long pause. “You’re joking.”

“No. I’m not like you, I don’t find the Church to be a joking matter.” Goffredo chides, but the affectionate kick of his foot against Aldo’s eases any volatility.

“I really just… I can’t even believe that.” Aldo says, his eyebrows still sky-high. He considers it for another moment, then smiles coyly. “Well. I can imagine it, but.”

“You-“ Goffredo laughs breathlessly. “You’re of the Devil. Is nothing sacred to you?!” The pink spreading across the middle of his face surprises even him.

“Plenty of things.” Aldo replies easily, waving his hand in a dismissive motion that creaks his credibility as an Italian in the right direction for Goffredo. I could work with this.

“Our duty to serve the poor, first and foremost. Christ’s love for all living things, our responsibility to steward the Earth. That the presence of women in our Church has always brought us closer to God.” Aldo watches Goffredo’s face carefully as he speaks, and glares when his self-righteous monologue makes Goffredo snort. “Of course you’d disagree.”

“Oh, I don’t disagree.” Goffredo protests with a wag of his finger. “I just don’t think any of that means we need to be living in communes with female priests and ecumenism and-“

Aldo interrupts him with a scoff. “What’s wrong with you?!” He prods Goffredo in the chest. “Seriously, what century are you living in?”

“It doesn’t matter what century I’m living in, the word of God and His will are what’s important, not whatever political cause you’re flirting with at the moment.” Goffredo’s eyes are wandering between Aldo’s finger, pressed into the center of his chest, and the younger man’s stunned expression.

“You’re lucky you’re sexy.” Aldo replies, his hand dropping in resignation.

Goffredo smirks, nodding his victory. “Go on, finish your little fruity drink so we can go smoke.” Aldo is still feigning indifference but Goffredo can see his gaze turn into honey.

“I really shouldn’t be leaving my friends every time we go out, it’s rude.” Aldo mutters, though his attempt to be subtle in sapping the remainder of his cocktail is failing miserably.

“Who, them?” Goffredo asks, cocking his head towards a darkened corner where the pair are, yet again, pawing at each other in between giggles and kisses that make Goffredo’s stomach flip- no. Turn.

Aldo turns to take in the sight, and sucks his teeth. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you know.” He replies, shaking his head. “A few more people were supposed to come, I wouldn’t be the third wheel, and here we are…”

Goffredo shrugs, feeling warm when Aldo’s gaze returns to him. “You’re easier for me to steal this way.” He admits, and Aldo rolls his eyes.

“Doesn’t make it less rude.”

“And still, you’ve finished your drink.” Goffredo points out, nodding his head in the direction of the sweating glass.

“After you.” Aldo says pleasantly, happy to change the subject from his own guilt. Not that it was stopping him, apparently.

Goffredo slips his fingers into Aldo’s hand and pulls the younger man through throngs of hot bodies to stagger clumsily out of the crowded building. He really hadn’t been planning on needing his coordination that evening when he’d ordered all those drinks, but maybe the liquid courage was more of an advantage than not. Certainly so as he led them into a dark alleyway tucked in between two bars, digging his fingers into Aldo’s jean pocket to extract a carton of cigarettes.

This time, Aldo gets to admire the play of the warm light against Goffredo’s face, making the locks of white curls at his temple all the more striking. “How old are you, anyway?”

Goffredo snorts around the filter and sucks a long hit before replying. “I thought being rude concerned you.”

Aldo shrugs. “I thought we were being honest.”

“I’m thirty-five.” Goffredo replies, passing Aldo the cigarette and watching a bit too intently as Aldo cradled it between long, thin fingers.

After a poignant inhale, Aldo nods. “Nine years, that’s not horrible.”

“You couldn’t have been all that worried about it.” Goffredo tilts his head towards Aldo pointedly.

“Well.” Aldo clears his throat and shivers, the air and shadows chilling his skin. “I hate to inflate your ego further, but you’re very good-looking.”

“Mah.” Goffredo answers, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re the pretty one.”

A little too quickly, Aldo replies: “Does that mean you’re planning on kissing me again?”

Goffredo smirks and reaches his free hand to rest on the side of Aldo’s exposed abdomen, his thumb tracing over the young man’s defined hip bone. The cigarette perched between Aldo's lips is a good excuse to look Aldo up and down ravenously while he considers his response.

“I was thinking of something a bit more exciting.” And he grins when Aldo shivers again.

“Oh, get over yourself. I’m cold!” Aldo makes a show of rubbing at his bicep.

Goffredo thinks to himself that you must be insane to catch a chill on a late-May night in Rome, but he couldn’t complain. “Come here, then.” He grabs at Aldo’s hand, pulling the shorter man close.

Maybe Goffredo is dreaming, but he thinks he can feel Aldo relax into his skin. It feels too natural, Aldo’s arms around his neck, his right hand fitting perfectly into the younger man’s back pocket. The little sigh that flees Aldo’s lips and the dreamy look in his eyes.

He can’t help himself, and his left hand rises to pluck the cigarette from his mouth so that he can lean in, smoke billowing from his nose. He can hear Aldo’s breath hitch, and that makes him smirk.

To be honest, Goffredo isn’t entirely sure who presses in to connect their lips first. Likely because he’s a bit preoccupied with melting into the younger man’s arms, and a good thing too because the gentle moans that immediately emanate from both of their bodies are downright embarrassing. But the way Aldo’s noises are so breathy and high- it gets him hard far too quickly.

For what it’s worth, Aldo doesn’t seem to care, his fingers curling into the soft cotton of Goffredo’s shirt. Trying to hide his excitement, Goffredo attempts to pull his hips away and groans when Aldo’s follow him. Aldo’s fingers reach to curl in the hair at the nape of his neck and Goffredo can feel his eyes roll back into his head.

Aldo pulls away with a gasp, and Goffredo keens, leaning to kiss desperately at the younger man’s jawline. “It’s so hot.” Aldo mutters breathlessly. “How much you like this.” He gives Aldo’s ass a rough squeeze, drawing a little yelp and then a startled giggle from the younger man’s lips. “What, I’m not supposed to notice?” Aldo asks, dipping his neck back as Goffredo traces heated kisses there.

“No.” Goffredo replies. He thinks the response is curt enough to dismiss any suspicion of his insecurity, but Aldo knows better than that.

“It's hard to do that with your dick pressing against my stomach."

Goffredo looks at him with clear irritation at being so thoroughly perceived, and Aldo’s eyes flicker to his fingers as they lift the pair’s neglected cigarette to his lips.

“You look pretty.” Aldo says, and he knows he’s baiting Goffredo now. “With something between your lips.”

Goffredo scoffs, but his ears are burning pink. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Or what?” Aldo asks, raising an eyebrow. Goffredo drops the cigarette, snuffing it with his foot.

“You don’t want to catch a public indecency charge on your vacation, do you?” Goffredo’s fingers come to twist at Aldo’s hair, tugging his head back and drawing a breathy moan from Aldo’s lips.

“My parents would kill me.” Aldo admits, and then after a beat: “Might be worth it.”

You have no idea. Before he can think better of it, he’s dropping to his knees in a quiet alleyway for the first time in a long time.

“You’re insane.” Aldo gasps as Goffredo presses open-mouthed kisses to the warmth of his exposed skin, thumbs caressing his hip bones. Aldo could reluctantly admit he’d never felt quite so treasured. Taken care of. But he also knew the size Goffredo’s head would grow to if he knew that, so he keeps his thoughts to himself.

Goffredo, meanwhile, is a little delirious with the sweet scent that lingers in the soft hair sprinkled over Aldo’s lower stomach. Sweat, and the traces of cologne, and something sour- beer. Some Calabrese.

Even if he wasn’t salivating for it already, although he’d never admit that, his nose would’ve led him to his ultimate destination. He felt like an animal, addicted to a scent. How disgraceful.

“Oh my God,” Aldo moans, and he sounds genuinely distressed. Then Goffredo is pulling at his briefs and all of his desire is laid bare, exposed in the midnight air. “You- we can’t do this, you’re-“ It veers close to a whine, and Goffredo feels like he sees Aldo more for the spoiled child he is with every passing moment.

“You could tell me to stop.” Goffredo presses tender kisses around Aldo’s pubic bone, looking up at him with wine-softened eyes. He watches Aldo’s gaze where it's locked on the wet red of Goffredo's mouth.

Aldo’s silence is thick, clearly planted between a rock and a hard place.

“You think it’s my first time doing this? I know what’s safe.” Goffredo murmurs, and Aldo looks momentarily appalled.

“I didn’t really get ‘fucks in public’ from you.” The younger man admits breathlessly.

“You could say I’m in retirement.”

“Does that make me special?”

Goffredo can’t bear to respond truthfully to that question, so he licks his tongue across the underside of Aldo’s cock and savors the taste instead. Aldo is trembling in his arms already, and Goffredo takes that as a challenge. You aren’t the only one with wiles here.

It’s easier than Goffredo remembers, which makes sense considering he’d never wanted to do this so badly before. Aldo’s fingers are knotting desperately in his hair, and Goffredo can barely stand to tease the head of Aldo’s cock with his tongue. The younger man sounds too pretty, full of want, face fixated in an entranced stare.

In an ideal world, he’d tease Aldo within an inch of his life and leave him gasping for breath in the dark, the way Aldo had left him in the piazza only a few days ago. But he’s not that strong, and he takes the length of Aldo’s erection into his mouth like communion. But better. He curses himself for that. Who was he, now? Could he be so easily undone? A lifetime of work, rendered helpless in the face of some lithe thing from an ocean away? Yes. Without a question.

The draw of his mouth rendered Aldo a whimpering mess, each sound dancing as it bounced through the alleyway, echoing off of buildings. If he was a better version of himself, he might shush Aldo, not wanting to draw attention to themselves and put the younger man at risk. But he finds himself selfish and delighting in each little note. Aldo must read his mind, because he clasps a hand over his mouth, squirming under Goffredo’s touch. He’d like to delude himself into believing he was just that talented at this act that brought him so much shame, but he had to wonder if Aldo had done something like this before. Likely not, he’s so… good.

From this angle, Goffredo can study his view up the thin fabric of Aldo’s top, mentally blessing whoever started cutting the bottoms off of shirts that way. Too drunk on the elation of him their first time, Goffredo allowed himself to really look , eyes drawn magnetically to the simple pectoral cross tattooed into the taut skin over Aldo’s abdominal muscles. He couldn’t help but raise curious fingers to trace it as he swallowed Aldo deep, hardly able to stand the back-and-forth that nearly removed the younger man’s cock from his mouth each torturous time. What am I becoming?

Aldo, on the other hand, was a wreck. His face twists in pleasure so overwhelming it was painful, his teeth sinks into the flesh of his palm to muffle his desperate cries. His knees shake like tree limbs under Goffredo’s frame, his fingers trembling where they bury themselves under the older man's shirt to rest on his shoulder. It’s the scratch of Goffredo’s nails down the front of the inked cross that undoes Aldo completely, buckling against the wall as Goffredo swallows every bit of him. Goffredo delights in the throb of the younger man in his mouth, making his lips tingle with pleasure, and it’s far too soon, he thinks, when Aldo is whining and tugging at his hair in oversensitive bliss.

Goffredo pulls off of him with a pop that draws a groan of exasperated pleasure from the younger man’s lips. “You- you shouldn’t be able to-“ Aldo can barely mutter the words in between gasps for air.

“But I have.” Goffredo smirks, his voice rough and raw and raspy. He indulges himself and presses a few more tender kisses into the flesh of Aldo’s stomach before tucking him back into his jeans and rising from the ground shakily. Lest he forget the wine warming his belly and coursing through his bloodstream.

That warmth propels him forward, bracketing Aldo’s frame as he leans to sprinkle impassioned kisses over Aldo’s cheeks and jaw. “You’re so good for me.” Goffredo purrs, pressing his hips against the shorter man's. That draws a little gasp from Aldo’s lips, and Goffredo smirks. “Come home with me.” Goffredo murmurs with a certain vampiric quality, luring Aldo in at his weakest moment. Before Aldo can half-heartedly protest, the too-close sound of laughter jolts them both, Aldo jumping out of his skin. He pauses, listening, and when he hears the sound of a lighter sparking and lovingly whispered Spanish echoing gently through the alleyway, Aldo sighs.

“I think those are my friends.”

Goffredo looks shocked, then thoroughly unenthused. “You’re joking.”

“Give me another second.” Aldo says impatiently, and slams his eyes shut. After a moment, the distinctive smell of tobacco mixed with… something sour filled the air, and Aldo sighs.

“I should go, if they’re smoking that means we’re going home soon…” Aldo mutters, the laughter of the other men again echoing through the darkened alley. Goffredo turned his head to examine them from afar where they leaned up against a building across the way, swaying with drunken delight. Fuck them. He can’t bear to contain his jealousy.

“It doesn’t look like they miss you too badly. Come with me.”

And Aldo looks genuinely tempted, but forces himself to shake his head. “I want to, I do, I just-“ He sighs exasperatedly. “I promised I wouldn’t do something like this, so I should really just-“ And then the younger man is beginning to wiggle out of Goffredo’s arms, and he feels like he could spit fire. Before he can think better of it, Aldo’s fingers grip the front of Goffredo's shirt and he unites them in another burning kiss, which feels like a consolation prize to Goffredo given the context.

“You’re really going to leave me out here, on the street? Again?” And the truth of it makes Aldo wince. But he must be the prideful sort, because he cups Goffredo’s cheek gently to tenderly kiss the other, and walks away with a pitying look on his face.

“I owe you one! I promise! I’ll be here!” Aldo calls in English a few feet away from him, and again, the switch to a foreign tongue feels like a mortal injury.

"You're of the Devil, I told you! The Devil!" Goffredo has to shout loudly to compensate for Aldo's distance from him, aided by his own momentary speechlessness.

For the second time, Aldo Bellini disappears into the night, and Goffredo is left dumbfounded. He watches as Aldo’s friends almost jump in shock at seeing him emerge from the shadows, and his heart pangs at the ensuing giggles. Then Aldo’s fingers are taking a rolled cigarette from another man, and Goffredo could throw a tantrum right there, still painfully hard. All he can do is watch as the young men smoke and laugh, playfully shoving each other as their drunken cackles echo throughout the night air. Then they’re piling into a cab, and again, Aldo is gone as quick as he'd appeared.

But Goffredo knew one thing. If Aldo would be here, in this place, then he’d build a barricade of devotion at that bar every night until the chill of fall whisked the younger man away. And I am a man of my word. He'll see.

On his walk home, Goffredo buys a packet of cigarettes and a lighter for the first time in years. So much for compromises.

Chapter 3

Notes:

praise be to whoever posted an edit of ralph fiennes in sunshine (1999) for giving me my thomas reference.

fr. gutiérrez is a little shoutout to gustavo gutiérrez, father of liberation theology <3

next week, the plot thickens...

It’s, surprisingly enough, daytime when he sees Aldo next. Goffredo is engaging in the greatest of all Roman pastimes, baking on a café patio while devouring espresso and cigarettes. He’s deep in proof-reading a manuscript for a colleague, the blood red of his pen marking coffee-stained pages for death. He glances at his watch for an update on his daily (self-inflicted) countdown to the acceptability of wine, still a tedious hour away. Goffredo sucks his teeth and pushes his glasses up into his hair with one hand, rubbing at his eye. That’s how he sees Aldo for the third time, blurry and half-concealed by his own fingers.

 

Goffredo drops his hand immediately, scrambling to place his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He watches with a slack jaw as Aldo traipses through the street as casually as a local, nursing an iced coffee and holding a book. It’s a little disappointing, to see his stomach and upper arms covered in a baggy t-shirt, but it suits him in a way that makes Goffredo’s heart pang in his chest. And besides, the tiny shorts were a decent consolation prize. Before he can bother telling himself to be casual, Goffredo is lifting his fingers to his mouth and whistling. Aldo’s head snaps in his direction, more than a little bewildered until he lays eyes on Goffredo.

 

Aldo’s mouth breaks into a grin, and he gives a little half-jog as he approaches Goffredo’s table. It feels like a victory, which should be pathetic, but Goffredo is too far gone to care.

 

“Well, it’s good to know you have other hobbies.” Aldo says dryly, plopping down into the metal chair across from Goffredo. Without being asked, mind you.

 

Goffredo smiles and makes a show of rolling his eyes. “I could say the same for you. My God, I’ve never seen you so covered up: are you on your way to church?” Goffredo feigns innocence and makes Aldo kick his foot lightly in offense.

 

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Aldo replies, and it’s a dig, but Goffredo can hardly tell with Aldo’s voice like honey.

 

“Espresso?” Goffredo clears his throat and nods in the direction of the empty ceramic mug sitting in front of him. Aldo hums, considering the half-empty cup in his hand.

 

“Could be a bit late for me.” Aldo considers out loud, and Goffredo scoffs.

 

“Planning on an early night?” His voice is dripping with skepticism.

 

“Maybe I am.”

 

“My bed’s comfortable.” Goffredo offers with a shrug, but nobody is buying his act of indifference. “I’m sure we could find something to do if the caffeine keeps you awake…”

 

Aldo snorts. “Why is it that every time I see you, you’re trying to take me home with you?”

 

It was a fair question, and with an answer that Goffredo knew in his heart but wouldn’t admit out loud. Because I want to keep you.

 

“I enjoy hosting.” Goffredo scowls, reaching to take a cigarette from the carton on the table.

 

“What happened to your little gadget?” Aldo asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“It’s right here.” Goffredo answers, gesturing to where his e-cigarette rested, but knowing that wasn’t what Aldo meant.

 

“Don’t be a smartass. Not that you can help it, I’m sure.” Aldo clears his throat. He flags a waitress down and orders them both an espresso, making Goffredo grin from beneath a cloud of cigarette smoke.

 

“I told you that you’re a bad influence.” Goffredo mutters, reaching his hand across the table to share yet another cigarette with a vexing American.

 

“Mm, yes, you did. You should’ve listened.”

 

It was bizarre how Aldo could do that, enter Goffredo’s orbit and suck all of the air away, leaving a thick cloud of implication in its place.

 

“How’s your trip, then? Course starting yet?” Goffredo asks, trying to break some of the tension between them. It works well enough as Aldo begins chattering along.

 

“It’s been great! Really good. You know, I spent every summer here growing up- in Calabria, I mean. I liked it enough, but I think Rome is more my speed. The people, the architecture, the art, the bars- the food. ” Aldo closes his eyes in over-dramatized bliss. “The only thing, they’ve got us stuffed like sardines in these hot dormitories, it’s horrible.” He shakes his head, and Goffredo nods in understanding. They always stuck the international students in the worst rooms.

 

“You know, I just happen to know someone who lives a few blocks from the Vatican, plenty of space, air conditioning…” Goffredo says with an air of apathy, nodding at the waitress who drops by with their drinks. He’s thankful Aldo at least allows him to finish gulping down the dark liquid before-

 

“Happy endings, too, apparently.” Aldo smirks, and Goffredo chokes on his own spit.

 

Aldo cackles, an expression of true joy, and it makes Goffredo’s heart throb as much as it infuriates him. “That’s not funny.” Goffredo says darkly. “You have no idea what a- what a privilege it is to have-“

 

“So you admit it, I’m special.” Aldo tuts and drains his mug. “I’m kind of surprised, you were very proficient for an alleged novice-“

 

“ Shut up. ” Goffredo hisses, his cheeks burning pink as he rubs at his temples in frustration.

 

“Don’t forget, I owe you one.” Aldo hums, bumping their knees together affectionately.

 

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been at the bar every night. Where have you been, hm?” Goffredo asks accusingly, nursing his cigarette as if it were a balm for his wounded ego. “Twisted like a pretzel in between those friends of yours?”

 

It’s Aldo’s turn to choke on his iced coffee now, and the younger man can’t help but to laugh. “Uh, no. Absolutely not. What, you don’t have friends?” Aldo asks, his eyebrow raised in confusion.

 

“Not friends like that.” Goffredo replies with an air of disgust, and Aldo rolls his eyes.

 

“Right, yes, because it’s disgusting and perverse and we’re the only ones doing it correctly, is that it?” Aldo says pointedly, and Goffredo is silent. It sounds stupid when you say it like that.

 

“You really don’t… with them? Ever?” Goffredo asks, the disbelief still lurking in his voice.

 

“ No.” Aldo says emphatically. “I mean, Thomas and I used to date, but that was… it feels like forever ago now.” And Goffredo just knows that the pale one with dark hair and a ridiculous mustache must be Thomas.

 

“And he left you? “

 

Aldo laughs breathlessly, exasperated amusement clear in the sound. “ Actually , no, and I really don't know why everyone seems to assume that. " Aldo clears his throat. "And Vincent’s really great for him, they’re great together, it’s just-“ He sighs. “It’s overwhelming to be around them all the time.”

 

Goffredo nods. He can accept that, then, if Aldo is the one who ended things. He could stave off the jealousy. Probably. “Yes, they seem very… smitten.”

 

Aldo chuckles wryly. “Yeah, you might say that.” It's an obvious statement, after all, even to Goffredo.

 

“Why did you break it off, then? You must be well-aligned, you’re in the same program?”

 

Aldo rolls his eyes at the absurdity of the statement. “We’re just from different worlds.” He answers after a pause. “We… approach life from different angles.”

 

And we don’t? But Goffredo would have to save that question for another day.

 

After a pregnant pause, “In any case, to answer your question, my class starts on Monday. So you’ll need to get your fill of me this weekend before I have to do some actual work.”

 

It’s as if Goffredo can feel his heart falling through the floor. “You won’t come out anymore?” He asks, and it sounds more pleading than he means it to.

 

“I will!” Aldo laughs, reaching under the table to touch Goffredo’s knee. “I’ll just be busier. That’s all.” Goffredo knows it would be easier to just mock him, so he appreciates the reassurance all the more.

 

“So that’s it, then? I’m resigned to seeing you on random nights for the rest of the summer, like I’m some secret? That doesn’t seem particularly fair.” Goffredo clears his throat, but as usual, any pretending at nonchalance is a complete failure.

 

“You’re the one who needs this to be secret.” Aldo protests, and Goffredo scoffs.

 

“We’re in Italy! Everyone’s married to one of their grad students!” And that renders Aldo speechless for a moment.

 

“For one, that’s disgusting. I’m also… not your student, let me remind you. And thank God, because then neither of us would be entertaining the other… right?” Aldo says expectantly.

 

Goffredo’s fingers grab at his e-cigarette, a nervous habit, taking a long draw to buy himself a moment. And yet… “Well…”

 

Aldo laughs in shock. “And you’re calling me a dog!” He draws his hand from where it had been resting on the older man's knee. “That’s you, then? You just have a rotating supply of boy-toys to work through every year?”

 

Goffredo gives an offended “oh!” that reminds Aldo too much of his grandparents. “I’ve never slept with a student- and I never would!” He argues, and Aldo can barely manage to gesture his hands wildly between them to point out the hypocrisy.

 

“You- you’re- it’s different!” Goffredo protests weakly, and that makes Aldo grin.

 

“Finally.” He says with an air of victory, relaxing back in his chair, the stretch of his body spread out in the Roman sun for everyone to see. Goffredo found himself missing that crop top. “You admit it.”

 

“I offered you a place to stay for two months, do I really need to admit anything?” Goffredo growls and reaches across the table to grab Aldo’s drink and take a sip. It’s sickeningly sweet, and it makes him grimace. American indeed. “What is that, raspberry?"

 

“Cherry.” Aldo replies, and Goffredo doesn’t know why warmth spreads in his lower abdomen, except that he needs to feed Aldo Bellini fruit every day for the rest of his life. “You weren’t being serious, by the way.” Aldo says, and Goffredo furrows his brows.

 

“Of course I’m being serious, what are you talking about?”

 

“No.” Aldo shakes his head. “You wouldn’t let me stay with you after sleeping with me twice. That’s insane.”

 

Goffredo shrugs. “Why not? You said it yourself, those dorms are miserable.”

 

Aldo laughs. “I bet you’d know, with how often you’re in those beds!” And that makes Goffredo narrow his eyes.

 

“You’re playing with my reputation.”

 

Aldo feigns fear, raising his hands in protested innocence. “Oh no, what are you going to do?” His voice is airy and melodramatic, batting his eyelashes. “Tie me up and make me beg for mercy?”

 

“Don’t tempt me.” Goffredo growls, his eyes darting between the younger man’s lips and hazel eyes. Then their waitress, whose friendliness is normally appreciated, breaks the silence. Aldo notices that, here too, Goffredo must be a regular: she knows well enough that with the pass of the hour, Goffredo might be interested in a bottle of wine. Goffredo looks at Aldo searchingly, and when Aldo extends his fingers around folded arms and shrugs, Goffredo nods his assent to her.

 

“And water, too?” She asks helpfully, and Aldo answers for him.

 

“Yes, lots, please. And thank you.” Aldo clears his throat, and Goffredo furrows his brows but gives his thanks to the young woman and lets her walk away before chiding Aldo.

 

“Are you hen pecking me?” He asks accusingly, and Aldo shrugs again.

 

“I’m just making sure you don’t drink yourself to an early grave.”

 

Goffredo scoffs. “You have room to talk!"

 

Aldo raises an eyebrow, smirking. "I'm on vacation. "

 

That draws a sound of strangled exasperation from Goffredo. "Wine is natural, it’s- it’s from the Earth!”

 

“You’re delusional. You do know that, right?” Aldo giggles, and Goffredo wags a finger in protest.

 

“No, actually, I think you’ll find you’re the delusional one, thinking we should just upturn the foundations of our society for the benefit of the uneducated-“

 

“Latin Mass is not a foundation of our society.” Aldo interrupts, shaking his head in bemused disbelief. “ Your society, maybe, but not mine.”

 

Goffredo scoffs, waving an arm disdainfully. “And therein lies all of your problems. You think you can just shirk off the past and do whatever feels good, but God demands better of us than that.”

 

“Oh, and you’d know all about that." Aldo levels him with a glare. "You can’t just fixate on the rules like an obsessive-compulsive, you actually have to follow them if you believe they’re just, and that’s what makes you a hypocrite. Because if you don’t do anything with them, your precious rules don’t matter.” And Goffredo hates knowing how much he would’ve detested Aldo in graduate school. He was smart, and he knew it, and that made him all the more frustrating. Especially when he was wrong.

 

“You’re the-“ Goffredo struggles to find the English phrase. “ Cafeteria Catholic!”

 

Aldo rolls his eyes. “Is that supposed to offend me, really? My opinion is less valid because I’m not clinging to words written by men over hundreds of years?”

 

Goffredo groans, how low could Aldo possibly go? “You’re so infuriating, I don’t know why I-“ he cuts himself off before he says something that can be used against him.

 

“ T here’s a good question. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Aldo smiles at the waitress as she reappears with their wine. He thanks her warmly, Goffredo still sitting in the thick silence of what he’d almost said. Aldo obligingly pours them both a glass of dark red and clinks their glasses together ceremoniously.

 

“Well, then. Go on. Why is it that you’re so taken with me?” Aldo asks from over his glass.

 

“I don’t appreciate this line of questioning.” Goffredo mumbles, avoiding his glance.

 

“I’ll go second, you just have to go first.” Aldo says with a measure of fairness, but Goffredo isn’t sure if he should believe him. But the promise of praise dangling in front of him makes him even more obedient than usual.

 

“You’re- I-“ He pauses, clearing his throat and taking a moment to be intentional with his words. “Our chemistry is obvious.” Goffredo says, gesturing to the air between them with his free hand. “You’re sharp, and stubborn, and maddening-“

 

Aldo laughs. “These are supposed to be compliments, you realize?”

 

“I’m getting there, patience!” Goffredo chides. “Everything about you, it all just…” He searches for the right words again. “Sets me on fire.” Goffredo pounds at his chest symbolically, and Aldo conceals a smile. “We’re different, true, but we’re… how did you say it earlier? I think we're from the same world.”

 

Aldo nods in understanding. “I know what you mean.” The younger man takes another sip of his wine, and Goffredo is embarrassed seeing how much more quickly his glass empties than Aldo’s. But I do have more experience. “You should frustrate me so much, and- and you do, don’t misunderstand me.” Aldo says, pointing a finger in Goffredo’s direction accusingly. “But I just like you.” And what he doesn’t say is heard regardless, loud and clear. Was that really so bad?

 

“It helps, obviously, that you’re handsome, and charming, and accomplished, and you make me laugh…” Aldo says, waving a hand as if brushing away the compliments as soon as they came into existence. “But I don’t want to inflate your ego, so I’ll stop there."

 

“Handsome, hm?” Goffredo replies smugly, and Aldo scoffs at his point so quickly proven.

 

“Don’t be cute, you know you’re handsome.” Aldo replies, his eyes lingering on the stubble covering Goffredo’s jaw.

 

The older man was downright sinful, and it shouldn’t be possible for him to look so innocently baffled every time Aldo complimented him, even if he did a decent job at hiding it.

 

“Oh, come on. The doe eyes, the big hands, the chest hair peeking out of the Oxford shirts, this-“ Aldo reaches to twirl a strand of Goffredo’s white streak of curls between his fingers. “This nonsense.” Goffredo can feel his ears burning and all he can think to do is- more wine. Better to have something to blame the pink of his face on than not. “That little belly that I could just bite-“

 

Goffredo interrupts Aldo with a scoff. “Easy now.” He scowls, batting Aldo’s fingers away from his hair as the younger man descends into a fit of giggles. "You'll laugh too, when life catches up with you."

 

“I mean it, it’s sexy !” Aldo protests, batting his foot against Goffredo’s flirtatiously.

 

Goffredo shakes his head in offense. “You don’t need to worry about my ego, you’re killing it with swiftness.”

 

“Aww,” Aldo teases, making pitying eyes in the older man’s direction. “I’ll have to find some way to make it up to you.”

 

“I’ll start on a list.” Goffredo rolls his eyes, his response sending Aldo into another fit of giggles. Who does he think he is? Being such a precious thing?

 

“And what comes first?” Aldo asks, reaching to pour Goffredo another glass of water, then of something stronger. Horrible, terrible influence.

 

“Well, as you acknowledged, you owe me one.” Goffredo replies darkly, obligingly gulping at the clear liquid. Aldo smirks approvingly, and Goffredo hates how much the hint of praise fills his chest to the brim.

 

“You have big plans for me, do you?” Aldo asks, looking at him heatedly from under his glasses.

 

Goffredo hums and reaches to cup the younger man’s jaw briefly, running his thumb over his pouted lower lip. “Don’t worry, you won’t need to do much.”

 

“Jesus .” Aldo replies breathlessly, hiding his pink cheekbones behind the tip of his glass towards his lips. “I think that’s the most romantic way anyone has ever asked to fuck my throat.”

 

“ And you’ve been asked a lot, have you?” Goffredo’s fingers fall to tangle in the gold chain around Aldo’s neck again, sending both of their minds flying to vivid memories of Aldo yanking him forward to kiss him while they fucked.

 

“I live to serve.” Aldo replies half-sarcastically, but the rough of his voice betrays the thoughts decorating his mind.

 

“I can see that.” Goffredo hums and allows himself to brush his knuckles against the side of Aldo’s neck before unhanding him. He swears he can watch Aldo start to lean and follow his touch. You need me just as much as I need you.

 

Aldo clears his throat. “If you’re going to be so infuriating,” He says, drumming his fingers on the table. “You should at least help me understand why you are the way you are.” And Goffredo admires his strength, because he knows if they continue on this path, he’ll have Aldo with his legs dangling in the air before the sun sets. And that was just unbecoming for the both of them.

 

“Where to start?” Goffredo sighs dramatically. “Well, my father was a laborer. My mother stayed home, so we were always close, but I think my father has never really… understood me. Probably because I never took to sports- I don't like to sweat.”

 

Aldo chuckles knowingly, having heard this type of story a thousand times. “I can imagine. Did you feel called to the priesthood as a child?”

 

“ My God, yes.” Goffredo chortles, rubbing at the base of his glass with his pointer finger. “The incense, the myrrh, the gold, all of it was- terribly exciting when everything else was so boring. I liked the routine of it, and the time to think.”

 

“The kids in my neighborhood used to make fun of me.” Aldo admits. “I always wanted to pretend to be a priest.”

 

That draws a guffaw from Goffredo. “Really? No-," he searches for the right English, "no cops and robbers?”

 

“No, certainly not, I wasn’t allowed to-“ Aldo begins, then changes his mind. “Let’s not talk about my parents.”

 

“No, let’s!” Goffredo protests, reaching to top off Aldo’s glass supportively. “It’s only fair.”

 

“Well, my parents didn’t really let me- I wasn’t allowed to make a mockery of the downtrodden. So no, no-" Aldo clears his throat, "cops and robbers.” It still feels strange to hear Aldo's English, so tell-tale American in its way.

 

Goffredo narrows his eyes. “You’re kidding. Where on Earth did you grow up, to live like that?”

 

“ New York!” Aldo protests with a laugh. “A few blocks from the Basilica of St. James."

 

Goffredo nods, knowing the area from his travels as a seminarian, and it’s far too easy to imagine Aldo as one of the little city kids he’d seen there. Running in between school and the corner store, laughter reverberating throughout the streets. He could see how someone growing up like that could end up like this, thinking that anything was possible, that tradition shouldn’t hold anyone back. But Goffredo wasn’t raised that way.

 

“Do you miss it?” He asks instead, choosing peace.

 

Aldo nods. “Yes, all the time. Nowhere else feels quite like home, but I-“ He sighs. “I love my parents, but they… hover.”

 

And Goffredo can certainly relate to that. “They care for you very much, I’m sure?” He asks.

 

“I’m their only son.” Aldo scoffs, as if it was obvious, and to Goffredo it was.

 

“Spoiled.” Goffredo smiles warmly, and he can see that too.

 

Aldo rolls his eyes and takes a hearty gulp of wine. “I know I am, and I don’t want to be that person for the rest of my life.” He admits.

 

Goffredo nods, but can’t relate. He was more like one of a litter of rowdy pups growing up, and maybe that was why he’d always felt a bit forgotten. “You’re not horrible.” He reassures Aldo, and then spoils any progress he’d made by continuing. “Just a little bit of a princess.”

 

“I’m not a princess!” Aldo protests, and even he can hear the whine in his own voice.

 

“It’s okay.” Goffredo shrugs. “You just need to find someone who isn’t your parents to care for you, that’s all. Isn’t that what we’re all doing, hm? Healing our wounds?” He asks with an air of indifference, but he’s not getting off so easily.

 

“If I didn’t know better, I think you were in therapy.”

 

Goffredo scoffs. “No, I just read books, believe it or not. Not everyone needs an ‘other’ to see the ‘self’ through, you know.”

 

Aldo makes a strangled sound of offense around another mouthful of pinot. “Now you’re really reminding me of my parents, trying to argue critical theory with me."

 

“What sort of people raised you?!” Goffredo replies exasperatedly, shaking his head.

 

Knowing he wasn’t allowed any more secrets, Aldo sighs. “They’re professors.” He admits. “Sociologists.”

 

“ Now, ” Goffredo says, borrowing a phrase from the younger man as he reaches for his water. “We’re getting somewhere.”

 

“Please, spare me the amateur psychology.” Aldo snorts.

 

“No, no, I can just see it perfectly now. How you got to be such a precious little thing.” And that makes a pretty blush spread over Aldo’s long, sun-kissed neck.

 

“See? There you go again.” Goffredo murmurs, his hand reaching to mime the pounding of his chest. “You’re too cute to speak to in the daytime, I’ve decided.”

 

Aldo gestures to the air around him. “Well, we’re doing a good job of wasting the sunlight.”

 

“I hope I didn’t distract from your plans for the evening.”

 

“No, genuinely.” Aldo replies, leaning back in his seat again to enjoy the beginnings of the nighttime air. “I was just going to read.” He nods his head towards the book now tucked into the small bag slung around his shoulder and abdomen.

 

“Really?” Goffredo asks. “So you weren’t going to come out and see me?” His voice is teasing, but they both know there’s an air of truth to the question.

 

“Well, I didn’t know you were waiting around for me every day, but that’s flattering.” Aldo sighs, and Goffredo kicks his foot.

 

“Don’t be arrogant, I thought you were working on being less of a brat, no?”

 

Aldo smirks and shrugs. “You don’t make it easy.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“You’re so- permissive, I feel like I could get away with anything.”

 

That draws a genuine growl from Goffredo, and he sees the hairs rise on Aldo’s arm. “You’re going to get yourself into a situation you can’t handle with that mouth of yours.”

 

“Going to twist me like a pretzel?” Aldo grins cheekily, and Goffredo kicks at his foot again. “Oh, as if you don’t like it.”

 

And Goffredo couldn’t argue with that, because he adored it.

 

“Let me buy you dinner.” Aldo says with an air of finality. “I owe you for my rudeness- twice. I don’t have anywhere to be, let me buy you dinner.”

 

Goffredo shrugs, unable to argue with that. “Where will you take me, then, for my consolation dinner?”

 

Aldo hums, thinking for a moment. “Sushi?”

 

Goffredo narrows his eyes, shaking his head. “You could have stayed in England and had sushi, no? We’re in Rome.”

 

“You pick the place, then.” Aldo shrugs, and they enjoy the momentary silence as they finish their drinks and tidy their table.

 

Before long, the sun is setting and they are giggling half-drunkenly through cobblestone streets, a cloud of smoke following them. The cool air that blows off the water is a relief to the warmth of their skin, baked in the southern Italian sun while they bickered away. It feels like the perfect night, but it’s easy to feel that way for Goffredo, who can’t conjure up a thing to complain about for once in his life.

 

He guides them to a small restaurant occupying the corner of an inconspicuous building, and Aldo is relieved that he doesn’t find himself lost in a foreign city with just a book to keep himself safe. That thought made desire pool in his stomach, the feeling of safety and the ability to blend in in this city where he had always felt adjacent to locality, but not enough to be fully accepted.

 

Now it’s like he’s been here his whole life.

 

Especially tucked into a tackily-decorated booth, the warmth of candlelight flickering between them. Goffredo is surprised when Aldo doesn’t protest at his request for more wine, and they both live to regret his sudden leniency.

 

Their legs are tangled together underneath the table and, much to Aldo’s surprise, Goffredo is caressing the inked snakes on his forearm with one hand and grasping at Aldo’s palm with the other. It felt… almost too intimate, which was growing to be less of a surprise with every passing moment. They both had their hesitancies, even fears: friends and colleagues lurking every corner, promises broken. It was hard to keep up pretenses when it felt like they occupied the world on their own.

 

“How could you possibly prefer living there to here ? It doesn’t make any sense. Everything you like about Rome, it’s horrible in England.”

 

And Aldo sighs, because he can tell this argument will be a reoccurring theme, and Goffredo has an annoying habit of making good points- somehow. “I’ve already spent… what, forty-four months of my life in Italy? I’ve already lived here, basically. Where’s the fun in that?”

 

Goffredo snorts. “No, no you haven’t. Visiting and living are different, showing up for a summer and then disappearing like you’d never been there doesn’t count.” He knows the words ring a little too true in their present moment.

 

“It counts for something, doesn’t it?” Aldo argues gently, pulling Goffredo’s arm closer to him. “All of my family is here, I speak the language…” He trails off to roll his eyes at Goffredo’s shaking head.

 

“You lost all privileges when you said it was more fun there than it is here, surely that’s a lie if nothing else.”

 

It feels like a loaded question, and Aldo considers it for a moment. “Maybe not fun, but I’m there for school, and the program is good. I get to meet new people, experience new things- that’s good, isn’t it?”

 

“Depends on your perspective.” Goffredo replies dryly. “Me, I like the people I know already.”

 

Aldo snorts. “That’s the thing about you all, you’re complete recluses. Scared of leaving your own doorstep.”

 

“ You all who?”

 

“Conservatives!” Aldo laughs as if it’s obvious.

 

“I’m not conservative.” Goffredo says, astonished.

 

“You have to be joking. Really, you’re that unaware of yourself?” Aldo raises an eyebrow.

 

“I'm a traditionalist. I just value our history. That’s all.” Goffredo frees a hand to down more wine.

 

“Now that, I can see. The greatest of Roman traditions: unprotected male-on-male sex.” Aldo says dryly, and Goffredo smirks.

 

“Don’t get me thinking, or I’ll have to oil you up and pin you down next time.” He purrs, and Aldo chokes out a strangled laugh.

 

“You’re insane.” But the tips of his ears are red.

 

“What, you’re too good to enjoy anything so base? Only flowers and poems would please you?” Goffredo asks, bringing Aldo’s knuckles to his lips and pressing kisses there.

 

“I didn’t say that.” Aldo clears his throat, his eyes lingering on Goffredo’s lips. “It just all seems a little… archaic. The toxic masculinity, the latent fundamentalism…” He trails off. “But you’re definitely tempting. I wouldn’t mind being tossed around a little.”

 

“I think we can manage that.” Goffredo’s voice is so low it rumbles through Aldo’s chest.

 

“After I taste you again.” Aldo says pointedly, and grabs at Goffredo’s wine glass momentarily. “Because I owe you one.”

 

“You’re the one who keeps bringing it up.” Goffredo stares at the younger man hungrily. “You must be excited.”

 

Aldo blushes, a sheepish look crossing his face. “I’m- I’m a generous lover, God forbid.” That draws a drunken giggle from Goffredo, his head shaking in delight.

 

“I like it.” He admits, barely able to contain his laughter to tell the truth. “Watching how it makes you drool.”

 

Aldo glares at him. “ Stop.” After a pause. “We're in public.”

 

Goffredo rolls his eyes. "And I'm the conservative."

 

It's good timing, the tension between them delayed for just a moment, when they disentangle themselves as their food arrives, dropped uncermoniously on the slightly-rickety table.

 

As they had during their first meeting, they dip their heads in silent prayer, and Goffredo is surprised when he opens his eyes to see Aldo still deep in conversation with God, his eyes squinting. Goffredo just observes him for a minute until the younger man's eyes flicker open.

 

"You had a lot to say?" Goffredo asks, shaking out his napkin and resting it on his thighs.

 

"What, you don't?" Aldo asks, and reaches for their shared bread.

 

"We don't really speak in that way." Goffredo says with a shrug, and that draws a startled sound from Aldo's lips.

 

"What do you mean?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 

"I don't know, I suppose I don't want God to chastise me." And that answer is so full of meaning it makes the air between them feel heavy.

 

"You'll probably mock me, but you realize that prayer is really just a form of talk therapy, right? Self-exploration?" Aldo says through a mouthful of bread and butter. "So if you feel chastised, it's because you're chastising yourself. Don't bring Him into it."

 

Goffredo waves his hand dismissively. "Maybe I can just hear Him better than you can."

 

"Mm, no." Aldo replies curtly, and makes a show of closing his eyes and holding the table with both hands, but only for a moment. "I just checked, and He thinks you're being an idiot."

 

Goffredo scoffs, ignoring Aldo to dig into the plateful of pasta piled in front of him. "You really shouldn't joke about things like that." He points his fork at Aldo accusingly. "He'll strike you down, you know."

 

Aldo chuckles, shaking his head. "If it hasn't happened yet, it's not coming. Believe me."

 

And then there's silence as they scarf down their respective meals, a day of baking in the sun making their stomachs yearn for some substance that wasn't liquefied sugar. In the quiet, it's easier for Goffredo to fixate on the way their legs bracketed each other, the way Goffredo's knee rested against the soft flesh of Aldo's inner thigh.

 

He wasn’t sure if it was the sunshine, the flowing bottles of wine, the similarly shared cigarettes, the tennis match of their every conversation, or some mixture of the above that turned their dinner chatter so sickly sweet. He might’ve been ashamed on a normal day, but there was something about Aldo that made him want to be different. Better, maybe, but he wouldn't be admitting that thought to the younger man anytime soon.

 

Goffredo is sweetening his offer, his hand clinging possessively to Aldo's, twisting and turning him like a puppet to peck kisses over the younger man's forearm and bicep. "Why won't you stay with me?" Goffredo purrs. "It's only two months, and I'm a good roommate. Very tidy."

 

Aldo hums, his lids heavy from all of the wine and kisses. "I can't, I'd never hear the end of it."

 

"From who?" Goffredo asks, raising an eyebrow and nipping possessively at Aldo's wrist.

 

"I'm here to be with my friends!" Aldo laughs. "And to learn, and to-"

 

"Your friends who spend half their time swapping spit and giggling?" Goffredo asks, without a hint of irony that was clearly justified. "Somehow, I don't think they'll miss you that much."

 

"No, they'd probably be happy to have the room to themselves, but-"

 

Goffredo cuts Aldo off with a dramatic wave of an arm.

 

"But I promised I wouldn't do this kind of thing!" Aldo protests, still laughing.

 

"Do what kind of thing?" Goffredo's hands go back to pawing at Aldo's arm, bringing the younger man's knuckles to his lips to kiss them delicately.

 

With his free hand, Aldo gestures to the air between them. "Get... involved. With someone."

 

Goffredo looks at Aldo dryly. "Oh, because you're such a dog, you break hearts everywhere you go?"

 

" No," Aldo replies emphatically, and Goffredo knows it's the truth, but that doesn't mean he'll stop picking on the younger man about it anytime soon. "I just... I've felt-" He reaches for liquid courage, and buys himself some time for wordsmithing. "I get lonely, sometimes. Don't you?" Aldo asks Goffredo, and he can see the answer in the other man's eyes without needing a response.

 

After a pregnant pause, "So your friends don't want you to be happy?" And that makes Aldo roll his eyes petulantly.

 

"Of course they do. They just don't want me to..." Aldo pauses, again considering his words. "I'm not a half-in sort of person. If I'm in, I'm in, and being in on a summer abroad is a sure way to wind up with a broken heart, as everyone knows." Another gulp of wine. "That's all."

 

"Well, are you?" Goffredo asks, giving Aldo a measured look.

 

"Am I what?"

 

" In." Goffredo replies assertively, and that makes Aldo blush.

 

"It's early days." Aldo shrugs, again attempting an air of nonchalance. Can't fault him for trying.

 

Goffredo snorts. "So that's it? You won't stay with me because you'll fall in love with me?"

 

"Well, if we're spending that much time together, it's a significant possibility, wouldn't you agree?" And Aldo's honesty is surprising.

 

"Well... yes, of course." Goffredo admits, clearing his throat and staring into his pasta, a convenient distraction. He hadn't really considered the implications of that before. Living together did escalate the situation, and where love lurked there was also the threat of vulnerability, of difficult conversations with his parents, of concealed secrets with his colleagues... and all of that was as terrifying now as it had ever been. Maybe worse, he thought, because I'd have something to lose.

 


 "There, then. You agree." Aldo reaches for the dwindling bottle to pour for both of them.

 

"You're that scared?" Goffredo asks breathlessly, and that time he startles himself.

 

Aldo's expression turns stormy. "I'm not scared, I'm-" He scoffs in frustration. "I'm just trying to be smart. That's all."

 

"Really?" Goffredo asks with an air of disbelief. "Or are you more concerned about your friends and what they'd think of you shacking up with some boring old man while they're fucking their way through Rome?"

 

Aldo scowls, and Goffredo knows his questioning is nearing the truth. "It's not even about you!" He sounds exasperated, and Goffredo can't help but believe that he deserves it. "Believe it or not, it's about me, and-"

 

"Your inability to accept when you're wrong?" Goffredo raises an eyebrow and levels Aldo with a glance.

 

"Yeah, maybe." Aldo replies, stubborn as all hell. Damned Calabrese. "Is that so horrible?"

 

"When it keeps you from me, and me from you..." Goffredo shrugs. "Yes, I think it is horrible."

 

"What if I'm not a good roommate?" Aldo asks, his eyebrows raised. "What if I'm messy, a terrible cook-"

 

"Are you?" Goffredo asks curiously, and Aldo gives a frustrated sigh.

 

"Well, no, but-"

 

"Stop inventing reasons to hide yourself from me." Goffredo says firmly. "You must frustrate God, always looking at His gifts so ungratefully. You'll live to regret it." Goffredo sighs. "Believe me."

 

And for once, Aldo has no snappy reply, perhaps because he knows it's true.

 

"For what it's worth," Goffredo adds, clearing his throat. "I'm in."

 

He can see from the expression on Aldo's face that the young man is truly surprised, but as usual, he chooses snark as his preferred coping mechanism. "Oh, really?" Aldo asks airily. "I would've had no idea, with you camping out at the bar every night hoping to see me."

 

Goffredo rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't need to if someone had a telephone."

 

Aldo smirks. "I don't know, I kind of like making you work for it." That makes a flash of pink spread over Goffredo's cheeks.

 

"A menace, I tell you." His voice has started to slur, a side effect of a day full of sun and wine.

 

"We'd better get you home." Aldo says with a sigh, and normally he'd protest, but getting Aldo to his front door seemed like a step in the right direction.

 

But Goffredo's lack of protest is too obvious, and Aldo is narrowing his eyes at Goffredo's sleepy smile as he pays their bill, the older man wishing the restaurant staff a good evening. Aldo had to wonder how he could be a local everywhere they went, his interpersonal skills were something to admire.

 

Then they're sharing a cigarette on a walk home, the air turned pleasant by the setting sun and air wafting off of the Tiber. Their conversation turns back to their treasured hobby, arguing pointlessly over ideology.

 

"I just think that you, wanting everyone dancing through meadows holding hands in peace and harmony, would understand the importance of a shared language." Goffredo mutters around the filter, and Aldo laughs in exasperation.

 

"Sure, fine, but why does it have to be Latin? If you could explain that to me without succumbing to your fascist tendencies, then we might have room to agree."

 

"Fascist?!" Goffredo squawks in offense. "Is that what you call anyone who dares to introduce realism to your fantasy world?"

 

Aldo giggles. "Just you." He reaches to ruffle Goffredo's curls affectionately, and that takes the bite out of the insult.

 

"If I'm a fascist, what does that make you?" Goffredo asks with a scowl, batting Aldo's hands away.

 

"A faggot, I guess." Aldo shrugs, and Goffredo bristles at the word.

 

"You shouldn't talk that way." He chides, passing the younger man the cigarette.

 

"It's not a bad thing, you know. It's only bad if you believe it's bad." Aldo takes a long drag. "And I happen to love it."

 

Goffredo rolls his eyes. "Oh, yes, I know you do."

 

Aldo smacks his shoulder in offense. "Shut up." Another long drag. "You love that I love it."

 

Goffredo clears his throat, waiting for a gaggle of chattering men to pass them before he speaks. "I do, actually." He pauses for a second, and then the wine gets the best of him. "I've been fantasizing about that pretty look on your face all week." Goffredo purrs, reaching to land a firm smack on Aldo's right ass-cheek, drawing a startled yelp from the younger man.

 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Aldo mutters, pink spreading across his neck.

 

"Oh, you don't?" Goffredo growls, using one of Aldo's belt loops to yank the younger man into a heated kiss. There were people around, but Goffredo couldn't trouble himself to care, not when the bustling street lent just a hint of anonymity. Aldo gasps into his lips, hesitating for a moment before he melts against Goffredo, feeling his body go slack. His stomach full of alcohol, any inhibition Goffredo once maintained was gone, kissing Aldo with a fierceness that made goosebumps crop up on the younger man's arms. There was no battle for dominance here, Goffredo noticed, just Aldo's shivering frame against his as he cupped Aldo's jaw and kissed him forcefully. The sounds were profane, the wetness of their mouths and Aldo's little gasps filling the night air. A whistle from across the street pulls them from one another, and Goffredo smiles sheepishly as the group of young women seated at a cafe across the street waved at them, playfully egging them on.

 

"Perverts, the lot of you!" Aldo shouts across the street, laughing as he takes Goffredo's hand and drags him in the direction of his home, glad for his sound memory as Goffredo stumbles through the streets after him. Wasn't the older man supposed to be the responsible one? And there they were, Aldo shepherding Goffredo through foreign streets, knocking away Goffredo's searching hands when they made it too difficult to focus.

 

Goffredo's hands are trembling as he unlocks his front door, stumbling into the foyer. The memories of the space turn their cheeks mutually pink, and Goffredo doesn't take long to get ideas. He's at Aldo's neck in the blink of an eye, his finger hooked into the gold chain around Aldo's wrist, using it to pin the younger man weakly to the wall.

 

"I thought we talked about this." Aldo gasps, his head tilting back unconsciously to permit more heated kisses, and groaning when Goffredo's canine teeth graze the tender skin of his throat.

 

"It's not my fault you look so perfect like this." Goffredo purrs, and his free hand reaches to palm at Aldo's half-hardness through his jeans.

 

Aldo moans, wanting more than anything to relent, but Goffredo can feel the hesitance in his body.

 

"You don't want to?" Goffredo asks pathetically, and the strand of dark hair that falls into Goffredo's eyesight is almost dreamy enough to make Aldo compromise on his morals.

 

Aldo sighs. "I do, more than you know." His thin fingers tuck the loose strand of Goffredo's hair away, and the keening sound that erupts from the older man's mouth as he relaxes his head into Aldo's touch almost undoes him again. Almost. "You're drunk, my darling." Aldo hums, running his fingers through Goffredo's thick curls.

 

"So?!" Goffredo whines incredulously. "We were drunk the first time."

 

"Yes, but you can barely stand, and I'm-" Aldo gestures down to himself, and Goffredo hates to notice how seemingly well-put-together Aldo is in contrast to him. Horrible influence. The very worst.

 

"But you know I want to." Goffredo hums, nipping at Aldo's jaw. That makes Aldo shake in his arms, the younger man's hips pushing forward subconsciously.

 

"I- ah-" Aldo clears his throat, gentle open-mouthed kisses to his jaw drawing him speechless. "I do, but I also-" He yanks Goffredo's lips away with a gentle tug of his hair. "I want you to remember." Aldo says firmly, meeting Goffredo's eyes with his own. "Because the next time I have you, I won't stop until you're begging."

 

The promise makes a strangled sound of want escape from Goffredo's lips, and Aldo smirks.

 

"You can be patient for me?" Aldo asks teasingly, tracing his thumb under Goffredo's pouting lower lip. The older man nods, dumbfounded.

 

"Good." Aldo draws him in for another deep kiss, almost resetting all of the progress they'd made thus far, until Aldo is peeling himself from Goffredo's grasp.

 

"This was fun." Aldo hums, ignoring the pawing and weak protests pouring from Goffredo's lips. "We should see each other when the sun's out more often."

 

" How?" Goffredo whines. "How can we, when you don't have a telephone?"

 

"You're so dramatic." Aldo rolls his eyes. "You could plan a date, you know. Tell me to meet you somewhere, and I'll be there."

 

"Is that what this was, then? A date?" Goffredo asks warmly, smirking.

 

"Well, we spent time together, we talked, we ate, and we're not sleeping together, so... yes, I think so." Aldo replies, and the reminder that his thirst was going unquenched drew a low rumble from Goffredo's chest.

 

"Okay, okay. Go to sleep." Aldo says with a giggle, leaning in to press two quick pecks into Goffredo's cheeks. "I'll see you soon, probably?" He asks, and Goffredo nods. That would have to do for now.

 

And then Aldo Bellini is leaving him stranded and full of want yet again. At least this time, my bed is here. Goffredo grumbles as he piles onto the mattress, barely bothering to peel his clothes off before sinking into cool, silken sheets.

 

It's so comfortable, so divine- only Aldo's presence could improve the situation any further. It's so perfect that Goffredo almost misses his phone ringing the following morning, his eyes still squinting in sensitivity as he presses the plastic to his ear.

 

"Yes?" He growls, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour.

 

"Hey, hey, Goffredo, sorry to bother you." The voice on the other end of the call speaks rapidly, and he recognizes the voice of Father Gutiérrez, his department chair. Work? On a Saturday morning? This would have to be good, or the union would be getting a call from him shortly. "My mother's sick, and I need to leave to care for her for a few weeks- you know I've got those international students this summer. They're from Oxford, so they'll be good, and you've taught the course so many times- we can add a little to the pay, too, I know you're busy, but we need someone who speaks good enough English-"

 

"I'll do it." Goffredo says with a firmness that surprises them both.

 

"What, really?" Gutiérrez laughs, and Goffredo resents his reputation as obstinate. "I thought I'd have to take one of your classes for the fall, at least."

 

"Yeah, you can do that too." Goffredo clears his throat. "Monday, right? Send me what you've got. Good luck with your mom, I'll pray for you both."

 

And just like that, their shared summer became all the more interesting.

Chapter 4

Notes:

for anyone who didn't see this twist (if you can even call it that) coming from the start, i apologize. to my fellow degenerates, enjoy.

we’re going to bounce on over to aldo-land for the next couple of weeks (3, i think,) and then we’ll take this thing home. isn’t summer flying by? :)

thank you all so much for your support, i have so loved hearing all of your two cents, curiosities, and more. it truly makes me so happy to hear what y'all have to say, so please feel encouraged to continue sharing your thoughts!

The fourth time they meet, it's in a cold lecture hall, and Goffredo feels like the cat who's just gotten the cream. It's a Monday afternoon, which was always an ideal time for a nap, but he felt surprisingly awake. Buzzing, even. He doesn't think he's ever arrived to a lecture so early, certainly not since getting tenure. But these students don't know any better, so they take his punctual, well-caffeinated, and chipper disposition as a fact of life, although it was anything but.

Of course, Aldo and his friends are some of the last to trickle into the room that feels comically large compared to every other venue they'd occupied together. Goffredo wouldn't recognize him if it weren't for the snickering and iced coffee. It's the change of wardrobe, he thinks, that throws him. It feels downright odd to see Aldo in a shirt with long sleeves. Oh, a black turtleneck and jeans? How original. Goffredo might scoff at the perfection of it all. For someone who clearly felt himself very unique, Goffredo felt like he could predict Aldo's every move. Aldo doesn't even glance his way as he makes his way to a seat, whispering greetings as he passes by and apologies as he files in. Aldo plops unceremoniously into a chair and pulls a notebook from his bag, holding a pen momentarily between his lips as he skips through pages, lands, and then finally locks eyes with him.

And is it ever a joy for Goffredo to watch the look on his face change. He feels like he can hear the younger man's thoughts for a moment, he's glaring such lethal daggers in Goffredo's direction. You little shit.

It's enough to make Goffredo giggle, and he can hardly contain himself when he sees Aldo's eyes narrow. I win. You're stuck with me.

Aldo is burning a bright pink, his fingers going to yank the soft sleeves of his shirt down to cover his wrists, and then crossing his arms.

Goffredo watches as the young man who he now knows as Thomas leans over, muttering a question to Aldo. And he nods, waving a hand dismissively.

One thing that Goffredo had failed to calculate for in devising his little plan was how unpracticed Aldo was at hiding his feelings. He wasn't perfect either, to some capacity: after all, he was Italian. But his relative mastery of the art of blending in made Aldo look like a walking traffic sign of emotion. When Goffredo explains that Father Gutiérrez will be overseas in Peru caring for his sick mother for the duration of their course, but that he sends his regards, Aldo gestures exasperatedly- as if to say "oh, of course." That makes Thomas and Vincent look at him like a maniac, and then bewilderedly at one another. It delights Goffredo to know that they'll rib Aldo over supper that night, asking what had gotten into him, and knowing Aldo will lie.

Another thing that Goffredo had neglected to account for, however, was the difficulty of lecturing with Aldo sitting there staring at him. The course is a subject he's well-versed in, even having written his dissertation on a related topic, so it should be easy. "Rituals of the Roman Catholic Church," what could be simpler for him? But then Aldo is glaring at him with stormy eyes and he feels a bit like a punished child. He hadn't really accounted for that, either- sure, he knew Aldo would be angry, momentarily, but this angry? Furrowed-eyebrows angry?

The erratic tapping of Aldo's fingers against his notebook feels like pounding in Goffredo's ears, and he stumbles over his English repeatedly amidst a talk he's given probably a hundred times. He's always had a difficult time with English words beginning with "th." It's a little torturous in a course where he's constantly discussing thinkers and theology, which come out sounding more like dinkers and deology, and makes him feel a little silly in front of someone whose Italian was so good as to deceive him. Then there were words beginning with "ha," which Goffredo's Venetian accent always transformed into "ga," and made discussing possession in English a downright nightmare. For all of the older man's struggling, Aldo clearly can't be bothered pretending to take notes- or maybe even to listen, his hand raising to rest his pen between his lips again. Goffredo clears his throat, and Aldo shakes his head in detectable frustration.

Goffredo can see Thomas and- yes, Vincent, he thought, stealing glances at Aldo's barely-concealed vibration of emotion. It's in these moments that Goffredo realizes that yes, actually, this plan might have been a little bit dangerous. For as well as he felt he knew Aldo already, his housemates would know him better, and there was no hiding the beet-red of Aldo's ears. Was this a bad idea? It was a thought Goffredo hadn't really experienced too many times in his life, as someone who (he felt) chronically played it safe. But it had seemed like a gift: Aldo's classwork was going to take away from their short time together, so God handled him a solution on a platter, as was so often his merciful way. But now Goffredo is wondering if it was more of a test than a blessing. Goffredo's conviction, he supposed, in the strength of their bond (so palpable a strand in the universe that it could never be compromised upon) might have overtaken his sense.

It's actually torturous, his voice gruff and at-times raw, Aldo's ever-shifting facial expressions as he comes to terms with the reality in front of them. It's a blessing, he thinks, that today is only an introductory lecture: what were they supposed to do every subsequent day, when they were meant to be discussing readings and dissecting arguments like they didn't know one another from Adam? Let alone know one another biblically? I think I might be an idiot, actually.

And then there's Aldo's damned pen again, his pink tongue darting out between bite-swollen lips to wet the plastic occasionally, and it's subtle enough that Goffredo doesn't realize it's intentional. At first. And then Aldo's pushing the bottom end of the pen past his lips and sucking softly, as if in concentration, and Goffredo feels his ears warming. He'll just pretend Aldo doesn't exist, that would have to work. There would just have to be an imagined wall around the younger man and his infuriating will to bring the worst out in him. This is his fault, he has to remind himself.

Eventually, he can hastily call the class to a close, his voice probably overly dismissive. But it was too much, actually, and he hadn't planned for that. Aldo's stare was too warm, too strong, and Goffredo felt laid bare. Aldo is smirking infuriatingly, and he slips out of the room without a word. Without ever a glance in his direction.

That's what makes it even more surprising when Goffredo leaves his apartment later that evening to head to the bar, whistling pleasantly until Aldo's form, leaning against the wall of his building, makes him jump out of his skin.

"What’s your problem?!” Goffredo hisses, but that doesn't stop him from yanking a paper carton from his pocket.

"My problem, are you joking?!" Aldo smacks at Goffredo's forearm, but doesn't stop the older man from lighting a cigarette. "You really think we're going to have a giggle and a smoke after you-" Aldo is left speechless with frustration. "You know what you did."

"I did a favor for my colleague, may God forgive me!" Goffredo protests, and they're both too smart to think that anyone had believed the words that just exited his mouth.

"So, what, that's the plan?" Aldo asks, grabbing the cigarette from Goffredo's lips before he can take a proper inhale. "You see me every day, monopolize all my time, and then what? I'm stuck being your houseboy for the rest of my life while you play intellectual five blocks from the Vatican?" And that actually hurts. It sounded lovely now that he considered it, yes, but Goffredo had never once thought of Aldo that way. "I meant what I said to you, and- and I never expected you to use it against me." And the raw betrayal in Aldo's voice hits straight to Goffredo's knees.

"I-" Goffredo splutters, watching Aldo's lips wrap around the filter and suck like a dying man. "I didn't think of it like that, really, I just-" It'd been this way since he was a child. When left to defend himself of a true wrong, he went speechless. Words escaped him. "You said we'd see less of each other with class starting, I thought this would be a way for us to see each other." And that makes Aldo scoff.

"Yeah, that's certainly one way to do it." Aldo bites mockingly, and Goffredo winces.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I really don't think of you that way. I mean it." And Aldo knows he's telling the truth, but isn't content to let him off easily. Maybe some small part of him delighted at the dreaminess of it all: a one-night-stand turned summer romance, studying under a prolific theologian that was still young enough that Aldo would have many years to enjoy being under Goffredo in between heated debates on the Roman Rite and translations of ancient Hebrew. It was a little elitist and wrong, sure, but sexy: there was no denying his most base tendencies. And that made Aldo feel sick to his stomach.

But Goffredo doesn't know all of that, and Aldo intends to take it to his advantage. "You'd better not fall in love with me." Aldo says casually, taking another long drag and watching Goffredo's eyes follow his lips. He must be enjoying the attention, because he plucks the cigarette from his lips and places it back between Goffredo's, leaving the older man feeling a little weak in the knees. Which makes the following gut punch more shocking. "I'm only here for two months, and besides, we are politically misaligned."

That draws a genuine squawk from Goffredo's chest. "You can't be serious."

"I couldn't be more serious, actually." Aldo says solemnly.

"You're the one preaching about tolerance, and harmony, and finding a way to exist with one another..." Goffredo draws a deep inhale. "So self-righteous, and for what?" His eyes flicker to Aldo's arms, again bare. He can barely stand to be covered up in his pretentious costume, look at him."Your little turtleneck?"

Aldo gasps and Goffredo sees a couple passing by flick their heads in their direction. Goffredo smiles and waves, willing for them to disappear into the evening.

"You're a dick!" Aldo hisses, half-whispering. "You didn't seem to be complaining when you were ogling me for the entire hour." Aldo levels him with a look. "Which is unprofessional. If that means anything to you.”

"Me?! It's you who is unprofessional, you and your- your fucking pen!" Goffredo splutters, and Aldo can't help but smirk.

"It's what you deserve, for being so conniving. Very unbecoming of you." Aldo presses an accusatory pointer finger into the center of Goffredo's chest. The touch warms Goffredo, despite the hint of venom attached to it. Then a cool breeze floats between them, and they're sharing a cigarette, and Aldo's dressed for a night at the bar-

"It's so good to see you." Goffredo purrs, and that makes Aldo kiss his teeth.

"Don't start with that." Aldo replies, batting away Goffredo's searching hand when it reaches for his wrist. "I bet you're still hungover from last night, you skunk."

"No." Goffredo protests, fingers settling to tangle in one of Aldo's belt loops, and Aldo rolls his eyes. They both know where that leads. "I've sworn off wine." And the very ridiculousness of that statement draws a strangled laugh from Aldo's mouth, smoke pouring from his nose.

"You? You're giving up wine?"

"Yes." Goffredo replies warmly. "I'll never touch it again, if it means I've lost even one chance to make love to you."

Aldo snorts, but the blush spreading over his cheeks betrays his genuine emotion. "Yeah, right." After a pause, "Some wine is good. But I need you to be able to walk without assistance, or it gets to feel a little twisted.”

And Goffredo can't argue with that. "Okay. We can compromise." He nods, and Aldo shakes his head.

"You really are ridiculous. I'm not joking." Aldo says firmly, and Goffredo shrugs.

"So, I'm back on wine." Goffredo says happily, pausing to take another drag. Aldo laughs, and it still makes Goffredo's stomach do flips. "Does that mean we're going out tonight?" He reaches for the gold chain of Aldo's bracelet again, and this time the younger man allows it.

"I don't know, you're not trying to get me to go home with you?" Aldo asks, raising an eyebrow, but he can't hide the quirking of his lips.

"Not yet." Goffredo tuts, and invades Aldo's space just enough to get the younger man's back up against the wall. "What if I want to dance with you again?"

"Well, do you?" Aldo asks, eyes darting between Goffredo's eyes and lips. I'm not alone in being so well-trained, am I?

"I think it's less that," Goffredo clears his throat and leans in an inch- infuriatingly, for Aldo. "And more that I like watching you dance."

"Really?" Aldo replies, and it sounds more breathless than he intends it to be.

"My God.” Goffredo snorts, and plucks the vestiges of their sixth, by his count, shared cigarette, dropping it to the ground. "Even with your little friends, you can tell you're a good fuck."

That prompts Aldo to punch Goffredo's chest affectionately, snorting. "Shut up. You're stupid."

Goffredo shrugs. "Maybe so." Then after thought. "Maybe that ass is making me stu-"

"Stop!" Aldo laughs, leaning in to silence him with a kiss.

Goffredo thinks that Aldo's tongue must be made of everything good in the universe, the way it twists around his own while Aldo's fingers curl in the cotton of his shirt. Aldo's grip is fierce there, and that makes Goffredo smirk, knowing he isn't the only creature of want in the immediate vicinity. It only takes the suck of Aldo's lip in between Goffredo's teeth to draw that pretty symphony from the younger man, and Goffredo swears he can feel his body relax as if sedated. It helps that Goffredo feels hidden from the world, Aldo's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to the younger man's level. Goffredo's hands tense around Aldo's waist, cradling him there and treasuring how small Aldo felt, how breakable. That was some consolation prize, to remember that the young man who held Goffredo's heart in his hands too had weaknesses.

Aldo releases his mouth with a wet pop. "Come on." He whispers, voice rough. "It's Monday, I think drinks are half price for another hour or two..." He trails off, and Goffredo snorts.

"Oh, and you're buying?" And that makes Aldo's toes tingle with warmth, something about being taken care of. But Goffredo obliges, and pulls him down the street and toward the building that felt like it was becoming their secondary residence.

Goffredo was surprised by how pleasant a bar companion Aldo was when he wasn't constantly being pulled away by his friends. He got along well with the bartenders, could conjure up an interesting fact about nearly every song that came on, and knew an alarming amount of party tricks. It was easy to see why so many of Aldo's classmates had chirped their greetings to him warmly, despite the veneer of pretension Aldo's all-black poet's ensemble projected. The life of the party, who would have guessed.

Then again, Goffredo had always been the same way before the world had turned him bitter, and he was in fine form that evening with Aldo as his companion. The wine didn't help with his tendency to shout, but his jokes and stories drew genuine laughs from neighboring couples, prompting Aldo to blush and smile into his drink, and in turn, making Goffredo's chest swell with pride.

Aldo's decidedly easygoing nature was also a pleasant surprise. He was happy to drag Goffredo onto the dance floor every so often, then refill their drinks, then back to whatever corner they could find for more giggling and shared secrets, and repeat. Goffredo, who was really more the type to camp at one stool all evening, found himself adapting quickly: it wasn't so bad, dancing. It helps to have a good partner.

It also likely helped that their dancing, more frequently than not, turned into impassioned kissing with a side of half-rhythmic swaying in between sweating, bopping bodies. Goffredo doesn't know the last time he just kissedsomeone like this, yearning for Aldo's mouth every time it was taken from him. But the sight of Aldo's bite-swollen lips is a treat in and of itself, and Goffredo finds himself staring far too often. When Aldo catches him, he pulls them outside for another cigarette in a darkened alleyway, though they're almost always half-smoked in between heated kisses and momentary ruts of desperation.

And if Goffredo thought Aldo couldn't whine any prettier, he's wrong. His hands trapping Aldo's waist against his, Goffredo uses the younger man's belt loops to rut their hardnesses together through thick layers of fabric, and Aldo sounds like heaven. Aldo's fingers are locked in his hair, his head tipped back and eyes closed in pleasure as Goffredo sucks purpling marks onto the exposed skin of his clavicle. A too-loud moan draws giggles from someone down the street, and Aldo pushes Goffredo away half-heartedly. "Be patient." Aldo chides, and it's as if he's telling himself as much as the taller man.

"One more dance?" Goffredo asks, lips still pressing into the heat of Aldo's skin, looking up from underneath his glasses. "Then I can take you home and have my way with you?"

The phrase makes Aldo tut, but finally, he agrees to the proposition.

And maybe that's a mistake, because their last dance is fittingly filthy.

It's Aldo's fault, really, pressing his ass so closely against him. It's sinful, and it's wrong, and it's hypnotic when he moves his hips like that. And then he's looking back at Goffredo like he knows exactly what he's doing with that infuriatingly smug smirk, and Goffredo has no choice but to humble him a bit. His left hand keeps its vice grip on Aldo's hip, but his free hand rises to twist lightly around Aldo's throat, holding him firmly there. The moan that escapes Aldo's lips sounds like something that shouldn't be permitted in public, and then they're blushing and staring each other in the eyes, Aldo's ass pressed ever-firmer into Goffredo's crotch by the older man's palm wrapped around the slender expanse of his throat.

It's a mistake they both enter of free will when their lips lock together that way, an embrace far too intimate for a dancefloor, and yet here they are, bringing out the worst in each other. Aldo can only bare it for a few moments, squirming against Goffredo's body heat and mewling as he sucks at Goffredo's tongue like it's lifeblood. That draws a growl from the older man, and goosebumps spread across Aldo's arms. Aldo's whisper, "take me home," feels like the softest thing in the world to Goffredo's ears.

They can't keep their hands off of each other in the cab, earning more than a few exasperated glances from their driver, an elderly woman who drives infuriatingly slow. Aldo has to repeatedly bat Goffredo's hands away from his shorts, but that doesn't stop Goffredo from trying.

The walk to Goffredo's doorstep is far too long for weakened knees, and he drops his keys twice, prompting more whines from Aldo. To be totally honest, Goffredo is expecting to fuck Aldo right there in the foyer, but it’s a pleasant surprise when Aldo peeks around a corner to point at a smaller room attached to the sitting room. It’s a part of Goffredo’s flat that Aldo’s never been before, and he wonders if that’s what makes him curious. “Is that your study?”

The bookcases that line the walls must give it away. Goffredo furrows his eyebrows, not understanding the relevance. He nods.

“Should we…?” Aldo trails off, an eyebrow raised, but Goffredo can see the blush rising on his cheek. He smirks.

“You want to fuck in my study?” Goffredo murmurs, and it sounds more like a growl.

Aldo tries to hide a little smile. “I don’t know, the scarlet silk sheets in the bedroom are a little much…” and it’s infuriating how he knows exactly which buttons to press to get what he wants.

Goffredo scoops him up with a grunt , hoisting Aldo over his shoulder as easily as one would a disobedient puppy. Aldo yelps in surprise, but the erection digging into Goffredo’s shoulder-blade is tell-tale.

“You’re such a brat.” Goffredo growls, his free hand raising to smack Aldo’s ass affectionately where it’s draped over his shoulder, prompting another little yelp.

When he dumps Aldo onto the dark green sofa in his study, he can’t help but smile at how disheveled Aldo looks, his glasses astray, skin burning pink, dick tenting his denim shorts in a way that looked near-painful to Goffredo. “Get naked.” It’s an easy request, and he grins at the little sound of desperation it draws from Aldo’s mouth.

Goffredo turns to sit in an oversized armchair, also dark green. He doesn’t bother undressing, just unzipping the front of his pants and pushing down his boxer-briefs enough to free himself. When he takes his erection in hand and begins pumping it slowly, the dry drag making him wince slightly, Aldo’s moan draws him from his focus. He looks up, and Aldo is standing there, half-clothed, and staring at him like a man starved.

Goffredo smirks, not stopping the movement of his hand. Aldo is practically salivating, and Goffredo chuckles. “Do I need to tell you again?”

Aldo shakes his head and peels his shorts off probably a little too quickly. Then he’s standing in front of Goffredo, looking entirely too perfect. He can’t help himself, his free hand tracing over the skin of Aldo’s abdomen, big brown eyes taking Aldo in greedily. When he meets Aldo’s eyes again, they’re glued to Goffredo’s cock, and that makes Goffredo snort.

“Go on, then.” He nods. “If you’re so desperate.”

Aldo doesn’t need to be told twice, and sinks to kneel in between Goffredo’s spread thighs. His hands reach for Goffredo’s erection, and the older man tuts. “Keep those on the ground.”

Aldo wants to whine, Goffredo can see it, but he reluctantly plants his palms on the ground.

“Better.” Goffredo hums, and his free hand comes to twist in the short hair at the nape of Aldo’s neck. It’s a little intoxicating, to hold him there by his hair, Aldo watching him jerk off like he was hypnotized. But Goffredo has already spent his patience.

“Tongue out.” He thinks he can see the flash of Aldo’s eyes and then unbridled want, and that makes Goffredo smirk. Aldo’s tongue is a pretty thing, pink and wet, and the sound that fills the air when Goffredo grips himself to tap the head of his cock there is filthy. Aldo moans, looking up at Goffredo from underneath his glasses, clearly tempted by impatience. Which is all the more reason for Goffredo to keep him here. Goffredo skims the slit of his erection across the tip of Aldo’s tongue, and chuckles when Aldo whines needily. It’s only the gentle smack of the head of Goffredo’s dick against Aldo’s cheek that makes the younger man blush, and Goffredo is filled with a sense of victory. Aldo’s eyes are stormy with desire, his tongue still hanging out of mouth as Goffredo toys with him, using his grip in Aldo’s hair to twist and tilt his head gently as the older man taps his leaking cock against Aldo’s tongue and cheeks.

Aldo thinks he could do this forever, and Goffredo knows as much, and doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. When Goffredo sinks into the wet depth of Aldo’s mouth, his fingers tightening in the younger man’s hair, a guttural groan seems to emanate from them both.

Then it’s far too easy to just use Aldo the way he had promised he would. Goffredo could admit he hadn’t always been a generous lover, so it wasn’t difficult to fall into old habits: using Aldo’s hair as an anchor to bury himself in the younger man’s mouth, tutting when little gags escaped Aldo’s throat as Goffredo’s hips bucked. It’d be easier to be the caring partner he now found himself growing into if Aldo wasn't absolutely intoxicated with it, his eyes rolled back in his head like he was going to faint at any moment. The sounds that filled the air were perverse: the wet suction of Aldo’s mouth, the little moans that escaped in between plunges of Goffredo’s dick, and then- there was the filth flying out of Goffredo’s mouth.

“You love it, don’t you, pet?” He had really tried to keep this side of himself a secret from Aldo. The younger man was too precious, too sweet. “You sound so pretty when you gag for me.”

For what it was worth, with every word Aldo released whines and moans so desperate that Goffredo might otherwise have been worried for his health.

“Open up, pet.” Goffredo’s fingers move to grip Aldo’s chin lightly between his thumb and pointer finger. “I know you can take more than that.”

Goffredo groans at the feeling of Aldo’s throat fluttering around the head of his dick, and loses himself there for a moment. His fingers flex back to Aldo’s hair and grip him in place as Goffredo’s hips buck to meet his lips with a relentless pace. It feels almost too good, and Aldo keens at the sound of Goffredo’s moans bouncing off of the walls.

The little noise from Aldo’s mouth prompts Goffredo to open his eyes, and he’s admittedly a little shocked (although he shouldn’t be) to see the tears silently dripping down Aldo’s cheeks. The snot dripping from his nose. Goffredo pulls Aldo off of him with a wet pop, making Aldo whine.

“Are you alright?” Goffredo asks breathlessly, and Aldo meeting his gaze when he looks so thoroughly ravaged is far too titillating.

“Please.” It’s all Aldo can muster in response, it’s rough, and Goffredo can see from the earnestness in Aldo’s eyes that he means it.

“Fine.” Goffredo acquiesces, feigning indifference. “But I want to come inside you. So be good.”

It’s all the permission Aldo needs, and if Goffredo thought he was testing the limits before, he had no idea. Aldo’s nose is buried in the dusting of hair that decorates Goffredo’s pelvis, and the helpless flexing of Aldo’s throat around his dick feels like torture. Aldo, however, looks like he’s in heaven: his eyes closed in bliss, entire upper half of his body burning pink, and his tongue somehow still circling around the thickness of Goffredo’s cock- something that Goffredo felt should be impossible given how tight everything felt at the moment. Goffredo’s fingers are still locked in Aldo’s hair, but he doesn’t need to do much, his hips pushing involuntarily into the wet heat of the younger man’s mouth.

It feels simultaneously like it’s been years and seconds when Goffredo pulls Aldo’s mouth off of him again, his dick throbbing painfully in the cold air.

All Goffredo has to do is pat his thigh and Aldo is scrambling into his lap. Aldo’s fingers bury themselves in his curls, and Goffredo can’t help the little moan that escapes his lips. This time, Aldo is using his hair as a tool, yanking his head back and kissing him breathless. Goffredo has never been the type to kiss someone after they’ve blown him, but something about Aldo makes the taste so sweet. Their cocks are pressed harshly against one another as they kiss, and the sensitivity is driving Goffredo far too close to the edge considering the plans he has left for the evening.

He gives Aldo’s ass a rough smack, drawing a soft whine from the younger man’s lips. He’s pleasantly surprised when Aldo doesn’t argue at his direction for the younger man to go collect the lube from Goffredo’s bedroom, and makes a note to himself that Aldo was much more obedient when his throat had just been fucked.

When Aldo enters the room and looks at him expectantly, his skin flushed rosy and erection bouncing with his step, Goffredo can’t help himself. “Come here.”

Aldo does what he’s told, and Goffredo delights at the confused look on his face when the older man takes the bottle and pours a few droplets onto Aldo’s right palm. Before Aldo can ask- “Get yourself ready for me.” Goffredo’s head nods towards the floor, and he can see the goosebumps crop up on Aldo’s skin.

“On the-?” Aldo asks, head tilting toward the space in front of Goffredo. The older man just nods, smirking, and he’s again surprised by how good Aldo can be.

It’s a feast for the eyes, really. Aldo Bellini spread out on all fours in front of him, three fingers buried inside himself, his dick rubbing harshly against the rug beneath him.

“You look perfect like this, Aldino.” Goffredo’s voice is gruff but syrupy-sweet, and he means every word. “You were just made to dangle your ass in the air for me, weren’t you?”

Goffredo will take Aldo’s desperate moan as agreement, and that makes him smirk. Watching how Aldo tries in vain to spread his fingers inside himself, knowing that it’ll never be enough. Goffredo tries not to be vain, but he knew what he was working with, and with Aldo drooling into the rug and watching him slowly jerk off like it was fine cinema, he also knew how badly Aldo needed it. So who could begrudge him for giving the younger man, who was so precious to him, what he needed?

“Come here, pet.” It’s that easy to have Aldo clambering into his lap again, a light blush coming to Goffredo’s cheeks when Aldo lovingly presses kisses over his face and chest.

“Please.” Aldo whispers in between heated kisses to Goffredo’s clavicles. “Please.”

“Please what?” Goffredo mutters dryly, as if they both don’t know exactly what.

“Fuck me.” Of all the time Goffredo has heard Aldo whine, that might be his favorite. With a nod of approval, Aldo is sliding down onto his cock like he was made for it, and Goffredo feels like his dick is throbbing so hard he might actually have a heart attack. At least I’ll die happy.

It’s far too perfect, Aldo bouncing in his lap and moaning like he's in heat, sweat dripping over well-muscled biceps and pectorals. Goffredo knows it must look a little sick, Aldo completely naked and writhing desperately on him, still-clothed. That makes his dick ache, and Aldo is tugging at his hair just slightly in desperation, but the little twinges of pain make Goffredo’s toes curl, his hips jolting involuntarily and drawing a deep groan from Aldo’s lips.

Aldo leans back, and the expanse of his chest is a sight, his stomach muscles twitching from exertion. It always feels like a gift to have Aldo stretched out like this in front of him, palms shaking where they rested on the arms of Goffredo’s chair, thighs quivering. With every push of Aldo’s hips down on him, pretty little moans are escaping Aldo’s lips, and Goffredo’s eyes are glued to Aldo’s erection where it bounces tantalizingly in front of him. The way Aldo was stretched out had presented it perfectly, and Goffredo had certainly never done anything like this, but while they were in the spirit of trying new things…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Aldo hisses in English, his entire frame trembling helplessly now, his cock planted between the plush of Goffredo’s lips. Goffredo’s eyes dart up to look at him, and Aldo looks on the verge of tears again, his muscles shivering with the effort of holding his body just so. It’s too much, for the both of them really, and Goffredo knows that. But it’s too delicious, the feeling of his dick buried in Aldo’s stretched hole, Aldo’s cock leaking and throbbing in his mouth, Aldo’s high-pitched whines filling the air like a siren.

He doesn’t think he’s felt anything so tight and warm and perfect, and he’s a little embarrassed at how loud he’s moaning around Aldo’s dick at the feeling. It shouldn’t be a surprise, how quickly they come undone. Goffredo doesn’t know in what order it all happens, just that he’s gripping onto Aldo’s hips for dear life as the younger man fucks himself roughly on Goffredo’s dick, and then Aldo is practically convulsing as he bucks his hips back and forth between the firm girth of Goffredo’s cock and the wet heat of the older man’s mouth. He tastes good, genuinely, and the way Aldo’s hole convulses around him while they’re coming makes him feel like he could faint.

Goffredo can barely release Aldo’s softening cock with a wet pop before Aldo is falling backwards out of the chair, his abdominal muscles giving way. He lands on the floor with a thud and a giggle, and Goffredo can hardly manage to sit up and verify that he’s unharmed by the fall, sore muscles protesting already.

“I didn’t know you could bend that way.” Aldo admits between giggles.

“I can’t.” Goffredo groans, shifting his hips uncomfortably. I need to start stretching. Clearly, he was going to need it.

“I also didn’t take you for a swallower.” Aldo smirks, and Goffredo is silent for a moment.

“First time for everything.” He admits, and Aldo’s smirk turns to a grin.

“I’m so special, hm?” Aldo asks, looking up at Goffredo from where he lies on the floor, and he looks so beautiful that Goffredo wants to keep him there forever.

“You’re precious to me.” Goffredo admits.

If the words didn’t ring true enough, Goffredo hopes that Aldo feels it in his tenderness: gently wiping Aldo's sweat-dampened skin clean with a warm cloth, the little pecks he presses into every one of Aldo’s purpling marks, the oversized t-shirt that Goffredo’s had for twenty years and lets Aldo borrow for the night.

It’s a sight that’s too perfect for Goffredo’s eyes. Too holy. Aldo Bellini, curled up in his sheets, clad in hickeys and one of his shirts, and humming along to one of his favorite records as Goffredo readies for bed.

It’s something Goffredo is getting used to. The fleeting perfection of it all. It makes sense, he supposes, for God to give him something this good in a small dose. Who would he become, anyway, if he saw Aldo tucked perfectly into his bed and knew that was his forever? It would be gluttonous. 

But as Aldo Bellini fell quietly to sleep in Goffredo’s bed for what turned out to be the first of many times, Goffredo found himself wanting that forever future all the same. And what, he found himself asking God, am I supposed to do with that?

Chapter 5

Notes:

welcome to our three-chapter foray into aldo-land!

this week, an unremarkable day in the life of one aldo bellini. reminder that italics are internal monologue. enjoy and thanks as always for the support!

It's a day that begins like most others that summer, though it was early enough along in their shared time that Aldo was still loath to admit it. But he could keep his misgivings to himself when he was coming to in Goffredo's arms and bed, the older man's snoring face tucked into the crux of Aldo's neck. Aldo hums softly, his eyes fluttering open to find the light of morning pouring into their- yes, maybe shared- room. 

Aldo can tell by the position of the sun that it's a little earlier than usual, and that makes him smile gently. Usually, he was waking up dangerously close to breakfast, the time he'd arbitrarily given himself for the duration of summer as a deadline to report back to Vincent and Thomas. Not that it kept them in the dark, when Aldo was slipping away every night before dinner, but the delusion of secrecy was helpful in its way.

The morning air left Aldo's bare legs feeling pleasantly cool despite the hairy space heater that managed to attach himself to the younger man every night, not that Aldo was complaining. He'd never been much of a cuddler, but it was growing on him quickly. Aldo stretches for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the quiet as he wiggles his toes and shoulders, Goffredo mumbling a complaint despite still being half-asleep.

"Wake up." Aldo mutters, reaching the fingers of his right hand to tug at Goffredo's dark brown curls gently. 

Goffredo's eyes open momentarily, and he groans. "It's early." His voice always sounds so delightfully rough in the morning, and it makes the usual pool of want in Aldo's stomach deepen.

"I know, don't you want to have a coffee with me before I leave?" Aldo murmurs lovingly, twisting his neck to peck little kisses into Goffredo's cheek and temple.

"No." Goffredo croaks, burying his face deeper in the shorter man's neck. "I want you to stay here and let me sleep like this forever."

Aldo snorts. "You have things to do just as much as I do."

Goffredo's hand rises to wave dismissively, and Aldo was still always impressed by how he could do that when he was hardly even awake. Like his hands were his primary method of communication. 

"So many things to do." Goffredo near-growls into Aldo's skin, and it makes the hair stand up on his arms. Aldo gasps as Goffredo nibbles his skin affectionately, and his fingers go to pull lightly at the older man's hair again, tugging him away from the warmth there.

Goffredo looks at Aldo with a leveling stare, and Aldo hates how much it works on him. "You woke me up early." Goffredo says dryly. "And you're not going to let me kiss you?"

"It'd be one thing if you could just kiss me."

Goffredo starts to speak again, and Aldo shakes his head. "And don't try to argue, because you always do this and we always end up..." Aldo trails off, knowing that finishing his sentence wouldn't get them any closer to being out of bed and showered. 

"You could set a timer?" Goffredo offers helpfully, but Aldo knows him too well for that. The way he's looking up at Aldo with half-lidded eyes and sleep-ruffled hair doesn't help, though. "Just five minutes. I promise." 

Aldo pauses, considering it for a moment. "Two."

"Two?!" Goffredo scoffs indignantly. "Have some humanity."

"We could do five, if kissing didn't make you hard. That's not my fault." Aldo smirks, trying to conceal his self-satisfaction and failing miserably.

Goffredo glares at him. "It is your fault. And I don't remember you ever being particularly unmoved."

"I get hard from your dick pressing against my stomach, thank you very much." Aldo lies, and they both know it.

"Three minutes." Goffredo argues, and the softness of his lips against the skin of Aldo's neck is a persuasive negotiation tactic. 

"Deal." Aldo replies breathlessly, and reaches for Goffredo's alarm clock.

"You're seriously setting a timer?" Goffredo asks, and they both notice that it sounds a little like a whine. I really am a bad influence, aren’t I?

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, so yes." Aldo says curtly, setting the alarm clock back on the nightstand. "You're losing seconds, by the way." 

For as much as Goffredo is at him with neck-breaking speed then, the kiss is surprisingly gentle. Maybe he's trying, probably in vain, to prove Aldo wrong, but it's heart-wrenchingly tender. His fingers, warm and soft, come to grip Aldo's chin gently. He can feel Goffredo's heart pounding through the weight of the older man's chest on his. The scratch of their stubble that makes Aldo's toes curl. 

And then there's Goffredo's lips, and God, could Aldo carve a monument to them. They're somehow softer and more plush every time they kiss, and Aldo loves how Goffredo uses them wholeheartedly. It was probably a generational thing, but in Aldo's estimation, there were far too many men running around trying to shove their tongues down someone's throat, and he couldn't stand it. That was another exasperating way that Goffredo was perfect: by the time Aldo could entice Goffredo's tongue into his mouth, it felt like a gift after desperately sucking at each other's lips for so torturously long. 

Goffredo must have figured out that it's one of Aldo's weaknesses by now, because the way he's so gently taking turns laving attention onto Aldo's lower, then upper, then lower lip again makes Aldo shiver underneath him. That has Goffredo chuckling warmly, his hand cupping Aldo's cheek like he's holding something entirely fragile. "Caro mio." Goffredo whispers, and that too, makes Aldo's skin break out in goosebumps. "You poor thing."

And Aldo hates that Goffredo's cracked that little secret too, how that mix of false pity and shame made Aldo's knees buckle with confused embarrassment and desire. A little whimper escapes from Aldo's lips, and that too, makes Goffredo chuckle. "Say please." Goffredo is whispering, just an inch from Aldo's lips, but the words feel like they reverberate around the room. 

Aldo wants to refuse, to be proud and tell Goffredo to get over himself. Maybe he could've done that, if he'd stood his ground what felt like all those nights ago at the bar, but he found himself constantly being disappointed by his own lack of discipline that summer. "Please." And it sounds like the plea of a man dying of thirst.

Goffredo takes mercy on him and sucks Aldo's lower lip between his lips again, fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape of Aldo's neck. The pace then is more to their usual standard, Aldo's gentle moans filling the air as the tip of the older man's tongue finally flits teasingly against the bottom of Aldo's cupid's bow. Then Aldo is coaxing Goffredo's tongue into his mouth with his own, groaning as he can finally wrap his lips around it and suck- 

The violent trill of Goffredo's alarm is filling the room, and Aldo jumps out of his skin. "Time to shower." Goffredo smirks. 

Aldo wants to protest, but knows he can't, given the self-righteous nature of his earlier diatribe, and he just knows Goffredo has done this on purpose. Aldo rolls his eyes before crawling out of bed, arms reaching towards the sky. He can't help but notice how Goffredo's eyes rake over him as he stretches, looking him up and down like an ancient Roman statue.

"Don't enjoy yourself too much." Aldo growls, still a little wounded from Goffredo's scheme.

"I could say the same to you." Goffredo says smugly, his gaze settling on the erection tenting the front of Aldo's briefs. 

"Shut up." Aldo mutters, taking the opportunity to leave the room as a convenient excuse to hide his shame. 

But any vitriol is, as always, minimized by their softness with one another soon enough. Aldo, secretly of course, loves showering with Goffredo. The way the older man hums, and sometimes even sings, as he washes Aldo's buzz cut, his fingers lovingly protecting Aldo's eyes from the soap with the tenderness of a first-time mother. It feels like worship, the curl of Goffredo's soapy fingers in his hair, the way his fingertips trace over Aldo's tattoos curiously, managing to notice a new one every time. Sometimes he won't ask, which Aldo appreciates as a person who gets asked about these things far too often (and usually by strangers,) but this morning he does. 

"You like artichokes?" Goffredo asks casually, and maybe he does mean it casually- but it's hard for Aldo to tell sometimes. 

"My dad is Sephardic." Aldo shrugs. "He made them a lot, growing up."

A beat of silence. "I didn't know that." Goffredo says, and there's (for Aldo) surprisingly little malice in his voice.

"I know, I've never told you." Aldo clears his throat. "Don't make me regret changing my mind."

Goffredo scoffs, drawing his hands away to rub soap onto a thick cotton cloth. Aldo had never imagined they'd be having this conversation while washing up, but here they were. That could be the subtitle for the whole summer. 

"What do you take me for, really?" Goffredo asks, still looking at the black-and-grey ink of the artichoke as he scrubs over Aldo's abdomen, leaving bubbles in his wake. "I'm not a monster. I know your parents are Italian, that's all that matters to me." He has the audacity to shrug, and that makes Aldo laugh.

"Two weeks ago you were ready to bite my head off for having a blue passport." Aldo raises an eyebrow, and Goffredo brushes the thought away with his free hand, eyes still studying Aldo's skin with such intensity to make patches of pink bloom on his chest. 

"And you still think I'm no good at compromise." Goffredo levels back, and maybe it's unintentional the amount of time he's spending spreading bubbles over the rosy spots cropping up on Aldo's upper chest, but likely not. "But why are you Catholic, then?"

The question makes Aldo laugh exasperatedly. He's so Italian it's painful. "As you know, my mother is a Catholic." Aldo replies dryly, rolling his eyes when Goffredo starts washing his arms. He feels like a doll, sometimes, and is uncomfortable with how much he enjoys it. 

"Yes, but you also mentioned that she's not practicing." Goffredo answers, and Aldo hates when his memory is good enough to corner him like this. "So why are you Catholic?"

"I don't know." Aldo admits after a pause, the pink of his chest drifting to his cheeks when Goffredo starts scrubbing at his underarms. "Seriously?" Aldo asks, and he hates how he sounds like a moody teenager even to himself. 

"We do this every morning, and now you're complaining?" Goffredo tuts, taking Aldo's hand to turn him so that he can wash the younger man's back. Aldo wants to fight it, but doesn't. 

"You're not normally interrogating me about my religious background." Aldo bites back, but it's lessened by the warmth that spreads over his skin, feeling Goffredo's palms rub soap into the olive of his back. "This is much more fun when you're whispering sweet nothings to me, you know."

Goffredo chuckles, and he allows his hands to rest on Aldo's hips for a moment, thumbs digging into his lower back just enough to make Aldo's knees weak. "Answer the question, and we can move on to the sweet nothings. I promise."

Aldo sighs. "I guess it was a way to rebel, probably? I think I always..." He pauses, searching for the phrase. Why is it so fucking hard to talk about feelings in Italian? Probably because he had only ever spoken the language with his family, where there had always been, for him, a bit of an emotional wall. But, as usual, he didn't want to think about that for too long. "Resented how similar to them I was. It felt very... stereotypical, and boring, and..." He shrugs again. "They're so secular, and sort of... stale in that way. I wanted to stand out, I guess."

Goffredo nods, and Aldo is surprised that he seems to understand. "You want so badly to be different, Aldino." Something about it sends shivers up Aldo's spine, and he's thankful that- for once- the older man doesn't mention it. "You don't see how special you are?"

Aldo feels like his skin is on fire, and he knows he asked for this, but he's always asked for more than he could handle. And if he had any hope of saying something dismissive, that evaporates when Goffredo turns him back around and drops to a knee. Aldo scoffs, even though he's burning pink, and lifts a leg to rest his foot on Goffredo's knee. "You're so dramatic." Aldo mutters, but Goffredo is too busy washing Aldo's calf to pay him any mind. 

"I mean it." Goffredo says emphatically, and Aldo curses himself for winding up back on the hook for his silence in response to the older man's compliment. "I don't understand how someone so unique can have such a..." Goffredo searches for the word, then lands on English, which he must know hits Aldo like a gut punch with how often he does it. " Complex."

"I don't have a complex." Aldo mutters, and it sounds devastatingly small, even in this space. 

"For me, there is no one in the world like you." Goffredo looking up at him with that leveling stare and deep brown eyes should be illegal, let alone when he's talking this way. "And there never will be, carissimo mio." 

It feels so tender that it hurts, Goffredo on one knee in front of him and washing his feet, an action that was so Christlike but felt anything but when they were pressed in a tiny shower and the marks on Aldo's chest and shoulders were blossoming into a deep purple. These contradictions drove Aldo near insane, and they were everywhere that summer. 

Goffredo must know he's done enough, because he kisses Aldo's knee and begins rinsing off.

Aldo is thankful for the chance to think as Goffredo turns to face the wall, singing along to some song drifting in from the open window as he washes up with decidedly less gentleness. It hurts. Aldo clears his throat, eyes tracing the muscles of Goffredo's shoulders, the way his curls stretch to cover the back of his neck when they’re sopping wet. It's him and it hurts.

Eventually, Goffredo turns off the water and hands him a towel, and Aldo puts his troubled mind on the shelf for now. It was a curse he'd lived with since being very young. His brain, when presented with anything somewhat resembling a problem, would run and run and run himself sick. That was another area where he was thankful, really, for his soft parents and their bourgeois liberalism. He'd been on a healthy dose of Prozac since he was eleven, and most of the time it was wonderful, but he got the sneaking suspicion that it was treating the symptom of something more than the actual cause. Because sometimes, like this summer, he still felt like he was bouncing off the walls of his brain. But that was something he never spoke about with Goffredo: Aldo had realized very quickly in life that some people were crazy because of the chemicals in their brain, and some people were crazy because life had made them that way. He had no idea which, if any, was better, but he did know that Goffredo was firmly in the second category. 

"You won't stay for breakfast?" Goffredo asks, and Aldo is thankful for the distraction.

"I told them when I left last night that we'd meet at the usual place." Aldo says, and he knows his voice betrays how much he'd truly like to stay more than he means to. He hates that, being so transparent. What happened to a little mystery, leaving him wanting more?

But Goffredo is dependable in all the ways Aldo is not. "I wish you'd tell them to kick rocks." He mutters, and that makes Aldo chuckle. 

"I spend, what, thirteen hours a day with you? Sometimes more?" Aldo asks, and they both know that it's not enough, so maybe that's why neither of them says it out loud.

Aldo is picking through his suitcase, stubbornly ignoring how frustrated he still is with himself that it's here and not in his dorm where it belongs. It was his own fault: Vincent and Thomas had responsibly unpacked into the room the moment they'd arrived, where Aldo was busy smoking a cigarette directly in front of their open window, hoping the fire alarms wouldn't go off. And because he was still living out of his suitcase after that first week, well, why pack a bag every night when his suitcase could just "live" at Goffredo's... So goddamn stupid. At least Goffredo hadn't said anything about it, probably because he knew bringing attention to that observation was a surefire way for it to disappear. 

Goffredo clears his throat, and Aldo looks up from cramped piles of sweaters and shirts to find him looking entirely too soft in a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. "I'll be outside?" Goffredo gestures to the door, and Aldo nods.

He hates that he enforces these things for himself. It'd be so much easier to go outside and pray together, then make breakfast, spend a few hours curled up in Goffredo's study reading, but... his pride always made him a little miserable in that way. The knowledge that, as always, he'd exit Goffredo's bedroom to find a moka pot full of coffee waiting for him was a decent balm for his soul. Even if it made him feel like the older man deserved better.

Once Aldo is clad for the day, he slips out onto the building's shared back patio with bare feet, an espresso, and a cigarette. Goffredo is sat on one of many large stones that constitute the ground there, his legs crossed and eyes closed, deep in thought. Aldo is finding himself less and less surprised by this sort of thing by the day. How did he get so fucking... Zen? The puff of his e-cigarette and subsequent cloud of vapor, though, detracts from some of the cinematic quality.

Street cats mill around the patio, munching lazily at the food Goffredo puts out for them on little ceramic plates, some drinking from the little saucers of water that still have ice cubes in them. It's a little too heart-warming for comfort, how much Goffredo loves them and they, in turn, love him. One, a fluffy Siamese, is rubbing at Goffredo's knee while he prays, Goffredo's hand coming to scritch at their head without so much as the flutter of a closed eyelid. 

Aldo takes a moment, too, to breathe deeply and center himself. He's eager for the cigarette, so his morning conversation with God is a little rushed, and he can't believe that they're the same pair who argued about talking to God the very first night they met. Aldo feels like a hypocrite now, quickly asking for hedges of protection around the sick, the poor, the indigent, the oppressed, Fr. Gutiérrez' mother and Vincent's grandfather with pneumonia. He means it, as always, but what was Catholicism if not going through the motions?

The spark of the lighter draws Goffredo from his thoughts. "Are you sharing?" Goffredo asks.

"Of course, they're yours." Aldo smirks to himself, and Goffredo rolls his eyes. 

The older man stands, yelping softly when an elderly tuxedo cat nips at his ankles as he walks over to stand next to Aldo. It's easy then for Aldo to rest his head against Goffredo’s stomach when he passes the cigarette, and tenderly, the taller man’s free hand comes to cradle his skull there. 

“You’re going to get nicotine poisoning if you keep doing both.” Aldo tuts, nuzzling his nose into the soft fabric of Goffredo’s shirt and taking a deep inhale. That was another thing about Goffredo that made Aldo feel a little too animalistic for his taste: he smelled divine. Like coffee, incense, old books, and musk. For as much as Aldo could scold the habit, mixed with the lingering blueberry scent of syrupy nicotine, it was enough to make his mouth water. But he doesn’t say that, because he can tell from the bottles of cologne decorating the bathroom that scent is a point of pride- maybe even gluttony- for Goffredo. And besides, Aldo doesn’t want to show his hand this early. 

“It hasn’t killed me yet.” Goffredo replies with a wave of the hand.

“Why’d you quit in the first place?” Aldo asks. It’s a question he’s considered posing before, but it’s hard for him to tell what things are private for Goffredo, like his father, what he talks about with God, or going pee, versus things that are fair game, like how growing up with so many siblings gave him an oral fixation and a strange relationship with food, departmental drama at the university, or what he thinks about priestly celibacy. 

“It was a compromise.” It’s an answer that’s typical of Goffredo, unsure if he wants to divulge more or keep his secrets. 

Aldo’s not one to indulge that behavior. “For what? With who?”

“With God, of course.” Goffredo says as if it’s evident. Who else would he compromise for? “That if I give up one addiction, I can entertain another. In moderation, of course.”

Aldo raises an eyebrow, looking up at him expectantly. “Dare I ask?”

“I bet you could guess.” Goffredo mumbles dryly, reaching to place their shared cigarette between Aldo’s lips. 

Truthfully, Aldo had figured as much, but it made him wonder how Goffredo was making his peace with everything now that he was… going full fucking hog? For as much as they joked about Aldo being a bad influence, he did feel a bit of guilt for undoing any amount of progress Goffredo had made, even if they disagreed on God’s opinion about smoking, homosexuality, premarital sex, and so on.  

"I'll miss you." Aldo can feel the deep rumble reverberating through Goffredo's chest and then his head.

"And you know I'll miss you." Aldo replies easily, sighing and taking a drag before passing it back along. More than you know. "But you'll see me this afternoon."

"It can't come soon enough." Goffredo balances the cigarette between his lips while his hand moves to toy with the bandana tied around Aldo's neck. It was cute, Aldo thought, a pop of red amongst his all-black uniform of a t-shirt, cardigan, and jeans. "You're adorable." Goffredo purrs, and that makes him blush. "I have half a mind to push you up against a wall with this thing."

"Tonight, maybe." Aldo clears his throat, and rises to kiss Goffredo's cheek. "You like it?" It sounds more bashful than he means it to.

"I have no idea how I'll possibly focus." Goffredo grins, eyes darting between Aldo's lips and the red cloth. "You should go, actually, or neither of us will make it in today." Aldo snorts, plucking the cigarette from between Goffredo's lips and taking another puff.

"I'll see you soon." Aldo hums, and lets it dangle in between his fingers when he leans in to kiss Goffredo gently, smoke pouring from his nose. It's strangely gentle, which seems to be a theme for the morning. Goffredo squeezes his hand when he goes, and then he's waving goodbye to the colony of cats and jogging down the quiet streets to catch the bus.

He's thankful for the commute, really. It's about a half hour bus ride, and it's enough time for him to think a bit and reset for the day. It's more of a transition than he expected, really, going from Goffredo's apartment every morning to meeting Vincent and Thomas for tea, pastries, and a day of studying.

It feels, honestly, like he's living two lives that collide every weekday at 3 o' clock. It feels pervasively fake, to sit in a lecture hall and interact with Goffredo as Dr. Tedesco, a veritably different person, as if they hadn't woken up together that morning. But, and he would never admit it to Goffredo, he was thankful for the excuse to spend the summer under the older man's feet. He had resisted it, true, and still was in denial in many respects. Aldo was painfully prideful, and he hated that about himself. Even if it felt like he was being handed everything he wanted on a silver platter, his stubborn resolution to not make an ass of himself denied it to him. And who was he fooling, really?

Not himself. Not Vincent, or Thomas. His parents, maybe, his classmates too. Maybe even Goffredo, but oddly that didn't feel entirely comforting. 

He sighs to himself, and smiles when he catches the eye of an elderly woman sitting across the aisle. The sway of the bus is comforting, and he's thankful for Goffredo, because if it weren't for the caffeine, he might be lulled to sleep. It's still early enough that the air is quiet other than the gentle rocking of the metal monstrosity that transports them across the Tiber. For now.

At their next stop, an assortment of stocky young men pile on, still reeking of their night out. They're an immediate disruption, their drunken laughter and shoving drawing Aldo out of his sleepy meditation. They shuffle by him to find their seats, and Aldo doesn't miss how they snicker after passing him. He blends in well enough, thankfully, he thinks, for them to at least know better than to say anything. I may be a faggot, but at least I'm not a complete tourist.

Goffredo, he supposes, helps with that too. It's a frustrating prompt to grow, being in a pseudo-relationship with someone nine years your senior who happens to work in your desired career field. Goffredo, somehow, avoids condescension for the most part. It's more than Aldo can say for himself if the shoe was on the other foot. I'm sure I would be a complete bitch. 

No, surprisingly, Goffredo is always very tender with him. Outside of the classroom, anyway. That was a perpetual thorn in Aldo's side, how easy it seemed for Goffredo to be to turn his heart on and off when they entered that lecture hall. Aldo, on the other hand, could hardly speak up without feeling like he was trembling. He told himself he was imagining it, probably for self-preservation, because Thomas and Vincent had never said anything about it. That had to count for something. Although they seem to keep their thoughts to themselves as of late. 

It was another frustrating thing: Aldo is starting to get the sense that, if it weren't for his own neuroticism, this might be the perfect summer. Two months in Rome, spent with two of his dearest friends, studying at the most prestigious pontifical university, using the language he'd spoken his entire life, his parents' credit cards in his wallet, and now, yes, he could admit it... And now I'm falling in fucking love. It was too good , so perfect it made Aldo feel like he was going to break out in hives. The one slight comfort was how enraging Goffredo was, truly his worst nightmare and most treasured fantasy in every way Aldo could imagine. It was like the entire summer served as a reminder of the flaws he probably could've gotten around to before age twenty-six, but maybe that was a byproduct of only-child syndrome. He never really anticipated needing to grow to an occasion. 

Aldo walks down a narrow alleyway, taking the momentary privacy as an excuse to dig in his bag for a little tin, pulling a joint out and lighting it. He can't help himself, for much as Goffredo busts his chops about it, so he's leaning against the wall and taking long drags with eyes closed in bliss. But he can't lollygag for long, and he's back on self-flagellation duty quickly enough. Too many vices to count, stubborn as a mule, proud to the point of cowardice, I whine like a brat, I can't take accountability for anything, my taste in men is either entirely boring or questionable at best, I'm my worst self around the people I love the most, and- the memories of his second meeting with Goffredo flash through his mind as he bites his inner cheek, rounding a corner and trying to muster a smile when he sees Vincent and Thomas sitting outside at their regular place. 

And I'm a fucking liar. 

"Good morning." Aldo chirps, and it sounds far too enthusiastic to be realistic, so he's thankful that his housemates aren't yet in the intervention stage. 

"Good morning." Vincent replies sweetly, and Thomas snorts. Aldo sees Vincent's knee knocking into Thomas' gently, but chooses to ignore it.

"You really shouldn't be doing that out on the street at this time of day." Thomas says wryly, nodding his head in the direction of the spliff in between Aldo's lips. 

"Well, thank you for your input, Thomas." Aldo is thankful it sounds less venomous than it could. It's not Thomas' fault that he has this- Nasty habit. That's what his mother had always called it from the time they'd put two and two together after three summers in Calabria where Aldo had been a downright terror. It made him cringe to think about, a fifteen year old jacked up on Prozac and emotionally exploding because he hadn't smoked weed in a week. It was another case of a habit he'd wanted to kick before it came time to meet the love of his life, but, well. But here we are. 

And there was no way in hell he'd risk Goffredo finding out- if his halfway-to-hippie parents were still fretting over it ten years later, he shuddered to think of the fits Goffredo would throw. Especially given how hard it was to fucking find this shit in Italy in the first place. So yes, he'd have to settle for chuffing whatever he could get whenever he could get it. Because he wasn't strong enough for all of this just yet, he tells himself.

"I just don't want you in trouble. That's all." It's gentler than Aldo deserves, and he knows it. 

"Thank you." Aldo says, and he means it. He hopes Thomas knows that, too. 

"So you can't-" Vincent clears his throat, picking his words carefully. Aldo doesn't know why Vincent's diplomacy bothers him so much sometimes. "You're sleeping in a non-smoking facility?"

Aldo shrugs. "Something like that." 

Thomas snorts again, and Aldo can forgive him, when all three of them know that Aldo isn't going to divulge another word. They've been playing this game, for, what... Nine days. But who's counting?

But, bless him, Vincent always tries. "You had a nice night?"

"Yep. Good."  It's a little ridiculous, and Aldo knows it, particularly when there was no way he could tug his shirt to cover up the little purple mark that just barely peeked out above the neckline covering his collarbones. Maybe the bandana had been a mistake, or maybe there was some fucked up subconscious part of him that wanted people to notice? Because it drove him a little insane that nobody knew that Goffredo was his, and vice versa? Probably a little of both. 

" Did you two do anything interesting?"

" Comparatively?" Thomas asks, and he's sure Vincent bumps their knees together again.

"Well, we had a few drinks." Vincent says lightly, but it makes Aldo tense up. He jots a mental note to thank God that day for the fact that Goffredo had wanted to stay in the night before. The summer had only just begun, how many close calls could they have? "Then we caught a film, I think you would have liked it." Vincent is smiling softly at him, and it does, in a strange way, make Aldo feel better.

Maybe that was part of what Aldo couldn't handle about Vincent. He'd dated Thomas for four years, which had felt like a lifetime when it wasn't three years in the past, and everyone had known them as long-suffering Thomas and prissy Aldo. Which Aldo could probably take, if Thomas hadn't moved on to a saint like Vincent.

Aldo orders an espresso, and it makes him stick out like a sore thumb at a table where the other two young men are drinking tea. Particularly when he'd been drinking tea right alongside them both every morning for the past two years. 

" Do you want something to eat?" Vincent offers helpfully. Thomas, as always, cuts closer to the point. "You shouldn't smoke and drink a coffee on an empty stomach."

It's true, and they don't even know about the cup Aldo's had an hour ago, so he obliges. But that doesn't mean he won't complain. "We're in Italy, you know?" He hates how much he sounds like Goffredo in these moments. "Coffee and wine, isn't that what we're here to do?"

Thomas and Vincent exchange a glance, and Thomas shrugs, then smiles. "I'm glad you're enjoying the immersion."

It's the exact type of comment that Thomas loves to make, ones that make Aldo feel like he knows more than he's letting on, so he ignores him. 

Thankfully, after two joints and grissini, Aldo is in much better spirits. It's needed, because as always, they are buried under the tide of keeping up with Goffredo's endless rolodex of references. Which really, Aldo had to admit, made him all the sexier. He really was- despite his idiocy- smart, with encyclopedic knowledge of Western philosophy and the Church's history, five languages under his belt, and a penchant for debate. Aldo can also admit, although hesitantly, that it's been a good exercise for the three of them, who had always buried themselves entirely in liberation theology. He'd sort of believed that they, as lifelong Catholics, had nothing else to learn from the pre-modern world. It's a view that makes him feel stunningly ignorant even after only knowing Goffredo for two weeks.

What's probably most shocking is Goffredo's clear intellectual affection for female mystics of the church: Julian, Hildegard, Caterina. It makes Aldo a little embarrassed that Goffredo, for all that he is a conservative, or traditionalist, whatever he wants to call it- makes Aldo's knowledge look miniscule in this area. 

"'The soul is the mistress, the flesh the handmaid. How? The soul rules the body by vivifying it, and the body is ruled by this vivification, for if the soul did not vivify the body it would fall apart and decay. But when a person does an evil deed and the soul knows it, it is as bitter for the soul as poison is for the body when it knowingly takes it. But the soul rejoices in a sweet deed as the body delights in sweet food. And the soul flows through the body like sap from a tree.'" Aldo reads aloud, smiling to himself. "Why haven't we read this before?" He asks after a momentary pause, raising an eyebrow as he looks at Vincent and Thomas over their books. "You didn't read this in undergrad, did you?"

They both shake their heads. "Because she's a woman, I'd imagine?" Vincent says, but all three know it's not exactly a question. And apparently Aldo's not the only one marveling at the fact that it's Goffredo building their familiarity with the femininely-authored canon.

" I never would've taken him to be very interested in this sort of thing." Thomas says, taking a sip of tea and wincing. Must be lukewarm.

" Me either." Aldo mutters, and he hopes it sounds as casual as he means it to be. 

" Well," Vincent clears his throat. "We can't judge him, exactly, since he seems to know better than we do."

Aldo smirks. "You know, I keep wanting to think that, and then he opens his mouth..." That draws a dry chuckle from Thomas, and it's too easy to remember how catty they'd been together at times. Yes, probably for the best that he had Vincent, now. Definitely a bad influence.

" He's not horrible." Vincent shrugs. "He doesn't seem... hateful. Just ignorant. That counts for something."

" Does it?" Aldo asks, laughing breathlessly. "It’s not like he doesn’t know better, he's thirty-five." He says it before he can think any better of it, and he's thankful beyond measure that nobody asks the obvious question. 

" You think we'll know everything there is to know when we're thirty-five?" Vincent asks tenderly, and the maturity of the question stings a bit given that Vincent is two years younger than Aldo and Thomas both.

"Well, Aldo's known everything since he was a toddler, so probably." Thomas smirks into his tea, and Aldo rolls his eyes dramatically, but the corners of his lips can't help but quirk. 

"I'm serious." Aldo clears his throat. It's always so difficult trying to use them as a sounding board when, ideally, they had no idea what sound they were actually hearing. "Don't you struggle with it?" He pauses, searching for the right word. Maybe the right analogy. "Learning from someone who's so...?" 

" Traditional?" Vincent supplies helpfully, and Aldo bites back a scowl. Another point in favor of Goffredo's stubborn self-identification that, in Aldo's mind, minimized its political implications. 

"Ignorant." A ldo answers, and Thomas nods. Aldo tries not to watch too closely. 

" If he thinks he's the foremost expert on the Church, then..." Thomas trails off, and Aldo knows what's next without it needing to be said.

But in his cruelty, he says it anyway. "Then maybe he shouldn't have dropped out of seminary?" It makes Vincent and Thomas wince. They hardly know him, and even they feel bad using it against him. What does that say about me?

"You're being harsh." Vincent chides gently, reaching to rest a too-soft hand on Aldo's. It was the type of indiscriminate tenderness that was typical of Vincent, and Aldo varied between bristling at it and treasuring it. "You don't know what it's like, to grow up with nothing. For God to be all you have." Vincent pauses, and looks at Thomas. "Either of you." Aldo swears he can see Thomas' ears turning pink. "We all make sense of our surroundings in our own way. You should be thankful that you're so comfortable in your world."

Vincent really does remind Aldo of some of these old mystics in that way. So much of what he said was filled with some sense of cryptic wisdom. And it wasn't just a feeling: Aldo was a little spooked by how often he'd be puzzled by something Vincent said and then come to find out its truth weeks later. But then, Aldo did have some sense of the truth of the statement now, as he'd considered the thought himself. How Goffredo could find a place for himself in this dogma he'd inherited, even if it meant sacrificing parts of himself that... well, Aldo supposes that's the American in him. So fucking individualistic. His identity felt central to his entire world. It was hard to remember that for so many, there could be no choice between society, the collective, one's family, and oneself. You had to be subsumed by all of that... to what? To survive? It was something he went back and forth constantly on, and then felt bad for. He had quite the safety net to be judging the comfort of anyone's closet. 

But with Goffredo it's different. Isn't it? 

It wasn't as if he was some stranger off the street, expecting Goffredo to change his ways. He wants me in his life, doesn't he? Well, that comes with conditions. 

For the confidence of his thoughts, his stomach turns uncomfortably knowing that this boundary meant, potentially, forcing Goffredo to pick between him and his family. Was that so horrible? They hardly ever call... It was a rude thought, maybe, but a (mostly) true one. Aldo had never met someone so distant from their family yet so seemingly... doomed by obligation to them? For one of a litter of siblings, Goffredo always seemed oddly alone. Maybe it was different in Veneto, but maybe not. All of that made Aldo more of a brat about the entire thing. An only child who won't share? Shocker.

But if Aldo was Goffredo's world, and he had all but said as much, then shouldn't it be an easy choice? Maybe so, but he didn't feel good about forcing the point. He wouldn't beg. No matter how much he wanted to. I do enough begging as it is.

"Are you alright?" Vincent's voice pulls him from where he's staring blankly at a page, lost in thought. 

" Hm?" Aldo clears his throat, then realizes that his face is hot. Why am I so fucking obvious? Like a damn child. " I'm fine. Just warm." 

It's not exactly untrue, with the sun rising in the midday sky, and he slips out of his cardigan. The sun feels good on his skin, and he raises his arms above his head to stretch, then crosses them together there. Thomas is staring at his inner bicep for a moment, then glances at Vincent. Aldo watches his eyes, confused at first. But then Vincent is refusing to look, and heat is rising up Aldo's chest. God- He took a deep breath, remembering what Goffredo had said that first night together about taking God’s name in vain. - darn it. 

Aldo lets his arms fall back to his lap, and tries to be sneaky in turning his arm to get a look at what Thomas had been staring at, although he has a pretty good idea. His mind flashes back to the night before, his wrists tied crudely to the bars of Goffredo's headboard, his dick leaking desperately onto the muscles of his stomach while the older man covered his upper half in dark marks. Aldo had asked for it, he supposes, by flirting so incorrigibly with one of Goffredo's neighbors who'd come out for a cigarette. But it's not my fault. He started it. 

That wasn't strictly true. Goffredo had an annoying habit of being completely ignorant to the wiles of women- which Aldo was glad for, really, because the onslaught felt constant. He tried to reassure himself with the knowledge that Goffredo was just obliviously nice in a way that felt foreign to all of Aldo's Brooklynite tendencies. But Goffredo could get to chattering with anyone, including pretty young waitresses who were so busy giggling at all of Goffredo's jokes that they somehow ring their tickets up separately and don't charge Goffredo for his drinks. 

Aldo tries not to scowl remembering it, but fails. Yes, God is definitely testing me. 

But there are small mercies, and at least Vincent is the one to gently point to the elephant at the table.

"I hope you'll introduce us, eventually." Vincent nearly-whispers, sweetly, making Aldo choke on an iced coffee.

Aldo stubbornly ignores the comment, and buries himself in his book again, hoping that it conceals the damned blush that seems to have affixed itself to him for the summer. Infuriatingly, it doesn't hide him from the smile on Thomas' face. It should be more of a smirk, but it's not, and Aldo feels a little resentful of how often he thinks he's the worst person in the room. Why can't I be more like them? His eyes glance between Vincent and Thomas, and then dart back to the page. There's a tiny voice inside of him that he thinks must be himself- but the best possible version. Maybe it's God. In any case, he can hear it loud and clear in moments like these. Why can't you be more like him?

H e doesn't have to ask to know exactly who the voice is talking about. Goffredo. 

Aldo can definitely understand why Goffredo had used the word "complex." It did feel like that sometimes, that little seed of envy-insecurity that seemed to have grown throughout Aldo's life to infect his soul. He was probably too hard on himself, but then again, it didn't seem like it had gotten any better with age. For as much as he genuinely liked Goffredo, there was some small part of him that wondered if he wanted to be him. Or if he could've been him, if his parents hadn't gone to college, hadn't moved to America. If his grandfather hadn't studied oil painting, or if his grandmother's parents hadn't sent her off to Rome for piano conservatory. He could conjure up a thousand reasons why they were so different, but Aldo still found himself uncomfortable at the feeling of sympathy he held for Goffredo. Because, yes, maybe if a thousand things were different, he'd be a black sheep of a middle child, growing up in the Italian countryside, feeling entirely invisible and wrong, knowing nothing else to do with those unexplainable but inescapable desires inside but to try for the priesthood. And I probably would've gone through with it. 

That was something enviable about Goffredo, certainly: his bravery. They hadn't really discussed why Goffredo had left seminary, anytime Aldo tried to probe for information, the older man seemed to clam up. Maybe something had happened, or maybe it was just awkward, but Aldo wanted to know. And as more than another young person considering a vocation. It felt like a formative event in Goffredo's life, and he really knew nothing about it. Just that his parents didn't speak to him for a long time after he came back, that he'd slept on his great-grandmother's floor for a year, working as a tour guide to save up enough money for university. It says something to Aldo, really. That Goffredo could do something like that when Aldo knew he would've have even been able to stomach the thought of returning home a failure. I can't even stomach the idea of trying it if failure is a possibility. Let alone having nowhere to go after everything falls apart.

Somehow, Goffredo doesn't seem too resentful. He'd spoken on the phone to his mother a few days prior, only briefly, but that conversation was warm enough. Aldo couldn't help but notice how closed off Goffredo became when his father had taken the phone to almost-bark a greeting at him. 

It was like a different world from how he'd grown up, with two adoring parents, their village of friends who seemed to come from all over the world, free reign over the streets of Cobble Hill, and a revolving door of relatives who'd come to town just to dote on him. He knows that Goffredo feels more like a forgotten dog than a beloved child of God, and he can't help but foster hostility towards the older man's parents for that. 

The point was that nobody could begrudge Goffredo the distance from his family: he'd clearly worked very hard to make a life for himself- albeit far enough from home that he could evade any awkward questions. It wasn't a bad strategy, really. But if that was the case, why couldn't he just... Say, 'fuck it all, I'm devoting my life to loving some kid from New York who won't even admit how much he likes me?' It was a ridiculous proposition, Aldo knew that, and he wanted it all the same. 

It's hard to focus on reading early modern theology when his mind is reeling, so Aldo is thankful when Thomas informs them of the time and starts to pack up. Despite the Prozac, Aldo always finds his heart racing this time of day. He doesn't know if the nervousness is from seeing Goffredo, watching him as Dr. Tedesco (something not aided by his cohort's surprisingly fawning adoration of the man,) witnessing him in the same room with all of his friends, the fear of making a fool of himself in front of almost everyone who matters... but it's anxiety-inducing. 

The moment they see each other for what should be the first time that day is always the peak of that anxiety. For Aldo, it feels devastatingly electric each time, to the point that he's surprised no one ever seems to notice. Well, except for Goffredo. 

The bandana must be doing more for him than he'd expected, Aldo decides, because he swears that Goffredo actually turns a little pink when they lock eyes as Aldo files into the lecture hall. As always, the older man is doing a good job of playing it casual, still rifling through his bag when he steals a glance at Aldo's direction, lets it linger for just long enough, and then goes back to pretending to look for something. The act is almost enough to make Aldo snort, but he's getting better at concealing his emotions, something he realizes he's a novice at compared to Goffredo. 

For as much as Aldo tries to focus, it's difficult, particularly on days like these when Goffredo looks so handsome. Another day had passed without him shaving, Aldo notices with a sense of victory, remembering how the taller man's facial hair had rubbed against the delicate skin of his stomach the night before. Aldo decided fairly early on that he'd never seen someone look so good in an Oxford shirt and tweed, but somehow despite the concession, God seemed to make Goffredo more delectable with every passing day. 

Sometimes, Aldo catches himself staring a little too intently, and tries to pass it off as having spaced out. Here too, he knows that Thomas in particular knows him too well for that, so he deliberately doesn't check to see if Thomas ever notices. Better to just pretend he doesn't, Aldo thinks. A few times every day, but not nearly often enough for Aldo's taste, Goffredo's eyes catch his during lecture. It's another moment that always makes Aldo feel like he might start scaling the walls before long. Goffredo plays it off well enough, Aldo suspects, managing to keep his face neutral when he inevitably clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. He probably wouldn't think anything of it, if it were some other student having a secret fling with "Dr. Tedesco," but he can't entertain that thought for too long without feeling like he needs to scream.

Thankfully, the way Goffredo's Venetian accent curls around his English is a good distraction. It's sweet: for as long as Goffredo's been speaking English (since he was a seminarian traveling to New York, as Aldo understands it,) his accent had gone exactly nowhere. It makes Aldo’s heart lurch and wonder how his Italian sounds. If Goffredo notices those little signs that tell an Italian-American from a genuine paisano. Aldo thinks he must, because he hears them for himself every time he drops the vowel off the ending of some dish or his consonants run together in an ugly mush. He wonders if that makes Goffredo feel a bit more sophisticated than him. I would. That was another troubling thing, his brain's tendency to want to crawl inside Goffredo's head and stay there for a while. Simultaneously, he understood the tendency all too well. If he could know Goffredo's mind inside and out, then maybe he'd have more certainty, more grace, more understanding. He can only ask God for those things so many times. 

Then they're breaking for water and, in Aldo's case, a cigarette. It should be relief, but it's a looming sign that the day's torture is soon to begin: group discussion. Aldo has never been so shy in what's typically one of his favorite parts of a course, and he's surprised that Vincent and Thomas haven't said anything about it, for as many times they look at him like a creature from space. 

But he doesn't trust himself enough, besides, he has plenty of free time with which to argue with Goffredo. Or maybe I just can’t bear the possibility of being wrong, in front of everyone, in front of him. The inklings of self-awareness don't move him any differently, though. If his pedigree, knowledge, and public speaking ability weren't enough, Goffredo is also a surprisingly decent teacher. He's understanding, thoughtful, gracious, encouraging to everyone. Especially Vincent, but Aldo tries not to notice that. In fact, Aldo thinks that the only one of his peers that could stand a fair bit more babying is himself. And maybe it was just to be discreet, which Aldo could certainly understand, but that didn't ease any dryness. 

Things are going surprisingly well at first, which makes Aldo less surprised when they go off the rails as always. Then Goffredo makes some side-comment about the innate ability of women to connect with God and His will. 

"By design, you are more in touch with the Earth, with the moon in the sky, with your bodies, with life. So it is also natural, then, that God speaks to you in a way that he cannot speak to us. We are burdened by worldly things."

Aldo scoffs, eyebrows shooting up in surprise when he glances around to see his classmates nodding enthusiastically. It was mind-boggling to him. I know he's good-looking, but he's telling them that they're one step removed from animals and they're nodding like fucking idiots.

" If that's really true," and Aldo knows he should know better than to open his mouth. But that never seems to stop him. "Shouldn't women be leading the Church?"

There's a poignant silence, and Aldo catches Vincent smiling in the corner of his eye. It was good to know that he wasn't alone in the cognitive dissonance. 

Goffredo shrugs, and that's another habit that drives Aldo nuts. He shrugs at things that no sensible human being would shrug about. "Women have a unique place in the Church that suits their unique skills. Christ made it so, and St. Peter enshrined it in tradition when he acknowledged the need for us, as men, to take on particular roles so as to protect women from the necessary interactions between the Church and the secular world." 

Aldo nearly chokes. "Peter said that women are the weaker sex, how can you possibly exclude women from the priesthood based on the heavily-translated words of an ancient misogynist?" 

Goffredo doesn't grimace, he doesn't even blink. Asshole. "Well, it's difficult to argue semantics when, as you acknowledge, the text you're reading in English is so divorced from its original spirit." Aldo bites back a wince. Goddamn it. "But in Latin, the verse says 'infirmiori'- weak would be one translation, of course, but I have always interpreted it as a reference to women's social standing in the Biblical Middle East-"

" Peter lived under the rule of the Roman Empire!" Aldo splutters, waving his hands wildly. Looking around for validation, he notices a few people peering at him oddly, and he realizes he might be a little too emotive for a conversation that should have very little stakes for him.

Goffredo sighs. "So, what, you want woman priests? Woman bishops? A woman pope?" 

Aldo shrugs as if it's obvious, because to him it is, and he hadn't really considered it a controversial opinion until his classmates started staring at him as if he had spontaneously begun speaking Sumerian.

" And what will that do for the material condition of female Catholics around the world?" Goffredo asks, raising an eyebrow. "Does changing centuries of tradition to have a woman on the throne of the Holy See feed the hungry, house the poor, spread the Gospel?" 

Aldo, surprisingly even to himself, is in a stunned silence. 

" No, it wouldn't." Goffredo answers his own question. "But our religious sisters do that work, don't they? And that constitutes some of the most important work we are called to as Catholics, no?"

Aldo knows the skin of his throat and face must be rivaling his bandana in color, so he accepts a temporary ceasefire. We have plenty of time to argue in private, he thinks bitterly. And I'm going to rip his fucking head off. 

It reminds Aldo a bit of their first class together, sitting there so angry he can hardly think straight, leg jiggling with such frequency that it makes his entire body shake. He can hardly force himself to wait for Vincent and Thomas to gather their things before he's darting out the door, shooting a glare in Goffredo's direction on his way out. Goffredo has the unmitigated gall to look at him cluelessly, as if he didn't know exactly how maddening he was. 

" You were right to say something." Vincent reassures him gently as they walk back to what was supposed to be their shared room. 

" Wasn't I?" Aldo asks, a little more incredulously than he intends to. "It's biological essentialism. It's an insult to everyone in the room."

Thomas nods. "Even if he means it as a compliment, it's prescriptive."

" Exactly!" Aldo replies around the filter of a spliff, giving an audible groan when a harsh puff of smoke fills his mouth. "It's antiquated."

" Don't let it bother you." Vincent murmurs softly. "He's got much more experience arguing than you do."

Thomas snorts, which erases any warm feelings that Vincent might have created. "I don't know, Aldo's up there with the greats..."

" Please." Aldo rolls his eyes, waving the smoke out of the air and apologizing when they walk past a leering couple with a small infant. "Clearly I'm nothing special, if he can get a bunch of college-educated women nodding along with that absolute horseshit."

" Should we stop for a sfogliatell'?" Vincent offers, nodding towards the small storefront they walk past every day. "That might make you feel better." It's true, even if the disappearing vowel at the end of the pastry reminds Aldo of his earlier thoughts. Not only is my Italian shit, I'm making other people's Italian shit.

And Aldo always resents feeling like their needy child, but it's hot and he's annoyed, so he agrees. Even though he gets powdered sugar on his black shirt, it was the right suggestion. Why does bread make me so fucking happy?

Goffredo should be thanking Vincent, really. When Aldo makes his excuses to slip away from their hot dorm room an hour later, his temper is in a much better state than it'd been leaving class that day. He's not sure if it's due to the carbs or the weed, but Aldo has to remind himself of how frustrated he is in the back of a cab darting across the Prati district like the world was bound to end at any moment. 

" Fucking asshole." And it's only when the cab driver grumbles out their offense that Aldo realizes he's been mumbling to himself in Italian, not English. That's new. He supposes he's an old dog learning new tricks, if his brain is managing to think in his second language only after twenty-something years of speaking it. It's the type of thing he'd like to share with Goffredo if not for his fear of being so earnest. Which was really bizarre, when Aldo knew Goffredo would be just as delighted at the revelation as he was. But Aldo was diametrically opposed to giving the older man the satisfaction whenever possible. If he couldn't make himself feel casually about Goffredo, he could at least act like it. 

So when he turns a key in the door of Goffredo's flat (Aldo is still stubbornly ignoring that reality, too,) he steels himself. He replays their argument that day, how Goffredo had so casually promoted ideas that were tantamount to fascism in sheep's clothing, how he'd doubled-down and been a complete grandstanding fool, and that infuriating shrug. 

It's quiet in Goffredo's apartment, as usual, just the sound of a record floating in from Goffredo's study. That's where Aldo finds him, innocently reading as if he hadn't heard his door open and close moments ago. 

" You're an idiot." Aldo hisses, and decides it's his turn to use English as a dagger. 

" Really?" Goffredo feigns indifference, bending the corner of a page to mark his spot. "Because you're a moralizing, officious, short-sighted child."

Aldo scoffs, letting his bag fall to the ground. "Why? Because I dared to question you while you were speaking to your flock?" 

"No." Goffredo replies obstinately, rising to his feet. When he begins crossing the room to meet Aldo, the shorter man can feel his heart beginning to pound in that annoying way that was becoming a habit. "Because you're a crusader without a cause, you're contrarian, you're-" Aldo bats away the accusing finger that has begun prodding his chest, his eyes unable to help themselves from darting between Goffredo's stormy eyes and his bite-worried lips.

" You just can't handle that, for all your knowledge, I'm smarter than you." Aldo bites back, and he doesn't even really believe it himself, he just doesn't know what else to say. Privately, he sort of felt Goffredo had won their battle, but he wouldn't admit that even to himself. 

" On what grounds?" Goffredo asks, raising his eyebrows. "You're brave enough to virtue signal about something that has absolutely nothing to do with you, well, good for you." Goffredo clears his throat, and Aldo smirks a little when he catches the older man's eyes darting to the marks peeking out from under his t-shirt. "But until you have s omething meaningful to add, I'll ask that you not interrupt class with your ploys for attention." 

Aldo feels himself stiffening slightly in his jeans, and he simultaneously knows that this result was Goffredo's precise intention. It's a little bit of revenge for Aldo's smirking, sure, but Goffredo knows his buttons well enough now to get what he wants. And for the second time that day, Aldo finds himself wishing he had the guts to stand behind his commitment to not give the older man the satisfaction, but he was only human. 

So he can’t really fault himself when his fingers knot in the soft blue cotton of Goffredo’s shirt and pull their mouths together. It’s a juxtaposition that was a little shocking the first time it’d happened, but Aldo was coming to expect it. Sure enough, every time sparks rose between them in class, they ended up in a tangled pile of skin and discarded clothing. 

It feels intense, with their glasses and noses pressed painfully together, Aldo’s gasps breaking the silence in the air when Goffredo sinks his teeth into the younger man’s lower lip. Aldo can feel the heat radiating off of Goffredo’s skin, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the feeling was mutual, with the way his clothes suddenly felt too heavy. When Aldo nips back at him, Goffredo growls: with a gasp, Aldo finds himself hoisted into the air, legs wrapping around the older man’s hips. 

It’s a surprise, but Aldo likes this angle, being able to cradle Goffredo’s face in his hands while he sucks at the older man’s lips. It’s a wonder that Goffredo is able to carry him to the bedroom that way, only knocking them into a door frame once (thankfully, Aldo’s ass took the brunt of the impact.) 

Goffredo is clearly gearing up to toss Aldo onto the bed when Aldo’s fingers reach to yank gently at the older man’s curls, pulling his head back to expose his throat, forcing their eyes to meet.

“I want to fuck you on the floor.” Aldo murmurs, and the rasp to his voice helps hide some of the softness of it. Goffredo nods wordlessly, and the look in his eyes borders on terrified. He always looked so innocent somehow, when he was batting those big doe-eyes. It was no surprise, then, that Aldo found himself so frequently tempted to fuck Goffredo into the ground.

And he looks good like that anyway, clothes haphazardly tossed aside, long legs and pale chest stretched out in front of Aldo to consume as he pleased. When Aldo straddles his waist to press open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of Goffredo’s chest, the older man gasps, and the sound raises the hair on Aldo’s arms. He wonders if this is how Goffredo feels when the shoe is on the other foot, when Aldo can’t help but squirm and moan while Goffredo tenderly marks up his neck. If so, he can understand what’s so addictive about the whole thing: it felt like real power, rendering the man underneath him to a trembling, whining mess with just his mouth. 

Aldo remembers the previous night, and reminds himself that Goffredo deserves the torture. He couldn’t even recall the amount of times he’d been forced to beg before Goffredo finally touched his aching erection. It’s a good reminder when Goffredo’s dick is already pressing against the heat of Aldo’s inner thigh, Aldo’s fingers tangled in Goffredo’s hair as he nips at the older man’s jawline in between heated kisses to his throat and clavicle.

It’s Aldo’s fault, really, for taking them back to that argument back in the classroom. But he can’t help himself. “I like you more when you’re not talking.” It’s a lie whispered against warm stubbled skin, and it immediately draws a growl from Goffredo’s lips.

Aldo gasps when Goffredo flips their positions, the press of his back into hardwood floors almost painful. It must read on his face, because Goffredo smirks and tuts. “That mouth is always getting you into trouble, isn’t it?” Goffredo’s fingers come to grip Aldo’s jaw, his fingers and thumb bracketing Aldo’s chin. It feels animalistic compared to the tender way Goffredo typically cups his cheek, and it forces a little moan from Aldo’s lips, crudely parted by the way Goffredo was holding his face just so. Goffredo chuckles, turning Aldo’s jaw to expose his throat and sinking his teeth into the nape of Aldo’s neck. Aldo’s yelp turns into a distressed groan when Goffredo sucks at the tender skin there, and a little voice in the back of his mind is shouting that this mark will be the most visible so far (Goffredo had done a decent job at hiding his hickies under the line of Aldo’s t-shirts) but he can’t force himself to care. Who am I really fooling, anyway? I might as well wear a collar with his name on it. 

Aldo’s not sure if it’s that thought, or Goffredo’s arms moving to push Aldo’s thighs roughly to his chest that sends palpable shivers up his spine. “So needy.” Goffredo’s using that voice again, the sort of paternalistic pity that makes Aldo’s dick ache for whatever twisted psychological reason. “You need more, already, really?”

The question makes Aldo whine, even if it’s a little silly when Goffredo has clearly been intent on giving Aldo what he needs from the moment the younger man had walked through his door that evening. Even if he knew Goffredo’s true intentions, it was a lot to process, feeling so bare where rough hands were gripping the bend of his knees, pressing them into the floor on either side of Aldo’s head. It makes Aldo’s stomach muscles ache from the soreness created over days prior, and worse, Aldo is forced to visually reckon with the fact that he’s already painfully hard, his cock deep pink and throbbing against his abdomen for the second time in twenty-four hours. It was the type of thing he had fantasized about many times, having a partner that was this ravenous for him, but the reality that this street went both ways made Aldo’s skin hot with a mix of want and shame. Goffredo knows that, clearly, from the way he’s looking up at Aldo attentively in between heated kisses to the backs of Aldo’s thighs. 

“You look so pretty like this.” Goffredo purrs, and that somehow makes the red of Aldo’s blush deepen. “All needy and open for me.”

That was an unexpected perk, even if Aldo’s ever-abiding and, really, self-enforced Catholic guilt wouldn’t let him accept it totally. Aldo had to admit that he hadn’t been completely honest with Goffredo about his relationship with Thomas. While, yes, their fundamental differences had been a source of contention for Aldo, the primary issue was a lack of passion. Aldo loved Thomas, yes, and was certain that Thomas loved him. But nothing about their relationship had set him on fire, to borrow Goffredo’s phrase, and Aldo couldn’t help himself but to want a little more. His parents had called it looking a gift horse in the mouth.

It was an area where his relationship with Goffredo made up for what he’d been missing in droves, and Aldo had a constant reminder of that with how often Goffredo consumed him like a man dying of hunger, leaving Aldo… well, yes, open. Once the older man had realized this the week before, fingers stretching to prepare Aldo and finding him still pliant from the evening prior, Aldo knew he was done for. It was so hot that it felt a little sinful, the way Goffredo was so easily able to slide into him, their mutual willingness to push through foreplay out of sheer want for this moment. When Goffredo bottoms out inside of him, Aldo groans, and the sound only deepens when the taller settles his full weight on Aldo’s chest. The press of it combined with the feeling of Goffredo buried so deeply in him makes Aldo’s eyes roll back in his head and toes curl where they dangle in the air. Finally. 

There’s no polite way to ask for this, Aldo has realized many times. Goffredo is tender about the hint of chub around his middle, for as much as Aldo adores it and reminds him so, and only wants to be reminded of their size difference when it’s time to whisk Aldo around like a new bride. But God must still be looking out for Aldo, because the feeling of being trapped between the weight of Goffredo’s body and the floor beneath him was delicious. When Aldo forces his eyes open from their momentary bliss, he finds Goffredo smirking down at him, pressing kisses to the side of Aldo’s calf. When Goffredo’s hips finally move, Aldo feels like he could die, and the sounds he emits imply as much. 

“You sound like a whore.” Goffredo mutters into his skin, and for as much as Aldo wants to make a snide comeback about the older man’s way with words, all he can muster is a needy whine. It’s not helped by the drag of Goffredo’s skin and chest hair against the stiff ache of Aldo’s cock every time Goffredo moves his hips, creating a cycle of pleasure so intense that Aldo thinks he might pass out before he can come. When Goffredo’s pointer and middle fingers slide past Aldo’s open lips and into the wet heat of his mouth, Aldo moans desperately. It’s the type of treatment he had considered too demeaning, not good enough for him- well, before Goffredo. Now, rendered to his most base desires, he wraps his lips around the intrusion and sucks needily, his tongue licking at the pads of Goffredo’s fingers. That draws a startled moan from Goffredo’s mouth, and his hips stutter against Aldo’s ass, making the younger man shiver. 

The whole arrangement is rendering them both over-sensitive and needy, and for Aldo, not improved by the way Goffredo is staring into his eyes as if they’re having a romantic dinner. 

It’s already too much, and then Goffredo turns his head to nip at Aldo’s right ankle where it’s trembling in the air, and Aldo is seeing stars. They can both feel the gush of Aldo’s pre-cum between them, and Goffredo smirks. The taller man moves a hand from where it’s fucking Aldo’s mouth, angling his chest back so that he can sneak his fingers between them to trace the head of Aldo’s leaking cock. “So wet.” Goffredo purrs, and Aldo’s hips jerk. “Should I…?” Goffredo trails off, loosely gripping Aldo’s erection between his thumb and pointer finger. It’s barely any pressure at all, but it’s enough to make Aldo keen, desperate pleas flying out of his lips before he could even think of thinking better of it. 

When Goffredo’s hand finally wraps around him, Aldo feels like he could die happily there. It’s rough, and erratic, and arrhythmic, but the pull of Goffredo’s fingers around his dick and the snap of Goffredo’s hips as he fucks into Aldo is perfect, as far as Aldo is concerned.

Aldo can’t hold on for long, and comes undone under Goffredo quickly, moans echoing through the apartment and bouncing back to Aldo’s ears sounding filthier than he’d remembered. Aldo isn’t sure if it’s those sounds or the way he feels himself convulsing around Goffredo’s cock, but Goffredo follows immediately after, the warmth spreading in Aldo’s gut making him squirm. 

Goffredo collapses against him, panting, Aldo’s fingers coming to cradle the back of the older man’s skull where his forehead rests against the floor. Aldo cranes his neck to press soft kisses to Goffredo’s left shoulder, making the taller man hum softly. They lay like that for a long moment, enjoying a silence that feels surprisingly comfortable given the filth immediately preceding them and their mutual religious and moral misgivings about the whole thing. Well, for Aldo, almost the whole thing. Getting fucked up the ass is completely fine with God. Goffredo turns to look at Aldo, letting the side of his head rest against the wood floor. Not sure about the whole humiliation ritual aspect, though.

Given the relative lackluster nature of Aldo’s sexual history, despite its length in contrast to Goffredo’s, it wasn’t a problem he was anticipating having. He’d never really pictured himself tied to someone’s headboard, but now he was having a hard time adjusting to the idea of going back to awkward, silent, missionary sex with one of his peers. It takes a real Catholic to fucking rail someone like that. Goffredo smiles sheepishly at Aldo. “What are you thinking about, caro mio?” He mumbles, leaning in to nuzzle against Aldo’s cheek. 

“Nothing.” Aldo lies, hoping the heat he feels in his ears is just imaginary. “Can you make me polenta?” Aldo asks sweetly, looking at Goffredo from underneath thick eyelashes that he suspects render Goffredo totally helpless, but the older man hasn’t admitted it yet. But Aldo can tell from the way he pauses, how chocolate eyes dart from his fluttering lashes to the pink of his lips. After a moment, Goffredo snorts, and nods. 

It’s a good excuse to dart outside for a cigarette, the night air cool against the warmth of his bare legs. For convenience, he’s wearing Goffredo’s shirt, and it’s almost longer than Aldo’s denim shorts. He wonders if it’s all painfully obvious to Goffredo’s neighbors passing by and waving, when they see Aldo leaning against their wall with a cigarette, swimming in a crinkled Oxford shirt that Goffredo had been wearing earlier that day. Then he wonders if Goffredo is making those sorts of calculations too. 

Aldo tucks those questions away for another time as he pushes off of the wall, fingers knocking ash to the ground. He rounds the corner and walks two blocks to a small lemonade stand he’s started frequenting on days that are warm like this, and the smiling face of the same short-haired girl he’s seen every time he’s stopped by is beginning to feel familiar. He chirps a polite greeting and purchases two cups, digging in his pockets for a few coins from the last time they’d gone to the bar. 

“You’re having a good night so far?” The girl asks, looking him up and down as she pours their drinks. “Where’s your friend?”

“Oh, he’s back at home.” Aldo says sheepishly, looking down at his feet. He never knows who knows who around here, and can admit he’s been living in fear of wrecking Goffredo’s life unintentionally. 

“You two are cute together.” She suggests helpfully, and smiles again when Aldo lifts his head to catch her eye. 

“You think so?” Aldo asks, deciding to indulge himself. The girl nods enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, I used to see him all the time, and he always looked so miserable. Now he’s all smiley.” That makes Aldo’s cheeks warm, and he wonders if it’s true, even if she has no reason to lie. “You must be pretty good at what you do.” She smirks suggestively, and that draws a bark of a laugh from Aldo. 

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Aldo says warmly, smiling when their hands bump together as they exchange money and beverages. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you around?” She asks as Aldo traipses back up the street, and Aldo turns to nod, grinning. Am I making a friend? The summer was full of unexpected turns, it seemed. 

But with a quick walk back, Aldo finds himself back in his nightly routine, and is happy for the predictability of it all. For not the first time that summer, and far from the last, Aldo found himself peering nervously at its perfection. Stretched out on Goffredo's sofa, drenched in his shirt, nursing a glass of wine while the older man made their supper. 

It doesn't help that it all makes Aldo's brain tingle pleasantly, the ache of his limbs from their recent exertion, the gentle breeze of the air conditioner, the night stretched out in front of him, the fact that Goffredo's polenta is the best he's ever had. Aldo, a perpetual worrier, couldn't come up with a single obstacle in their way beyond a British Airways flight confirmation number that was tucked into his wallet. And that was concerning, because flights could be rescheduled, transfers could be arranged, plans could change. His eyes flit over Goffredo's bare back, covered in fading red scratches, where he stands in front of the stove whistling pleasantly. All I have to do is say yes.

It's a prospect that feels overwhelming, even for him, so thoroughly used to having everything he wanted. He had to wonder what Goffredo made of all this, how they fit together so neatly it almost felt like destiny. Almost. Aldo wasn't ready to resign himself over to fate yet, even if he wanted to more than anything.

Aldo isn't able to steep in thought for long before Goffredo is handing him a large, shallow bowl filled with polenta and broccolini. The older man's thigh is warm against his as they settle into Goffredo's couch, and it serves to bring him back to the present moment, so Aldo is thankful for that lest he spoil it with the ever-running nature of his mind. Goffredo's selection of film that night is surprising to Aldo: The Wizard of Oz. They've never watched anything in English together, and Aldo supposes he assumed the movie was quintessentially American. 

"They used to play it on public television every day when I was growing up." Goffredo shrugs. "I just like it."

And that's a good enough reason, Aldo supposes, to enjoy a movie. But he can tell from the way Goffredo's eyes flicker over the screen that he actually loves it. 

When Aldo catches Goffredo mouthing the words of the Cowardly Lion's speech on courage to himself absentmindedly, he can't help but ask. "Is this your favorite movie?!" It sounds rougher than intended through a mouthful of broccolini. 

Goffredo pauses for a moment. "Yes, I think so."

It was a good reminder that, despite their different national origins, Goffredo so quintessentially reminded Aldo of the older queers he knew in New York, the coping mechanisms, the media they lived vicariously through, the wistful way they observed Aldo's openness with his family. It's a tender thought, and one that Aldo sets aside to ask a more pressing question. "Why?!"

That makes Goffredo think again. "It's.... nice." He clears his throat, takes a gulp of wine. "To think that you could do anything, be anything. I guess." It's a loaded answer for being so blunt. "That there are parts of yourself beyond your imagination, that there's some hidden story in everyone you meet. I'm sure it was inspiring to me in a way." Goffredo hums, searches for the right words. "Someday, I won’t be in Kansas anymore." The English feels fitting, and Aldo doesn't have to ask to know that Goffredo's never been to Kansas in his life. He won't mention that the residents of Veneto should take great offense to their beautiful region being compared to one of the most boring states in North America, because he knows that's not the point. Goffredo wasn't all that different from anyone else Aldo'd met in some club, at some reading group, at that one bookstore, or in some organizing meeting. 

Aldo wants to wonder what they're all running from, but it seems demonstrably obvious. And unfair. But for all that Aldo had decided long ago that it wasn't a race worth his time, Goffredo seems dogged to run it to the very last leg. In a summer full of contrast and dissonance for Aldo, who'd long ago made terms with this part of his identity, he had to wonder again what was running through Goffredo's mind. Did it feel even stranger to him, to be so happy? To feel so secure?

That thought was a bitter reminder that Aldo himself had done everything in his power to keep Goffredo from that sense of security he'd settled in so comfortably. And for what? My pride?

That was the right answer, and as much as Aldo knew that, he wasn't sure what to do with it. He'd never met someone who made him want to change. Just people who'd made him more set in his ways. Somehow, he thinks Goffredo would be okay with accepting him exactly as he is, petulance be damned. But even if Goffredo didn't know how he truly felt, their arrangement had to be at odds with Goffredo's history. Or was it?

The thought of some other man tucked under Goffredo's arm, eating his food, smelling his cologne made Aldo feel like a simmering teakettle. Which was hypocritical, he knew, given how often he'd done this exact sort of thing with his exes. But it certainly feels different, doesn't it?

"Is this vegan?" Aldo asks after a moment, searching for something to distract him from his troubling thoughts. Goffredo, meanwhile, has eyes locked on the screen as Dorothy's new friends beg her to stay in the magical place she'd found. It's a silly question, anyway: it's polenta and broccolini, of course it's vegan. But, in his desperation, he asks anyway.

"Vegano?" Goffredo pauses. "I don't know what that means."

Aldo snorts. Of course veganism hasn't made it to him just yet.

He lets his eyes linger over Goffredo's face, tracing his features while the older man watches Dorothy click her ruby-red slippers, entranced as if seeing it for the first time. Aldo didn't know what to do with the pang he felt in his heart every time he looked at Goffredo. Its implications were frightening at best. For all he'd dated around, tried all sorts of men, none had ever made his heart skip and lurch the way Goffredo did. Nobody had ever made him smile so much that his cheeks got sore. And certainly, nobody had frustrated him to the point of arousal before. He's a man of many talents, isn't he?

"It wasn't a dream, it was a place!" Dorothy exclaims breathlessly, drawing Aldo from his thoughts. The little smile on Goffredo's face is entirely endearing. "And you, you, and you were there!"

Aldo wonders if that's what it'll be like upon his return to England. He'll look around and find familiar faces but know that everything has changed. For the better. Maybe, through God's grace, he'll have grown enough to see all of those hidden facets that Goffredo mentioned- of Thomas, of Vincent- and yes, certainly, of Goffredo. Aldo thinks he might see that one already. He has a hunch that he's making a home in that hidden place, curled up into all the little spaces that Goffredo had tried to keep from the world, even himself. But he likes me there, Aldo reminds himself. Goffredo catches his glance, and smiles warmly, leaning to peck Aldo's cheek. He wants to keep me there, even.

"Toto, we're home! Home! And this is my room- and you're all here!" 

Aldo clears his throat, ducking his gaze to hide the blush lingering up his neck.

"I'm not going to leave here ever, ever again, because I love you all!" She makes it sound so easy. " And- oh, Auntie Em... there's no place like home."

Staring down at an empty bowl, Aldo wonders what would happen if he clicked his heels on that fateful day in a few weeks at the airport. Would he wake up in his flat in Oxford? Or would he wake up here, among scarlet sheets with the smell of fresh espresso wafting from the kitchen? 

"You liked your supper?" Goffredo asks gently, standing and taking the dish from Aldo's hand. 

Aldo pauses, blinks the emotion away from his face. "I loved it." He clears his throat. "Wouldn't have changed a thing."

Goffredo looks at him strangely, but doesn't ask, and Aldo is glad. He's gotten close enough to the truth for one night.

When they crawl into bed not long after, Goffredo almost immediately descends into a cacophony of snores, Aldo repeats that mantra to himself. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

Staring at the wall, he considers that his problem was less about getting home, and more about figuring out where exactly that was. Before, the answer would have been easy. But now, pulled in so many directions that he could hardly think straight, Aldo didn’t know what to do with himself. 

His brain told him to be logical, to stay the course at Oxford, to avoid derailing his life for the hope of a dream about someone he’d met less than two weeks ago. His heart, however, wanted to stay exactly there, tucked into Goffredo’s side forever, nestled away against the Tiber. Something inside him wondered if there was some middle ground to be discovered here, if only he had the tools to find it. Goffredo seemed to have done so, why couldn’t he? But then, there was that missing ingredient that Aldo craves, but Goffredo has no shortage of: courage. 

Maybe, he thought, if he studied Goffredo closely enough, he could find that type of bravery somewhere. But in a lifetime where he’d wanted so badly to be different, yet always wound up doing the expected, Aldo was unsure. 

He flips to face the older man, studying his bone structure, his nose, the way his lips part gently as he sleeps. He wonders how Goffredo, for all his traditionalism, can manage to be so peaceful when their predicament had Aldo tying himself into knots. For an idiot, I do have a lot to learn from him. 

Like clockwork, Goffredo’s arms reach for him in his sleep, and pull Aldo close to his chest. The warmth radiating off of Goffredo’s skin makes Aldo sigh and relax into his touch, yielding to the comfort. He had no idea why he was always so resistant to that, to peace. Why he was denying something he had looked for so long now that it was laid out in front of him. 

He finally surrenders to rest that night with Dorothy’s words playing in his mind.

If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.

Aldo’s eyes flutter shut, his brain beginning to flash through his memories of the day. Coffee, cigarettes, Hildegard of Bingen, polenta, the weight of Goffredo pressing him into the floor, and the warmth of their thighs pressed together on the sofa. 

There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

He sleeps.

Chapter 6

Notes:

this week, we're extending our stay in aldoland with some meditations on a summer passing far too quickly.

thank you all for your continued support and wonderfully insightful comments! i can't tell you how much it means that y'all so totally get everything i'm going for here. to the point where sometimes y'all will comment and i will say "wait, did i post the wrong chapter" because your thoughts are so on point with where we're going, which is wild! i am one lucky lad to have readers like you, so from the bottom of my little gay heart: thank you.

next week: we're going to the vatican!

It's not exactly the study abroad that Aldo had been planning for. It was , sure, in some ways: when he'd agreed to a Roman summer, he was envisioning museums, panetterias in quaint piazzas, actually using his art history degree, a river of cocktails, and maybe- just maybe- one or two hookups on the side. But he was there for himself, and was tacitly refusing to succumb to any delusions of grandeur inspired by the romantic scenery. 

 

And it'd be one thing if he was the only one who knew himself all too well, but two weeks before their flight, Thomas looks at him with a wary side eye. 

 

"You're not going to let some-“ a pause,  “Italian hunk break you, are you?" Thomas can barely mutter out the question before Aldo is at his throat like a tiny, gay attack dog.

 

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Aldo splutters, turning an alarming shade of red.

 

But he knew, and Thomas knew, and if Thomas knew, that meant Vincent likely knew, and so on, and so on. 

 

His parents have the decency not to say as much, but he can hear the apprehension in their tone over the phone, even when they're telling him how thrilled they are that he's opting to spend a summer in Italy. 

 

Is it really so hard to believe that he's here to study? To see the classics, to broaden his horizons, for scholarly pursuits ?

 

But God has a funny way of testing him these days. Aldo thinks it must be some sort of punishment. He's spent an entire life having everything he wants, the only spoiled son of Italian immigrants, top of his class at the city’s finest private schools and then at Columbia, and now he felt like an even bigger fish in an even smaller pond. It's about time He knocks me down a peg. 

 

And does Goffredo Tedesco's presence ever do that with shocking efficiency. He's frustrating and endearing and stupid, really, for a genius- and addictive. Aldo is entirely smitten with him from the moment they meet, knows it, and is working overtime to conceal it. He can ruin my life, but that doesn’t mean he needs to know anything about it.

 

That's a hard act to keep up when Goffredo is the softest thing he's ever held. He does a decent enough job at hiding it behind too much wine and that face that was a lot like a lost puppy's for a man approaching the middle of his life, but Aldo knows the truth. Or he likes to think he does. 

 

He has good evidence for Goffredo's softness, anyway, like the street cats. They serve as substitute companions on those late nights when Aldo can't sleep and doesn't have the heart to wake Goffredo from his perpetually deep and snoring slumber. The cats are good listeners, even though they're always visibly disappointed to see Aldo with a cigarette instead of their doting pseudo-father. There's one, Pietro, who is particularly attached to Goffredo, and Aldo supposes it might be because they look alike: Pietro's dignified grey-and-black speckled fluff and grumpy expression made them practical twins, but Goffredo always scoffs when Aldo mentions it. 

 

All of those warm and fuzzy feelings, though, feel at odds with their public-facing interactions. For as much as Aldo tried to pipe down in class to make both of their lives easier, sometimes he can’t help himself, and their bickering is as present in the classroom as it is in their temporarily-shared home. What Aldo didn’t calculate for, however, was Goffredo’s ability to somehow ensnare the entirety of his cohort. The insult was one thing, to see a group of people normally so deferential to Aldo shift their adoration elsewhere, but the injury was worse: the girls, in particular, were very vocally venerative. 

 

In Aldo’s defense, he makes it a few weeks before saying anything, his eyes glued unnaturally to his notes every time he’s forced to overhear those little comments about his- well. That train of thought always stopped sooner than intended. And then one afternoon a blonde, blue-eyed girl with a thick Scouse accent wonders out loud if Goffredo has a wife, and Aldo can’t help but scoff. 

 

“Hm?” Thomas asks, looking at Aldo as if genuinely curious, but something about the little smirk he’s hiding makes Aldo feel uneasy. 

 

“Nothing.” Aldo replies, and he hates how palpably unyielding he sounds. 

 

“I agree, I’m sure he does have a wife.” Vincent says sagely, nodding, and Aldo swears he can see his friends exchange a knowing glance for half a millisecond. But, as always, Aldo can’t help himself.

 

“That’s a gay man.” Aldo nearly-hisses, and before he can even get the words out, he can feel warmth coming to his ears.

 

“You think so?” Thomas says with an air of bemusement that was anything but comforting.

 

“ Obviously.” That’s another thing Aldo really can’t stand about himself: sometimes it feels like his lips move without even giving his brain a courtesy notice.

 

He doesn’t let himself think about it for too long, but he’s beginning to get a sneaking suspicion that it might have been obvious to him if the shoe was on the other foot. At the very least, he’d assume that he had a crush on Goffredo, which was even worse, actually. If we’re going to be fucking obvious, I’d at least like everyone to know that it’s him chasing me, thanks very fucking much.

 

But Aldo avoids talking about it, somehow, and he hopes his friends avoid discovering who exactly he's sneaking away to every night. But he can't help himself: before the sun can set, he always finds himself against the wall of Goffredo's building, pouring over a shared cigarette. 

 

Sometimes they go out, but Aldo offers to cook most nights- there was something soothing about peeking around the corner to watch Goffredo read while the familiar scent of garlic and onion fills the apartment. He must have more of his mother in him than he'd thought, because feeding the older man fills him with pride, particularly when he’s always falling over himself to compliment Aldo's cooking. It's easy, then, to crawl into his lap and exchange soft kisses, the sound of some record playing from the study wafting into the room. 

 

Sometimes that turns into dessert, and Goffredo whisks him away to their- no, his bedroom like a prize to be stolen. Other times, they're content to mumble secrets that turn Aldo's chest red, staying that way until the cool air and nicotine drive them outside. On those evenings, it's easy enough for Aldo to persuade Goffredo that a night out would be fun, and yes, he's coming to terms with the fact that he really is a bad influence. Goffredo always tells him as much, grumbling behind him about getting too old to be out drinking on a work night, but he rarely says no.

 

But on those rare evenings, they cocoon themselves on Goffredo's sofa, watching old movies or dissecting one of the books from the taller man’'s overfilled shelves. Lest we forget that debate was one of their favorite pastimes, and it was aided by the fact that they almost always understood their supposed mutual world from opposite angles. For Aldo, the truly maddening thing was that they didn't have different foundations of belief or understanding, necessarily, just disagreements on their conclusions. And they were both cursed with arrogance and obstinance, of course. 

 

That's another thing Aldo hadn't expected. The more they unraveled one another, he discovered that for all that they were different, they were more often the same. Which shouldn't have been possible, with Aldo an admittedly-snobby New Yorker bred for a Socratic circle, and Goffredo an affable seminary dropout turned academic from, it turned out, modest beginnings. Goffredo's great-grandmother can't write, and calls him every Sunday to ask him if he's well, if he needs anything, if he's eaten. Aldo can admit that the… well, everything about Goffredo made him leery of whoever had raised him, but the barrage of kissing sounds that emanate from the plastic always makes Aldo smirk and think of his own grandparents. Too similar for comfort, too different to be apart. 

 

Sometimes Goffredo will point out the grand irony of the entire situation. That Aldo could be some spoiled princeling of southern Italian heritage while Goffredo, who hailed from one of the wealthiest provinces in the country, had seen virtually none of the world and got homesick on childhood weekends away to Bavaria visiting distant relatives. The admission that Brooklyn had been downright exotic to Goffredo as a nineteen-year-old Venetian forces a giggle from Aldo's mouth, despite Goffredo's glaring at his pretension.

 

" You have elitist tendencies. " Goffredo hisses, making Aldo roll his eyes. "That are very unbecoming." Aldo knows it's true, but argues anyway.

 

S ometimes Goffredo will drag Aldo out to see the sights, even when Aldo would rather stay planted in bed. His excuse is the same every time.

 

"What will you tell your parents when they ask what you did all summer?"

 

And it's true, but Aldo doesn't want to think about that right now. So he obligingly goes along from monument to historic marker, letting Goffredo take polaroids of him, even when it makes Aldo groan in embarrassment. 

 

"You're making me seem like a tourist."

 

"You are a tourist."

 

And it should really be studied, how Goffredo can wound him so unconsciously. 

 

Other times, he'll knock his shoe into Aldo's where the younger man leans up against a wall while they wait in line. "You look like a tourist, stand up straight."

 

It must remind Aldo too much of his parents, because it always turns his mood stormy and ears bright red.

 

It's unfortunate that his defense mechanism is a wall, and Aldo knows it. He doesn't know if it's that wall, or the tension of a summer that seems to fly by, or the cultural stereotypes flowing in their veins, but they argue. 

It's easy enough to brush off these little spats when they center around theology, or Aldo leaving a mug in the sink. But Aldo isn't good at refraining from the personal, and he's always hated that about himself, but no more so than now. 

 

Once, it starts as a joke, and he should know better than to rib Goffredo about Thomas. Even if it's just to argue over blood-red comments on a poor grade. And even though Aldo understands Goffredo's logic, he can't help himself. "Of course you'd say it that way." and the obvious dig makes Goffredo narrow his eyes for a moment.

 

"You'd do something different? I’m being honest.” He asks levelly, and Aldo scoffs. 

 

"Everything you do, I would do differently." He knows it's not true even as he says it, and that stings all the more. He hates this sick part of himself, that little twinge of victory when he sees the hurt in Goffredo's eyes and can tell himself he's not completely powerless. It's unfair to punish the older man for that feeling of helplessness that's been simmering ever since their first meeting, but sometimes his mouth moves faster than his brain. And then he's saying things that he simultaneously does not mean and cannot take back, and Goffredo is right, he lives to regret it over and over again. Death by a thousand cuts, and it's self-inflicted. How pathetic could someone be, how childish?

 

Maybe the worst part emotionally, although the part he enjoys the most, is the way that Goffredo inhales him after they make up. He's never been consumed so ravenously, and it makes him feel very… alive. The way Goffredo grips bruises into his hips and laves sweet kisses into the skin at the small of his back when he's all spread open and raw. The way he makes Aldo's toes curl and fingers twist helplessly into silk sheets, the press of Aldo's wrists into the mattress, how Goffredo chuckles so warmly when Aldo finally begs for him. It all feels so terribly good and right and unfair, knowing it'll have to end, knowing that they can't spend every evening pressed into each other until the world warms over. Sometimes, after Aldo's been particularly spiteful, Goffredo will whisper in his ear while he takes him: "Tell me you're mine.” And Aldo has to hide tears behind his hand when he acquiesces. Maybe Goffredo notices, but they don't talk about it. Sometimes that's just easier. 

 

For as much as Aldo can try to wedge walls between them, there is laughter, too. Aldo feels like he can see the laugh lines appearing on his skin from days where his cheeks ache from smiling. Goffredo is, Aldo can reluctantly admit, hilarious. Quick, and witty, and an excellent people-watcher. On the weekends, when they stretch out on the patio of some café for hours on end, Goffredo entertains Aldo with the little stories he creates about the people passing by, their pets, relationships, misunderstandings. It's, surprisingly, never judgmental: although he was certain the older man would never admit it, Aldo could see how he found beauty in every living thing. It's an interesting case study into the mind of a "traditionalist," as Goffredo so stubbornly dubbed himself. Aldo had to wonder how, at the end of the day, he could see so much joy in the world around him but still be consumed by the belief that it was all ultimately rotten and sinful. 

 

All that Aldo can conclude is that Goffredo must have spent a lot of his life hating himself, but he doesn't ask about that. He doesn't think he's totally prepared emotionally to hear the answer.

 

But Goffredo's unexpected optimism makes it, annoyingly, easier to be vulnerable about his own past. About coming out as an awkward thirteen-year-old, about gap years in France and Thailand, more ex-boyfriends that Goffredo can keep count of, and the years of refusing to answer his parents in Italian for no real reason at all. Aldo tells Goffredo about the years of Thomas, and Goffredo does a good job of keeping any displeased expressions to himself, maybe contented with the fact that Thomas is very evidently preoccupied with Vincent now.

 

It's a way in which they are vastly different: Goffredo is no virgin, true, but he's never dated anyone before. It's a fact that drops Aldo's jaw in shock when he hears it.

 

"How is that even possible?" And his genuine incredulity must flatter the older man, because his neck is blushing pink.

 

"I don't know. I don't really like women in that way, obviously." 

 

That draws a snort from Aldo. "Is there a way you do like women?"

 

"Well, I don't hate women, if that's what you're asking." Goffredo shrugs, and the nonchalance of his answer makes Aldo laugh in exasperation. "They're... attractive, sure, I have eyes. But I'm not..." Goffredo searches for the right word. 

 

"Right, because you're gay." Aldo says simply, as if willing that train of thought to a halt, and Goffredo furrows his eyebrows.

 

"What do you mean? I'm not gay." Goffredo says, and the genuine nature of the ludicrous statement makes Aldo choke. But then again... How did I not see this coming?

 

"You're joking, surely?" His eyebrows are sky high now, as always, willing the older man to make any damn sense at all. For once, God, for once.

 

"I could marry a woman!" Goffredo protests, and Aldo's shaking his head as if battery-powered.

 

"No, you won't." Aldo says it with such conviction that no one could possibly argue. But, then, Goffredo was impossible.

 

"Oh?" Goffredo asks, a knowing smirk crossing his lips. "And why not?"

 

He's got Aldo there, yet again, and all Aldo can do is burn pink and sit in awkward silence, unwilling to answer the question.

 

“But you could’ve dated men, too.” Aldo clears his throat, willing the question to distract from his almost-admission of the painful truth. “Why didn’t you?”

 

Goffredo shrugs again, then thinks, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t think I’d ever met someone I wanted to pursue seriously.” Aldo is diplomatic and ignores the past tense of the sentence that feels so glaring. But the pause must be too long for Goffredo’s taste, because he changes the subject. Thank God. 

 

"I just don't think you can really call me gay. I mean, nobody's ever..." Goffredo makes a gesture so obscene that Aldo turns from pink to red. 

 

" Never?" Aldo asks, and even as he says it, it makes perfect sense to him. Goffredo could only poorly hide his guilt and pleasure every time he went down on Aldo, and if that was the case, it was hard to picture him with his legs in the air. Although that would be interesting... 

 

" Are you joking?!" Goffredo scoffs. "Of course not. Look at me." And that brings Aldo back to the harsh reality that Goffredo was really, for all of his intelligence, a complete moron. How could I forget?

 

"What, you're too manly for anyone to fuck?" Aldo asks, his voice sounding rougher than he means it to. 

 

Goffredo shrugs, as if it's obvious. 

 

"And what if I wanted to try?"

 

He's never seen Goffredo go so pink so fast. After a beat, the older man clears his throat. "Don't be ridiculous."

 

"What about that is ridiculous?" Aldo asks, forcing Goffredo to meet his eyes. "I've fucked people before, you know."

 

Goffredo's practically glowing now. "All the more reason for me to not give you the satisfaction."

 

Aldo scoffs, offended by his own petty logic being used against him.

 

"You're the one who asked me to fuck you the night we met. It's not my fault." Goffredo shrugs, trying to appear even somewhat casual and failing. That was an act Aldo was getting more than used to.

 

"I'm not complaining!" Aldo protests. "I'm just saying, maybe someday I'll want to try something different."

 

Goffredo smirks. "Mm, sure, maybe."

 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Aldo asks dryly, knowing better than to accept Goffredo's ready agreement as anything but a mask for something worse. 

 

"I think we both know what's in your nature."

 

It's Aldo's turn to go pink. "Well, I've done that a lot, too." And he relishes Goffredo's scowl at the reminder that he's not the first man to take up residence between his thighs.

 

Sometimes, Goffredo’s jealousy peeks through that way, and that side of him that was so damned troglodytic would rear its head, and then he’s making some slick comment about Thomas preferring someone like Vincent (a dogwhistle if Aldo’d ever heard one) to him.

 

“Let’s not." Aldo snorts, eyes darting from the canvas he was blocking on the floor of Goffredo's study. 

 

"I'm not saying it hatefully, I'm just saying." Goffredo shrugs. 

 

He'd hold the older man more accountable if Vincent wasn't the only one of Aldo's cohort with a perfect grade in Goffredo's course. From the scarlet comments on all of Vincent's papers, Aldo knows that Goffredo has taken a liking to Vincent's mind, and that makes him insanely jealous. Which he'll never admit, of course. Each "good point," "well said," or "very interesting!" makes him feel like a caged animal. It’s made worse by the way they chatter together in Spanish before class, Aldo hating every time that someone could communicate with Goffredo in a way he couldn’t. And again, he finds himself wanting to be better, and falling short. That wasn't to mention Vincent's title as the only one of Aldo's classmates, other than himself, of course, with a little nickname from Goffredo- Vincenzo. And he didn't even have to sleep with him to get that.

 

But what really sends him flying off the handle is the shining red death sentence of Thomas’ first perfectly-scored paper.

 

He's vibrating with energy all night before Goffredo finally asks him what's wrong, and it feels like he explodes into a flurry of words and emotion that he can hardly remember. Maybe shamefully so.

 

"Well, yes," Goffredo replies evenly, which feels unfair. "Of course I have to hold you to a higher standard, it's only to be equitable." And maybe Aldo could accept that, but he continues. "But even if we weren't spending the summer together, I'd grade you the exact same." Goffredo shrugs, and Aldo wants to chuck his strawberries at him. 

 

His stunned silence must speak volumes, because Goffredo's eyebrows raise in that innocent way about him that is still so surprising. And fucking aggravating.  "Is that bad?"

 

"It's infuriating." Aldo hisses. "I've never so much as gotten a B in my life, and you're eviscerating me!" It's a bit of an overstatement, but he'll be damned if Goffredo corrects him.

 

"Well, I'm sorry that nobody has ever pushed you before." Goffredo clears his throat. "But I know you can do better."

 

The worst part of himself makes Aldo want to shift blame onto the older man, but he hesitates just long enough. "You have so much promise." Goffredo says softly, resting a hand on Aldo's knee. "When you master your mind, the world will be yours."

 

It’s an oddly Zen statement coming from the most conservative Catholic Aldo knows. But it's an argument that was long overdue, and it changes everything. Being forced into intentionality, allowing himself to pour over every word, he produces what he quickly comes to accept as his best writing. Goffredo makes his arguments stronger, introduces him to veritable new universes of discourse, makes him see beyond the glasses resting on his nose. And Aldo hates him for how much it genuinely enriches him. 

 

That's also what makes it so enraging when Goffredo opens his mouth to release some of the most ignorant shit Aldo's ever heard in his life. He tries to ignore it, thinking God is testing his patience, famously not one of his strengths. You know his heart. He's just foolhardy. And then other times, he snaps. 

 

"You know what I really hate about this reactionary fucking bullshit you spew?" The vitriol makes Goffredo's head snap around. "It takes me out of the fantasy."

 

That draws an offended gasp from Goffredo's lips, agape, and then a pause. "So I'm just a fantasy to you?" And Aldo acts bewildered, but he isn't surprised at all. He'd probably say the same thing. 

 

"Well, you don't really make it easy for me to take you seriously when you say things you don't even mean just to get a reaction. You're inflammatory, and I told you that when we started seeing each other." Aldo hates, hates, hates being right in these moments. Because all Goffredo can do is sit there, gobsmacked with the type of truth that Aldo just knows the taller man would never level at him. He was too tender for all of that, and this is how Aldo repays him. 

 

He supposes that's his curse. So very wickedly lonely and lovesick, but when he finally gets what he’d always wanted, he can't help but to hide behind those worst parts of himself. He doesn't even know how to work on it, because he's in Italy, for Christ's sake. 

 

Honestly, he's lucky Goffredo is an easy sell on just about anything. It's easy to pout and wriggle his way back into the older man's good graces, and yes, Aldo hates that too. For all that he knows now that Goffredo is pushing him for the better, Aldo notices too that Goffredo can't hold the line for himself, and that makes Aldo feel woozy. 

 

On a drunken night with Thomas, Vincent tucked neatly into the library like the saint he clearly aspires to be, Aldo admits the sting of their in-class quarreling. Thomas’ utter surprise is a little discouraging for Aldo’s long-term goal of a clean break from Goffredo.

 

"What do you mean?! He adores you!" Thomas protests in genuine disbelief, and Aldo hates how it warms him. 

 

"Everything I say, he says the opposite." Aldo shrugs, feigning carelessness despite his admission only seconds ago. 

 

"Please. You're clearly his favorite." Thomas scoffs, and Aldo's heart does something annoying and flippy. 

 

It's almost the halfway mark of their time together when Aldo decides to accept that as truth, delusion be damned.

 

And, he hates to admit, his summer is suddenly milk & honey. Trusting that Goffredo adored him as he purported to makes him blossom, and part of him wonders if he'd be returning home the same person as when he'd gone. 

 

It was painful in its own way, accepting so much love with a clear deadline. But he could no longer bear wondering if he'd look back and think his pridefulness ruined their one perfect summer, and it seemed more likely than not. 

 

Goffredo, kindly, doesn't say anything about it at first. But he notices- Aldo can feel it in his touch. Goffredo’s palm at the small of his back, the gentle brush of his thumb against the side of Aldo’s bare knee, the intertwining of their legs under café tables, and their pinkies brushing together when they walk down the street.

 

It's a blissful rainy weekend tucked into Goffredo's home when Goffredo finally asks, his face conveniently hidden behind his back as he washes their breakfast dishes. "So, what? You like me now?" And he's lucky, Aldo thinks, that he's left the younger man all-too-tender and sore, or he might be tempted to be a smartass.

 

Instead, Aldo sighs. "Of course I like you." 

 

Goffredo pauses, then accepts his momentary distraction of bubbles and mugs again. Aldo feels like he can hear the older man's thoughts. Go on, then. 

 

And Aldo supposes he owes him that. "I worry, sometimes. Because I do like you, very much, and I just..." Aldo trails off, and Goffredo clears his throat. 

 

"I know. But it feels good that you trust me, now." Finally. It doesn't need to be said out loud to be heard. 

 

He hates admitting that it's one of the lessons Goffredo teaches him that summer. Courage was nothing if you couldn't summon it when afraid. It was exhausting, and humiliating, and wounding to be known like this. But he had to accept it, or, as Goffredo had so presciently foretold, live to regret it. 

 

It doesn't change their bickering, not really, other than sweetening their tone. They still look like a perfectly Italian couple every Friday night on the town, waving their arms wildly as they discuss the Petrine privilege over pizza. That's another thing that ever-so-consciously gets under Aldo's skin. He hates being predictable, it's his curse in life, and his parents would love Goffredo, who knows him like a book he's read a thousand times just for pleasure. 

 

A small comfort, though, is the area where Goffredo is so similar to him while his parents had always been so different: God. Some part of him resents the academy, because he assumes that must have played a role in his their emotional detachment from religion, and it's been a perpetual thorn in Aldo's side to be so different from his beloved parents in that way. They would never fully understand him, he thought, but wouldn't they delight at the chance for an Italian son-in-law to whisk their precious baby away for an intellectual life in the big city. Even though Aldo was very warm to the idea, the thought of his own transparency made his soul wriggle uncomfortably. For as much as Goffredo was the one in the closet, Aldo feels like the one chock-full full of shame. 

 

Goffredo only plays that card against him once. "Don't you think they'd be happy?" Goffredo purrs into his ear, hanging onto Aldo from behind while he salts water to boil. "They get another excuse to come home more often, I could get you a teaching job, maybe we write something together..." He kisses Aldo's shoulder tenderly, hardly noticing the way it tenses. "I think they'd be very proud.”

 

And it's not an insult, nowhere close, but Aldo can't help but to take it that way, a lifetime of baggage invisibly piling between them. "My life isn't about what my parents want." He could leave it there, but he's not that lucky. "I'm not you." 

 

Goffredo pulls back like a gunshot. "That's not even true." He mumbles, and Aldo knows it. In many ways, Goffredo was braver than he could stand to be, first trying seminary and then deciding to leave. Forging a place for himself in a discipline that was so often unfriendly to first generation students, let alone those from the laity. Juggling the expectations of a traditional Italian family with the daily city life of a queer man- and then the reality of being a closeted academic at a papal university.

 

"Then why hide yourself from them?" Aldo asks, and it makes him wince as he says it. 

 

"That's rich coming from you." The distance between them feels like an ocean, which is a sore reminder in and of itself. "Maybe I am hiding, but you are the one pretending." Neither knows which is worse, but it hits Aldo in the gut all the same. It's only a few days after their conversation about trust, and maybe that's what makes it so painful for the both of them, the tugging at what should've been an old wound. 

 

It isn't long before Aldo is crawling into Goffredo's bed, curling up there. It's eerily quiet, or Aldo might think the older man was sleeping, but after a beat, Goffredo's fingers are tangling in his. 

 

"I'm sorry." Goffredo, as usual, knows exactly when to use English for maximum emotional impact. Aldo feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

 

"No, I'm-" He takes a deep breath, sniffles. "I'm sorry, I'm really trying-" 

 

“I know.” Goffredo says firmly, and it feels like a blanket wrapped around Aldo’s shoulders. Goffredo is always doing that, emotionally swaddling, and Aldo can’t stand to examine how much it comforts him. 

 

But for all his reluctance to lean into the warmth, it’s easier than to say how he truly feels, as if he could do that even with himself. That brought shame, too, his continuing inability to know himself wholly. It was something he’d prayed would disappear with age, but with every passing year, he felt even more like a child. 

 

This time, Aldo settles his weight on top of Goffredo, straddling the taller man’s waist to tuck his face into the salt-and-pepper stubble of his neck. Aldo can understand why Goffredo sleeps like that so often. He suspects he could stay like this forever, arms wrapped around Goffredo’s shoulders, nose buried in his scent, their chests pressing together. Only the cool cardinalate scarlet silk against Aldo’s fingertips reminds him that their lives are much too complicated to allow all of that. But do they have to be?

 

The warmth of Goffredo’s hands, one palm rubbing circles into the younger man’s back, and the other resting on the side of Aldo’s thigh, keeps him from overthinking it. For now. 

 

But it couldn’t be avoided forever, and for as much as Aldo was happy to let the days fly by without acknowledging their unfortunate reality, he knew that eventually they’d have to talk about what all of this meant. In his delusional dreams, he can let Goffredo down easily, and go back to England with nothing but a fond memory of a fun summer and no emotional attachment whatsoever. These moments make it harder to entertain that possibility that seemed to diminish before Aldo’s eyes. 

 

Doing anything else, though, had implications that were uncomfortable. What were they supposed to do, be in a long-distance relationship for five years? Trade off visiting back and forth, spending winter breaks in England and summers in Italy, wasting countless hours at airports and train stations? Calling each other every night to recount their separate days, whispering about how desperately they miss one another? Counting down the moments until Aldo graduates and can finally move to Rome?

 

For all that Aldo had already stubbornly decided he was diametrically opposed to the idea, it didn’t sound bad. Not at all. But then there was the fact that all of this meant going possibly months at a time without Goffredo’s touch that grew more addictive by the second, returning home to a bed that Aldo knew would be cold and empty, awkwardly explaining to his classmates that he was returning to Rome every few months to see his… boyfriend?

 

It felt like a silly word to refer to a man that felt, for Aldo, larger than life. With Goffredo’s rumbling voice and booming laugh, strong hands and sturdy chest, and the cloud of smoke that seemed to follow him wherever he went, boyfriend felt a little diminutive. 

 

Aldo’s brain wants to supply an alternative option, but he hushes himself before the word can even formulate in his mind. That wasn’t even legal in Italy, let alone for someone teaching on behalf of the Church. 

 

But God, do I want it.

 

That was an unfortunate truth with disappointingly few avenues to avoidance, Aldo was coming to realize. Made all the worse by the knowledge that Goffredo would jump to protect that weakness like the lion to the lamb. That he would treasure it, even, and cultivate it to growth. But invasive plants got uncontrollable quickly, and Aldo could feel how it took root in his heart and spread throughout his body, making a home in his soul. Because he was a wanting thing above all else.

 

Although Aldo didn’t know it, he found himself asking the same question of God that Goffredo had posed the first night that they’d slept together in the taller man’s bed. In typical fashion, God had an answer for them, but only Aldo was unwilling to hear it. For now.

 

Eventually, Goffredo’s snoring will lull him to sleep, and in the morning Aldo will lie about his dreams of a quaint future in the countryside bordering Rome spent with someone who he should hate very much, but found himself entirely entranced with. These are lies that buy him time. For now. 

 

Aldo is an experienced runner, after all. For as long as he’s been conscious, he’s been simultaneously avoiding the uncomfortable and bending over backwards to circumvent expectation. It was an act that would inevitably break him, the only question was when. Some part of him knew that and wondered if Goffredo was the wrecking ball sent by God to knock all of that down. But he could still pretend that there was some version of reality where he returns to that cold, empty bed with a smile on his face and the absence of longing in his heart. For now. 

 

Not forever. Not even for long. Just… for now. Please. 

 

And, taking pity on Aldo, God can allow it. But only for now.

Chapter 7

Notes:

thank you all for your patience with my lateness, i was on-duty as a new guncle!!!

a quick jaunt to the vatican to end our stay in aldoland (which i'm now realizing could have been called angstland.)

and next week: what's an italian vacation without a weekend getaway to capri?

It feels only natural, Aldo must admit, for them to wind up at the Vatican on one of these Goffredo-mandated outings. He treads lightly about it, which is appreciated, but Aldo is too perceptive to not notice how much Goffredo wants to go together from the very start.

 

When he learns that it'll be Aldo's first time, that it was one of his justifications for coming to Rome in the first place, he's nearly bouncing with excitement. Which makes his assurances that Aldo can go on his own, if he wants to, of course, all the more endearing. 

 

And it's a loaded question. If it feels heavy to go to the Vatican with your gay lover for Aldo, who only attended mass on special occasions growing up, then he can't imagine how it must feel for Goffredo. Which makes his enthusiasm all the more confusing. 

 

Maybe it was sexy, in some sick kind of way? Bumping shoulders as they shuffled through people to stare at the Pietà, knowing they'd be pawing at each other in some darkened corner behind the Basilica as soon as the moment allowed? Okay, yeah, maybe it's a little hot. He was only human, after all. But for as much as Aldo wants to focus on the forbidden heat of it all, he knows the uncomfortable reality that there is no universe in which their trip to the Vatican isn’t stuffed to the brim with emotion. That’s likely what helps him avoid it for so many weeks.

 

But Goffredo is dogged if nothing else, and it's a little over halfway through their shared summer before he’s poking at Aldo's side one morning with those doe eyes that are so debilitating. It sounds nice, actually, on a day that was expected to be unseasonably mild. But Aldo is a brat, lest he allow anyone to forget. 

 

“That’s how you want to spend your Saturday?” Aldo raises an eyebrow, tucking a pillow under his bicep. With the way Goffredo is eyeing his bare arm, the strategy might just be working. What a test of faith. 

 

“Every other Saturday, you’d say it’s too hot to do something enriching. We’d just sit around and drink.”

 

“And fuck.” Aldo supplies, and Goffredo narrows his eyes. He’s onto me. Dial it back.

 

“Why don’t you want to go?” That’s another annoying habit, how Goffredo blusters straight to the point in all things.

 

Aldo sighs, and is frustrated when Goffredo’s fingers come to cup his chin, keeping him from ducking the taller man’s gaze.

 

“Don’t you think it’ll be… you know…” Aldo gestures with his hand, finding himself yet again willing his Italian vocabulary of emotional descriptors to suddenly grow larger. Fuck it. “Intense!”

 

“Intense.” Goffredo repeats back in English, his eyes still narrowed as if searching through his brain via his irises. 

 

“We’re two gay Catholics who are…” Aldo cringes, finding himself stalling for the right word a second time. But here it wasn't about the language barrier. Goffredo, though, doesn’t object to the label. And it’s impossible for Aldo to not notice that.

 

“Involved.” Goffredo says airly, and Aldo scoffs, batting at his cotton-clad shoulder. Mornings like this were entirely too soft, how could Goffredo pull them away from this and haul them to a place that was, although significant, undoubtedly a… buzzkill. It’ll be a buzzkill.

 

“Is that what you’d call us?” Aldo asks, pressing his knee to part Goffredo’s thighs. From the way his eyes dart downwards and the hair on his bare skin stands up, Aldo thinks he might have a real chance here. 

 

“Something like that.” Goffredo clears his throat, furrows his brows. A heroic attempt. You have to admire his persistence. “Look, we’ve got to go at some point, and the longer we wait, then we’re looking at spending one of your last days in Rome at the Vatican…”

 

Aldo’s wince must be visible, because Goffredo snorts. “Yeah,” the older man continues. “As much as I’m sure you’d love to be defiled against a Caravaggio, I have some respect for our Church, so…” 

 

Aldo rolls his eyes. He’s so obnoxious when he wins. “Fine. But you’re buying me lunch.”

 

“I buy you lunch every day.” Goffredo snarks, rolling their bodies so that Aldo is trapped between him and the mattress. Aldo can’t help but glance down at his lips, reddened by his morning shadow. Occasionally, he gets these glances of Goffredo that make him wonder if he’s robbing some other man out there of an experience. If he were dating anyone else, he’d be the pretty one. Some part of him wishes he were the valiant sort to send Goffredo out to sow his wild romantic oats rather than invest them all in his first… field? Aldo wasn’t sure if the metaphor carried, but he knew looking at Goffredo, that he wasn’t going to develop that sort of self-sacrificial nature now.

 

“Not every day.” Aldo doesn’t think the airiness in his voice is believable, but tells himself he must be biased.

 

“I’m not complaining.” Goffredo protests, leaning in to press little kisses into Aldo’s jaw. “Take me for all I’m worth.”

 

Aldo snorts. “You don’t mean that.”

 

“I do. Mostly.”

 

“Then we’ll have Thai today, finally?” Aldo says searchingly, and smirks when Goffredo nods his assent. Pushover. Aldo wasn’t unaccustomed to having someone wrapped around his little finger, but never someone that made his skin feel so warm and stomach flip quite like this. Goffredo’s little sigh when Aldo’s fingers slide neatly into his bed-ruffled curls makes the younger man’s heart skip a troubling amount of beats. 

 

For as much as Aldo wants to stay that way, Goffredo has made a compelling point. There was no returning home without having seen the Vatican, and Aldo knew he was likely to have a meltdown if they found themselves in the Sistine Chapel with only a few days left of their fleeting summer. And although Aldo wants to tell himself they were far from the deadline, he notices how quickly the days seem to pass when they’re nestled together. The inevitability of what that meant, however, he was still adamantly ignoring.

 

They have a nervous energy about them, which Aldo supposes makes sense. They brush their teeth in a should-be-awkward silence, even their reliable neighbor with the too-loud stereo has nothing to add to this mild morning. It’s a silence that tilts Aldo towards indulging those old habits that died hard and then seemed to reanimate. Is he rethinking everything? Goffredo is staring at himself doggedly in the mirror, honeyed brown eyes darting across his own blank face. Does he feel guilty? Goffredo ducks his head to spit, rinses out his mouth, wipes at his lips. Am I of the devil? 

 

“You should wear the green again.” Goffredo clears his throat, tapping at Aldo’s shoulder to indicate that he’s referring to a deep emerald polo the younger man had worn the week before. Aldo’s face colors, remembering how Goffredo couldn’t keep his hands off of him all day, and the guilt sets in again. Why do I always assume the worst of him?

 

And that’s a train of thought that, thankfully, keeps Aldo’s marathon mind occupied even whilst they stand in yet another queue to enter yet another monument. Obviously, though, this is a bit more loaded than seeing the Colosseum. It's uncomfortably busy, unsurprisingly so, but Aldo doesn't mind as much as he normally would. The awkward shoulder-to-shoulder shuffle makes it easy to conceal their intertwined hands. Somehow, despite the hustle, bustle, and eerie anticipation, the younger man finds himself shockingly at ease. Aldo was skeptical- of a great many things, but also of holy spaces. Maybe he felt it was unintellectual, to believe in some mystic attachment to a building made by humankind, but suddenly he was coming to understand. 

 

The artwork makes everything easier: it's Aldo's happy place, where his academic and spiritual occupations can coexist happily with the fantasy of objectivity. Amongst a sea of people escorted by tour guides and creaky old headphones, their quiet observation and shared glances make the experience surprisingly intimate. They know the canon- and one another- well enough to discourse from ten miles away, and those “elitist tendencies” in Aldo's soul couldn't imagine anything headier. He's not sure if it's the context of it all or the genuine feeling of sacrality around him, but the hair on Aldo's arms is standing up painfully for the entirety of their visit. 

 

But never so much as when they enter the Sistine Chapel. Aldo’s never been so transfixed in his life, for all of the places and things he’s seen. Goffredo glances up too, but his primary occupation is observing the shorter man with a little smile, and the feeling makes warmth crawl up Aldo's sun-darkened skin. And then, a wave of emotion is crashing into Aldo with debilitating force, making his knees weak and fingers tingle.

 

For all that he could foretell the moment’s intensity, Aldo still finds himself stunned into utter silence. He hasn’t felt anything like it before, the pervasive feeling of divinity, the reverberating silence, the feeling of being laid bare in this sanitized environment by the leveling stare of someone he loved so much that it felt sinful. 

 

It was, in some regards, a reality check. Aldo had never really consciously considered himself someone living in two worlds: he felt himself fairly adept at braiding the seemingly disparate strands of his religious, personal, and scholarly life together to create something that, if nothing else, made sense to him. But standing there, in the Apostolic Palace, he feels like the squarest of pegs in the roundest of holes. Naively, he didn’t expect that. What could be more for people like them than their Father who had created them perfectly in His image? Where could they be more at home than in their Father’s house? 

 

And yet, his skin was crawling in a way that was neither totally unsettling nor comforting. Is this what it feels like? His eyes flicker to Goffredo, but only for a moment. It was all too much. To be pulled apart?

 

The thought of so many of his siblings in struggle with the most intimate and true parts of themselves forever trapped and silenced by these walls, so strikingly beautiful, echoed through Aldo's mind like a death rattle. How could you bear to carry such a cherished secret in a place like this? How was he still, even now, considering it? And for what? To be a half-king of a spiritual nation of half-people, fractured irrevocably by dogmatic ideology? 

 

It was the sickest contradiction of beauty and the grotesque in this, the holiest of places, and Aldo shouldn't have been surprised when tears began to stream silently down his cheeks. He wonders if Goffredo knows how he feels, or thinks he's just that much a child of God to be brought to saintly tears, but then he catches the older man's gaze and he has his answer. For as much as Aldo cries freely, probably a little too much, he's never seen Goffredo so choked up before. Angry, sure, irritated, always. But seeing him on the verge of tears and looking veritably in pain was almost too much. When their eyes meet, Goffredo quirks his lips in a weak smile, and reaches his hand to clasp Aldo's shoulder for just a moment. 

 

Aldo couldn't help but think back to the first night they'd met, the secret Goffredo had told him about so many of the men who had ruled the world from these halls. He had to wonder how many of them had perched nervously here, waiting to see if they'd be elevated to a place where secrets like theirs couldn't safely hide. More likely, probably, were those who wanted the power so badly that anything else was of secondary concern. And while Aldo knew that, logically, the thought seemed so unnatural in Goffredo's presence there.

 

It was too easy to imagine, perhaps, the route to their mutual existence in this room if they'd made a few decisions differently. The vain part of him, maybe, can picture it: emerging from the balcony onto St. Peter's Square in all white, Goffredo's barely-contained pride as his Secretary of State. It was a delusional fantasy, and in a less emotional moment, Aldo would've doubled over laughing at himself, even if he got the nagging feeling that the image wasn't of his own creation. But he knew the truth of that alternate world in the Church. They would've had no choice to let their differences divide them. To the point of hatred, maybe. And that vision was just as strong, the shouting, the shared glares, the awkward ache that has to go unexplained for the uncomfortability of its truth.

 

It’s a stream of consciousness that makes Aldo feel sick, and faced with this uncertainty, he does what feels natural to him. 

 

I don’t know what I’m doing here. In Rome, I mean. I’m not sure what you want me to be doing here, either, or even what I want me to be doing. 

 

Well, I guess that’s not really true. I know what I want, but I don’t know if I can have it and still be me.

 

But that could be the whole point. I’ve been trying so hard to get myself back on a plane the same person that I was when I left, but maybe that’s not who I’m supposed to be anymore?

 

I don’t know, but God, I’m so tired of being confused. Can’t you just tell me? Send some sign to guide me, so that I don’t have to figure it out for myself? All of this change is exhausting, and I… I don’t know if I’m strong enough to have what I really want and hold it close. The way he should be held.

 

I don’t understand. I don’t get why you’d send me here knowing that I didn’t want anything I couldn’t take home with me, and now I’m sitting in the Sistine Chapel, trying to juggle who I’ve always thought I was with who I’d need to be to keep him. And deserve him. God, do I deserve him? Is it wrong to even ask?

 

It feels wrong to me. I shouldn’t even want him. He’s ignorant, and short-sighted, and traditional, and contradictory… well, you know. You made him that way, for some fucking- sorry. Sorry. 

 

But for all that you made him that way, you also made me love him. And I just don’t understand why. It’d be one thing to love him, but why did you make it so hard to let go? What are you trying to tell me? Is it a punishment? A sign that a vow of celibacy would keep me out of trouble? Do I need to decolonize my mind? Probably so, but this would sure be a funny way of showing it. 

 

Or is he right, I’m being too stubborn? Too self-righteous to see the similarities? Too set in my way to see this path you’ve forged for me, for us? Would all roads only lead to Rome anyway?

 

I still don’t know. I don’t know if I ever will. But… thank you. Thank you for the Enlightenment, and interfaith marriages, and seminary dropouts… because this is so much better than what it could’ve been. Even if he does look really good in scarlet. 

 

I just know there are so many worlds where we can’t bear to be near each other. Thank you for letting me live in a world where we can’t bear to be apart. Even if I can’t understand why.

 

The older man's hand on his shoulder pulls him from where he's been sitting, deep in thought. It startles Aldo at first, but he’s glad for the chance to set his mind at peace. For now. Aldo rises from his seat, and when their chests are pressed together by the throngs of tourists passing them, they both chuckle a little awkwardly. 

 

"Something about being in here..." Aldo whispers, "I want to break a rule." He smirks, and Goffredo knows he's being inflammatory to distract from the tides of emotion that are still crashing off of him, so maybe that's why he gets his wish.

 

Before Aldo can think better of his rebellion, Goffredo leans down to press a tender kiss to the younger man’s lips. It's quick, fast enough that they thankfully go unnoticed, but the pressure of it and the barely concealed want makes Aldo feel light-headed. Goffredo must know that too, because he grins weakly and tugs Aldo along on their self-guided tour. 

 

Thankfully, the gallery of sculptures is much less loaded. It's a refreshing break for the both of them to have Aldo play teacher for a while, Goffredo listening attentively as he prattles on about the differences in Hellenistic and Roman sculpture. But Goffredo can't help his tendency to subvert Aldo's expectations, and before long they're crafting little tales about each figure and their neighbors, their tangled imagined interpersonal webs. 

 

Then they stumble upon a figure of two little dogs, and Goffredo can hardly contain his laughter. He's practically bent over before Aldo can force an answer out of him, Goffredo gasping out that the little Italian greyhounds look exactly like Aldo. Leaning against each other in laughter, Aldo chokes out that his parents have had greyhounds all his life, that there were two exactly like that sitting in their Brooklyn apartment, waiting for Aldo to come home. Goffredo insists on seeing them, and Aldo promises that he will, neither of them having the heart to ask how exactly that will happen with an end date on their relationship from the very start. But they've spent so much time giggling when they arrive at lunch that Aldo almost forgets his emotional spell in the Sistine. But if he had any hope of doing so, Goffredo's usual role as bull in his own emotional china shop would have pummeled it. 

 

"Do you want to tell me what you were thinking about earlier?" Goffredo asks casually, holding his chopsticks in his mouth as he pours them both a glass of water. 

 

"I don't know, do you want to tell me what you were thinking about earlier?" Aldo replies coolly.

 

Goffredo hesitates, then shrugs. "Probably the same thing, no?"

 

Aldo chuckles. "Exactly, so why do we have to talk about it?"

 

"If I said that to you," Goffredo pauses, considering his words carefully. "What would you say?"

 

It's a good point, and as always, Aldo hates him for that. "That bottling up your feelings is unhealthy and toxically masculine." Aldo clears his throat.

 

"Right. So, do you want to tell me what you were thinking about earlier?"

 

Aldo feels Goffredo's foot come to rub at his reassuringly under the table, and he can appreciate the gesture enough. 

 

"I guess it's just sad." Aldo says after a long pause. "It feels like it's a place... neither for us or against us, you know?"

 

Goffredo nods. "Yes. Like a..." He searches for the right word. "A siren. Just because it calls to you doesn't mean it's for you."

 

It’s not the first time Aldo’s suspected the older man of being a mind-reader.

 

"But isn't it beautiful? To imagine, sometimes?" Goffredo asks, and that rings of truth too. Aldo thinks back to the vivid images that had played through his mind like little films in that holy space. Would Goffredo laugh like he should have? Mock his arrogance? 

 

Aldo isn't sure if he's ready to find out, so he hides the pink of his cheeks behind his water and decides to ask a different question. "What do you think it would've been like? If we'd both... you know?"

 

Goffredo pauses his chewing for a moment. But only a moment. "Well, you'd probably hate me."

 

Aldo makes a sound of exasperation. " We'd hate each other, surely." Goffredo shrugs.

 

"I don't know, I think I'm pretty tolerant. Why should I care what you think?" He takes a sip of water. "I mean, unless you were the Pope or something, I guess." Goffredo chuckles dryly, and Aldo is deathly silent for a moment as he watches Goffredo's face.

 

"Actually," the older man says after a pregnant pause. "I'd never really thought about it before, but you'd be a good Pope."

 

"Really?" Aldo says, his voice full of sickeningly-sweet hope. 

 

Goffredo nods. "Yeah, of course." He clears his throat. "You're a good speaker, ambitious, ruthless-"

 

"What?!" Aldo squawks. "That's what you think of me?! Ruthless?" Aldo knows he's falling for the bait, feeling his face grow hot. 

 

Goffredo smirks. "What, I thought you wanted to be Pope?!"

 

"I don't want to be Pope!" Aldo protests, the little snicker it draws from Goffredo's mouth infuriating him even more. Goffredo knew all of his buttons and made a habit of creating arias on them. 

 

"Right, sure, the guy who always wanted to play priest when he was a kid..." And Aldo scowls at that.

 

"I told you that in confidence." Aldo mutters, and Goffredo knocks their knees together affectionately. 

 

"Relax." Goffredo snickers. "You know who'd be a good Pope?" He asks, and Aldo raises an eyebrow to invite his suggestion, as if he were Dean of the College of Cardinals. A ridiculous idea.

 

"Vincenzo." 

 

The air between them lingers for a moment as they both consider the possibility, before Aldo nods. "I mean, sure." He can admit that much, even if the weak, jealous side of him wanted to deny it. "If the Church all of a sudden decided to relax about some things.”

 

Goffredo raises an eyebrow in confusion, but doesn't ask, and Aldo is glad that he can get away with the comment without feeling too bad about himself. 

 

But he must sense some of Aldo's guilt, because he continues. "You shouldn't feel bad for thinking about it, you know. Besides, everyone wants to be Pope."

 

"You- what, you want to be Pope?" Aldo raises an eyebrow, and Goffredo shrugs again. 

 

"Sure, why not? I'd be good at it." Goffredo looks him up and down, then smirks. "Can Popes have concubines?"

 

"Oh my God," Aldo scoffs, rolling his eyes. "The least you could do is give me Theologian of the Pontifical Household. I can feed you grapes in my free time."

 

"Deal." Goffredo grins. "But what do I get if you become Pope?"

 

"Oh, you don't want to be my concubine?" Aldo mocks back, then decides on honesty. "I was sort of thinking Secretary of State..."

 

Goffredo can't hold in his laugh. "You are in love with me, aren't you?"

 

And it's a joke, but it makes Aldo burn bright red, and Goffredo doesn't let him hear the end of it all day. Just when Aldo thinks he might have forgotten, Goffredo finds a way to work the admission into conversation, telling anyone who’ll listen that Aldo is going to be the Holy Father and that he’ll be his Secretary of State. The lemonade girl a few blocks down laughs so hard she snorts, and that makes Aldo blush, but assures them that they’d do a good job of it. So long as they don’t get distracted.

 

It’s that type of casual intimacy with the people of Rome that Goffredo seemingly enjoys but Aldo just cannot wrap his anxious arms around. Weren’t they supposed to be a secret? How could that be possible, when it seemed like every barkeep, café waitress, bookseller, and dog-walker around knew them like the back of their hands? Like we’ve been here forever. Like we always will be. 

 

Aldo wants to carry a torch of annoyance about it, for his pride if nothing else, but Goffredo always finds his way back into the younger man’s good graces. No matter how hard I try.  

 

It's hard to get the older man more pliant than how Aldo finds him in bed that evening, at the end of a long day full of sun, walking, and food. He's already snoring intermittently into Aldo's skin in between whispered droplets of sugar when he rubs the tip of his nose lovingly against the length of the shorter man’s neck, and whispers. 

 

"I adore you with everything in me." And he must feel Aldo's body tense, because he continues. "You know that, don't you, caro mio?" He presses a kiss to the tender spot behind Aldo's ear. "My pet. My treasure." 

 

And then, he's back to snoring, his forehead leaning against the side of Aldo's skull. And Aldo is happy for the cover to duck his face into the sheets, hiding a sheepish grin. 

 

Yes, he was all too thankful to be in this world, this time. Papacy be damned. 

 

 

 

Chapter 8

Notes:

i heard the people need comfort food. to say thank you for hanging with me through the woe of aldo: 22k of fluffy, smutty fun. enjoy!

next week: our penultimate peril, and two things you've all been waiting for...

lastly, i made a twitter! come talk to me about these two idiots. @cattivelloed!

Under a thin veneer of nonchalance, Goffredo has been planning. His enjoyment of their fleeting summer has been genuine, of course, but he has no intentions of letting Aldo Bellini leave Italy. No matter how good he may be at hiding his panic. 

He was sort of hoping that, after a few weeks, Aldo would crack and realize that his stubborn refusal to be proven wrong was going to leave them both sore and alone. If he was having that realization, he certainly wasn’t vocalizing it, and Goffredo had the sneaking suspicion that Aldo’s frequent outbursts of poorly-contained tears were an indication otherwise. So, facing Aldo’s next-to-last weekend before the date so neatly printed on his airline ticket (a thought that makes Goffredo want to smoke three cigarettes at once,) desperate times call for desperate measures.

What do Americans love about Italy? So much that they’d actually consider moving? The answer, for Goffredo, was obvious: Capri.

Despite the creeping feeling that this would be one of his last resorts, Goffredo brings it up casually. 

“Huh?” Aldo mumbles, pulled from the essay he’s drafting on random pieces of scrap paper in Goffredo’s study. It was incredibly inconvenient, competing with his own assignments for Aldo’s attention. “Capri? No, I haven’t been before.” He hums, tapping his pen on the coffee table. 

“Well, I think we should go.” Goffredo clears his throat, knowing that telling Aldo directly to pay attention will show his hand. And it’s far too soon for all of that. “I want to take you. This weekend. I already booked the hotel.”

That stills the tapping, at least. “Oh. Really?” Aldo looks up at him, finally, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s… very sweet of you, thank you.”

Goffredo nods awkwardly, tucking his hands into his pockets. Aldo tilts his head slightly, detecting his unease, but thankfully chooses to ask a different question.

“How are we going to get down there?”

“I’ll drive us?” Goffredo says, befuddled, as if it’s obvious.

“You have access to a car?” Aldo’s eyebrows are raised in condescending skepticism.

Goffredo scoffs. “Yes, I have a car.”

“You own a car ?!” Aldo splutters, and Goffredo looks around as if suddenly unsure of his whereabouts.

“Why are you shouting at me?”

“I’ve lived with you for, what, 7 weeks? You’ve never driven anywhere!”

Goffredo shrugs. “We have a good public transport system.” But that only makes Aldo flail his hands.

“So why do you own a car, then?” Aldo asks, exasperation dripping off of every word. 

“I could need to go home, you never know!” His voice veers into defensiveness now, and he has to remind himself that he’s playing it cool. Lest the plan be noticed. “And now, look, I need to drive us to Naples. So it all worked out, didn’t it?”

Aldo sighs, rubbing at his temples. “Okay, sure. Never mind the fact that you’re contributing to urban sprawl, where do you park it? For all you know, it could have been stolen by now, with you going two months without using it…”

Goffredo rolls his eyes dramatically, waving an arm towards the window. “It’s parked outside, we walk past it every day.”

“What?!” Aldo’s pen drops to rest on the table. Goffredo nods. “Show me. Now.”

The smirk on Goffredo’s face is unflappable when he walks Aldo outside and gestures to the ruby red coupe parked across the street. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Aldo’s jaw drop quite like that. And he likes to think he shocks Aldo regularly.

“You’re joking.”

“What?” Goffredo snorts. “What’s funny?”

“You drive a fucking red sports car.” Aldo turns to look up at him with an expression that is sort of unreadable for Goffredo. A mix of frustration and arousal, maybe? “That’s hilarious.” But Aldo’s not laughing, which is also a little confusing. 

“Why is that funny…?” Goffredo asks searchingly. Aldo just shakes his head and goes back to rubbing his temples. 

“So I’ve been leaning up against your car and smoking cigarettes for weeks, and you didn’t tell me.”

Goffredo shrugs. “You might’ve stopped.” Maybe he’s wrong, but he thinks he sees Aldo’s lips quirk at that. “In any case, I hope you brought a swimsuit.”

“I did.” Aldo says evenly. They exchange a look, and Goffredo wonders if the implicit needs to be said, then says it anyway.

“One of those hideous American ones, or-?”

“No.” Aldo scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your eyeful.” It should make Goffredo blush with guilt, but when he glances over, Aldo is looking at him warmly. And that’s always a pleasant distraction from feeling guilty.

“It’ll be fun.” He nearly mumbles, and Goffredo smirks.

“Sorry, it’ll be what?” Goffredo asks, reaching to poke Aldo in the side, prompting an involuntary giggle from the shorter man.

“I said it’ll be fun!” Aldo repeats, louder, finally allowing his face to break into a grin. 

All we have to do is stick to the plan.

Aldo isn’t a morning person, Goffredo knows, so “the plan” begins very early that Saturday. He has a pot of espresso and toast covered in a thick layer of hazelnut spread ready when he wakes Aldo up, letting the younger man munch blearily while he loads the car, humming as it preheats. 

Of course, Aldo overpacks, so it takes longer than it really ought to. But Goffredo isn’t complaining, which comes as a shock even to him. When Goffredo finally returns to the kitchen, Aldo’s nursing what must be his third espresso, and is finally warming up to the world. He notices Goffredo and extends his arms, and when he smiles softly, it’s hard to refuse him. Even if they really should be going. 

Like so many other mornings, Goffredo cradles Aldo’s head against his stomach, pretending not to notice the younger man burying his nose in the cotton of his shirt and inhaling. “Thank you.” Aldo murmurs quietly, leaning into the gentle push of Goffredo’s fingers through his hair, long enough now to twist in easily. 

“For what?” Goffredo asks genuinely, and is rewarded with the flash of Aldo’s hazel eyes under those long, dark eyelashes.

“You know, everything. Breakfast, and putting the bags in the car, and planning the trip, and…” Aldo trails off. There’s more to be said there, but Goffredo isn’t sure if it just doesn’t need to be said out loud, or if Aldo is reluctant to admit it. “Everything.”

“Of course.” Goffredo shrugs, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, because it really does feel like it. When trying to conjure up a list of things he wouldn’t do for Aldo, he always fell short, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. 

And then there’s the sight of Aldo curled up in the passenger seat, swaddled in a too-large sweatshirt, goosebumps decorating bare knees as the younger man rotates between warming his hands with his cup of to-go coffee and taking drags off of a cigarette.

The morning breeze floating through the open windows makes the silence easy, and Goffredo wonders if Aldo is thinking as intently as he is. It seems inescapable now that their days feel more numbered than ever before. There was no way to wake up that morning and not think about how, two weeks from that day, Aldo would be off to the airport. The roar of engines, a flash of light, and he would be gone.

It was a suggestion that was too much to bear, and Goffredo had been dancing around it for as long as humanly possible, believing everything would just work out. Aldo was more hard-headed than he’d bargained for. Sure, he supposes, it’s easy for him to say. Aldo was the one who’d need to uproot his life if Goffredo got his wish, which does make him feel a bit guilty. Except for the fact that it feels so right. 

And besides, if Goffredo, for all of his baggage and complications, could imagine a path forward, what could possibly be so difficult for Aldo? It was the older man with a family and job on the line. All Aldo was risking was his pride. It should turn Goffredo bitter, but it doesn’t. He remembers being twenty-six, and although it really isn’t all that far in the past, it feels like he’s aged centuries since then. And he had good cause to do so.

He steals another glance at Aldo, whose sock-clad feet are now placed on the dashboard as he stares out of the window. Maybe he’s daydreaming. He looks more puzzled than anything, thumb worrying the side of his index finger as he smokes. Maybe he’s as worried as I am. 

No, Aldo hasn’t really had an occasion to wisen him, and Goffredo can’t begrudge him that. It’s exactly what he’d wish for Aldo: a life of uncomplication and wishes fulfilled. Frustratingly, though, it seems that Aldo’s actively working against him on that point. 

Maybe it’s just easier for him to see a vision of the future. Aldo did seem the type to have made up his mind on a ten-year plan with the determination of a bulldog. Goffredo had been knocked on his ass far too many times for that sort of thing. No, he knew that God had his design in place long before either of them had even been a thought, and that was both a comfort and a curse. He wants to believe he’s going along with what’s right, but how should he know?

It feels right. 

That’s one thing he’s certain of, so he really hopes God agrees. And that’s a new feeling in and of itself. He doesn’t vocalize this to Aldo when they talk about Goffredo’s relationship history (or lack thereof,) but he’s had his fair share of opportunities, and it’s always been easy to politely decline because of his concrete belief that he, well, belonged to God. Dropping out of seminary complicated that temporarily, and those years of university afforded him many romps, but by the time it came where settling down was even a thought, he was working at a pontifical university. And that meant going back to living in secrecy, to some extent. Sure, maybe he could sleep with someone on the weekend, but there would be no “my partner,” if that was something that Goffredo even wanted. That made it easy to tuck the idea away. Besides, he’s been alone all his life, even when surrounded with friends and family. He was blessed and cursed to live a rich inner life.

That was fine, really, for many years. It lets him publish frequently, spend his money on stupid things, and drink more than he ought to.

And then there was Aldo Bellini. One of the troubling things about him was that it didn’t feel, as Goffredo always feared it would, like he has to sacrifice much of anything to slot Aldo into his life perfectly. He suddenly had an appreciation for the tendency he’d observed first in graduate school of academics to pair off with other academics. Even after only a few weeks, they’d found a comfortable rhythm of working together followed by the near-daily reward of too-much wine and just-enough sex. It was ideal, really, for Goffredo.

There were just a few sticky wickets. One, convincing Aldo to take him seriously. Then there was breaking the news to his family, because he knew without it being said that Aldo was unwilling to be anyone’s secret (and again, Goffredo can’t begrudge him that.) And lastly, continuing the juggling act of being closeted at work. Which Goffredo was an expert at. Easy enough. 

If Goffredo could wrap his mind around the idea so easily, then what was Aldo’s hold-up, exactly? Goffredo’s many years of obedient insecurity would suggest to him that Aldo’s just not that interested. Thankfully, he’s a more healed person than he had been at Aldo’s age, or he would’ve abandoned ship a long time ago. No, he sees how Aldo looks at him, and can’t help but notice how his heart pounds and pupils dilate. That jealous streak that should be infuriating but fills Goffredo’s stomach with warmth. To feel so wanted. Whether Aldo would admit it or not was beside the point. Goffredo would crack him, eventually. It was just a matter of when. 

“What are you thinking about?” Aldo asks, his voice still raspy from sleep. 

Goffredo decides on truthfulness. They have to start somewhere, don’t they? “You.”

When he glances over, Aldo’s ears look hot. “What about me?”

Goffredo clears his throat. That’s a trickier one. He lets a hand fall from the steering wheel, resting on Aldo’s bare thigh. Freezing. His fingers dart to turn on the seat-warmer, and then return to their place.

“You have seat warmers?” 

“Why,” Goffredo turns his head just enough to catch Aldo’s eyes. “Are you going to make fun of me for that, too?”

“No.” Aldo replies, half-incredulously. But he knows he deserves it. “It’s nice.” 

Goffredo nods, accepting the peace offering. His mind drifts back to their argument two weeks prior. As he’d said that day, he knows Aldo is trying, and he sees it. He just doesn’t know what to do to help. How to ease barriers whose creation he doesn’t even understand. 

“So, what about me?” Aldo asks again, and Goffredo marvels at his restraint. He knows for all that he’s been, whether or not either of them wants to admit it, a mentor to Aldo, the younger man isn’t the only one who’s been growing and learning that summer. A year ago, it would’ve been far too easy to tell Aldo that the question was symbolic of their entire time together, but he tucks that feeling away. It’s likely the wrong thing to try and bury, but he doesn’t know how to vocalize that feeling just yet. He doesn’t even know if it’s an acceptable emotion to have.

Goffredo clears his throat. “Just that I’ve been having fun with you. Things have been good. That’s all.”

They sit in the resulting silence for a long moment, the wheels in Aldo’s mind churning almost audibly. 

“Fun is good.” Aldo concludes, and it would almost pass at casual, if not for the English. 

“You like having fun.” Goffredo points out, raising an eyebrow. 

“Who doesn’t?”

It’s a fair point, but they both know they’re not really saying what they mean. Deciding, yet again, to be the mature one, Goffredo gets to the point.

“You know how seriously I take you.” He glances over his shoulder to change lanes, but there’s no real reason for it. Something to ease the tension, he supposes. “Given that context, I wouldn’t think having fun would be taken negatively.”

Aldo nods, considering the point. “Fair enough.” He doesn’t push it further, and Goffredo is glad. It’d be far too easy to point out that if anyone’s motives are at question, it’s Aldo’s, not his. 

Somehow, after all of this time that has slipped through warm hands like dripping water, and despite knowing one another so well now that it felt strange to think of themselves as having been strangers, neither knows the depth of the other’s feelings. And that’s the sort of dam that doesn’t fare well under stress. So it’s a good thing that they’re on vacation.

Getting out of the city is a good excuse for Goffredo to roll the windows down further and turn up the radio. It’s been a bit of a coping mechanism for him ever since he bought his first car after, fittingly, signing his first teaching contract. As a (now-reformed?) misanthrope from the countryside, living in Rome got to be overwhelming at times, and it was nice to escape from the place that seemed to present everything he could possibly want yet simultaneously deny him his truest desires. 

Safe to say, then, that the car has seen its fair share of Goffredo swallowing his feelings. It’s only the cause that’s significantly different. And his presence in the passenger seat.

He’s not entirely surprised, given that the sun is only just rising, that he glances over and finds Aldo slumped against the car door in slumber. He’s thankful, really, because Aldo tended towards confrontation when deprived of his sleep. And that wouldn’t do on this, the weekend away that was supposed to convince Aldo of his desperate need to relocate to Italy. The status quo of their pseudo-relationship was a delicate thing, and as the alleged date of Aldo’s departure loomed closer, equilibrium became all the more difficult to maintain. 

It was no wonder, Goffredo thought, that Aldo seemed to drive them towards collision. He could certainly understand the motive. If they blew up at one another hard enough, if someone said enough things they couldn’t take back, then maybe it’d be easier. He wants to be angry with Aldo for that, but he knows it’s for both of them, really. Goffredo hates the tendency but also knows his life would likely be simpler if Aldo would just deal him a mortal wound and then slink away like a mutt with a stolen bone. Then they could pretend that it was all for nought from the very start. That was much less frightening than trying to make something perfect last. At least Aldo’s worst tendencies protected them both. 

It felt strange to even think of him this way, a rebel without a cause, determined for destruction. Particularly when he looked so soft, holding himself and curling his toes in his sleep. How could something so precious fight with such ferocity? Like giving a puppy medicine. 

Goffredo wasn’t sure what to make of that, either. He was far from a paternal figure in anyone’s life. But there was something about Aldo that made him frenzied with the desire to swaddle, to cradle, to care. It was an odd train of thought to pursue about a man with a nearly-unbanishable five o’clock shadow and the musculature of an Olympian. But, then, they were both unusual in that way. Goffredo would go to his grave maintaining that his facsimile of masculinity was far more convincing than Aldo’s, but really, at the end of the day, they were content to be persnickety together. 

And that makes Goffredo think back to the stories Aldo had told him over the passing weeks about his relationship with Thomas. It was all too easy to picture how their respective personalities would feed the perception that Aldo had Thomas totally and utterly whipped, and how that in turn would only make Aldo more fussy and Thomas more forbearing. Then, the irony of Aldo being the one to end their relationship, purportedly because of misalignment. But Goffredo was too smart to accept that story, and was honestly a little confused about why Aldo was hiding the truth, when it seemed so evident from Vincent and Thomas’ relationship: they were positively downy. 

Goffredo could admit that yes, he and Aldo were tender, but it was different. All of that softness was underscored with possessiveness and desire and passion unlike anything Goffredo had ever experienced. Every kiss could’ve just as easily been a bite, and that made each one all the sweeter. 

Much to Goffredo’s chagrin, it’s easy to imagine Thomas and Aldo together, rutting against one another weakly in some cramped dorm room with the sound of traffic drifting in from the window. The awkward squeaking of the bed that seems to echo with the eerie silence. Aldo laughs recounting stories like that, but they always make Goffredo’s skin crawl. He knew the experience all too well, but he couldn’t escape the pervasive feeling that Aldo was too good for that. There could be no going back to stuttering, dry hands and the arrhythmic premature thrust of tongues. 

No. He steals another glance, allowing his eyes to linger over Aldo’s form for just a moment, darting between his thighs, lips, and wrists. He deserves to be worshipped.

Then there was that other uncomfortable thought. Is what they do together really what Goffredo would call worship? He doesn’t know if it’s the Catholic guilt or genuine misgivings that make his heart pang thinking about all of the times he’s shushed Aldo’s whine at the push of sore legs against his chest yet again, all of the times he’s cooed patronizingly at the tears prickling Aldo’s cheeks when Goffredo fucks his way into his throat. The comments he’s let slip from his lips in the heat of the moment, telling Aldo that this is all his mouth is good for. That only whores make noises like that. It’s easy for Goffredo to bristle at the memories, but then, he also has to remember Aldo’s cross-eyed bliss and near-delusional streams of pleading and begging in each of those moments. It feels like dangerous new territory for them. Aldo’s never been treated like this, and loves it. Goffredo’s never treated someone he loves like this, and fears it. 

He wants to feel bad, but Aldo is the one egging it all on. More times than Goffredo can count, Aldo has goaded him to push a little further, hit a little harder, grip a little tighter. And again, a year ago, Goffredo would’ve taken the permission and run rampant with it. Now, he hesitates, and sometimes refuses. Because, at the end of the day, Aldo was still a treasure to him. And that meant everything had limits. A little roughness could be allowed, but not too much. That was a hard boundary to respect when Aldo was constantly asking, verbally and not, to be taken apart. 

And that thought has Goffredo considering Aldo’s infuriating way of getting precisely what he wants. He’d figured out Goffredo’s own jealous streak surprisingly quickly. And if he didn’t like leaving Goffredo’s apartment in the morning with an ass still glowing warm from the night before, he sure was proceeding strangely, finding someone to flirt with around every corner. So that’s Goffredo’s excuse, he decides. Whenever he tries to refuse Aldo’s requests out of desperate preservation for the younger man’s porcelain-like status in his mind, Aldo forces his hand. Brat. And if that weren’t enough, the pleas that fly out of Aldo’s mouth when bent over the side of Goffredo’s couch, thighs trembling in anticipation of the next swing of Goffredo’s hand, are truly sinful. Privately, Goffredo thinks that might be his favorite version of Aldo: desperate for approval and begging for mercy. 

“Are you alright?” Aldo’s groggy voice pulls him from his thoughts. Before he can answer. “Jesus. Are you hard?” 

His ears are hot before he can try to stop them. “Don’t curse.” 

“My question stands, what the fuck are you sitting here thinking about?!” Aldo wipes at sleepy eyes, blinking away his nap. “Oh my God, you are hard.”

“Mind your own business.” Goffredo replies gruffly, turning his hips away from Aldo’s gaze. 

“No, tell me what you were thinking about.” 

Goffredo looks over at the shorter man, and is surprised to find him looking disheveled, lips parted and pupils dilated. Pink cheeks. Alright, then. Honesty. 

“I was thinking about fucking the shit out of you.” Goffredo says flatly. “And if I should feel bad about it or not.”

“Why would you feel bad?” Aldo replies a little too quickly. 

“Because you’ve told me that you…” He clears his throat. “Your past experiences have been more… romantic, let’s say.”

“And you call yourself a traditionalist.” Aldo replies coolly. I make this too easy on him. 

“Ha ha.” 

“I’m just teasing.” Aldo’s hand comes to rest on his thigh, and Goffredo would appreciate the sweetness of the gesture, but Aldo isn’t that subtle. Goffredo glances at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“Obviously not.” Aldo shrugs. “I think you could stand to toughen it up, really.” That makes Goffredo roll his eyes.

“Like you could handle it.”

“I could!” Aldo protests, fingers tightening where they rest. 

“You pouted for hours the one time I ruined an orgasm for you.”

“Well,” Aldo thinks for a moment. “That was rude.”

“That was the point. ” Goffredo chuckles, a bit darkly. See? Not a streak worth indulging. 

“I can handle it.” Aldo says firmly. 

“Good to know.” Goffredo replies. It has that airy quality to it that tells Aldo he isn’t being taken seriously. And Goffredo should know better than that, because then Aldo is reaching for his zipper.

“Very funny.” Goffredo glances over at Aldo darkly, but the younger man’s hand doesn’t move.

“Who’s laughing?” Aldo shrugs, knuckles brushing over his erection. The thin cloth of his boxer-briefs don’t do much to numb the sensation, and the resulting throb makes Goffredo keen. 

Aldo’s thumb grazes the head of his dick, skimming the damp spot that’s growing there. His gasp makes Aldo’s skin erupt in goosebumps.

“You want me to?” Aldo’s looking over at him coyly, worrying his lower lip between sharp canine teeth.

“Obviously.” Goffredo barks dryly, impatience getting the best of him already. And revealing that was never the best course of action when Aldo was involved. What, with the younger man’s commitment to being infuriating.

“Say it.” The words are warm and thick like honey. And if that’s what Aldo wants, then, well. Who was Goffredo to deny him?

His left hand raises to cup Aldo’s jaw, thumb running over the wet blush of his lower lip. “Can I fuck your mouth?” Aldo’s breath hitches. “Please, baby?”

It’s as if he can see the will to make him beg evaporating from Aldo’s face by the moment. But, bless him, he’s trying. 

“You can do better than that.”

Goffredo sighs, glances over with half-lidded eyes. “But I need you.” It’s not a lie. The tip of his thumb brushes against the slick of Aldo’s tongue. “Look at what you did to me, being so pretty and good.” He hums when Aldo’s lips hollow around the intrusion, sucking gently. “I’m so hard it hurts, baby. Feel how heavy you make me.” Aldo’s pupils are blown wide like saucers. “You have to help me, Aldino.” Goffredo swears he can hear the younger man’s heartbeat. “Open up and be a good pet for me, hm? Please, darling?”

Aldo inhales him like the first breath of a man drowning. The pull of his lips are almost too much, pillowy pink that gives way to damp heat, Aldo’s saliva dripping down the side of Goffredo’s cock before the younger man has even had a chance to swallow him whole.

“Oh, pet.” Goffredo tuts, his palm splayed crudely against the side of Aldo’s head, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Were you drooling for me?” 

Aldo moans in half-shame, half-pleasure, and hazel eyes slam shut to avoid the truth. 

That won’t do.

“Open your eyes.” His tone is stern and obedience is swift. A flutter of eyelashes. “Better. Look at me when I fuck you, brat.”

Another pretty moan. Goffredo’s fingers stretch to tangle in Aldo’s hair, tugging him closer and grinning when he gags, nostrils flaring. But if his body is panicked, the fear doesn’t make it to his eyes, staring up at Goffredo with untamed adoration. No, Aldo doesn’t flinch back, his throat fluttering against the head of the older man’s dick with every desperate gulp. Goffredo’s grip in his hair is just for show, really, with the rhythmic bob of Aldo’s head and the wet slide of his lips, the twist of his tongue. 

“Is that what you wanted, baby?” It shouldn’t sound so tender. But then, Aldo is breaking all of his habits. 

Aldo whines, tries to nod around the cock splitting his lips, making his jaw twinge. It’s a sight that renders Goffredo to all of his basest tendencies. His hips buck, and Aldo gasps, instinctively pulling away from the intrusion. Immediately, his eyes are flashing up at Goffredo pleadingly, and that’s all the permission the older man needs to feed that other version of himself. He gives Aldo’s hollowed cheek a swat, sending little flashes of pain across the taut skin there, red splotches appearing under his touch. 

“I said open up, pet.”

Aldo’s eyes flutter shut, Goffredo watching the muscles in his tensed throat relax, drawing a prolonged groan from the older man’s lips. The praise makes Aldo keen, nuzzling his nose closer to the warm skin at the base of Goffredo’s pelvis. “That’s my good boy.” Goffredo sighs, patting Aldo’s cheek. “Just like that. My sweet Aldino.” 

His fingers are twitching around the steering wheel when he spills into Aldo’s waiting mouth, the shorter man groaning in pleasure at the flood of it, lips quivering around Goffredo’s dick. Aldo stays still there against writhing hips, grasping fingers, and that’s almost enough to send Goffredo over the edge a second time. 

Aldo looks perfect that way, big, wanting eyes looking up at him, waiting for his praise, jaw trembling with tension. “You’re so good, baby.” Goffredo purrs, stroking over Aldo’s cheekbone with a knuckle. “I’m so proud of you.” A little sigh escapes Aldo’s lips. “You make me feel so good, you know that, don’t you? My perfect pet.”

Aldo releases him with a wet pop, resting the side of his head on Goffredo’s thigh. “You have such a way with words.” He sighs dreamily, and Goffredo knows it’s genuine, but he can’t help but laugh. 

“Something like that…” Goffredo mumbles, grazing Aldo’s jaw. “I’m sorry, I let it get the best of me.”

Aldo snorts. “What’s ‘it?’”

Goffredo considers his answer. “Myself, I think.” Aldo hums, nods. 

“Well, don’t apologize on my account.”

“No?” Goffredo glances over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“No.” Aldo clears his throat, shaking his head. A pause. “It’s fucking sexy.” That grin that always signified trouble. Goffredo sighs. He should really want better for himself than all of that. Goffredo wanted better for him, as much as he also wanted to give Aldo that. Happily. “How close are we, anyway?”

“Hm?” Goffredo asks, as if he’s forgotten that they’re headed for somewhere, after all. “Oh, shit-”

And then they almost miss their exit for the docks in Naples, and Goffredo is stewing in a flurry of muttered cursewords, wondering where the time went. 

But, as always, God must be looking out for them, because before the heat in his stomach can cool completely, Goffredo finds himself huddled together with Aldo on a crowded ferry.

It should be nice, the gentle rocking of the sea, the hushed quiet of passengers, the waves crashing up against the side of the slow-moving boat. And then Goffredo is releasing a little groan.

“What’s wrong?” Aldo asks softly, leaning in as to be heard.

“It hasn’t gotten any less awkward since the last time I did this.”

Aldo furrows his eyebrows. “What hasn’t?”

“Riding a ferry right after you’ve had your dick sucked.”

Goffredo is deadly serious, but Aldo’s giggling breaks the silence among the tourists, and thankfully, people begin to chatter amongst themselves. The ease in tension allows Aldo to snake his arm under Goffredo’s, curling up against his side for the duration of their ride. 

This time, Goffredo is lulled to sleep by the warmth of Aldo pressed against him and the gentle rocking of the waves. Only the prodding of Aldo’s pointer finger into his side stirs him some time later. When Goffredo blinks awake, Aldo is gesturing towards the picturesque cliffs now coming into view. He glances down, watching the younger man’s eyes dart over the views through the window, lips curling in a little smile.

“Pretty?” Goffredo grumbles, and Aldo meets his eyes. He nods, smile broadening.

“Good.” Looking around to ensure they weren’t being watched too carefully, Goffredo leans in to peck Aldo’s temple, then cheek. 

“Was I snoring?”

Aldo rolls his eyes. “Always.”

“Because you always take such good care of me.” Goffredo purrs, free hand rising to cup Aldo’s cheek tenderly. Aldo tolerates the touch only a moment for ducking away, hiding the blush of his cheeks. But Goffredo knows.

Unloading onto a creaky dock is a good excuse for Goffredo to hold Aldo’s hand, delicately guiding him through crowds of tourists standing and grumbling in equal measure. He has to wonder what they look like, with him holding all of their bags and Aldo’s hand while the shorter man traipses after him, dashing about on his tip-toes to avoid algae and squeaking when seagulls get too close.

“You’re ridiculous.” Goffredo calls behind him with a little laugh after a particularly loud squeak, and Aldo yanks his hand defensively.

“I was made for the city!” Aldo protests. “You know that.”

“I do.” Goffredo admits. He can’t admit, of course, that he adores all of it. The whining, the squeamishness, the dramatics. But he thinks he might try. Someday.

Hailing a cab is only a diversion from that troubling once-seed which was beginning to gather overgrowth in his mind. That should be the end of it, really, but then Aldo is clinging to his arm and wincing in fear as the driver darts haphazardly across the island to their hotel. It’s the type of driving that startled Goffredo, too, his first few times in a setting like this. But he has to remember that Aldo is a child of the subway. If his heart had any trouble softening, Aldo buries his face into Goffredo’s shoulder as if for protection, and that does the trick. As always, anything that would’ve put him off in the past only endears him more now. 

It’s all worth it when they arrive at their hotel. He can tell from Aldo’s surprised expression that all of the strategy and phone calls had been worth it. “You didn’t have to do this, you know…” Aldo whispers quietly, hiding behind a flute of champagne in a hotel lobby that was startlingly chamberesque, eyes wide as his eyes take in the expanses of marble around them.

“I know.” Goffredo affirms. “I wanted to.”

It’s a reminder he has to give Aldo several times when they enter their room. That was how Goffredo had described it to Aldo, but, well, he was being modest. 

“It’s a… penthouse.” Aldo says cautiously, walking around the suite as if he’s waiting for a cruel joke to be revealed, then rounding a corner. “With a balcony.”

Goffredo hums, nodding. But the drop of Aldo’s jaw as he takes in the view from the aforementioned balcony keeps him from feeling too casual about the situation. Lest he forget the mission of the weekend. 

“I didn’t realize you had such a taste for luxury.” Aldo admits after a prolonged silence. 

“Really?” Goffredo asks, his head tilted in genuine surprise.

“Well, I mean, I did, but this is… a very nice date.” Aldo gestures to the balcony.

“Should we go out soon?” Goffredo gestures towards the beaches below, and Aldo nods in agreement.

They share yet another cigarette there, enjoying the sound floating from the city streets, bouncing off stunning cliffs and finding them. Goffredo can tell from the way that Aldo is silently taking in the view that his mind is spinning, which is precisely what Goffredo had hoped for. And the day was only just beginning. 

“So,” Goffredo clears his throat, snapping Aldo out of his daze. “We’ll go to the beach for a few hours, find something to eat, do a bit of walking around…”

“Shopping?” Aldo asks hopefully, raising an eyebrow.

“Obviously.” Goffredo nods his assent, and Aldo smirks.

“You’re spoiling me.”

“That’s the idea.” Goffredo chuckles warmly, and Aldo ducks his gaze away again.

Goffredo is more than happy to let Aldo stew in that knowledge as they change, tossing their necessities into one of Aldo’s tote bags and squeaking back downstairs in flip-fops. Goffredo hates the things, always has. Terribly unchic, which is maybe why Aldo keeps glancing down at his bare toes and smiling to himself. He can giggle all he wants. Aldo bumps their hips together as they wait for a cab. Just as long as he stays where I can hold him. 

It’s the perfect day to be out in the sun: not too hot, with the slightest breeze that keeps Goffredo from his dreaded enemy, sweat. The beach is surprisingly quiet, with throngs of tourists headed towards the shops opening for the morning, and Aldo grins when they drop their bag down onto an expanse of sand. Everything is going perfectly. Perfectly for the perfect plan. Goffredo lays out their towels, bracketing them so as to stay put and trying not to watch too intently as Aldo peels off his t-shirt and shorts to reveal swim trunks that were, in Goffredo’s opinion, dangerously small. The navy blue suits the olive of Aldo’s skin, though, and that’s what Goffredo tries to think about. Not returning any earlier favors right here on a public beach. 

It’s difficult enough when Aldo asks him for help with his sunscreen. Of course, Goffredo wouldn’t dream of declining, even when it feels all-too intimate to be massaging sunscreen into Aldo’s calves with an audience. From the way Aldo looks down at him, he knows he’s not the only one thinking about it, and Aldo almost yelps when his hands move up to cover the younger man’s thighs.

“You don’t want to get burnt, do you?” Goffredo chides, looking up at the shorter man from where he sits, Aldo’s foot resting on his knee. With every rub, his thumbs are slipping under the edges of Aldo’s trunks, and they both know that, but neither acknowledges it. Goffredo just pats Aldo’s thigh and gestures for his other leg. 

Aldo taps his fingers nervously against his bicep as Goffredo repeats the process, smirking when Aldo clears his throat and adjusts his trunks momentarily. 

“Everything under control?”

“Yes.” Aldo nearly squeaks back.

“Good.” Goffredo replies warmly, ignoring the lie. Once the muscles in Aldo’s legs are suitably pliant, he stands and moves onto his arms, Aldo almost able to avoid his gaze despite their standing right in front of one another. Almost. But like being in the classroom, those occasional connections of irises are electric. Turning to Aldo’s back is almost a relief, a chance to look somewhere other than at the muscles of his stomach, the dusty pink of nipples hardened by the ocean air. 

And then Aldo is reminding him that it’s his turn, and Goffredo wants to groan. How is he always making decisions that land them in these dangerous situations? And really, he blames himself for not thinking to apply sunscreen in the hotel room. At least that way, they wouldn’t be adjusting themselves every few seconds in a vain ploy for modesty.

But then, the entire point of the weekend is to put the pressure on Aldo, and Goffredo can’t forget this. So when Aldo drops to the ground to massage sunscreen into the muscles of Goffredo’s legs, Goffredo waits until the very last moment he can, when Aldo’s trembling thumbs are grazing the fabric of his trunks, to mumble something barely audible.

“Good boy.”

For Aldo, it startles like a gunshot, and Goffredo can feel it in his touch. To add insult to injury, Goffredo’s hand goes to curl into the overgrown chestnut of Aldo’s buzz cut, twisting his fingers gently there. Goffredo swears he can feel Aldo’s heart beating through the tips of his fingers on the older man’s inner thighs. Aldo, bless him, tries to pretend as though he hasn’t heard it. But Goffredo isn’t letting him off that easily.

Aldo can barely break their eye contact as he slathers sunscreen onto Goffredo’s chest, looking up at him through those lashes that were so enervating. Aldo clears his throat, thinking he’s endured his torture, and then-

“You missed a spot.” Goffredo murmurs, nodding his head downward. Aldo furrows his brows in genuine confusion for a moment, and glances down to find Goffredo’s pointer finger holding the top of his trunks open, just slightly. Just enough. 

Aldo glares at him, but obligingly dabs another dot of the creamy liquid onto his pointer and middle finger, and dips his hand to cover the pale skin of Goffredo’s lower pelvis. “There’s a good pet.” Goffredo nearly growls, and Aldo can’t help the little keen that escapes his lips. 

“You’re horrible.” Aldo mutters, chest blooming red despite the still-drying sunscreen plastering his skin. 

“But you’ll listen, won’t you?” Goffredo smirks. 

Aldo wants to deny it, but can’t. Not after he’s just stuck his fingers down the front of Goffredo’s trunks in front of God and all of these presumably-straight people. 

Goffredo can’t trouble himself to feel bad about it. Not when Aldo is stretched out like one of the old Gods in front of him, drenched in sun, muscles glistening from sweat that cools in the breeze and sparks goosebumps against Aldo’s sun-darkened skin. If Aldo notices Goffredo watching, he’s hiding it well under a cap and sunglasses, staring at the ocean like a man determined to leave the elephant in the room acknowledged. Which is fine, Goffredo thinks. We’ve got all weekend.

It’s a good reminder to Goffredo that he’s trying to play the long game, so he digs into their bag and produces a book, one of many they’re reading in preparation for a final essay. It’s difficult to concentrate, though, and again Goffredo finds himself happy to be in the teacher’s seat. He has no idea how he’d juggle all of this if he were Aldo. 

But he certainly seems like a natural. 

Aldo follows suit, and Goffredo has no idea if the younger man’s reading is more successful than his, because his eyes can’t help but peek above the cover every few moments to take in the sight of Aldo yet again. Somehow it gets better each time, and Goffredo really has no idea how he’s supposed to wait all day before hauling Aldo over his shoulder and back to the hotel. Fuck the beach. Aldo chuckles at whatever line he’s reading, then turns the page. I could go to Atlantis and still prefer looking at him. Shit, what else is my vision good for? If I can’t see him, you can keep it. 

Finally, Aldo catches his glance, and smirks slightly. “You want to go swim soon?” He asks, but they both know well enough that it’s not why Goffredo was staring at the tiny, dark blue piece of fabric. Goffredo nods anyway. 

Being out in the Tyrrhenian is a good cover, anyway. With the waves bobbing them around, it’s difficult for passersby to see Aldo’s legs wrapped around Goffredo’s waist, the water just deep enough to hide the closeness of their submerged bodies. And then there’s the intoxicating way that Aldo’s left hand was grazing over his stomach, the water between their skin making everything glide pleasantly. 

“This is torture.” Goffredo admits finally, making Aldo break into a grin.

“Yeah.” Aldo nods. “It is.”

A beat, then Goffredo wraps his arms around Aldo’s hips, his fingers pushing beyond the hem of Aldo’s trunks to rest comfortably on the soft skin of his bum. 

“It’ll be worth it.” 

Aldo nods again. “I know.”

That sends a chill up Goffredo’s spine, and Aldo’s grin turns into a smirk. 

“Big plans, as always?” Aldo asks lightly. 

“All in good time.” Goffredo replies as if he were a sage discussing war strategies. Aldo snorts at the irony. 

Aldo can only bear the chill of the water for so long without whining, so much like their nights at the bar, they develop a comfortable routine of cycling between baking in the sun and canoodling under the cover of deep blue waves. It’s a perfectly pleasant way to spend a morning, and Goffredo thinks to himself that he might be wooed, if the shoe were on the other foot. But then, if the shoe were on the other foot, he thinks he would’ve been convinced long ago. Aldo was uniquely stubborn that way. 

With so many people coming and going, a sense of anonymity creeps in that feels both comforting and daunting. There was no way to truly be unknown in Rome, Goffredo’s adopted home, where friends lurked around every corner. Here, though, nobody seemed to notice them at all. 

That makes it easier to steal kisses in between crashing waves, salt lingering on their tongues, Aldo’s sun-ripened cheeks warm against his. The slick of their skin sliding together in cool water. It feels like sensory overload, and Aldo must know it, with how he can’t keep pruning fingers off of Goffredo’s submerged skin. 

“Are you having fun?” Goffredo asks, as if his skin wasn’t tingling under Aldo’s every touch.

“Mhm.” Aldo hums with a little nod, not taking his eyes off of Goffredo’s lips. 

“You’re not making this easy on me.” Goffredo mutters, gripping Aldo’s ankle under the water to pull him closer, their chests bumping together.

“I’m not trying to.” Aldo admits honestly. 

“You were already in for it.” Goffredo hums under his breath. “You really don’t need to try.”

“What if I want to be… more in for it?” Aldo raises an eyebrow behind darkly tinted sunglasses. 

“All you have to say is please.” And it’s a mistake to even say it. 

“ Please.” Aldo whispers. Yes, I set him up far too easily…

“Be patient.” Goffredo chides, as if he isn’t trembling slightly against the younger man’s chest.

“Fine.” Aldo sighs. “But you can’t take it easy on me if you’re making me work this hard for it.”

Goffredo can’t disagree with that logic, and shrugs. He doesn’t even argue when Aldo leans in to kiss up his jawline, the bump of the waves rendering them akimbo, ending with a little nip at the space behind Goffredo’s ear. It doesn’t hurt, but he winces anyway, pinching Aldo’s ass in retribution and smirking when Aldo writhes in his arms in protest. 

“We’re being obvious.” Aldo murmurs.

“I don’t care.” Goffredo replies easily, and it surprises even himself.

Another beat of silence.

“You don’t?”

Goffredo ponders the question, not wanting to give an answer that was untrue. “No. I don’t think I do.”

There’s no hiding the smile that crosses Aldo’s face then. “Since when?”

Goffredo thinks again. “I don’t know. A week or two ago?”

“What changed?” Aldo’s thumb is rubbing at the center of his chest gently, grounding him. For now.

It’s a loaded question, and Goffredo doesn’t know if he has the tools he needs to answer it, let alone right here and right now. But he tries anyway. 

“You’re a good influence.” And that’s a first that glares them both in the face.

“Say more.” Aldo replies, but it sounds more like a demand, even with their chests rising and falling in sync. 

“It’s like hiding was never even an option.” Goffredo searches for the right words. “Like you expect acceptance.”

“It’s not about acceptance. ” Aldo nearly-whispers, leaning to rest his head on Goffredo’s shoulder. “People don’t get to decide whether or not to accept me. I am who I am. They can accept me or not,” Aldo clears his throat. “But they will respect me.”

And Goffredo’s never thought about it that way. He’s always wandered from place to place, asking politely to be assimilated, and stinging when he’s rejected. Wouldn’t Aldo’s way be so much easier?

It’s a possibility that occupies his mind for a long while, face buried in Aldo’s discarded sweatshirt and back burning under the Sorrentinian sun. He wonders if Aldo thinks he’s sleeping. He likely would be if not for this revelation. 

His own behavior shouldn’t surprise himself, he supposes, having always believed that the meek would inherit the Earth. But what was the point, really, of applying that wisdom to this one aspect of his life when he’d waved goodbye to docility in so many others so very long ago?

There were plenty of things in his history that had robbed him of his confidence. A lifetime’s worth. But he managed, didn’t he? For a long time, he’d been faking it until he made it, and somewhere along the way it became real. He accepts himself. Even if he didn’t know it until this moment. And that didn’t mean he was under the delusion of being perfect. No, now more than ever, he knows he’s flawed. So flawed that he’s discovering new facets of that particular diamond every day. 

So accepting this other thing, whatever Aldo wants to call it, wouldn’t be all that different. It’s a thought he’s avoided for a long time, maybe because he always thought God would strike him down on the spot, but he’s here breathing all the same. 

On a weekend holiday at the beach. With someone he’d spent nearly every moment of the last seven weeks with. And couldn’t seem to get sick of. That was all something he couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams. He turns his head to glance at Aldo, tapping his fingers against his thigh and reading, or at least pretending to. And he’s gorgeous. It should be too much to take, but Goffredo is surprised by how he’s managing. 

How quickly he went from reluctance to acceptance to downright addiction. If he could go back to that fateful night and speak to himself, whistling down the street and dreaming about the bottle of pinot waiting for him, he never would’ve believed that his future self was coming to warn him about a graduate student, an American, a liberal. Let alone that the warning wasn’t to stay away, but rather, to prepare. Because life was going to change. So much so that he would refuse to accept any possibility of it staying the same.

It shouldn’t be possible, and Goffredo won’t be surprised if any minute now, he wakes up with a nightmare of a hangover and an itch that can never be scratched again. Because it shouldn’t be real. And that’s terrifying.

There’s a million ways to lose Aldo, and frighteningly few ways to keep him. Especially when he was wriggling like an animal in a trap. Am I that horrible?

“You’re distracting me.” Aldo mutters, almost under his breath.

“Hm?” Goffredo quirks an eyebrow, confused.

“I’m trying to read, and you look very cute down there.”

It’s a long time since anyone has called him cute. To his face, anyway. His cheeks color. 

“You should be used to that by now.” It’s easier to rib him than to tell the truth, as always.

“Mm, maybe so, but usually your mouth is moving. And that always spoils it.” Clearly, the street goes both ways.

“I’m going to stop believing you, eventually.” Goffredo mumbles, and it’s the type of comment he tries to keep to himself, because he knows where it leads.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” He hums, knowing he shouldn’t continue. “You can only call me a terror and sleep in my bed for so many nights.”

“It’s a good thing, then.” He thinks he can see Aldo wince at his own comment, but he’s never sure. The younger man never seems to think before he speaks. Or maybe there’s some sort of wires crossed there. 

They sit in that silence for a moment. 

“I think you would get over it.” Goffredo clears his throat, and Aldo cracks a smile. You can’t keep me away forever. 

“You think so?” Aldo looks down at him, quirking an eyebrow. 

“I can be very persuasive.” 

“Oh, I know.”

How do you think we got here?

Eventually, their teasing game calls them away from crashing waves, and Goffredo wonders how he’ll ever visit the seaside again without thinking about the press of their sun-baked thighs in the back of an open air taxi, Aldo tucked under his arm and toying with the hem of his shorts. The driver doesn’t even look at them twice. Goffredo isn’t sure, now, why he’s spent his entire life thinking that an angry mob would appear the moment he allowed something like this to happen.

That seismic shift makes it easier to push Aldo up against that sliding glass door in their suite, jittery fingers shoving at navy blue fabric, swallowing the younger man like communion for what Goffredo prays won’t be the last time. That spectre haunts their every interaction now.

All the more reason for Goffredo to stare up at him, chocolate eyes fixated on the white sand flecked through Aldo’s chest hair, standing out against tanned skin and the pillowy pink of a mouth curled into a perfect O. 

Goffredo know the wet slurping that fills the air should be shameful, but he can’t be bothered anymore. Not when Aldo is moaning so beautifully and carding fingers through Goffredo’s hair, whispering curses, shuddering between the warmth of a waiting mouth and cold translucent glass. 

Aldo comes shivering, his fingers tangled desperately in the wrinkled fabric of Goffredo’s shirt, chanting his thanks like a prayer. 

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Goffredo thinks that Aldo might be trying to say something else, but he can't know for sure. Wishful thinking, maybe.

As much as he wants to dismiss the thought, it stays with him, lingering in the air between them during a hot shower, radiating off of their skin even in fresh clothing, underscoring the growl of their stomachs. If he could hear it, why couldn’t Aldo?

Goffredo thinks that, maybe, he just doesn’t want to. Denial certainly suits him well. 

Hunger pulling them back out onto the street, Goffredo vows to tuck the thought away for another day, knowing some mysteries must go unsolved. For his sanity, if nothing else. The plan waits for nothing. Please.

Their lunch is the type of setting that Aldo’s classical beauty merits. Goffredo can understand why, for as much as he’s proud to be an Italian, they have a reputation for not getting much done. Watching Aldo carefully as he looks out over the sea, the tan of his skin standing out against the white cliffs in the distance… yes, nothing about their natural environment was conducive to getting out of bed in the morning. The heat has Aldo draining his first spritz of the day with shocking speed, and Goffredo smirks when he orders another. 

“You’re not going to regret that when we’re shopping, are you?” He asks, their calves brushing against each other under the table as he crosses his ankles. 

“No.” Aldo shakes his head, then thinks. “Well, my parents might.” A smirk that might be called devilish on anyone other than Aldo Bellini.

“You’re kidding.” Goffredo knows he isn’t, but it should be said anyway.

Aldo shrugs. “I’ve been good all summer, haven’t I? I deserve a treat. They’d want me to.” 

That, Goffredo can believe. 

“I don’t know…” Goffredo hums, pretending to think as he takes a drink. “Your grades could be better.” That earns him a death glare.

“I think the professor has it out for me.” It should be airy, but Aldo sounds deathly serious. 

“Have you tried sleeping with him?” Goffredo smirks, bumping their knees together. He should know better than to joke about Aldo’s precious honors.

“Hm,” Aldo sighs, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know, he’s pretty old. Not sure if he could keep it up long enough, but maybe if I fucked him- ”

Goffredo chokes on his wine, causing several nearby patrons to turn their heads in concern. He waves their glances away with a hand, Aldo hiding his giggles under a napkin. 

“I’m not fucking elderly. ” He hisses once he can regain his composure, reaching across the table to flick Aldo’s hand in petty annoyance. It’s the type of thing he hasn’t done since being young with siblings, and that explains why Aldo yelps in genuine pain. Precious little thing. 

“ Ouch. ” Goffredo knows Aldo is milking it a bit, but he won’t take the bait.

“I thought you could handle it?” Goffredo’s reply is as dry as a desert, and Aldo’s ears color for a moment. 

Thankfully, their waiter appears with food, and that’s always a guaranteed distraction for Aldo. The younger man is gazing lovingly at the steaming pile of gnocchi just dropped in front of him, covered in red sauce and melted mozzarella, garnished with basil. That ought to inspire a bit of patriotism. 

If Goffredo had any inclination to ask, he doesn’t need it for long, with the way Aldo’s moans would make Satan himself blush. 

“Oh my God.” Goffredo can always tell when the food is particularly good, because it renders Aldo to English every time. The first time he’d made polenta for the shorter man he was Anglophonic for half an hour. “Holy shit.”

“Good?” Goffredo asks, smiling to himself, watching Aldo down another spoonful. 

“Oh, it’s fucking… oh, Jesus.” Aldo closes his eyes in bliss, and shushes Goffredo before his lips can even part to chide his cursing. 

“Easy, you’re making me jealous.” Goffredo mutters, knocking their feet together under the table.

Aldo rolls his eyes, and Goffredo shakes his head. “I’m serious.” His lips quirk. “I thought I was the only thing that could make you sound like that.” 

“And now there’s two of you.” Aldo sighs, talking around a mouthful of food. Another habit of Aldo’s that would have earned him a swift kick in the ass growing up in Goffredo’s house. But times were changing, clearly. “This is insane, how am I going to not eat this every day for the rest of my life?”

“You could. ” Goffredo hums, and any attempt at being casual fails, as always. 

Aldo looks up at him, but only for a moment. “Yeah? You’ll move to Capri with me and eat gnocchi every day?”

It’s an unrealistic proposition, but Goffredo is in desperate straits. If that’s what it takes…

“Of course.”

Thankfully, Aldo doesn’t push the point. Goffredo isn’t ready to make his final sales pitch yet. 

After a beat, “you’re happy?”

Aldo scoffs. “Are you kidding?” Still in English. “I’m eating homemade pasta on the waterfront and drinking an Aperol spritz with-” He clears his throat, cutting himself off. “With you. Of course I’m happy, this is, like…” Aldo looks up from his plate, meets his eyes. “Perfect. Amazing.” 

All according to the plan.

“Good.” Goffredo nods. “Another drink?” Isn’t it only fair for him to be a horrible influence sometimes, too? It wasn’t right for Aldo to have all the fun. Aldo hesitates for a moment, barely perceptible, before he’s grinning and nodding. Finally. It feels like they’ve been waiting all summer for the moment where they both feel compelled to say “fuck it” at the same time. Was it approaching at last?

He hopes so, with Aldo looking like the perfect reward for his patience, liquor-plied and stretching back in his chair, arms stretched to the sky. It’s a view he never quite gets used to, for as many afternoons they’ve spent baking on patios just like this, with Aldo’s bare thighs and the tender skin of his inner biceps on display. It’s the type of thing that might inspire jealousy if Goffredo didn’t know the sight belonged to him. For now. And that’s a bitter reminder. Too bitter for a day as sweet as this. 

“Let’s go buy things.”

Aldo’s face lights up. “Ugh.” He shakes his head. “That’s one of the sexiest things you’ve ever said to me.”

Goffredo rolls his eyes, standing and taking the younger man’s hand, half-worried that he might stumble down the street. But Aldo is always a surprise, and handles himself well, tugging Goffredo along as he points out each and every designer store as they scale the city’s towering hills. It’s the sort of thing Goffredo has never really understood: why come all the way to Capri just to shop for your Yves St. Laurent? But, like many things, Aldo is helping him to understand.

For as much as it all really looks the same to him, someone who, he thought, had a decent enough taste for luxury, Aldo can easily explain the significance of the subtle differences and the threads that make the similarities meaningful. Goffredo didn’t think it was possible to think that much about clothes, really, but now he’s a little taken with it. And he’s totally confident that it has nothing to do with the visible delight on Aldo’s face every time he finds something he just has to have. He shudders to think how much the younger man (or rather, his parents) will pay in his luggage home, and then again when he remembers everything that comes with that baggage. 

Maybe if I can convince him to leave some of this shit with me, then he’ll have to come back. Aldo winces at him, dramatically although genuinely, when he hears a total. That doesn’t stop him from swiping the card, though. Maria Bellini. What a pleasant name. He’s sure she’s a pleasant woman, from what he hears. And then…

“Maria, that’s your middle name, isn’t it?” Goffredo asks as he jots their hotel room down for yet another waiting saleslady. All of this so Aldo wouldn’t have to lift a finger. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Yes, why?” Aldo sighs and takes a sip of an iced coffee that was, as Goffredo would put it politely, priced for the tourist’s market. Some special honey something, it had Aldo written all over it. Sickeningly sweet and more money than sense. 

“Your parents gave you your mother’s name?”

Aldo shrugs. “Why not?”

Who are these people? It’s far from the first time this summer he’s had the thought, and every time, he gets closer to understanding how Aldo got to be how he is. For better or for worse. 

And, really, Goffredo is proud he held out for as long as he did. Because he’s tempted to reach for his wallet with every gasp and whine that emits from Aldo’s mouth, but he has to remind himself that for as much as he’s always been responsible with his money, he’s not a bottomless pit. Wasn’t there much having been said about gluttony? Not that he’d even attempt to pick at Aldo for that. God knows he has his own peccadilloes. For now, he has doting parents to fund his bad habits. May God go with him. Maybe there was some part of him that was jealous. Of Aldo for having the safety net that could welcome such weight, and of Aldo’s parents for having a lifetime of spoiling him so. He wasn’t sure if he would have the opportunity. But God, am I trying. 

Then Aldo is drawn, as if magnetized, to a jewelry case. 

“Oh my God.” It’s the type of awed hush that Goffredo has only heard from Aldo in the Sistine. 

It is, Goffredo can admit, startlingly pretty. The diamonds seem to flicker every time they so much as blinks, lights dancing off of every delicately-placed stone. It would be gaudy if it weren’t so delicate: silver links interlocking and dripping in dazzling white. Goffredo knows without it being said that it would look perfect decorating Aldo’s collarbones.

“They would kill me.”

Goffredo snorts. He knows exactly who they are. “You wouldn’t do that.”

Aldo raises an eyebrow, glances up at him. “I might. Look at it.”

“You’d be lucky not to get robbed with that thing on.” It’s true, Goffredo knows it, with how the diamonds catch the light and the silver glimmers. 

“Then they’d better take me with them.” Aldo lets out a low whistle, and shakes his head. “Maybe someday. When I publish.”

“You must be writing some book to get an advance like that.” 

Aldo smiles up at him. “I have a good teacher.”

Goffredo tells himself that it’s what breaks him, but that’s not true. The die was cast from the moment he pictured those diamonds dancing across Aldo’s throat.

“Go on, get the saleslady.” Goffredo sighs, and Aldo almost snaps his neck with the speed at which he turns his head.

“That’s not funny.”

“Who’s joking?” Goffredo levels him with a stare, honey-brown eyes meeting his. Aldo looks like he might drool. 

“You… you can’t do that. Seriously.” Aldo’s telling himself as much as he’s telling Goffredo, he suspects.

“Why not?” Goffredo shrugs. As if it’s that simple. Thank God for savings accounts.

It’s worth it the moment the woman helping them sizes the chain for Aldo’s neck. For the satisfaction of the shorter man’s shocked silence if nothing else. As Goffredo had suspected, it’s prettier than he could have possibly imagined.

Even when he momentarily loses the air in his lungs seeing the number that appears on the clunky machine running his credit card, it’s all worth it. Aldo bursts the moment they’ve cleared the front door. 

“It’s perfect, I can’t believe you- you know you didn’t need to do that, right? I didn’t expect- I’d never expect you to do something like that, are you- are you sure?”

Goffredo’s never heard him quite so in shambles, vibrating with energy and fighting the grin that’s splitting his face from ear to ear. 

“Of course I’m sure.” Goffredo smiles warmly, reaching to take Aldo’s hand in his. Since they’re treading all sorts of new ground that day. “It looks too beautiful on you to pass up.”

Aldo hesitates, but only for a moment. “Isn’t it so pretty? It’s perfect, I mean it, I’m-” Aldo stops their walking, ignoring the irritated grunts of the group of tourists walking behind them, and then around them. 

“T hank you.” Goffredo isn’t sure he’s ever heard Aldo so warm, clutching his hands and looking up at him like he’s given him the key to eternal life. And then Aldo is leaning up to tug him into a deep kiss, muscular arms wrapping around Goffredo’s neck and pulling him close. Goffredo groans into the soft warmth of Aldo’s lips, his glasses pressed almost painfully between their cheeks, feeling the pound of Aldo’s heartbeat through his chest. After a beat, Aldo pulls away from Goffredo with a suck of his lower lip and gentle tug of his curls between Aldo’s lithe fingers. 

“Do I get a kiss like that every time I buy you something?” Goffredo smiles wryly, thumb rubbing at Aldo’s hipbone through the fabric of his sweater.

“Just diamonds.” Aldo whispers, but that grin is going nowhere. Goffredo thinks he’ll go bankrupt before the year is out if Aldo keeps smiling that way.

The necklace seems to have whet what Goffredo had previously suspected to be an unending appetite, and Aldo is pleased to sigh happily and lean against Goffredo’s arm as they walk past endless storefronts, the city settling into a pleasant quiet with the throngs of tour groups and large families disappearing back onto the ferry. 

Tucked around a corner, Aldo finds an antique shop with a painted piano out front and ducks his head inside to ask the owner if it’s available to play. When the wrinkled man nods his agreement, Aldo smiles and reappears, plopping down on the rickety bench.

“You play?” Goffredo asks, but the notes that fill the air moments later answer him before Aldo can.

“Of course.” Aldo nods. “My grandmother played professionally, so lessons were… non-optional.”

Goffredo nods. He understands those obligations well enough. More than Aldo, he’d bargain. 

In this, as all things, Aldo is incredibly proficient. He makes it look easy, even, long fingers dancing over aging ivories, only halting when finding a key that was just off. Not that Goffredo could hear it. It was all beautiful to him. 

Aldo most of all, delicate wrists poking out of a chunky white sweater, feet tapping the tempo on cobblestone, the hair at the nape of his neck just long enough to begin to curl. His sharp jaw and pretty eyes, the way his lips parted just so in concentration. Even if every note was out of tune, it would still sound like the alleluia chorus, Goffredo thinks.

But he knows he isn’t being biased, because a greying couple grins at them, calling out “very pretty!” as they pass. At first, Goffredo wonders if they’re talking about Aldo. Then Aldo calls his thanks and plays a little flourish, and the woman turns, clapping good-naturedly. 

After a beat, Aldo’s playing turns from jaunty to measured, and Goffredo watches like a devoted scholar as Aldo catches the tip of his tongue between white canine teeth, focusing intently. They’re both so preoccupied with their relative tasks at hand that they don’t notice a young couple dancing along until they start giggling, the shorter of the two women standing on the tips of toes to press delicate kisses to her companion’s jaw. Goffredo catches Aldo watching first, his eyebrows furrowing when the younger man’s eyes continually dart leftward, his lips curling in a little smile. Then his eyes follow, and… Oh. 

It only fits that Aldo’s playing would cultivate an audience. It’s sweet, really, their laughter echoing through the emptying streets, noses bumping together affectionately. Could it really be that easy?

Goffredo pretends he doesn’t notice Aldo watching him watching them. He’s sure he could guess what’s going through the younger man’s head. If it’s so easy for everyone but me, Goffredo clears his throat and raises his head to meet Aldo’s eyes. Then why are you the one fighting it? 

Aldo must have a sense of what’s on his mind, because he ducks Goffredo’s gaze after a moment. When the song concludes, the girls clap, and Aldo bows dramatically. Then they’re gone as soon as they’d come, chattering about their dinner plans, if the weather will be nice tomorrow. They’ve got it all figured out. And they’re younger than us. Isn’t that pitiful?

Aldo rises to meet him, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to get us off track.”

“No,” Goffredo replies easily, shaking his head. “It was nice. If I’d have known, I would’ve…”

“Installed a baby grand for the summer?” Aldo chuckles, taking his hand and tugging him in the direction of the bakery that is readying to close for the evening. 

“Maybe.” Goffredo concedes, bumping their shoulders together. “More bread?”

“Always.” Aldo replies warmly, grinning at the woman who pauses her sweeping to help him. 

Goffredo thinks he’s developing a taste for Aldo covered in powdered sugar. There’s something a little ironic about it, how the white dust on black turtlenecks and t-shirts belie that it’s all a show, that underneath it all Aldo is spun sweetness. Today, though, it only accents the eggshell of that damned sweater. Goffredo wants to wonder if it’s significant, if there’s some light and dark metaphor to be found here, but the Aldo in his mind chides him for the inherent fascism in the very idea.

What’s funny is that he can sort of see it, now. Aldo’s arguing gets better every day. He’s learning from the master, after all. 

The younger man is still sucking sugar from his fingers when Goffredo points in the direction of a steep hill. 

“There’s a garden up there.” 

Aldo nods his assent, reaching for Goffredo’s outstretched hand and following along. That was another little irony: for as much as he’s learning defiance from Aldo, he has a strong suspicion that the younger man is learning obedience from him. That thought sent shivers down Goffredo’s spine for a multitude of reasons.

The slope of the hill is a good excuse to stay close, shoulders bumping together gently, underscored by Aldo’s little whines of complaint. 

“It’s not that bad.” Goffredo shushes him, shaking his head. The dramatics. 

“Easy for you to say, you didn’t have your knees behind your ears last night.” Aldo grumbles, and Goffredo gives a little snort. 

“You poor thing.” 

Aldo hums. It was an interesting facet of the younger man’s psyche, how that sort of condescension left him slack-jawed and drooling in the heat of the moment. A by-product of a childhood full of coddling, Goffredo suspects, which is probably why it’s so confusing to him. If the shoe were on the other foot, it’d be igniting his fight-or-flight response. Probably on the side of fight. But, strangely, he can’t really imagine Aldo being that sort of partner. That gets him thinking about what Aldo would be like, though, and that’s a thought he can’t entertain for the moment. Too loaded. Hasn’t he tried enough new things for one summer?

“You could carry me.” Aldo smirks, looking up at him with that mischievous glimmer in his eye. If Goffredo didn’t need a distraction from that last thought, he’d probably refuse, telling Aldo to straighten up and walk with the courage of the many hunchbacked nonnas milling around town. 

Instead, he stops and gives a half-crouch.

“Seriously?” Aldo asks, his smirk shifting to a genuine smile. Although he’s clearly trying to hide it. “You’re not going to break your back, are you?”

“What, carrying you?” Goffredo scoffs, looking Aldo up and down. “You’ll need more zeppole if you’re going to try and weigh me down. Go on.”

And then Aldo’s arms are wrapping around his neck. Thighs bracketing his hips, linking legs at sock-clad ankles. Aldo’s breath is warm on the back of his neck, raising goosebumps on his skin, and he thinks he could carry Aldo forever. Anywhere he asked. 

“You can’t even pretend like it’s difficult?” Aldo mutters, nuzzling his nose into the older man’s curls. 

Goffredo scoffs. “You aren’t usually complaining.” 

And it must be a good point, because Aldo is quiet for a moment. There’s always a little feeling of victory that comes with those stunned silences.

Then they’re rounding a corner to be surrounded by flowers at sunset, and Aldo gasps gently, the noise chilling Goffredo’s ear. 

“Pretty?” Goffredo asks, and he can feel Aldo nodding.

When they reach the peak of the hill, Goffredo crouches again to plop Aldo to the ground, immediately missing his weight. But the sight of his face is worth it. 

Aldo leans against a stone wall, looking out over the bay, water turned dark blue and sparkling by the disappearing orange sun. 

It’s easily the best view he’s ever had while smoking a cigarette. 

“Should’ve brought things to paint.” Aldo murmurs, eyes following a white speedboat circling the bay. 

“We’ll be back.” Goffredo replies as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, because he wants it to be. 

Aldo nods. “True, we’ll need a summer home somewhere.”

Goffredo smirks around the filter, the warm crackle of shrinking tobacco filling the air and breaking the resulting silence. “And we’ll eat gnocchi every day?” He asks, fingers brushing against Aldo’s in that familiar exchange.

“Mhm.” Aldo hums. “And lay out on the beach while you feed me cherries.”

As always, it’s like Aldo can read his mind. Goffredo wraps his arms around the sitting man’s middle, chest leaning against his back. “Next time.”

Aldo sighs happily, and Goffredo presses lingering pecks into the side of Aldo’s skull, nestling his nose there. 

I’m going to miss you so much. 

He’s not sure if the thought is his or Aldo’s, but he hears it loud and clear all the same. 

Someone’s stereo is blaring a few hills below, the sound softly echoing up across the cliffs and lifting to the cotton candy clouds in the deep blush sky. The pink of it all resembles the flowers surrounding them, shielding them from the outside world. It would be easy, too easy, Goffredo thinks, to stay here forever. To pretend there were no responsibilities waiting for them so many miles away. Goffredo doesn’t even realize that he’s swaying them gently in the breeze, until Aldo asks him to dance. 

He would probably refuse if it weren’t for those girls when Aldo played piano. Kissing amidst crashing waves was one thing, holding hands was another, but dancing slow in public felt like a step too far. But caution had long blown out the window, and wasn’t he trying to show Aldo just how serious he was?

“Who’s going to lead?” Aldo asks with the quirk of an eyebrow, and Goffredo snorts.

“Me, obviously.”

Aldo rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest.

But with Aldo’s head leaning on his shoulder, held close by the older man’s arms wrapped around his waist, Goffredo finds himself surprisingly free of fear. Like the world was large enough to hold all of their nuances and complications without issue. He wasn’t really sure why that had always seemed so impossible.

“I could, you know?” Aldo asks, lifting his head to look up at the taller man. 

“Hm?” Goffredo asks, having been lost in thought, his fingers worrying the soft fabric of Aldo’s sweater against the younger man’s ribs. 

“Lead. If you wanted me to.” It would be almost conspicuous. But then there’s that look on Aldo’s face. Goffredo rolls his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.” It’s easier to say that than admit that the very thought had filled Goffredo’s stomach with confused intrigue only a little bit ago. 

“I mean it!” Aldo protests with a little laugh. “I’d take good care of you.”

That makes warmth blossom across Goffredo’s chest. 

“You already do.” It’s the truth, in a strange way. Goffredo clears his throat. “Besides, you’re bossy enough. It’s about time somebody corrects you.”

Aldo scoffs. “Is that what you’re doing, then? Correcting me?”

“Something like that.” Goffredo replies airily, gripping Aldo a little tighter. The gasp that escapes the younger man’s lips feels booming in this, their hiding place. 

When Aldo’s eyes dart down to his lips, Goffredo knows the moment is right.

“You had a good day?” He asks softly, thumb rubbing circles into Aldo’s skin.

Aldo nods, hums. “Amazing.” A pause as he thinks. “Maybe the best of my life.”

Goffredo is glad they’re in agreement. 

“It could be like this, you know. Always.”

Aldo sighs. Like he should’ve known better.

“No.” He shakes his head, leans in to cradle his head on Goffredo’s chest. Goffredo can’t help but notice how Aldo can’t keep eye contact when turning him down. “You’ve got things to do, I’ve got things to do… even if I gave it all up and moved, we couldn’t live like this every day.”

It’s true. For now. But Goffredo isn’t giving up that easily. “Do you think you would’ve had as good of a day with anybody else?”

Aldo is thinking again. Gears turning. “No, probably not.”

Goffredo nods. “Then it’s not the place that made it special, really, is it?”

Another heavy sigh. “Goffredo-” They rarely call each other by their actual names. Goffredo has his share of pet names for Aldo, and, well, it seems like Aldo tries to avoid referring to him as much as possible. Which he can appreciate, because hearing his name from Aldo’s lips is always a punch to the gut. 

“Think about it.” He has no choice but to be the unstoppable force that meets the unmovable object. “We could get you into a program here, easily. You’re a good student- you’re already ahead of schedule. No problem.” Goffredo shakes his head, clearing his throat, eyes darting to meet Aldo’s in frantic desperation. “You’d have somewhere to stay, a job whenever you graduate. No roommates to distract you. I could edit all of your papers.” It reminds him of negotiating with his parents as a child, wriggling away from accountability. “You know I would take care of you.”

“Of course, but that’s not what I’m worried about-” Aldo’s voice is wavering with emotion. Could be a good sign. Maybe not.

“Just consider it.” Goffredo shushes him. “You’re not even giving the idea room to breathe.” Give me a chance. Another thought that doesn’t need to be said to be heard. 

And Aldo seems to listen, his chest rising and falling slowly, swaying in the near-silence. 

“I want to.” It’s barely audible over the echoes of an old tenor. But Goffredo hears it all the same, and thinks he’ll treasure it for as long as he lives. Aldo can’t take that away. Not now that he’s said it. And that has to be good enough for now. These little compromises have been their peace all summer. Why stop now?

They stay like that for a while, leaning against one another, allowing their worries to go unsaid for just a moment. Because even Aldo needs rest sometimes. And Goffredo is glad for it, really, because he’s exhausted. He didn’t know he had this much fight left in him. For so long, he’d resigned himself to long nights slurping wine at a crowded bar, ruts in alleyways that would have to pass for enough. Because anything else wasn’t an option. And even if it were, the prospects weren’t all that compelling. Isn’t it funny how quickly things change? 

Now he’d rather strap himself down in the cargo hold of a 747 than to go back to all of that. To a life without meaning, without cohesion. Everything worked together so perfectly now, as if it were destined to fit that way from the very start. Goffredo wanted to believe that nothing could spoil something so perfect. Even someone as strong as Aldo.

He almost startles when Aldo connects their lips, his fingers tangling in the cool cotton of Goffredo’s shirt, their glasses knocking together. Normally they feel so coordinated. Now their balance is thrown, swaying off-kilter as Aldo’s teeth skim his lower lip, sucking it into a bite that borders on painful. The resulting gasp raises the hair on both of their arms. Aldo smirks, tugging him closer, and Goffredo almost sends them tumbling backward. His grip around Aldo’s waist tightens protectively as their tongues clash, Goffredo startling against Aldo’s chest when the younger man takes his mouth with force. It feels filthy, Aldo’s hands cupping his cheeks as he thrusts his way past Goffredo’s lips, the little whimper that Goffredo would swear is involuntary. The shiver that could be from the breeze sailing off the ocean. Likely not. 

Safe to say, he’s never been kissed like this before. He never would’ve allowed it before.. say, seven weeks ago. So it’s a surprise how much he enjoys it, the way Aldo grips his jaw, the harsh suction that turns into a bite just often enough to keep him on his toes, the harsh scrape of stubble. Eventually, Aldo’s fingers find their home in Goffredo’s dark curls, and the slick slide of bite-worried lips is poor cover for the whine that escapes Goffredo’s lips. Aldo chuckles darkly. 

“Everything under control?”

Goffredo glares at him through half-lidded eyes. “Yes.” It shouldn’t sound as soft as it does.

“Good boy.”

That draws a grumble of a growl from deep in Goffredo’s chest. “Careful.”

“Or what?” 

It’s been one of their favorite games since that second night.

“Or I might have to use that thing to put you back in your place.” Goffredo dips his chin to gesture to the glimmering diamonds decorating Aldo’s collarbones.

Aldo’s cheeks color, which is exactly what he deserves for being so smug. Always a brat. Even when he’s fucking me with his tongue.

“Promise?” It’s a whisper, just barely audible, but it’s all he needs to hear. 

That’s one thing Goffredo can certainly say for Capri. Cab rides full of tension were much easier to bear in an open-air taxi. The night breeze is the only thing that makes Goffredo sane as he listens to Aldo’s fingers tapping against the torn vinyl of the seat between them. 

His fingers, trembling with excitement as they unlock their hotel door, remind him of their first night together. Somehow, with Aldo, the anticipation never went away. Only built. And just like that first night, Goffredo found himself pushing Aldo up against the cool wall of a foyer, unsure if he’d have the patience to even untie his shoes before bending the younger man over the nearest hard surface. Aldo is painfully hard already. Goffredo can feel the throb of it through two layers of fabric, slicking the skin of his pelvis where Aldo’s erection rubs up against him. 

“You’re getting me wet, baby.”

Aldo groans, shivering. Another gush from the rosy slit of his dick, peeking out from the hem of striped briefs. “Look at how pretty your cock is, pet.” 

Aldo’s head turns instinctively, denying the praise. Goffredo tuts, gripping his jaw and turning him back, forcing his eye. “See? Don’t you look so lovely like this, all hard and dripping for me?”

Aldo, slack-jawed, eyes dancing between his own erection and Goffredo’s lips, nods.

“Good boy.” Goffredo pats his jaw. “Now get naked and get in bed.”

Goffredo should’ve known something was amiss when Aldo doesn’t immediately trot away with a skip in his step to obey. But, then, Aldo has his way of being sneaky. So when he excuses himself for a breath of fresh air, saying he needs a moment to cool down, Goffredo believes him. After all, it all left him feeling a little overheated, didn’t it? He hesitates for a moment, leaning in the doorframe of their temporary bedroom. Yes, cooling down sounds nice. 

He turns around, walking down the short hallway to pull the handle of the sliding glass door and join Aldo on the patio, and then-

“Jesus!” Aldo startles, nearly jumping out of his skin. There’s really no reason for him to be so frightened. Is there?

Goffredo yelps his offense, not expecting to be met with such surprise. And then his eyes flit to the joint in between Aldo’s fingers, the younger man’s wide eyes, the little tin resting on the armrails. 

“What are you doing?” Goffredo says dryly. He’s no expert. Far from it. But he’s not a fossil just yet. 

“Nothing!” Aldo squeaks, going to snuff his spliff. 

“Ah.” Goffredo tuts, reaching to still his wrist. “ What,” Goffredo sighs, “are you doing?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Aldo yelps, in English, and Goffredo knows that this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation. 

“Is that…” Goffredo snatches the joint from his fingers, bringing it close and sniffing. “Is this marijuana?”

Aldo scoffs, and Goffredo narrows his eyes. “Easy, before you incriminate yourself further.” 

Aldo takes the point, nodding. There’s those gears turning again. “Okay, fine. Yes, it is.”

Goffredo gives another heavy sigh. “I don’t need to tell you that it’s illegal, do I?”

A snort, rolling eyes. Aldo was really testing him tonight. “Obviously not.”

“Where’d you get it, then?”

That shuts Aldo up. Quickly.

“Ah.” Goffredo nods. “So you travel to a foreign country and immediately buy drugs off the street. Got it. Some genius you are.” He snorts, examining the thing in his fingers like a ticking time bob. When he looks over at Aldo, the younger man is staring at it too, eyes darting nervously.

“Oh, sorry, am I wasting your supply?” Goffredo asks dryly.

“You sound ancient.” Aldo hisses, reaching to snatch the joint back and taking a long drag. The resulting thick cloud that pours from Aldo’s lips is intoxicating, Goffredo can admit.

“How long has this been going on?”

Aldo sighs.

“My God.” Goffredo shakes his head, hands rising to rub his temples. 

“You need to relax.” Aldo chides gently. “It helps with my anxiety.”

Goffredo looks at him like he’s trying to sell water to a fish. “I’m sure.”

“I’m serious!” Aldo protests, laughing helplessly. “Ask Thomas, he’d know.”

Another glare. Aldo winces, knowing he’s losing ground with every passing moment.

“Why don’t you try it?”

Goffredo scoffs. “No. Absolutely not.”

“And why not?” As if the answer isn’t obvious.

“I’ve never done drugs before, I’m not going to start now, thank you.” He thinks to himself that he sounds like someone else he knows. Someone tiny and self-righteous. 

“Fine, whatever you say.” Aldo sighs, resting the spliff between his lips again. “More for me.” His lips hollow around the crudely assembled thing, and eyes flutter shut in bliss. A little groan.

Goffredo sighs. Was that really all it took these days? One summer rendered him completely free of his morals? 

Yes.

“Give it.” Goffredo grumbles, and Aldo’s face immediately splits into a grin. 

“Okay, but be careful. It hits.” Aldo warns evenly, and Goffredo rolls his eyes. What does he think I am, a child? 

It feels less stable than a cigarette, less solid. Like it might evaporate between Goffredo’s lips. But the taste is pleasant, earthy and light in his lungs, floating out from his nostrils. A deep breath. 

“Well?” Aldo asks expectantly. Goffredo shrugs, hollows his cheeks again, letting smoke fill his lungs. Surely that’d speed up the process.

That thought only lasts for a moment before Goffredo doubles over in a hacking coughing fit. Aldo is cackling with gleeful laughter, smacking the handrail in delight before plucking the joint from Goffredo’s trembling fingers. “What’d I tell you, you horse’s ass?!” Painfully American, as always.

When Goffredo rises from his bout of choking coughs, he feels light-headed, bleary. Simultaneously, some things feel clearer, like the thrum of his heartbeat in his finger tips and the way Aldo’s skin seems to glow in the moonlight. Mostly, he feels warm, cozy. A little flicker of the good in the world. As if called by instinct, Goffredo’s fingers extend for another hit. 

“Not as evil as you expected?” Aldo chuckles, taking a long drag before granting the request, smoke floating to disappear in the night sky. 

He’s never been one to admit when he’s wrong, so he stays quiet instead, fingers cradling the crackling light that seems to ignite him from head to toe. Somehow, the world seems a warmer place now: the moonlight flickering off the bay, the glowing lanterns lining hillsides, the hum of the city surrounding them. 

Among all of these little facets that make life more beautiful, all of the things Goffredo would have always taken for granted, the most surprising is that Aldo’s kisses are even sweeter this way. 

Either that or Goffredo hasn’t been paying close attention. But more importantly, Goffredo can taste an entire day’s adventure on his lips, lingering powdered sugar and saltwater, limoncello and local cologne. The silkiness of Aldo’s chest hair, the sturdy warmth of defined pectoral muscles, and a heady mix of sandalwood and sweat. The night air seems to lift Aldo’s scent through his nostrils and into his bloodstream, making his heart pound and dick ache painfully. Any hope he had of escaping this Pavlovian reaction disappeared a long time ago. It’s been rewarded far too many times now.

And really, he has to remind himself that Aldo has been begging for a bruising all day, because the romantic atmosphere has him tempted to be sweet. That type of behavior can’t be rewarded. 

But when Goffredo pushes him up against the outside wall with a knee between quivering thighs, broad fingers gripping Aldo’s jaw, the younger man is just looking up at him dreamily. Blinking ever-so-slowly. Goffredo wonders if this isn’t his reward after all. After all, seven weeks ago, Aldo was telling him that a darkened alley was too risky. Now, here they were, exposed to the nighttime air on one of the county’s most popular tourist attractions. And no protests could be found. Just the pretty pink of Aldo’s tongue poking through pouting lips. 

Goffredo’s eyes flicker down from Aldo’s dreamy stare momentarily, dancing across his mouth, then back. Aldo’s pupils somehow blow even wider. Goffredo leans closer, sucking Aldo’s tongue into his mouth, making the younger man gasp needily. 

Goffredo thinks he might have been able to fight temptation if not for those pretty noises. But then he’s pushing Aldo towards the metal table that’s sat, unused until now, on the patio.

“What are you doing?” Aldo mumbles in between heated kisses, keening every time their lips part. 

“Bend over.” 

The order makes pink splotches bloom across Aldo’s chest. But he doesn’t question it. Not even for a moment. In fact, he looks perfect that way, wiggling on his tip-toes to push his ass into the cool night air. The muscles of his back tensing and relaxing in anticipation. His fingers tangling in thick metal waffling.

Goffredo yanks down the smaller man’s shorts haphazardly, just enough to expose his ass, quickly covered in goosebumps. The downy hair covering the pale skin somehow does nothing to ease the cool of the night air. Maybe that’s why Goffredo takes pity on him. Or that’s what he tells themself, anyway.

“Oh my God-” Aldo whines when Goffredo licks a broad stripe across his already-fluttering entrance. “Fucking hell. ”

Goffredo lands a rough smack to Aldo’s skin, making the shorter man’s ass jiggle against his face. It’s something he should have tried much sooner in their time together, and when Aldo’s lips release a whimper, he gives a harsher slap. Aldo moans and Goffredo can feel the vibration of it in his tongue. Still not close enough. Never close enough.

Goffredo pulls back to spit on Aldo’s waiting hole, dick twinging at the sight of his saliva dripping down the younger man’s skin, droplets trapping in the hair there. It’s only then that he realizes Aldo is touching himself. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Goffredo asks expectantly, hand flying to grip Aldo’s wrist like a vice. 

“Nothing.” Aldo squeaks, and Goffredo sucks his teeth in disbelief.

“Now you’re lying to me too?”

Aldo shakes his head, squirming against the table. “No!”

Without another thought, Goffredo buries his face in Aldo’s ass again, tongue plunging into his heat and sucking. The noises echo against the metal of the patio, Aldo’s breathy whines, unyielding wet suction. He can tell from the hesitant stiffness of Aldo’s body that he’s confused. He couldn’t possibly get off this easy. 

And then Goffredo is wailing a broad palm against Aldo’s ass repeatedly, making his skin dance with hot pain, muscles tensing under every strike. 

“I’m sorry!” Aldo pleads, writhing under his ministrations. “Please, I-”

If he wants Goffredo to stop, he doesn’t say so. So Goffredo doesn’t. In fact, he strongly suspects that Aldo is enjoying it.

That doesn’t make him any more prepared for when Aldo’s moans get more desperate, hips pushing back against Goffredo’s tongue, fingers curling into cold metal. He didn’t even know it was possible for someone to come from this until he hears the splash of Aldo’s come against the floor.

“You fucking whore.” Goffredo growls, rising to tangle his fingers in Aldo’s hair, tugging it harshly. “Who gave you permission to do that?”

“No one.” Aldo croaks, his entire upper half cloaked scarlet red. His dick is still leaking, somehow. Aldo is a feast that never ends, he thinks. Goffredo’s tongue darts out to chase the droplet of sweat accruing on his own lower lip. 

Goffredo pushes Aldo’s ass cheeks apart with a rough spread, spits again. Aldo whines at the feeling, wriggling under his hands. Goffredo swears he starts trembling when the older man shoves his way past Aldo’s entrance, aching dick sinking into quivering wet heat. His hips are still for just a moment, keeping himself seated deep inside the younger man. “You’d better get to making it up to me, then.”

Aldo’s hips push against him like a tidal wave, shoving Goffredo back, and he snorts. “Careful, brat.” No, Aldo didn’t deserve the freedom to set their pace. He’d lost that privilege when he showed a complete lack of self-control.

Goffredo’s fingers tangle in the new shimmering silver decorating Aldo’s neck, tugging just enough to let him feel the tension. Aldo lets out a moan that makes Goffredo’s knees feel weak. 

It’s easy to control him that way, pulling the younger man on and off of Goffredo’s dick with a rough rhythm, the slap of his hips against Aldo’s ass filling the air like an orchestra. Aldo is whining with pleasure already, biceps trembling and thighs tensing with every bounce of his ass against Goffredo’s pelvis. 

Goffredo wants to ask if this is good, but his mouth is painfully dry, hanging open in awe as he watches Aldo’s head turn to look up at him with adoration-filled eyes. He can almost hear it again, pounding in time with each thrust. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Goffredo watches as a droplet of drool appears at the corner of Aldo’s mouth, and begins to drip-

Aldo gasps when Goffredo uses the chain to yank him up, back crashing into Goffredo’s chest, filling him more than he thought possible. His eyelashes are fluttering, almost overwhelmed with pleasure, and then Goffredo leans in to lick the drool from his chin in a broad stripe. Aldo goes limp.

Which gives Goffredo the opportunity to cradle the younger man in his arms, one hand supporting his chest and the other still tangled in diamonds, holding Aldo up while taking him apart. The snap of Goffredo’s hips is brutal then, and Aldo whimpers at every thrust. Keens when Goffredo spills inside him with a throaty groan, warmth spreading in the pit of his stomach. 

Their faces are mutually maroon when they look at each other again, realizing that their flirtations with public sex have gone from amateur to professional. They giggle guilty as they pile inside, vowing to find pajamas and return for another smoke when their modesty is intact. It’s a promise they keep happily, bare feet plodding through the suite in a way that reminds Goffredo of so many summer vacations.

“It really was a perfect day, wasn’t it?” Goffredo sighs happily, folding his arms and flicking ash to the ground. “And tomorrow will be even better. There’s a restaurant that gets their chilies in fresh from Calabria every morning-”

It comes out like a squeak, and Goffredo always sort of resents Aldo for his ability to do that. Sap any of Goffredo's willingness to hold him accountable by being so goddamned adorable. Goffredo still doesn't know quite what to make of that side of Aldo, the side that was secretive, jealous, insecure. It seemed so at odds with everything he knew about Aldo, and yet it also seemed to be as true a part of him as the other half. 

"I told my parents I could have dinner with them tomorrow.”

A beat. After a long day, he can hardly process this. Maybe if I close my eyes, it won’t be real.

“Your parents are… in Capri?”

Aldo nods, raising his hand to take the cigarette that sits, burning absently between Goffredo’s fingers.

Goffredo is speechless for a drawn out moment. Then, all he can muster is a weak "why?" 

"I told you they stay in Calabria every summer. Well, I mentioned that I would be here for the weekend, and Capri is halfway between there and Rome, and they want to see me while they're here, because that's..." Aldo's hand gestures towards a word he can't quite summon. 

"Fun." Goffredo croaks in English, and Aldo nods. 

"Yes. Well, normally, it would be fun." It still feels strange to speak English together , and to be frank, it reminds them both too much of speaking to one another in class. Maybe that's why it feels so cold. “I’m sorry, I feel horrible, and you already made reservations…”

Goffredo scoffs. That’s the last thing he’s worried about right now. He waves away the concern. “Next time.”

Aldo nods, agreeing. “Next time.”

Like many moments before them, and still moments yet to come, neither dares to ask how they’ll manage a next time when they didn’t even have this time sorted. There were more important issues to address.

"What are you going to do?"

It's a loaded question, and they both know it, and Aldo's not quite ready to answer it. Surprise, surprise. 

"What do you mean?" 

Goffredo scoffs helplessly, gesturing to the air between them on the balcony.

"I don't think I should tell them yet, do you?" Aldo asks expectantly, and Goffredo can admit that he makes a good point there. If they were visiting next week, maybe, but then Goffredo downright refuses to wish even for a moment that the time had already come to pass. And that raises another question: tell them what, exactly? If Aldo was just going to skip on back to Oxford and call Goffredo a fond memory, what would there be to tell? Except at parties. That thought made him a little too bitter, the idea of being Aldo's funny story to entertain a crowded room. A summer in Italy with his professor wrapped around his little pinky, begging him to stay. I could be sick. 

Goffredo clears his throat and breaks his silence. "I suppose not."

It’s a conundrum that occupies Goffredo long after three post-coital cigarettes are smoked and Aldo pulls him into bed. And Goffredo is lucky, really, that Aldo is so worn out after a day of sun, shopping, and sex, because he has plenty of time to think as the younger man sighs sleepily into his neck. Yes, even Aldo needs rest. Must be nice.

For an occasion that was not meeting the parents, Goffredo finds himself confused with nerves, staring blankly at the ceiling. The crash of the waves drifting in from the open sliding door should be pacifying, but it only reminds Goffredo of the inevitability of time passing. Yes, the tides would rise, and fall, and rise again, and Aldo would disappear across the ocean the same way he’d appeared. He wasn’t sure if that new proximity between Aldo’s self-enforced separate worlds caused as much tension for the younger man as it did for him, but with the way Aldo nuzzles into the nape of his neck, he can’t imagine so. It’s a reminder that he’s likely not the first boy Aldo has lied to his parents about, and that’s nauseating for more reasons than one.

Part of the reason it’s so vexing, he thinks, is that he could meet Aldo’s parents. Happily. In fact, he thinks he would be delightful. Arguably, he has more in common with Aldo’s parents than he does with Aldo. Surely, even if the younger man refuses to accept it, his parents could see the promise that a future with Goffredo presents. Unsurprisingly, for all of his traditionalist tendencies, Goffredo finds him wishing relationships were as simple as convincing his betrothed’s parents of his utility. No, instead, we had to demand the fantasy of free will. How idiotic.

The unexpected intrusion is a good excuse to sleep late the next morning, their legs tangled together under cotton sheets, Aldo’s fingers curled around the gold chain that dangles from Goffredo’s neck. 

Frustratingly, Aldo doesn’t remember his own corruption of their weekend at first, until happy waking sighs turn into a groan. Goffredo chuckles.

“Good morning to you too.” He mumbles, turning slightly to stretch his spine, aching from the previous day’s exertion.

“I’m sorry that I’m such an idiot.” Aldo whines, burying his nose further into the warm crook of Goffredo’s throat. 

“It’s alright. I accepted that about you a long time ago.” Goffredo sighs, lifting his hand to cradle Aldo’s skull there. Aldo snorts, flicking his side, and Goffredo wonders how many of his bad habits Aldo will pick up before their summer ends. But, then, the days were flying by. 

Goffredo knows he’s not the only one with that fact looming over him, because their morning is unsettlingly quiet, the gulls putting their conversation to shame. That says it all, doesn’t it? It doesn’t feel unpleasant, really, just heady. Like the moments before a dance’s inevitable ending. What goes up must come down. He glances at Aldo, focus locked on his reflection in the mirror as he shaves. All good things must come to an end. Goffredo leans over the sink, rinses his mouth free of Aldo’s overly-minty toothpaste.

“It’s getting long.” Goffredo hums, raising a hand to ruffle at Aldo’s hair, now several weeks overdue for a cut. “Do you want me to get it for you? I brought clippers. You’ll want to look your best, I’m sure.” 

“I guess.” Aldo shrugs, but Goffredo can tell from the funny expression on his face that he’s feeling something.

And maybe it was easy for the younger man to feign indifference then, but the act of Goffredo shearing him like a newborn sheep was startlingly intimate. His grip on Aldo’s head was strong, capable, but delicate. Broad fingers gently protecting the tender skin of Aldo’s ears and neck as he works, humming to himself. It’s a silence that, as always, should be awkward but manages to sound full. With a few glances, Goffredo can notice Aldo’s eyes watching them in the bathroom mirror like an elaborate painting: the way he studies Aldo like a master artist, the jut of Aldo’s bare collarbones, Goffredo’s hand looking surprisingly large gripping at the shorter man’s shoulder. The steadiness and strength, keeping Aldo just still, just so while studying him like a treasured artifact. 

“ My God, are you hard right now?” Goffredo snorts, pulling back to look at the tent in Aldo’s briefs, poking awkwardly into the corner of the sink. Aldo’s cheeks immediately descend into a pinkish dew. 

“ No.” Aldo lies, jerking his shoulder away from Goffredo’s tightening grip.

“You have a barber fetish, or something?” Goffredo gestures to the tell-tale protrusion incredulously. Aldo turns his hips away, as if willing his body to show some self-control.

“ No!” Aldo hisses, batting at Goffredo’s free hand. “You were just… grabbing me, and looking at me, and…” The younger man trails off, glancing in the mirror momentarily, and then ducking his head.

“Oh, pet.” Goffredo purrs, left thumb raising to rub affectionately at Aldo’s bare shoulder blade. “You like it when I look at you?” 

Aldo groans and turns to press his face into Goffredo’s neck, until the older man’s hand stops him. “You’re going to get me covered in hair. Wait one minute, then you’ll shower.”

“And then what?” Aldo asks, his voice sounding surprisingly small as their eyes meet. That draws a smirk from Goffredo.

“And then you’re going to stand right here,” Goffredo nods to his front. “And I’m going to watch you while I make you come.” He swears he can see a vein throb in Aldo’s neck. “Alright?”

And he knows it’s torture for the shorter man, standing painfully still while squirming with energy, Goffredo tutting as he looks over each little hair like an overprotective shepherd. But he deserves it. And, too, Aldo knows Goffredo is making a show of forcing him to be patient, but he doesn’t allow himself to bite. He knows the reward will be all the sweeter. 

When Goffredo frees him with the harsh smack of his bare thigh, Aldo is in the shower with the speed of a gazelle. Goffredo thinks to himself, maybe wishfully, that the younger man is certainly showing his cards lately. Not that he can act accordingly, with Aldo’s maddening tendency to startle. Instead, Goffredo is whistling casually in his t-shirt and boxers while Aldo showers in a rushed silence. But he can only pretend to be patient for so long.

“Can you hurry the fuck up with whatever’s keeping you from being between me and this mirror?” Goffredo asks dryly. The sigh is only halfway dramatic. 

“You think I’m not hurrying?!” Aldo calls with a weak laugh. 

It is, as with all things relating to Aldo, worth the wait. The pink of his skin, still hot from steaming water. The cool air that makes him shiver, teasing already-hard nipples. His eyes blown wide, watching Goffredo’s reflection in sheer anticipation, his quivering fingers. His rosy erection already drooling with desire. 

“You look so pretty, baby.” Goffredo hums, broad hands running over the muscles of his chest, settling on his stomach. “So perfect for me.” With every inch that Goffredo’s right pinky inches closer to Aldo’s pelvis, the younger man is trembling. Another drooling gush. 

Aldo doesn’t beg, just looks at him with those pleading eyes, as if showing how good he can be. And doesn’t that behavior deserve to be rewarded?

Aldo keens prettily when Goffredo takes his dick in hand, gripping him tightly. The pressure sends a wracking sigh through Aldo’s chest. Every slick pull sounds explicit, filling the air with wetness and Aldo’s whining moans, still trembling against Goffredo’s chest. 

“Shush, you’re alright.” Goffredo tuts, kissing a line up Aldo’s neck. “I’m taking care of you, aren’t I?”

Aldo nods helplessly, hazel eyes darting between the reflection of his own dick and Goffredo’s hand on his chest, steadying him. 

“Tell me.”

Aldo’s chest colors further at the suggestion. But Goffredo has to get him to open up somehow. He can’t be the only one spilling filth from his lips for the rest of their lives. Or for the rest of their summer. But he couldn’t think about that right now. 

“I can’t.” Aldo whines. Goffredo can tell that Aldo genuinely believes this, which is ridiculous.

“Yes you can.” Goffredo chides, thumb skimming over the slit of Aldo’s dick, making the younger man gasp. “Go on.”

Aldo’s eyes slam shut. “You-” Goffredo quickens his pace, making Aldo go slack in his arms. It’s a little cruel. But he thinks he’s earned it. “You take such good care of me, you make me feel so good, you-”

Goffredo hums, nipping at Aldo’s jaw. “Good. Keep going.”

“Your hands feel so-” Aldo shivers. “Big, and warm, and-” Another gasp, followed by a desperate moan. “So fucking good when you touch me.” 

“Touch you where?” Goffredo leans in, trapping Aldo between him and the sink. Aldo keens at the feeling of the older man’s erection against his back. “Be good, pet.”

“My-” Aldo trembles again, keening. “My dick, when you get me off. When you fuck me.”

“What feels good when I fuck you, baby?” He smirks. So close. 

“I-it-” Aldo pushes back against him, hips snapping into Goffredo’s touch. Goffredo tuts, pulling his hand back, teasing the head of Aldo’s dick. Moving his wrist slowly, loosely. Because clearly, encouragement is needed. 

“Tell me.” Goffredo repeats warmly, chuckling when a droplet of pre-come oozes from Aldo’s slit. “Or I’ll send you on your way like this.”

Aldo whines, looking up at him pleadingly, rutting his hips and getting no purchase. “Your dick feels so good inside me.” It’s almost a whisper. Just loud enough for Goffredo to hear. “Like- like I was made to open up for you.” Aldo shivers again. “So fucking warm when you fill me, I-” Another pretty gasp. “Sometimes I think about asking you to leave it in after you use me, I-” Goffredo tweaks Aldo’s nipple roughly, making him groan. “I wanna wake up with you still inside me.” 

Goffredo feels a little light-headed at that. Letting Aldo realize that, though, is not an option: they were focused on his pleasure for now. And it’s all too easy to push him over the edge, sinking his teeth into Aldo’s shoulder, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the rosy head as he pulls every last drop from the young man melting in his arms. He doesn’t stop until Aldo is jolting in his arms, begging for mercy, whining at the sensitivity. Tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His dick is still throbbing in Goffredo’s hand. 

“Are you sure, baby?” Goffredo hums, smirking when Aldo’s head shakes in denial. 

“No, I can’t, I can’t-” Nobody should sound so pretty when they whine, Goffredo thinks. 

“All empty?” Goffredo tuts, nuzzling his nose against the shell of Aldo’s ear. Aldo nods desperately, shaking like a leaf. 

“Good boy.” It comes out like a growl, releasing Aldo’s softening cock to give his thigh another smack. He sighs, looking at Aldo in the mirror. The sight of him with shorter hair practically transports him back to the beginning of the summer, an idea too painful to bear.

“It looks good.” Goffredo says casually. Aldo is still trembling, hands clinging to the porcelain of the sink.

The younger man snorts. “Thanks.”

The grand irony comes to a head during their separate dinners that evening. Well, they were supposed to be separate dinners, but God never lets Goffredo forget about his sense of humor… Or maybe it’s a punishment. A lesson that canceling a reservation is better than a little white lie.

In any case, the haircut only makes it more difficult, for that split second, to recognize Aldo when he plops down at the table behind Goffredo’s. Then, an older couple who he presumes must be Aldo’s parents sit, their turned backs making it difficult to see their faces fully. Which, Goffredo supposes, is a good thing, because it affords him a view of Aldo’s face when he sees Goffredo staring back at him from one table away.

It’s not unlike the face Aldo made that morning of their first class together, and here again, too, they can hear the single, unified thought that bounces through their brains.

I can’t believe this little shit was going to come here without me. 

And then, Goffredo’s weak chuckle in realizing just how uncomfortable this is going to be for Aldo. Always a sick source of pleasure. Aldo’s eyebrows furrow.

“Is everything alright?” The woman who Goffredo knows must be Maria asks in a thick Calabrese accent. 

“Yes, sorry.” Aldo clears his throat, shaking his head, then smiling. Weakly, Goffredo would add. 

“My handsome son.” Maria coos, Goffredo watching as if entranced as a thin arm in an emerald sweater rises to cup Aldo’s cheek affectionately. “How do you look older every time we see you?”

Goffredo hopes she’s wrong, because he’s not sure he can bear that idea. Aldo’s boyishly handsome face growing into something different, something probably even better, without him there to watch every moment. 

“ Mom .” Aldo groans, and Goffredo notices that his arm rises to bat his mother’s hand away, and then thinks better of it. 

“It’s true.” Aldo’s father grumbles in a voice that’s pretty and melodic like his son’s. “You were supposed to have some baby fat left, what happened?” He laughs dryly and turns to smile at his wife. Goffredo can tell immediately that Aldo takes after his father, pint-sized with sinewy muscle and a strong jawline. Under his coppola, though, Aldo’s father is as bald as the day is long. Something tells Goffredo that Aldo would look quite good bald. He’s not sure if it’s himself, or the universe, but he thinks it must be the universe. If only because he never thought he was gay enough to find a bald guy attractive. 

“It hasn’t been that long.” Aldo grumbles.

“A whole year!” Maria shakes her head, Aldo’s father dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

“It’s good, he’s independent. Let him sow his oats!” He turns to look at his wife, affording Goffredo a glance at the wisened smile that he knows must be for Aldo more than anyone.

Aldo’s face is fighting to remain neutral, but the rose blooming around his collar is telling. To Goffredo, anyway. 

“Well, then?” Maria asks, expectantly. That makes Goffredo think that these types of details are normally freely given, which is an interesting thought. “How are your oats?”

The joke makes Goffredo snort, and Aldo shoots him a glare that could melt glaciers. Thankfully, his parents don’t seem to notice. 

“I’m here to study. Not… frolic.” Aldo clears his throat, gulping down water like a guilty man under interrogation. For all that Aldo thinks he’s slick, it’s plain that he wasn’t made to lie. Which makes Goffredo feel like a fool all over again for that first night. 

“You multitask well.” Aldo’s father replies wryly, winking at his son. Goffredo thinks they might get along. 

The enormous portion of fileja that’s just been placed in front of him is suddenly totally uninteresting. Who could eat at a time like this?

“You know we’re not trying to judge. We just want to know what’s going with you. That’s all.” Maria sighs, reaching for Aldo’s hand. The gesture of comfort is another reminder of their first night together. Aldo looks like his father, but in personality, Aldo is all Maria. Goffredo wonders at their ability to foretell that reality well enough to give him her name. 

“I’ve been busy, that’s all.” Aldo shakes his head, somehow avoiding all three of their gazes.

“Good.” Aldo’s father nods, with an air of finality. It’s clear how protective he is of Aldo, and Goffredo can relate all too well. “Is Thomas here?”

Aldo winces. “In Rome, yes.” He clears his throat again, more water. “Not here. ”

“Wait, who drove you then?” Maria asks, a delicate hand extended towards Aldo in question, gold chains dangling from her wrist. I can see where he gets it.

“Giulio.” Aldo lies, his eyes flickering to meet Goffredo’s for just a moment, then ducking away again. 

Who, Goffredo wonders, the fuck is Giulio? Clearly, someone who was close enough and questionable enough, Goffredo thought, to cover for Aldo’s lie. 

“I’m surprised he agreed to come, I’m sure his parents are missing him for the summer.” Aldo’s father hums absentmindedly. That, Goffredo supposes, explains why he hasn’t met this Giulio. It shouldn’t be all that troubling, but it belies the richness of Aldo’s life outside of their summer, which Goffredo felt was complicated enough as it is. There were more friends, more family, more professors, more exes… twenty-six years worth. 

It’s something Goffredo has never really considered before, as someone who really, for as much as he knew and got along with many, was alone in the world. Things were just easier that way. Aldo’s openness affords him a web of varied connections. Goffredo had always been happy to just shepherd his flock of one. 

“Vincent’s in Rome, too, then?” Maria asks with a sigh, and Aldo’s face brightens when a waiter appears to take their orders, obviously thankful for the distraction. But if Maria is as much like Aldo as Goffredo thinks she is, he won’t be getting off that easy.

He’s right. Maria asks again a moment later, and Aldo nods. 

“He’s such a sweet boy.” Aldo’s father says fondly. “And a good friend to you.”

“Yes, he is.” Maria nods, drumming her fingers on the table. “And good for Thomas, of course, but really Aldo, I still don’t understand why you had to-”

“ Mom.” Aldo glowers. “Thomas and I broke up four years ago. Seriously, at some point, you have to get over it. I know you thought everything was perfect, but there were flaws. You just didn’t know about them. So please, can we just- stop talking about Thomas? Finally?” The words fall out of Aldo’s lips in rapid, Romanesque Italian, and Goffredo’s heart swells with pride. 

“Really?” Aldo’s father asks, head turning to reveal furrowed eyebrows. “You always seemed so good together-”

“He’s boring!” Aldo snaps, the butter knife he’s been fiddling with falling to the table with a loud clang. “Alright?” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture that’s defensive, but only makes Goffredo feel warmer. “I mean, doesn’t passion count for something? God forbid I don’t want to spend every day of the rest of my life bird-watching and listening to homilies. Jesus.” 

Goffredo clears his throat, and Aldo’s eyes flash to meet his, lingering there for a beat. His parents sit in stunned silence. 

“Well, if you were looking for something more interesting, it looks like you’ve found it.” Maria says dryly after a while, reaching to run her thumb across the rosy bruise at the hemline of Aldo’s left bicep, his sleeve having shifted during his tirade. Goffredo winces. 

“Maria-” Aldo’s father sighs. 

“I’m not upset!” Maria protests, and for what it’s worth, Goffredo believes her. “Just, you know, Aldo, if you’re going to lie, you need to get better at it.”

Goffredo chokes on his wine. Maria glances over her shoulder to see if he’s alright, and his ears color, dismissing her concern with the wave of a hand. So I did meet his parents. In a way.

“Can we talk about something else?” Aldo croaks, looking like he might faint. 

“Really, Aldo, hickies at twenty-six years old-”

“ Enough. ” Aldo’s father shushes them, reaching to take Maria’s hand. “You’re happy and healthy. That’s a blessing. Anything else is just extra.” He looks at his wife expectantly. “Right?”

Maria nods, sighs. “You know how much we love you. Our perfect son.” Another cooing cup of Aldo’s cheek. 

“I know. But sometimes you just- you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. You didn’t raise a moron.”

“My God, listen to that accent!” Maria laughs, shaking her head. “You sound like a real Roman.”

Aldo shrugs, meets his eyes again. It’s only then that Goffredo realizes that he’s grinning like a fool. He clears his throat, reminds himself that he needs to at least pretend to eat his supper. 

“You’ve been having fun, then?” Aldo’s father asks, head tilting like Aldo’s when he’s curious. 

Aldo nods. “I’m thinking about coming back in September.”

Goffredo’s eyebrows rise. That’s the first I’m hearing about it.

“Really?” The older man clears his throat. “Already planning a trip back?”

“I-” Aldo stalls, thinks. “I really like it here-”

The waiter appears with their bottle of wine, and Goffredo gives a heavy sigh, thankful for the tension to break. It was almost too much to hold. He didn’t know how Aldo was managing, but from the expression on his face, he’s similarly relieved.

“Aldo, cucciolo, won’t you recite kiddush for us?” Maria reaches for Aldo’s forearm, rubbing it affectionately.

“Shabbat was yesterday.” Aldo sighs, shaking his head. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh, it won’t hurt anything.” Maria squeezes his arm encouragingly. “You do it best, and we haven’t had you home in so long…”

Another dramatic sigh. 

“Go on, son.” Aldo’s father nods, and that must be the final nail in the coffin, because Aldo acquiesces. 

For all that Goffredo is singing near-constantly, in the shower, in the kitchen, on the patio, the day before in the car, he’s never heard Aldo sing. Which is surprising for how pretty his voice is, even when Goffredo doesn’t understand a word he’s saying.

Aldo is trying, clearly, to be quiet. Goffredo thinks he’s succeeding, but he could swear he feels the honeyed rumble of Aldo’s voice in his bones, the rolling consonants and rounded vowels. It should feel foreign, but it doesn’t. Goffredo notices the hair on his arms standing up, skin raised in goosebumps. 

No, not foreign at all. It feels holy. 

He thinks Aldo must feel it too, because his voice trembles just so, his lower lip quivering. 

“Amen.”

Then, silence. They drink their wine. 

It’s enough to consider for one evening, and something about the softness of it makes Goffredo feel like an intrusion. Aldo deserves his privacy. From his parents, from Goffredo, all of it. Even if they all hate to give it.

Going back to their room alone feels too heavy for this moment, so Goffredo finds a bookstore with a patio and settles there, buying the first cheap mystery novel he can get his hands on. His brain has enough to mill over to add anything theological to the mix. 

Even here, the street cats seem drawn to him, and there are four sleeping around his feet on the cobblestone before long. It should be peaceful, an absentminded book, a cigarette, the sun setting over the bay. Without Aldo, it feels all wrong. An omen of things to come, Goffredo hopes not. But then, he doesn’t need any more signs to keep the younger man in his grasp, so why would God send another?

But he must be listening, because the evening sky turns the world pink again, and Aldo appears around a corner before Goffredo can crack chapter five. Thank God. He sighs. He leaves and takes all the air away with him. 

“I missed you!” Aldo calls, half-jogging over, hand cradling one of those ridiculous lemons filled to the brim with gelato. Because Aldo, for as much as he doesn’t want to be perceived as a tourist, loves anything kitsch. 

“How was dinner?” Goffredo replies wryly, and Aldo rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck you, going without me.” Aldo murmurs, bumping Goffredo’s shoulder with his hip and reaching to wrap his arm loosely around the older man’s neck.

“That’s rich.” Goffredo snorts. “You said we’d go together next time!”

“So did you!” Aldo laughs breathlessly. His eyes flick to the melting liquid dripping down the side of the lemon and onto his thumb, sliding down to his palm. It was one of those subtle things that told an American from a paisano: they were never prepared for how quickly gelato melts, and their eyes were always bigger than their stomachs. Aldo’s tongue darts to lick up the side of his thumb, tracing the dripping cream up the bright yellow citrus. 

Goffredo clears his throat, looks away. Aldo smirks. 

“Sorry.” Aldo mutters, and Goffredo just shakes his head. The whole weekend has been torture, really. The most delicious sort. 

So Goffredo closes his eyes, nuzzling into the thin fabric of Aldo’s t-shirt, inhaling his scent. The little sounds of Aldo’s mouth, licking and sucking as he slurps down quickly-melting sugar. The pool of desire in his stomach deepens. Goffredo wonders if he’ll ever meet its end. 

“Should we go out?” Aldo asks, sighing lightly. Thankfully, his auditory onslaught has ceased. For now. 

Goffredo looks up at him, blinks, considers it. “That could be fun.”

“We could pretend to not know each other.” Aldo smirks, and it would be funny if not for the context of their… well, everything. 

Goffredo snorts. “My life would certainly be easier that way, wouldn’t it?”

Aldo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.” His thumb rubs at Goffredo’s collarbone. “You’d hate it.”

He’s right and Goffredo hates that, too

There’s no way to pretend to not know Aldo. Not now that he’s kept him so close for these precious weeks. 

He wants to, with the press of Aldo’s hipbones against him, his fingers twitching in anticipation against Goffredo’s chest as they sway on a crowded dancefloor. There were countless couples surrounding them, of all sorts, shapes, and sizes, but Goffredo couldn’t help the feeling that they were different. Both together and independently. 

Aldo turns to roll his hips back, pressing his ass infuriatingly close to the aching half-hardness of Goffredo’s dick, moaning at the feeling. Goffredo growls, fingers gripping at Aldo’s hips like he might slip away at any moment. Pulling him closer and groaning at the friction.

How could he possibly think he’s going to find something like this again? 

Despite his hold, Aldo wriggles in time to a thumping beat, and Goffredo can’t keep his hands away. His arm wraps possessively around Aldo’s neck, holding him close between his forearm and bicep, his other hand resting on Aldo’s stomach. Thumb skimming over taut muscles. 

There’s nobody like him. Not for me. And there never will be.

It’s a realization he’s having all the time, and one he’s already vocalized to Aldo. That doesn’t make it any less painful. If he knows it, he knows Aldo must too. So why is he pretending? 

Aldo gasps, shivering in his hold, head falling back to rest against Goffredo’s shoulder. Goffredo leans in to lick a line up his jaw, sinking his teeth into that tender spot where his jawline meets his ear. Aldo whines. 

How can he go back to before? To everything just awkward and boring? To quick, fruitless ruts under some other pretty thing, silent and passionless and… normal?

It’s a thought that carries him through the night, and Goffredo suspects, into bed. Because he doesn’t know if he’s ever taken Aldo so sweetly.

“Can you take it, baby?” Goffredo slurs, warm hands rubbing into Aldo’s back. “One more time, for me?” He’ll regret the wine in the morning, when they’re driving back to Rome in time for an afternoon lecture, but now he couldn’t care less. 

Aldo’s nodding, sighing dreamily into the pillow clutched by his folding arms. “Be gentle.” Aldo hums, wriggling where his thighs are bracketed by Goffredo’s, pressed into the mattress. “I’m still sore from yesterday.” 

It’s a sight he wishes he could capture on film. His fingers tangled in frighteningly white sheets, hips hitching against Aldo’s ass, Giuda Taddeo dangling from his neck. Aldo’s lips parted in pleasure, delicate moans escaping his lips with every painstakingly slow thrust, his feet cramping from toes curling painfully. Aldo’s eyes are slammed shut in what Goffredo would normally assume is pain. Only the litany of breathy whines pouring from him indicates otherwise.

“Does that feel good, pet?”

He knows the answer, that Aldo’s dick is throbbing, stuck between his stomach being grazed maddeningly by pristine cotton sheets. That his hole is still raw and open from the day before. That his nipples are painfully hard, aching to be touched. But he wants to hear it anyway. 

“ Yes .” Aldo groans, shivering where he’s trapped by Goffredo’s thick thighs. “You feel so fucking good inside of me.” 

Goffredo hums, snaps his hips. Aldo chokes out a gasp. “You love when I fuck you, baby?”

Aldo nods, whining, pushing back into the touch needily. “Yes, yes, yes, I-” Another thrust, a desperate, keening moan. “I love y-” Aldo’s breath hitches, he turns to bury his reddening face into the pillow. 

But it’s too late. The veil is shattered. Goffredo falls forward, trapping Aldo between the mattress and his chest, the rough smack of skin speeding to their normal pace. 

Aldo must be biting the pillow, because all of those pretty sounds are muffled now, half-silence by shame. But he can’t hide forever. 

Aldo comes first, with a wail that sounds almost painful, come slicking the slide of his dick against the sheets. Goffredo follows shortly after, coaxed by the contractions of Aldo’s hole around him, begging him to come home.

He can’t still the chanting inside his mind. I love you. I love you. I love you.

It finds rhythm with the pumping of his heart. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

It feels like something that’s flowing through all of him and back into the universe, from where his fingertips rest on soft sheets, to where his ankles are tangled with Aldo’s as the younger man sleeps. In the air that floats through the open window, in the ever-crashing ocean waves. From the very beginning to the very end. The first and last. The Alpha and Omega. 

Nothing ceases it. In fact, things seem to adjust to live in sync with it. The rhythmic beeping of their early-morning alarm, Goffredo’s pumping stereo, the quick of Aldo’s step up the stairs to unceremoniously drop their things in the apartment that could no longer be called “home” without Aldo there. 

And just like that, their perfect weekend away is over, and Goffredo’s made his final gamble. Now all he can do is see where the chips fall.

It should feel like going back to normal, the cool of a lecture hall, the pressure of an act that Goffredo wasn’t sure was fooling anyone. But it’s not. Somehow, everything is different now. All over again. How did Aldo keep managing that?

Aldo enters the room with a huff, having waited around a corner for an extra moment, giving them the guise of having entered separately. And here, again, things should be normal. Aldo running late, in a baggy black t-shirt, barely giving him a glance as he smirks greetings at his friends. The glimmer of diamonds under fluorescent lights is a reminder that things would never be normal again. They couldn’t be. 

“Is that a-” Thomas begins, eyebrows raised in disbelief. 

“A diamond-encrusted Hermès chain?” Aldo asks, plopping into his seat and crossing dark denim-clad legs. “Yes. It is.” The younger man clears his throat. How he could demand finality about these sorts of monumental revelations was unreal. 

But Goffredo was growing used to that. The pounding of his heart. The tapping of Aldo’s expectant fingers. The ticking of a clock that couldn’t be stopped. No matter how he tries.

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

 

Chapter 9

Notes:

i hope y’all like sour patch kids, because this one is sour then sweet. enjoy <3

many, many thanks for all of the lovely comments last week! replies forthcoming very soon, but wanted to be sure this chapter got out for y’all on time first!

next week, fall calls! who answers?

Miraculously, they avoid talking about it until that last weekend before Aldo's flight back to London. Goffredo supposes that Aldo starts it, and he must know that, with the "I guess I should start packing" that sounds so casual despite its onslaught of meaning. 

 

But Goffredo knows Aldo well enough now, after these eight odd weeks, to follow the path of least resistance. Not that it would matter, really, when the younger man had set his mind on discussing something. "You think so?" Dry. So very dry.

 

"We can't just pretend it's not happening."

 

Well, we've done a great job of it so far. 

 

" No, but-" Goffredo pauses, searching for the right words. "We've still got a few more days, no? Why not enjoy them?"

 

Aldo scoffs, and it's more dismissive than he means it to be. Goffredo knows that, too, but it stings all the same.

 

"So much for not wanting to be spoiled, hm?" Goffredo asks, and they both know that it's a low blow. But he figures that if Aldo can say so many things that he doesn't mean, why shouldn't he?

 

"I-" Aldo hesitates, willing the best version of himself to step forward where it had so often failed to do so that summer. "I'm not trying to ruin our last few days together, I just think we have to talk about it."

 

"And I agree." Goffredo snaps, a bit too quickly to seem unmoved. "I just don't understand why we need to talk about it right now." And Aldo can take that point from where they lay on Goffredo's sofa, his legs stretched out in the older man's lap. 

 

"I'm sorry, you think there'll be a better time?" Aldo asks, raising an eyebrow. 

 

"I don't know, but I-" He pauses, and drops the book he's holding onto Aldo's shins so he can rub at his eyes. "It's easier for you, of course."

 

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

 

Goffredo snorts, his hands dropping from his face to reveal a gaze that looks half-besmused and half-contemptuous, which is... troubling. " You're the one," Goffredo starts, succumbing to a version of himself that he wishes he didn’t recognize, "who gets to saunter on home with a fun story to tell for all of your little- friends ." The word sounds more venomous than it possibly should. "You get to just leave here and forget about me. I’ll be seeing you everywhere I go." 

 

Aldo is sitting up now, a scowl across his face. "So that makes it easier for me? I have to go clear across the continent and find some way to exist in a world without you in it, and that's... what, better?"

 

"Yes!" Goffredo insists, waving his hands as if it were the simplest question in the world. "You're already a part of my world, and now I have to go back to before that was so." Goffredo leans in to prod a finger into Aldo's chest. "And sometimes, you act like you couldn't care less."

 

They both know it's true, but in a world where Goffredo had been so delicate with their truth from the very beginning, it feels like a sucker punch.

 

"You know I-" Aldo pauses, the finger at his chest feeling like a dagger. "I don't mean it that way, I just-"

 

"Maybe not." Goffredo shrugs, as if to retain the delusion of indifference. "But at some point, you have to recognize that everything we are, everything we have had together, has been-" 

 

Goffredo searches for words. " On your terms." As always, the English feels like a mortal wound. And there's no going back now.

 

"On my terms?!" Aldo scoffs, batting Goffredo's hand from his chest. "You're out of your fucking mind. We spent every day here, in your house, in your neighborhood, all of the places you've been a million times... and if that wasn’t enough for you, you took away the one thing I had for myself this summer by taking a paycheck to spend time with me!" They've argued, sure, constantly. But they've never raised their voices at each other, and Aldo will never forgive himself for being the exception to their unspoken rule.

 

It sounds horrible, yes, and it creates an alarming cognitive dissonance for Goffredo, who'd honestly felt like his universe had shifted to accommodate Aldo at the center. Happily. Maybe he didn't have a leg to stand on after all. 

 

Goffredo wants to be as tender as he feels, to ask if Aldo really felt that way about him. But his track record that day didn't work in his favor, and besides, hadn't it been Aldo who pushed the point of discussion in the first place? 

 

"Now it's my fault that you came to my country, my home-" it sounds particularly hateful given the context of their relationship in Goffredo's political world, "and lied to me, lied your way into my bed, actually-" that draws a strangled sound of exasperation from Aldo's slack-jawed mouth, "told me what I wanted to hear and then left me twice so you could keep me as a secret to preserve your fragile ego, and then got mad at me when your lies came back to bite you." 

 

It's hurtful enough that he could stop there, but unfortunately, he doesn't. "And isn't that typical for you, Aldo? Manipulating your way into everything you want and then blaming someone else when it isn't good enough for you?" 

 

"Fuck you." Aldo says, and the simplicity of it wounds Goffredo more than an entire tirade. "You know I didn't ask for any of this."

 

"No, true." Goffredo nods. "But now you have it." He pauses again, finding the expression. " So what are you going to do with it?" More English, it was so alienating. 

 

"So, what, then?" Aldo asks. "You're going to come out to your family? Preach traditionalism with another man on your arm? Like a hypocrite?"

 

"Yes ." Goffredo replies forcefully. 

 

"You haven't even told me that you love me." 

 

A beat. It's an interesting way to phrase the observation, and they both know it.

 

"Do I really need to?" Goffredo gestures to the room around them, but he's obviously evoking much more than well-loved classics and pretty green furniture. 

 

"Well," Aldo clears his throat, and Goffredo can't help but notice the blush creeping up his neck. He's not sure if it's from anger, embarrassment, both? "You're expecting me to upturn my entire life for you. I'd expect to hear some level of commitment."

 

Goffredo could swear he's living in another version of reality, if that's really what Aldo thinks. But, then, maybe he was wrong? It was hard to see that possibility when his vision was filled with so much red. 

 

"Are you serious?" It comes out like a hiss. Aldo recoils immediately, the hurt plain in his eyes. If it wasn't plain enough before. "I've spent the last sixty days trying to convince you to take my feelings for you seriously-" It's a strangely precise number, and Aldo's face shifts when he realizes that it's exactly accurate. Even still, you're surprised by my devotion for you. How is that possible? 

 

"It's not about me taking your feelings seriously." Aldo cuts him off with a wave of the hand. Again, dismissive. "I'm not worried about that. What I'm worried about is two, three, four years from now-"

 

Goffredo scoffs. "What?" It's expectant. Incredibly so. "You think I'm going to get sick of you? Bored?"

 

Aldo's eyes dart around the room, as if to say "well, yes, obviously." But to Goffredo, it's the least logical thing in the world. 

 

"You've been pushing me away all summer. Not the other way around."

 

Again, it's true, but Aldo doesn't want to hear that right now. It's too much to take, actually. 

 

"And what's going to happen when that changes? When I give up on the chase?"

 

Goffredo's eyes narrow in obvious frustration. "Listen, I know you've had your fair share of little... boyfriends, or what have you, but-" Another dagger of a finger in Aldo's chest. "I'm a grown man. I know what I want. And it's going to take more than your fawning to scare me off."

 

Aldo's pretty eyes flicker between Goffredo's finger, eyes, and lips. It must take him a moment to find his next excuse to run, because he's silent for a second. He shakes his head, starting again: "It's still not fair that you expect me to drop everything I have going on for you. I have a life just as much as you do. You could buy a plane ticket just as easily as I could cancel one."

 

Maybe it's true. Maybe. But Goffredo can't see any gospel in it from where he sits. Possibly because of the nationalism that flows unquestioned in his blood. Or because he had really come to accept the truth of what Aldo had said about the importance of his work in Rome that first night they met. Or even because this place, regardless of how long Goffredo had allegedly known it before Aldo's arrival, felt like their shared home now. Goffredo could certainly see why Aldo would frame things this way internally: that he's just some passing asteroid in the older man's orbit. But it was so plain to him that the world around him had meant nothing before Aldo, and might again if Aldo left for good. So why can't he see it? 

 

"You know I can't do that." Goffredo gets tirelessly frustrated with himself in moments like these. A lifetime's worth of emotions and that's all that can stumble out of his mouth. So maybe Aldo was right. For as much as he was tacitly judging Aldo for his refusal to leave England, for him, living in Italy was also not optional. Their inevitable future in his home country had always gone unquestioned. This left them, it seems, at an impasse.

 

"Why not?" Aldo asks expectantly, as if he already knows the answer. Goffredo won't take that bait.

 

"Whether I knew you or not when it started, I-" He pauses, shaking his head. Searching for the right words. The ones in his heart feel so true but so uncomfortable. But then, when would he be truthful with Aldo if not for now? Time was running out by the second. "I started building a life for us here. It's been here, waiting for you all this time, you just had to... take it." Goffredo looks at him pleadingly. Please? Won't you take it?

 

" You make everything sound so easy." Meanwhile, Aldo sounds so flippant that it's actually painful. Like having the air sucked out of his lungs. If he could tiptoe around Aldo to protect his feelings, why didn't he deserve the same? 

 

"Maybe you don't want it to be easy." Every word is punched with meaning.

 

"Can you stop with the English, please?" Aldo sighs, pushing his glasses onto his forehead so he can rub at his eyes. 

 

"Why, you're tired of the immersive experience?" Goffredo scoffs. 

 

"Stop. You know that's not what I think of you."

 

"I don't know, is it?" Goffredo asks, and the veneer of indifference is the only preparation Aldo has for the bomb that's coming. "Sometimes I think you might be here just to add another line to your CV."

 

"You're being an asshole." Aldo says, the desperation peeking through the cracks of his voice.

 

"What, you have exclusive rights to that, too?" And the truth, again, hurts them both. "You should be thanking me. This'll make it easier for you to leave feeling good about yourself." It's unnecessarily hurtful, and Goffredo hardly knows this part of himself after the softness of that summer. 

 

" Stop." Aldo pleads, tears pricking at his eyes. "We don't have to talk about it, fine. We'll just- pretend. Fine." Goffredo can tell by the tone of his voice that it's not what he wants, but will try anything to stop the freight train of this conversation. A thought crosses his mind, and before he can think better of the cruelty, he says it.

"Anything to avoid accountability, hm?" He rises from the sofa, dropping their book onto the cushion behind him. "Well, I’ll give you a ride to the airport, then."

 

But Aldo’s not one to allow anyone else the last word. Even when he feels the devastation of a veritable emotional tornado. Like clockwork, the sharpness of tongue deals a blow that the softness of his heart can’t bear. 

 

“ You are such a distraction.” 

 

It’s barely audible, but for Goffredo, it’s as loud as the crack of a father’s belt. It stills him, just for a moment, his back turned to the younger man. He wants to push further, to get even, to make Aldo feel the way he’s felt so many times over the last two months. He isn’t sure if it’s that better version of himself, or God, or something else, but he decides to tell the truth instead. 

 

“There’s not going to be anything like this again. Not for me, not for you. And you know that just as much I do. Do me a favor, and stop pretending.”

 

They don't see each other for two days after that, and it's the longest they've gone without each other's presence since the start of their class all those weeks ago. Aldo even misses a day, which Goffredo assumes must be a rarity, based on the troubled looks on Thomas and Vincent's faces. He hears them whispering to inquiring classmates that Aldo is ill, and Goffredo himself feels a little sick being the only one to know that it's not quite true. Probably, or maybe he's happy to be rid of me. Burying his tears into someone else's chest. It's dramatic, and Goffredo knows it, but he can't bring himself to stop. 

 

He tries not to drink himself into a stupor, though, because whether Aldo accepts it or not, he did feel like a part of his soul had been changed by that summer. That there was some new reason for hope and responsibility in the future of the world and himself. But resisting temptation is easier said than done, and his e-cigarette would have to be a worthy enough substitute for now. It didn't change the nagging feeling that this pathetic hollow sensation would be the not-all-that-new normal. 

 

Then, that Monday night, Goffredo's phone rings. He isn't expecting it when he picks up, but Aldo's voice hits him like a truck. He hardly even remembers giving Aldo his phone number early into their time together, drunk and tired, scrawling on Aldo's thigh with a permanent marker. 

 

"I'm sorry." Aldo says before Goffredo can even process that it's really him. "You're right, I've had my way all summer, and you... you deserve better than that, with how much you mean to me."

 

Goffredo is stunned into silence, so after a pause, Aldo continues. "The truth is, I haven't wanted to talk about it because I'm terrified, and I just-" Aldo clears his throat. "I didn't want to be the one to admit that it's really hard, but I will, because it is, and... I don't want to say goodbye to you." After a beat, "Even though I'm terrified, and I hate the idea of long distance relationships, and it'll make everything harder..." It's only then that Goffredo realizes Aldo is crying again. "I don't want to go back to living in a world without you in it." 

 

A pregnant pause. "You're telling me this over the phone?" Goffredo croaks.

 

A nervous chuckle from Aldo. "I know, I'm sorry, but... you did always want me to call you. And I really am-" Aldo searches for the right word. "Ashamed. So that makes all of this more difficult, of course."

 

Now it's Goffredo's turn for a weak laugh. But he won't let himself get off so easily. " I'm ashamed." He clears his throat. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so indelicate with you, I-"

 

"No." Aldo insists. "Sometimes I need to hear the truth, even if it doesn't feel good. I know it didn't feel good for you for me to... push you away so often, so. No more apologies, I forgive you."

 

"And I forgive you." Goffredo says, and he knows it must feel foreign for the both of them.

 

"Where does that leave us?" Aldo asks, and he can hear just the slightest tremor of hope in the younger man's voice.

 

"I agree." Goffredo nods. "We should try." The sigh of relief from Aldo is palpable. "Now that you've learned to use a telephone, it should be easy."

 

"You think so?" Aldo asks breathlessly. 

 

"Anytime you need me," Goffredo promises. "I'll be right here. All you have to do is call."

 

Half an hour later, Goffredo is glancing nervously through a café window, watching Aldo’s form appear in the distance. He’s not sure that bus ride has ever felt so long before. But when Aldo’s face comes into view, he’s smiling gently, and that’s a balm like no other.

 

When he sits across from Goffredo, the older man notices that his ears are a little pink, and he wonders if this isn’t almost like a first date all over again. If they ever really had one in the first place.

“Hi.” Aldo’s breathless, even still. It shouldn’t be a surprise.

 

“Hello.” Goffredo nods, wiggles slightly in his chair. For a summer that had felt unnaturally natural, this was surprisingly awkward.

 

“Thanks for taking my call.” Aldo’s foot reaches to bump against his, and Goffredo smiles at the small gesture. 

 

“Of course. I’m sorry-”

 

“I meant what I said.” Aldo insists. “No more apologies.”

 

Goffredo nods again. A clean slate was what they both deserved.

 

“So,” He clears his throat, looking away when a waiter comes to take Aldo’s order. “Where do we go from here, then?”

 

A beat of silence. They’re both considering how much easier the last few days of their lives could have been if one of them had just possessed the courage to ask the question so plainly earlier. A good lesson for the future, Goffredo thinks. Hopes. 

 

“Well.” Aldo hums, tapping his fingers against the dark wood of the table. “I don’t have it all figured out, of course, but I have ideas. Summers in Italy, winter holidays in England, and then we can go back and forth visiting every few months.” He shrugs. Very casual for someone who was unwilling to conjure this solution up a few days ago, but Goffredo is willing to let that slide. “Lots of phone calls, of course.”

 

Goffredo nods. It’ll be difficult. He’s known that all this time. Nothing about Aldo Bellini was easy. Nothing worth anything ever was. 

 

“And then…?” He asks, nodding his thanks when their waiter returns with a steaming mug and a tea bag. 

 

Aldo is looking resolutely at his steeping tea when he utters the most beautiful sentence Goffredo has heard to that date. “If we can make that work until I get my PhD, then, yes, I’ll move in with you full-time.”

 

Another moment of silence. Goffredo lets out a low whistle. 

 

“Is that manageable?” Aldo asks tersely, but Goffredo can tell that his tone only belies the same burning want he’s felt for the last two months. 

 

“What, three, four years?” Goffredo asks, scrunching his nose in consideration. “For you? I’d wait however long you asked. On one leg with both hands tied behind my back, if that’s what it took.”

 

Aldo’s cheeks color. “Good.” He clears his throat again. “September isn’t that far away, after all.” 

 

It would feel like an eternity. Goffredo was sure of that. Simultaneously, he found within himself a sort of resolve that he might be tempted to call renewed, if he was confident he’d had it to begin with. That was just one of those things about Aldo, he supposes. 

 

“No.” Goffredo nods in agreement. “No, it’ll be here before we know it.”

 

Aldo’s eyes meet his for a moment, and then dart away again. Uh-oh. What now?

 

“So, uh-” Aldo reaches a hand to card through buzzed hair. “Just to be sure- you do…?” 

 

Goffredo’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

 

Aldo grimaces. As if to say, really? You’re going to make me say it?

 

But, bless him, he does.

 

“You do love me, though, right?”

 

Goffredo has to fight the urge to scoff. How Aldo manages to be so ridiculous, he would never know, and he’s resigned his life to investigating that particular mystery. He reaches across the table to take quivering hands from where they’re wrapped around eggshell porcelain. 

 

“Aldo.” Goffredo says, and his voice sounds overwhelmingly warm, even to himself. Aldo’s eyes meet his and stay there for the first time that day. It feels like breathing again. 

 

“Aldo,” He repeats, warmth spreading across stubble-covered cheeks. “Of course I love you. I’ve dreamt about a future with you every single night since we met. If that wasn’t terrifying enough, I’ve never wanted to wake up, not even once.” Goffredo chuckles, then clears his throat, trying to swallow his nerves. “You came into my life and changed-” A sigh. “ Everything. The sun is brighter, food tastes better, my favorite songs sound prettier… I’m so much more in love with the world now that I’ve known you in it. But everything feels hollow without you here with me to enjoy it. So, yes, as much as that’s terrifying too, I can’t spend the rest of my life searching for anything that’ll set my soul on fire like you have. I refuse.” Goffredo shakes his head, determined. “I don’t have much, and I’ll have even less after I spend it all on plane tickets and pretty things, but you can take it.” His voice shakes, fingers tightening around Aldo’s. “Take it all. Just as long as I can have you in return. So… yes, Aldo, I’m madly, passionately in love with you. But even that feels like an understatement, because I… sure, maybe I love the air in my lungs, the Earth beneath my feet, but it’s more than that, it’s…” Goffredo trails off, sucks his teeth. Some things aren’t meant to be said in words, he thinks.

 

“I’m fucking crazy about you.” Aldo mutters, almost under his breath, his ears burning bright pink at Goffredo’s long-overdue confession. “Can we go home now?” Home. Our home. Finally.

 

“Sure.” Goffredo nods. “But before we go-” Aldo’s eyebrows quirk upwards in surprise, and the older man can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face. “Do you want to say that I was right, or would you rather that I say ‘I told you so?’ Either is fine, really, I’m just-”

 

“Shut up.” Aldo rolls his eyes, but the grin on his lips can’t hide. There was no room left for that now.

 

Goffredo is always surprised by how often they find new ways of tenderness with one another. Every time he thinks their coupling couldn’t get softer, they surprise him again. This evening is a perfect example, with Aldo sucking at his lips ever-so-softly in the cocoon of their bed, fingers tangled together in between those scarlet sheets. 

 

If Goffredo thought Aldo’s reaction to his confession in the café was subdued, he gets his validation there, falling from the younger man’s lips like raindrops. Goffredo had been wrong. Those words that had occupied his mind all week and found the drum of his heartbeat to keep time were completely different for Aldo. Yes, like raindrops: little and large, harsh and delicate, light and heavy, all at once. Goffredo thinks he might grow addicted to discovering all of the nuances there. 

 

Now, he can feel those words everywhere: in Aldo’s desperate keening, the tender brush of his thumb over cheekbones topped with long, pretty lashes. How Aldo shivers against him, the way he sucks Goffredo’s tongue into his mouth like nectar from a flower, the airy giggles that escape the smaller man’s throat when stubble drags across his chest and thighs. 

 

In his hand holding Aldo’s thigh like a prized possession, rubbing comfort into hot skin as Aldo whines, hole tensing around broad fingers. In his gentle reassurances that Aldo is alright, that he can take it. That he can take anything Goffredo gives him, because he’s so very good. Aldo isn’t ready to hear that, and writhes on wiggling fingers, making the older man smirk. 

 

“You missed me so much, didn’t you, baby?” Goffredo purrs, slowly working his wrist to flex his fingers in and out of Aldo’s entrance, that not-insignificant prideful part of himself burning with happiness at the tightness he finds there. It’s a double-sided reminder: of all of their antics that had usually left Aldo still open for his touch that summer, and then of those two days of fear, wondering if the younger man had already found his new fall fancy.

 

“Oh my God,” Aldo whines, looking down at Goffredo with honeyed eyes. “Missed you so much, I love you, I love you so much, I-” Aldo chokes out a gasp at the intrusion of another finger. 

 

Goffredo shushes him again, tutting. “You’re alright, love, just breathe. I’m taking care of you, aren’t I?”

 

Aldo nods, gulps. Willing his frame to stop trembling. Goffredo wonders if he’s ever looked more perfect, in one of the older man’s well-loved t-shirts and pleading for his touch. 

 

The slow, slick slide of Goffredo’s dick into Aldo is maddening for the both of them, to say the least. For once, nobody is complaining. Their eyes are set on each other, only occasionally flickering down to the other’s parted lips, a pearl of sweat dripping down a pectoral muscle, or the saint’s medal that dangles between them. But nothing feels so warm as finally looking at one another. It takes a moment for Goffredo to realize that the goosebumps he feels are on his skin, not Aldo’s. 

 

“ Thank you.” Aldo gasps when Goffredo bottoms out inside him, and it sounds more like worship than a simple expression of gratitude. Goffredo has to grip the sheets on either side of Aldo’s abdomen to keep his hips from bucking. It felt like Aldo would never let him go. 

 

“Thank you .” Goffredo insists, shaking his head for a moment. Moving his hips slowly, drawing himself out of Aldo’s tight heat, and then pressing back again. Maddening. “You’re so good for me, Aldino.”

 

Aldo keens, and starts to shake his head. Goffredo tuts again. “You’re mine now.” A hand rises to cup Aldo’s chin, holding him still. “No arguing. Tell me what a good boy you’ve been.”

 

Another slow drag. Aldo’s trying to avoid his gaze, looking at anything his eyes can find. Goffredo won’t play those games anymore. 

 

“Aldo.” Goffredo says patiently, smiling when the younger man meets his eyes cautiously. “Who’s my good boy, baby?”

 

Aldo trembles, hesitates. Goffredo looks at him expectantly, stalls his hips. Two can play this game. 

 

His tactic works, and a blush spreads across Aldo’s chest. 

 

“Me?” 

 

It sounds so meek. Impossibly so, but Goffredo was already confident that Aldo would inherit the Earth. If there was any justice in the world, anyway. 

 

“You, pet.” The warmth of it makes Aldo shiver. “You’re so good for me. You’re so handsome, and smart-” 

 

Aldo’s eyes dart again. Goffredo’s fingers tighten around his chin just slightly, pulling him back. 

 

“ Listen to me.” The snap of his hips. Aldo gasps, nods helplessly. 

 

“Good boy.” Goffredo hums, moving his knees forward, cradling Aldo’s quivering body with his legs. “You’re perfect to me, do you understand that?”

 

The pink of Aldo’s chest deepens. A beat of silence, but Aldo doesn’t look away. 

 

“My gorgeous, talented, ambitious, charming, smart boy.” 

 

Aldo’s eyes are welling up with tears. Instantly, Aldo’s arms reach out for him, and Goffredo is there in a second. The younger man fits into his arms like he was made to be there. Like he’s the most precious cargo that Goffredo will ever hold. 

 

Then, in between the press of their chests, underneath the weight of their perfect summer, raindrops fall. Goffredo, now, thinks he can understand the value in diversity. It’s obvious when it pours from Aldo’s lips. 

 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Whispered into his ear in time with steady thrusts, complemented by breathy gasps.

 

“Iloveyou. Iloveyou. Iloveyou.” Bouncing off the walls, the smack of skin, the tangling of gold chains symbolically broken. 

 

It all sounds so much like music. Like all of the old tenors that had drifted up hillsides and through windows, the pop music Goffredo doesn’t recognize, the alleluia chorus. All of these disparate elements that combined to make their summer, their way. As if there was any other way they could be.

 

“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.” Wailed with toes curling in so much pleasure it’s painful, spilling onto shivering stomachs, the warmth of love consummated. Of truths told. 

 

The last might be his favorite of all. “Love you, Fredo.” It’s slurred, eyelashes fluttering sleepily, Aldo’s cheek pressed to his chest, fingernails scraping lightly over dewy skin. The pet name is a first, and it makes Goffredo blush in the blessed dark. Heartbeats still pounding almost uncomfortably in ribcages that felt too small to hold a love this big. Bigger than them, bigger than their pasts, families, friends, careers. But more than that. Bigger than all of those feared futures that could have led them apart. Those realities felt more like distant nightmares now. Figments to be forgotten.

 

Goffredo was wrong. He always thought it would be like a march. A steady rhythm, forcing you to stay in line. To conform, to be expected if nothing else. Like a heartbeat. It seemed so natural that questioning it never really occurred to him.

 

That night, hearing the truth drip from Aldo’s lips, he knows how foolish he’s always been. He’s spent all of his life trying to keep his eyes forward, on the march. To not be left behind. Now he understands that isn’t what he wants at all. 

 

To hear Aldo say those three words like a goosestep for the rest of his life would be torture. There was dedication, yes, to living your life that way. And discipline too. 

 

But for all of the years of dedication and discipline, Goffredo found himself happiest here. 

 

Among these raindrops. Each unique in its way. Each showing a different facet of a love that seemed to have no limits. Goffredo realizes now how much time he’s wasted wishing for everything to be the same. Just for a half-lived life to be easier. Now he knows he’d take the suffering any day if only to feel like this for another second more. 

 

No, it was nothing like a march. It was far too free for that. It could defy every expectation, pull the rug out from under you, yet somehow leave you warmer than before. Not unlike the man who created this cyclone in the first place.

 

It had to be acknowledged that if Aldo had changed everything, taking what was old and known and creating something different, then that meant Goffredo had been forever altered too. For once, yes, Goffredo found himself thanking God for difference. For the unexpected, for square pegs and round holes. For Aldo Bellini and everything therein that was so confounding and beautiful and perfect.

 

I'm not like you, Goffredo can't help but think as he watches Aldo sleep peacefully. But I want to be. 

 

 

Chapter 10

Notes:

wow, wow, wow. we're here, y'all! we made it! i have so many things to say, but i'll try to keep it short.

this is the first fictional anything i've written in the almost-decade since i've been in college, grad school, starting my career, etc.... y'all have made it an absolute joy and a blessing for me. you will never know how much your kudos, comments, messages, analysis, and thoughts mean to me. i can't wait to read this thing back and laugh/cry with y'all. (and also probably be mortified by how much of me came out on the page!)

you'll notice that there's also an "eleventh chapter" posted: those are playlists for y'all to enjoy! check out my author's note on the next chapter for more info there.

i also must apologize again for my tardiness in replying to y'alls wonderful comments. that is the first thing on my plate after i take a break this weekend, pinky promise!

lastly, i have a request for you. my plan throughout this process was to post an epilogue that wraps up these two's specific story within the AFCU (air of frociaggine cinematic universe.) however, it's come to my attention that folks might like a sequel consisting of fluffy vignettes and email epistolary. i would HAPPILY do this, but my plan was to post the epilogue, write a one-shot goffredo-in-seminary prequel, and then get to working on the next entry of the ACFU. that fic would essentially be the flip side of the coin from una volta (fall in new york, older divorced aldo on home turf, younger goffredo's the new kid on the block, yadda yadda...) it's too hard of a decision for me to make alone, so please, sound off in the comments! what do you want to see next from cattivelloed?!

Aldo's last week in Italy flies by far too quickly for the both of them. It's not aided by how perfect a week it was, with their course winding down to a pleasant close, the summer heat surprisingly abating, and the reassuring knowledge that they wouldn't be saying goodbye forever. 

But the nervous feeling isn't aided by the waitresses, barkeeps, street vendors, and dog walkers who protest in disappointment when Aldo shares that he'll only be in Rome for a few days longer. They ask why he can't just stay, and Aldo always laughs uneasily, probably not wanting to spark another argument when they were doing so good in appreciating the last vestiges of their shared summer. 

Alma, the girl who sells Aldo lemonade from a rickety stand a block away from Goffredo's building, has the sort of flirtatious relationship with Aldo that can only be formed by mutual homosexuality. It still makes Goffredo a little jealous. 

"I thought you were going to keep him for us?" Alma asks, grinning at Goffredo cheekily. 

"I'm trying." Goffredo replies with a weak smile, and Aldo bumps him with a hip.

"I'll be back next month." Aldo promises. "If he doesn't get sick of me first."

That makes Alma laugh. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen. But I'll put in a good word for you." 

It's a balm, how easily everyone seems to accept them as a natural pairing. Even Vincent and Thomas, when that confession comes pouring out of Aldo like an avalanche.

It's over their two day "break," as Aldo has come to call it, drowning his sorrows in shared cocktails. He tries to hide the reason for his distress-drinking as long as possible, but then a song that Aldo recognizes from one of Goffredo's old records opens the floodgates.

The words "I've been having an affair with Dr. Tedesco" fly out of his mouth so rapidly that Vincent and Thomas wouldn't have understood. If they didn't know exactly what Aldo was saying. 

"Right..." Vincent says carefully after the pair exchange glances. "Is it not going well?"

Aldo groans in bewilderment. "You knew?"

Thomas looks equally bewildered. "You were dancing with a middle aged man, for the entire night, after we’d just arrived here. Of course we noticed."

Vincent interjects, "It wasn't exactly difficult to figure out, that's all. You were dancing with someone older, then you kept disappearing, and then you seemed really upset during our first class..." And when he put it that way, Aldo felt like a foolish child, thinking they'd been so slick.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Aldo croaks, and the pair exchange another set of looks.

"Well," Thomas' mouth cracks into a smile. "It's awfully romantic, isn't it? Not ideal that he's married, though, I must say."

"He's not married!" Aldo protests weakly, his face burning. 

"You called it an affair! My apologies-" Thomas replies, affronted, an act that Aldo recognizes all too well.

"It had to be a secret!" Aldo hisses, and Thomas smirks.

"Not a very well-kept secret, darling." Vincent nudges Thomas gently, and Aldo resents how everyone in his life treats him this way: like a porcelain doll to tread lightly around. But there must have been something about him to prompt that behavior, so he'd need to pray on that. 

Aldo feels like he could bounce off the walls in frustration, but just sighs. The summer truly had been a test from God in every way possible.

It eases the way, though, for Goffredo to be introduced to Thomas and Vincent as Aldo's friends and housemates. 

They wait until the night after their last class to do that, thinking it'd only be proper (if that was even possible here, now, after everything they’d been through.) It goes surprisingly well, with minimal awkwardness, and Goffredo manages to not mention his slight jealousy complex towards Thomas. 

In fact, Aldo thinks he manages it quite well, insisting on buying Thomas' beer amongst a discussion on the Humanae Vitae and laughing, probably a little too hard, at all of Thomas' jokes. That makes Aldo snort and roll his eyes every time, knowing he hadn't been that good of an actor during his and Thomas' relationship, and blushes when he catches Vincent looking at him with a little smile. As much as the summer had been a test for Aldo, he did feel much closer to Vincent than he'd been at the start. Now he couldn't help but feel as if Vincent had been shepherding their relationship along the way, helping ease in a new era of Aldo's life. 

Those feelings made him wonder if it wasn't Vincent, really, who should be stepping out into St. Peter's Square in all white. Aldo pushes that thought away, ready for all of these alternate versions of reality to be far from his mind, knowing he'd be back in the comfort of their shared home.

But the memory that Goffredo wouldn't be there was painful, no matter how many times they discussed Aldo's next trip to Rome. 

Then Goffredo and Vincent are trotting up onto a tiny stage to do a karaoke rendition of a Spanish song that, in Aldo's estimation, had far too many synthesizers, but got their liquor-pliant audience to sing along. Watching the older man up there in blue and red light, swaying rhythmically with an arm thrown around Vincent's tiny shoulders, Aldo realized that Goffredo fit all too perfectly into his life. Like a missing puzzle piece. 

"I'm happy for you." The words from Thomas, somehow soft although shouted over a roomful of singing people, snap Aldo out of his dreamy staring. 

Aldo blushes, and snorts to cover it up. "Thanks, I guess."

"I mean it." Thomas insists. "You always thought there was something bigger out there for you in the world, and here it is." And it'd hurt Aldo's feelings if he didn't know Thomas meant it so nonjudgmentally. "You two... fit well together."

Aldo clears his throat and decides to fight the impulse to hide behind his cocktail. They were living in a new world now. "Thank you." After a pause. "You do too."

And it's not the first time Aldo's said anything like that, but Thomas recognizes it for the peace offering it is, and smiles good-naturedly.

When Goffredo returns to their table, still teeming with the energy of performance, Aldo can't help to pull him in by the front of his shirt for a lingering kiss. It's awkward, slightly, with Aldo's ears burning knowing that Vincent and Thomas are right there, but he's tired of pretending. He's surprised at how quickly Goffredo's hesitance turns into tenderness, and it's only a groan from Goffredo's chest at the nip of his lip that draws Aldo away from him. 

"You never kissed me like that." Thomas mutters, making Vincent smack his bicep affectionately. 

Goffredo smirks, unable to pull his gaze from Aldo. "He's in love with me." Goffredo says smugly, and it makes the pink of Aldo's ears spread to his chest. But Aldo doesn't deny it, and Thomas and Vincent look at each other with barely-concealed smirks. 

Secretly, Goffredo worries that he might have embarrassed Aldo a bit. The younger man was nothing else if not doggedly secretive. And those words had felt so tender from Aldo- had he soured them in a way? Aerated them to spoil?

Then, on their walk home, Goffredo is whistling pleasantly when Aldo tugs at his sleeve like a lost child. When Goffredo turns his head, he’s surprised to see Aldo standing there, looking up at him with eyes so longing it makes his knees a little weak.

“What?” Goffredo asks, suspiciously, an eyebrow raised. He knew Aldo too well to get his hopes up, after all. There was always some sort of mental chess to be played. 

“I need to tell you something.” Aldo says firmly, but his voice is shaking in its resolve. At least he thinks so, it’s hard to tell when the words are slurred so sweetly. Goffredo stops. Nods. Go on…?

“You…” Aldo clears his throat, shakes his head. Like he’s dismissing the part of himself who thinks better of all this. “I’m so in love with you it’s crazy.”

Goffredo rolls his eyes. It’s not that he doesn’t still get butterflies at the words, but he’d really prefer to have those butterflies at home, in bed…

“ No.” Aldo says forcefully. “ Listen to me.”

Immediately, the hair on Goffredo’s arms is standing at attention. He doesn’t even notice that his mouth is parted slightly in shock until Aldo cups his chin, resting his thumb on the older man’s lower lip. Aldo’s eye contact is so strong that it almost makes Goffredo uncomfortable. Almost.

“All summer, you’ve been…” Aldo trails off, eyes darting down to those parted lips, then reminding himself of the task at hand. “You’ve been talking about me… setting your soul on fire, but I…” There’s that trembling voice again, and Aldo cuts himself off, clearly choked up. Goffredo’s eyebrows have never been higher.

“But I feel like I’m fucking burning up inside for you, Fredo, really.” A gulp from Aldo, and a shiver down Goffredo’s spine. “And I know- trust me, I know it sounds insane, but all this time, I’ve had this feeling that… this wasn’t our only chance, you know?” Aldo’s eyebrows furrow, and Goffredo finds himself nodding instinctually. Because he knows. He knows exactly. “I just had to believe that there’s so many other worlds out there where this works. And just as many, maybe more, where it doesn’t…” The truth of that stings, and Goffredo can’t help but to think back to their conversation after the Sistine. To would-be flashbacks of shouting matches and petty encyclicals and an itch never scratched. Never even understood, perhaps. Aldo’s words pull him from those thoughts. “So, I’ve wondered, all this time.. can’t it just be enough to know that somewhere, someplace out there, we’ll never be apart?” Goffredo’s stomach drops. But Aldo doesn’t let him hang for long. “It’s not.” His voice cracks, and Goffredo can’t help but pull him in close, wrapping his arms around Aldo’s middle. As always, Aldo’s arms are the only thing that don’t feel like a weight around his neck. 

“I know.” Goffredo whispers, and Aldo trembles against him, a shiver sliding through his slender frame. He cards his fingers through hair that was already growing far too fast, and Goffredo winces, remembering the next person to shear his chosen sheep wouldn’t be him. Some stranger, actually. His grip around Aldo tightens. 

“I’m so in love with you.” It’s barely audible, and Goffredo can hear the tears in his voice. “And I’m so sorry-”

Goffredo shushes him, shaking his head. “Don’t.” His own voice sounds thick with emotion. “We’re past that, remember? And we’ve got our whole lives for you to make it up to me, so, shush.” 

Aldo gives a weak chuckle. Buries his face into Goffredo’s shirt like so many other times that summer. Inhales deep. It feels like a ritual now, and Goffredo wonders what his life will look like in the weeks after weeks he goes without it. Reminds himself that it would all be worth it for the years that came after. Please, God. Please.

If Goffredo had any doubt that Aldo Bellini is an Italian at heart, it disappears when Aldo finally starts packing his bag. It’s the sort of thing that should start an argument, but given what happened last time they talked about Aldo packing, they just smile sheepishly at one another. It’s hard to keep himself occupied, trying not to stare at Aldo as he picks up all of these pieces of himself and tucks them away. Goffredo feels like a child, panicked by the disappearance of mere items that are destined to return, frightened by the illusion of abandonment. And then Aldo starts stealing his things. 

Goffredo doesn’t mention it at first, when Aldo hums sweetly, folding an old t-shirt, a too-large sweatshirt… and then he goes for Goffredo’s underwear drawer.

“ What are you doing?” Goffredo splutters when Aldo glances over its contents and then plucks out a pair of bright red boxer-briefs that have a few notable memories attached.

“Oh, these are mine now.” Aldo says casually, shrugging.

“On what grounds?” Another raised eyebrow. 

Aldo gestures to the air around him. When Goffredo doesn’t nod in understanding, he continues. “You don’t like to take a trophy?”

“A trophy?!” Goffredo squawks, and he thinks his ears might be going red. He’s never heard anyone talk like that before, let alone Aldo. “You’re twisted!”

Aldo just laughs. “Suit yourself, but I’m taking things.”

And he does. A few books they’ve read together, a fair portion of Goffredo’s wardrobe, a brand new bottle of one of his favorite colognes (which makes Goffredo grumble, but not protest.) He shouldn’t be surprised, then, when he looks up from rearranging his bookshelf to see Aldo holding a bright red e-cigarette. To be entirely honest, Goffredo hadn’t touched the thing in weeks, it’d been sitting in his study as dead as a doornail. But his eyes narrow anyway.

“No.”

Aldo grins. “Yes.”

Goffredo shakes his head. “No, that’s the one thing I do actually need, so if you don’t mind…” A palm outstretched, awaiting. 

“You don’t need this.” Aldo shrugs, studying the thing in his hand like an ancient relic. “You haven’t used it in forever. What’s it matter to you if it sits in my study instead of yours?”

Goffredo sighs. “Well, you know, I was planning on quitting again… since I won’t have the devil quite so close on my shoulder.” Another dramatic rolling of the eyes. 

“Why?” Aldo asks, and it almost makes Goffredo scoff. And then. “When we met, you said it was a compromise. Then later, you implied you quit smoking to get yourself off the hook for..” Aldo clears his throat. “You know.” 

Goffredo nods. “And?”

“Well,” Aldo looks at him, nervous energy clear in his gaze. “I’d like to think you won’t be needing to get yourself off that hook anymore.”

It’s a fair point, and Goffredo considers it for a moment, before realizing that Aldo isn’t really asking about the e-cigarette. He’s asking about the nights at the bar, about darkened alleyways, about wine that makes everything feel a little less guilty. And for the first time in his life, Goffredo thinks he has an easy answer.

“Take it.”

A beat of silence. A grin splits Aldo’s face. Goffredo isn’t sure he’s ever seen the younger man smile quite so big, and thinks he’ll be working for the rest of his life to repeat the feat.

“Really?”

Goffredo just nods. He’d give Aldo his right arm if that’s what it took. My limbs, my lungs, my heart. Take it all. 

Aldo doesn’t need to be told twice. 

But, in typical Aldo fashion, just when Goffredo thinks he’s given all he has, the younger man makes one more request.

They’re standing together, a bit awkwardly, outside Goffredo’s car at the airport. Goffredo is still cursing Aldo for the early flight, the sun is barely up, they hardly had time for one more coffee, one last shared cigarette… but he can’t bring himself to vocalize those complaints. The cloud over Aldo’s head is dreary enough. 

“Well…” Aldo clears his throat. “I’ll see you in September, right?”

Goffredo nods. “I’ll be here. Just focus on your work in the meantime, so we can enjoy ourselves, alright?” His eyes flit between the storm of Aldo’s eyes, his pretty lips, his throat. No matter how much time they had, it would never be enough. Goffredo was still getting used to that. 

“I will.” Aldo promises, and Goffredo knows he can take him at his word. A testament to the trust they’ve built, brick by painful brick. Aldo’s fingers rise to wrap around the gold chain that hangs around Goffredo’s neck, somehow lighter than it had been all those weeks ago. “Should we trade?”

The idea had honestly never occurred to Goffredo. Surprisingly, given the chill it sends from his head to his toes. Wordlessly, he raises hands to wriggle at the clasp, removing a piece of himself that had been foundational since his confirmation. Even if it had always been a little bit of a slap in the face, having Giuda Taddeo around his neck like an albatross, it was a wound central to his being if nothing else. 

He knows it must be true, too, for Aldo. A boy so smart and scared that it made him tremble through life. Who would he be without Tommaso D’Aquino protecting him from all that doubt and ushering him towards the illuminating path of knowledge through Christ?

But Aldo follows suit, and with the blink of an eye, Goffredo finds himself staring at his medal on someone else’s chest for the first time in his life. He thinks it suits Aldo a little too much.

“I love you.” Aldo whispers, tears welling up in his eyes. Goffredo pulls him close, unwilling to stand across from one another like casual acquaintances for even a second longer. There would be far too much of that in the days to come. He reminds himself that his reward would be the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Powdered sugar and raspberries and iced coffee. These little things felt like mountains now. 

“I love you, Aldino.” 

Aldo shakes in his arms. All Goffredo can do is hold him close. But close is never enough, is it? Not for us. 

“Call me when you get home safely, alright?” Goffredo mumbles against Aldo’s ear, kissing the reddened rim there. Aldo just nods wordlessly. “I mean it, pet. Anytime you need me. All you have to do is pick up the phone.”

It’s strange, how he believes it so strongly when he’s saying it, but with Aldo’s lips on his in one last desperate kiss, he feels like he’s standing in quicksand. He can’t help but sink his teeth lightly into Aldo’s lower lip, just enough to smart, making the younger man shiver. There are people staring. Goffredo knows, but he doesn’t care. How’s that for change?

Aldo is bright pink when he pulls away, pupils almost overtaking his irises. That’s how Goffredo knows he’s done his job well. He smiles softly, and Aldo’s lips quirk in response. It doesn’t meet his eyes, and Goffredo can’t blame him. Doesn’t everything feel a little hollow now?

An empty car. A loud song on the radio and nobody to sing along with. Traffic gone unremarked upon. A quiet walk up the street, a sad smile from Alma and another from a neighbor. Goffredo feels raw. Like he’s carrying around a wound that everyone can see. 

His bed is some comfort, but that feels hollow too. Too big, too cold, too.. Empty. It’s all empty.

Ignoring the tears streaming down his face is the only path he has to peace. Because if he indulges that sorrow now, well. Wasn’t that how he’d wound up alone at a bar, huffing an e-cigarette and wishing for anything interesting to happen? No, he had been changed. And hope in the future meant a chin held high. That’s what he would’ve told Aldo, anyway.

If he were here.

It’s easy to be pulled back into the cocoon of unconsciousness. He’s laid bare with exhaustion, with a late night, fitful sleep, an early alarm, and tears wracking through his body. Bitterly, he’s reminded of a story his mother still tells to anyone who’ll listen, how little Goffredo would get so worked up with exhaustion as a baby that he’d have to cry himself to sleep. Sobbing until slumber took him. Odd how not much has changed. 

It’s almost easy to forget, when he wakes. Like it’s any other August morning. He yawns, crawls out of bed, puts on a pot of espresso. Brushes his teeth, stares at himself blearily in the mirror. Even Tommaso D’Aquino staring back doesn’t phase him. He nurses a coffee, feeds the cats, prays. Sighs when remembering how soon a new academic year would start, which meant meetings, planning, students… that never-ending cycle. A merry-go-round he’d chosen for the relative power it held compared to the alternative. One of the few choices he’d made solely for himself in his life.

Another heavy sigh looking through his bookcase, wondering where that one particular translation of Hildegard of Bingen had gotten to. Mumbles under his breath, wondering who rearranged his things so infuriatingly. He settles for the original German, rolling his eyes, tossing it onto the coffee table. Just a little more caffeine…

He reenters the kitchen, humming to himself, feeling as though he’s forgotten something. Trying to remember that this feeling of half-completion was actually his normal. Wondering what had ever made him think otherwise. Goffredo notices a mug sitting next to the sink and sighs. Is it really that difficult to just put the damned thing inside the… Just another off thing on this morning that should be so normal. Wasn’t it?

The sound startles him, making him jump out of his skin. He almost doesn’t recognize it at first.

The phone rings. 

Goffredo leans against the countertop, knees suddenly unable to hold him. His eyes slam shut as if in pain. A deep breath. 

Oh. 

A lifetime’s worth of memories rush over him. Maybe more. So how was he already so desperate to make more?

“Hello?” He sounds so small. He’s not sure the last time he heard himself like that.

“Oh, thank God, you’re home!” Aldo’s voice is the sweetest of symphonies. Like every song Goffredo’s ever even hummed all pieced together perfectly. “I missed you so much! You won’t believe what Vincenzo said to me on our flight. So I was reading that copy of Hildegard I’m borrowing, right, and he leans over-”

Goffredo sighs. A warm smile settles onto his face. He reaches for the pot again, pouring himself another cup of espresso as Aldo chatters on. 

It’s funny, really. He’s spent so much time figuring out what, exactly, could be so wrong with him. To have always felt so unwanted, unseen, forgotten entirely. To grow up in a world that seemed to spite and smart him at every corner. Full of people that were ignorant, ungrateful, just plain stupid. There had always been so much to hate. The type of anger that simmered and bubbled and poached him right where he stood. 

And now, at what he prayed was the one-third mark of a life well-lived, he’s leaning against his own countertop and brimming with love. For the air drifting in through the cracked window, the leaves growing on the trees that dance in the wind, the city chatter that echoes softly through an almost-empty kitchen. For an American with an inferiority complex, more smarts than sense, and all of the wrong opinions. For Aldo Bellini. And, finally, for himself.

“And so I said- wait, are you still there?” Aldo pauses. The crackle of silence over a long-distance call. Why does it feel like home? 

“Always.” Goffredo promises. It’s his favorite vow he’s ever made. He wonders why he’d considered making any other. But God works in mysterious ways. Famously. If it took all of that, all of the confusion, pain, and yearslong yearning to get here, he would do it again in a second. A million times over. 

Always.

Amen.

Chapter 11

Notes:

as promised, some playlists to listen to as you think of these two idiots! one for the folks who enjoyed the timeless vibe, one for the folks who enjoyed the angst, and one for my party people. the first two are in a specific order, the last can be shuffled at will. all playlists contain both aldino and fredo's pov. enjoy my lovelies!

edizione classica ( for the traditionalist with a heart of gold)

these days nico

in my room the beach boys

blue moon - take 9/M elvis presley

intolewd matt maltese

my stove’s on fire robert lester folsom

you turn me on, i’m a radio joni mitchell

every night paul mccartney

smoke rings les paul & mary ford

your mind is on vacation mose allison

flashback blues john prine

flowers on the wall the statler brothers

hello it’s me todd rundgren

song for the asking simon & garfunkel

will you love me tomorrow carole king

you’re gonna miss me connie francis

time in a bottle jim croce

after the lights go out the walker brothers

i was a fool to care james taylor

right down the line gerry rafferty

dedicated to the one i love the mamas & the papas

bless the telephone labi siffre

alternativa ( for the trembling, lovesick, & obstinate)

imposter syndrome sidney gish

brave as a noun ajj

chandelier will paquin

hush the marias

collector i kill giants

I THINK tyler the creator

tongue tied tomtsu

laughing makes it worse michael cera palin

get bummed out remember sports

their/they’re/therapy their/they’re/there

RUNNING OUT OF TIME tyler the creator

your dog soccer mommy

maple syrup the backseat lovers

welp, fuck it pictures of vernon

death cup mom jeans.

francis forever mitski

nice to each other olivia dean

i love you so the walters

mississippi swells nana grizol

summer’s over jordana & tv girl

your cat slaughter beach, dog

club mix (for the afterparty)

gimme! gimme! gimme! abba

promiscuous nelly furtado & timbaland

ring my bell anita ward

do you wanna come over? britney spears

houdini dua lipa

last night a DJ saved my life indeep

hung up madonna

london bridge fergie

are you that somebody? aaliyah & timbaland

XS rina sawayama

touch katseye

wut u do - newbody remix azealia banks

TRUST! rebecca black

read your mind sabrina carpenter

LIGHT AGAIN! lil nas x

ring ring ring tyler the creator

talk talk charli xcx

FRANCO colette march

image magdalena bay

como la flor (live at the astrodome 1995) selena

last dance donna summer

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of the air of frociaggine cinematic universe