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Assente aches.
Not emotionally just yet-- but a throb in his joints and the memory of being wonderfully reamed open settled in his muscles. The sweet sensation of dulled pain takes him from his fading dreams. Eyes still closed, he's blind to the bruises that had formed on his wrists and hips, but the exquisite ache in his body shackles him to his heavenly bed, encouraging him to remain swaddled in his fine sheets.
But the morning light from the window is stronger.
When Assente stirs into wakefulness, the first thing he does is check the bed space beside him. Turning over, extending his arm and hoping...
Hoping for what?
It's empty. And pristine. Mario got the impression that Cavallo smoothed out the sheets and perhaps even fluffed up the pillow before he left. Any lingering warmth must have been long gone by now.
The last thing he can remember from the night before was the monsignor encouraging him to lay his head on his broad, warm chest, and the feel of Cavallo's arms encircling him.
Now, the blankets and duvet are pulled up to his neck, and Assente tries to stamp out whatever feelings begin to bubble within him. Oh, he aches everywhere now-- inside and out.
Cavallo was a busybody. This is normal. It's fine.
This was his life as a priest-- a cardinal. The secretary of the state. One of the very few men in this institution that were second only to the pope himself. Sex and pleasure were to be kept to stolen moments and shameful confessions. It was foolish to desire anything more without considering a change in career. A lifetime of this, and he was still somehow not used to it.
And this was their relationship at its most realistically ideal; pleasurable and purely transactional. Something to keep him from thinking about the hole that Bernardo's rejections burned into his core. Nothing that would complicate him even further. Nothing messier than the sort of indiscretion that could be fixed with a cycle or two in a washing machine.
Mario had woken up not ten minutes before his alarm; he noted with mild irritation and a less than mild hangover. That left him ten precious minutes to pretend he was still left in that restful, sated sleep that followed many drinks and a world-shaking orgasm. Ten minutes of pretending he wasn't thinking about Cavallo, or where he bustled off to so early in the morning.
It's at the five minute mark of his half-sleep when he hears the bedroom door open, the scent of coffee preceding Cavallo's entrance with a bag containing espressos and two freshly made brioches wrapped in paper.
He's immaculately dressed in his clerical shirt and jacket, with a smart black coat to ward off the chill, which he hangs up by the door, revealing the tiny glimmer of his silver lapel pin. Everything neat and pressed and in place, as if the heated lust of last night had never happened.
"Your Eminence, you're up early." Cavallo says, setting the bag and a glass of water down a small table flanked by two ornate chairs; Mario's usual spot in the mornings. Cavallo keeps his smugness to a minimum, as if he wasn't keenly aware of the effect his return had on his now-docile quarry. Worlds away from the hungry, desperate, biting Mario Assente of just a few hours ago.
"How would you know. I'm not up at all. I'm going back to sleep."
The monsignor tuts, and Assente wishes he would pick a time later in the day to admonish him, rather than now.
"Mario. Be a good boy and get out of bed. I won't even ask you to get dressed-- but at least eat something."
"Are you my mother? You're acting like it, Cavallo." Assente answers, under the arm he'd thrown over his eyes when his assistant pulls the curtains open a little wider. Never completely-- because only Cavallo should have the privilege to spy on the Vatican secretary of the state.
"You certainly weren't calling me your mother last night." Cavallo shoots back with a pleasant smile. "'Daddy', wasn't it...?"
Assente groans as he rises and swings his legs over the side of the bed into a sit, throwing his seductively soft sheets to the side-- coming face-to-face with Cavallo holding Mario's spectacles gingerly in his hands.
Smiling at him, downturned eyes crinkled. Leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead. Gently putting the glasses on his face and adjusting them to sit properly on the bridge of his nose.
He blinks at the monsignor's now crisp image. The gesture leaves Assente utterly helpless.
"...You know I don't usually take breakfast." Assente says quietly, after a beat.
"You ought to take it now, since I went through the trouble. You're always so tired because you barely eat, so come and sit."
Christ.
Cavallo is fully dressed and Mario is naked. He walks to the table as carefully as a deer sets its foot into the grass, but before he can sit down, Cavallo comes from behind and sets a night robe on his shoulders, encouraging him to put his arms through the sleeves. Assente does, wordlessly tying the belt in a loose knot and watching Cavallo take the seat opposite him.
"There's two in the bag. I don't eat this much." Assente observes, nose turned up.
"There are also two espressos, because one of each is for me. I'm your assistant, not your servant."
Assente had to wonder if that was all that Cavallo was.
"You do quite a bit more than just 'assist', if I'm not mistaken. Not going to pull my chair for me?"
"Be realistic, Mario." the monsignor says with a shrug, sipping his coffee.
What the fuck does that even mean.
Cavallo's reply makes Assente draw himself up, haughtily looking down his nose at the man enjoying breakfast without him-- and oh, he feels a little more like himself again. Less raw from feelings he'd rather not put words to. He smoothes the robe down the back of his thighs as he sits down, primly.
It takes one sip of the espresso for Assente to realize he doesn't have his cigarettes. The realization is as clear as day on his face, and Cavallo stops him with a hand around his wrist as he rises from his seat.
"No, no. Breakfast first."
Assente's jaw works, and his mouth settles into a pout. "Fine."
As if to reward him, Cavallo lifts the brioche to his face with an expectant grin.
"...You can't be serious." Mario remarks, but leans forward and takes a small bite anyway. It's freshly made, which is...nice. Assente rarely has an appetite early in the morning, so the rest of his meal continues on in a similar way.
"You finished it. I'm proud of you."
Cavallo is pushing his luck, looking as pleased as he is. A hand flies to his mouth as he laughs at Assente's decidedly weary expression.
Assente sighs, high and exasperated, and he gets up from his seat slowly, as if testing whether Cavallo is going to stop him from fetching his smokes again. "Is this going to be a regular arrangement, Don Cavallo?"
Using his title. Assente tries to gain some distance.
"Maybe. Would you like that?"
Cavallo finishes the rest of his coffee and stands by him again-- always a hair too close. Just close enough for Assente to be teased with the prospect of intimacy. Which is always an odd feeling, considering how Cavallo fucked his brains out last night and kissed him on the forehead this morning. How he brought him breakfast, as if this was an actual relationship, and not--
Click.
The monsignor lights his cigarette. Distance closed.
"If I don't have to feed you like a child the entire time, we can do it again. There's a nice bakery just across the road. Very convenient."
...Not the entire time, but some of the time?
"Alright. Fine." Assente's voice is muted. His eyes are fixed on the glowing cherry of his cigarette, and he gives himself until half of the cigarette is down before meeting Cavallo's eyes again.
The man had been standing patiently by him, hands behind his back-- the picture of attentiveness. Smiling fondly. Affection plainly on his face, and yet still something of mystery to the man he worked under. Assente had to wonder how much Voiello knew about Cavallo before hiring him. Was he ever half as bewildered as Assente is now?
Bewildered, and fascinated.
"...Help me get dressed."
"Of course, Your Eminence."