Work Text:
Change of Paradigm
Author: hunenka
Fandom: The Borgias
Pairing(s): Cesare/Micheletto
Rating: explicit
Warnings: m/m sex, BDSM
Summary: Written last year in response to a prompt: “Micheletto/Cesare, change of paradigm. Bondage and whipping pretty much appreciated.” Takes place in S02E08.
===
“You should let me kill him, Eminence,” Micheletto says gruffly.
“No, not this time,” Cesare replies without even looking at the man who follows him.
“Yes, Eminence.”
Cesare stops abruptly, searching Micheletto’s face curiously. “Don’t you ever grow tired of following commands?”
Micheletto blinks in surprise at the question. “Your Eminence?”
Cesare sighs. “You never question my orders; you always do exactly what I tell you to do. Isn’t it tiring sometimes?”
“And you, Eminence?” The assassin’s eyes meet the eyes of his master. “Isn’t it tiring to always be the one giving orders? The one to make decisions?”
“I…”
“You take care of the church’s business; you try to solve the problem with the Sforzas. You do everything to keep your family safe, you try to fix the wrong decisions of your father, you always protect your sister…”
Cesare is a bit shocked at the man’s boldness, but he realizes that he likes it. And that Micheletto’s question actually makes sense. “You’re right, sometimes it is most tiresome. There are times when I think my life would be easier if I was in your place instead.”
Micheletto tilts his head, thinking. “Sometimes you wish to renounce the power, yes?” He has a strange look on his face, Cesare can’t quite read it, but this sounds so intriguing.
“Yes,” Cesare whispers and Micheletto smiles (is this the first time Cesare has ever seen him smile?).
Then Micheletto moves incredibly fast, grabbing Cesare’s arms and twisting them behind his back with one hand, wrapping the other around Cesare’s neck, pressing.
As Cesare’s world fades into blackness, he wonders how strange it is that he isn’t scared at all.
===
Cesare tries to move, but there are heavy iron manacles locked around his wrists, suspended from the ceiling, so he can’t move much. A few small steps, that is all.
Also, his jacket and shirt are gone, which explains the cold.
He should be afraid, Cesare knows this, but somehow he can’t. All he feels is excitement and curiosity.
Turning his head around, he searches for his assassin, but he can’t see him anywhere in the room. “Micheletto?”
A strong hand grabs hold of his hair, pulling his head back roughly. “Be silent,” Micheletto whispers into his ear before he lets go and walks around so Cesare can see him. “Or do you want anyone to come here and see you like this?”
Cesare chuckles. “No, my dear Micheletto, I don’t want that. The guards would think you’re trying to hurt me and they would try to stop you.”
Micheletto nods. “They would try,” he repeats. “And I don’t want to be interrupted.”
Cesare chuckles again, this is interesting. “Neither do I.”
The assassin’s eyes narrow dangerously. “I didn’t ask whether you did.”
Even more interesting. Cesare can’t stop smiling. He likes the way Micheletto is looking at him, calm, determined, dangerous. In control.
Normally, Micheletto’s whole body posture shows that he is a man of the shadows – slightly crouched, alert, always ready to fight or flee, eyes downcast. There is none of that in the assassin’s stance now. He stands tall and proud, his head held high.
“Do you remember what happened the last time we were here?” Micheletto asks. As if Cesare could forget. When the Borgia doesn’t reply immediately, Micheletto backhands him. Not too hard, but hard enough for it to sting. “I gave you a question.”
Cesare likes this new Micheletto, and he is curious just how far his assassin will go. Holding Micheletto’s gaze, Cesare stays silent, challenging him.
This time there is more strength behind the blow, but Cesare can tell that Micheletto is still holding back, and he doesn’t want that. He stays silent.
The next blow is really hard; the impact makes his head spin. The chains rattle softly with the movement. Cesare opens his mouth, moving his jaw slowly. This one really hurt. He smiles.
“I do remember that night,” he says finally.
Micheletto stands still, his expression unreadable once again. “Do you remember the pain?”
Cesare knows where this is heading and his heart starts beating faster. “No… how could I?”
“Yes, how could you,” Micheletto agrees in a low voice that gives Cesare goosebumps. “We should fix that, don’t you think?”
From a shelf he produces a whip, maybe the same one that Cesare used on him back then. The way Micheletto holds it shows much expertise, the tool becomes a part of the assassin. Cesare watches him, mesmerized. “Yes,” he whispers, licking his suddenly dry lips. “Yes.”
Micheletto walks closer to the black-haired man so they stand mere inches apart. He raises the whip, showing it to his master. “In the right hands,” he says, and Cesare can feel Micheletto’s breath on his face, “this instrument can sing. It can make you sing.”
Cesare shudders. Micheletto draws the handle of the whip across Cesare’s chest slowly. “It can hurt without breaking the skin. Or it can tear it into shreds, make you bleed.”
Suddenly, Cesare feels very hot. “And what will you choose to do?” He asks breathlessly.
Micheletto is looking at Cesare’s chest now. The pale skin is perfect, unmarred by any scars. He reaches out to touch it with his hand, right above where the heart beats so loudly. His hand is hard and calloused and the touch makes Cesare twitch, a reaction that Micheletto doesn’t miss.
Pulling his hand away finally, the assassin says, “That decision is mine.”
It is, Cesare realizes, and the experience is new. He doesn’t know what Micheletto will do. He doesn’t have any say in it. “Then I must wait and see,” he says finally.
Micheletto walks behind him, Cesare can’t see the redhead now. He doesn’t know when the first blow will fall, or where it will hit him.
A hand touches his back, slowly crawling up his spine. “Don’t cry out,” Micheletto tells him before he withdraws his hand and takes a few steps back.
Before Cesare can think of any reply, he hears a whoosh in the air and then he feels sharp, piercing pain on his lower back. Despite Micheletto’s words, a scream escapes Cesare’s lips.
“I said don’t cry out,” Micheletto says angrily as the whip touches Cesare’s skin again. This time he knows what to expect, so Cesare manages to keep the scream inside.
“Good,” Micheletto praises him proudly and rewards him with a blow that rattles Cesare’s body.
Biting into his lip, Cesare is determined to stay silent, but the impact of the next blow makes him grunt out in pain. He grabs onto the chains that are holding him in place, gripping them tightly.
He wants more. He needs more.
Micheletto knows it; he can read his master’s body well. He recognizes the same need in Cesare that he knows from himself. Even though it’s obvious that the whip is hurting him, the Borgia doesn’t try to get away from the blows, instead he leans into them, welcomes them.
Micheletto smiles. The tail of the whip curves around Cesare’s body, the tip bites into his chest.
Cesare moans, and it is not a moan of pain.
The canvas of Cesare’s back, once pale and clean, is slowly filled with beautiful welts and Micheletto thinks that this is how an artist must feel when creating a masterpiece. He hasn’t broken his master’s skin though yet, he doesn’t want to leave permanent scars.
Cesare is tense, the muscles standing out on his back and arms. After each blow, he shudders and moans.
Suddenly Micheletto can’t stand it anymore. He throws the whip to the ground and walks over to Cesare until he stands behind him. Cesare can feel the assassin’s erection pressing into his ass, and he realizes that he is hard, too.
Almost unconsciously, he grinds into Micheletto, who only chuckles in amusement.
Micheletto raises his hands to fumble with the chains that are holding Cesare, and for a moment Cesare thinks that he will be freed now. But the redhead only loosens the chains, making them longer.
The assassin moves to stand in front of Cesare, meeting his eyes as he unfastens his codpiece. “On your knees,” he says in a tone that allows no objections and Cesare quickly obeys, now staring at Micheletto’s cock.
“Take me in your mouth,” Micheletto orders.
Cesare has never done this before, but he eagerly opens his mouth, tongue darting out to taste Micheletto. Now it is the assassin’s turn to moan. Cesare likes that sound.
He grins before leaning closer, and wraps his lips around the head of Micheletto’s erection.
“Yes,” Micheletto whispers, his hands on Cesare’s shoulders. The wet heat of Cesare’s mouth feels like heaven to him. “More.”
Cesare does his best to obey, taking in as much as he can, sucking greedily. His eyes flutter closed and he whimpers around the cock in his mouth.
He tries to get his hands to his own hardness, but the chains aren’t long enough and so he starts humping Micheletto’s leg. But Micheletto pushes him away. “This isn’t about you.”
Cesare groans in frustration, but doesn’t try to pleasure himself again, concentrating on Micheletto instead.
From the sounds the assassin is making, he’s doing quite well, and it makes him smile proudly inside.
Micheletto’s grip on Cesare’s shoulders tightens painfully and then the redhead lets himself go loose, fucking Cesare’s mouth with abandon. The kneeling man doesn’t fight it, holding still, letting himself be used.
Suddenly Micheletto freezes, lets out a choked cry and spills himself into Cesare’s mouth. The Borgia swallows it all.
When Micheletto pulls out, his heart almost stops at the beautiful sight before him. Cesare Borgia, shirtless and chained, on his knees, bruises showing on his skin. Mouth swollen and slightly open, eyes filled with lust, chest heaving.
“Let’s take care of you now,” Micheletto tells him and Cesare nods frantically.
Micheletto walks behind Cesare once again, kneeling behind him. His right hand sneaks around to free Cesare’s straining cock. Cesare sighs happily as the assassin wraps his hand around his cock and starts moving.
Micheletto’s body is pressing into Cesare again, the rough fabric of his clothes grazing against Cesare’s wounds, adding some pain to his pleasure.
Cesare is breathing hard, his whole body shaking.
While Micheletto’s right hand continues working Cesare’s cock, his left hand moves across the Borgia’s body, massaging his balls, pinching and twisting his nipples, making long scratches across his torso, sneaking between their bodies and cupping Cesare’s ass.
It doesn’t take long before Cesare comes, shooting his seed all over Micheletto’s hand and his own chest. His body goes limp then, head resting against Micheletto’s shoulder, a satisfied smile on his lips.
They stay like this for a while. Micheletto raises his right hand to Cesare’s mouth then. “Clean it,” and Cesare does, licking every drop of his come.
They are both hard again before he is done.
Micheletto stands up and moves to the door. “I could go away and leave you here like this,” he whispers breathlessly although they both know that’s not true.
Cesare smirks. “You could do that, yes,” he replies and suddenly, Micheletto doesn’t know how, the power in the room shifts back to Cesare. “But that would mean I can’t take you to my room and fuck you into the mattress.”
Micheletto smirks back. “That would be a shame indeed, your Eminence,” he says and moves to unfasten the chains around Cesare’s wrists.
FIN