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Cesare Borgia had intended to address this issue before this date, but as with all unpleasant tasks he had let it slide, because Micheletto was often the one to solve his unpleasant tasks. It was like that old riddle about who shaves the local barber…
After an afternoon reviewing the papal accounts, the last thing Cesare wanted was to mind the most outstanding issues in his house. Lucrezia was going to Naples, a queen to be seated at the center of enemies; when her safety was not assured, Cesare worried and his mind could not focus properly on the political troubles he had to fix. The other one was harder to sort, for Micheletto was the key to keep Lucrezia safe, but launching his best hawk to that task was almost like parting from his right arm, better yet, like detaching his own cock.
Micheletto was at the same time the source of his power, his amusement and his pleasure. Not the main source or, God forbids, the only one, but yet, he provided a good quantity of those. Micheletto couldn't be hunting Versucci, protecting Lucrezia and pleasuring his master at the same time. Sacrifices must be made.
Cesare averted his eyes from the wine and looked at his servant. Micheletto was in a corner of the room, his head propped against the wall, his right hand clutching the armscye of his vest. All in his careless posture was the same as the day before, but the new duke of Valentinois was certain that there were ideas running behind those coarse hairs. There were a lot of rumors about the French wife; Micheletto was a taciturn man, but his ears were so keen. He might have heard a word or two about the trip to France.
The idea of Micheletto turning his own dark cabals about that French trip amused Cesare.
Cesare put his wine aside and rose from his chair with a liquid movement; the strings of his doublet made a whipping sound against the leather of his pants.
"My lord," Micheletto called, in the same tone he used to call Cesare Your Eminence, he even took a step away from the wall.
"It's just a wife, Micheletto," Cesare said; his fingers were busy undoing the lace of his codpiece.
A silent nod was given, and Micheletto fell to his knees, like a penitent in front of the confessionary. Years of doing it at the drop of the hat had made the procedure so easy. Cesare stepped closer and offered his cock to Micheletto's mouth, with the complete certitude that he would take good care of it.
"That’s not a cause for worry," Cesare said with a sigh, when the wet tongue caressed his cock.
The peasant tongue caressed the pulsating flesh with unhurried and almost awkward fashion, tracing wet curves around the head and under the ridge, before the wet heat of this peasant engulfed it all and began to suck in earnest. Micheletto was always eager to use his mouth to please. Cesare threw his head back and thanked God profusely that he never wasted it on words. They engaged in the sweet sin under the dying sun, each of them engrossed into their own pleasure. Cesare’s hand roamed inside the dirty mane, guiding Micheletto’s whole head forward every time it was pulled backwards; but such an entertaining game must be stopped, Cesare had made a decision.
“Up,” Cesare commanded, pulling the tangled hairs, “and around.”
The eyes watching him were brilliant with lust - Micheletto could never hide his pleasure, and that was all good for Cesare. Eager partners were hard to come by. As Micheletto turned around to face the wall, four fevered hands roamed about his waist, pulling straps and cloth to bare the meager, taut flesh below. Cesare found a hard abdomen and his fingers petted the bush of short hair, fingers cupping the manly bits as his cock searched for the familiar entrance, taking no care of searching for something to ease the assault; Micheletto was bound to ride for days, Cesare wanted to give the brute something to remember him by as he minded his grim business. The stab was rough and was almost painfully dry, but not a single sound escaped Micheletto's lips, yet the flesh in Cesare's hand jerked and hardened. Micheletto was a fine mount: he thrived with punishment.
"A wife can't stop this, Micheletto," Cesare promised as he pushed with his hips, breaching the willing body of his henchman.
A short gasp followed his assault and Micheletto bent his body forward, as if he was offering himself to the next thrust. Cesare's free arm hooked around the chest and pulled Micheletto's doublet by the armpit before lancing him again, as deep as he could, hugging that trembling flesh, enjoying the possession. Carnal joining was not for the faint of heart or body, and they were both neither of those. Micheletto raised his head and gripped the hard flesh inside him with all his might, pushing against the wall as he was meant to help Cesare's hard cock inside his flesh.
Pleasure and pain and crime: Cesare had a short vision of the future as he pierced Micheletto's ass. There would be months before he could have a bit of these pleasures again. After hunting Versucci, Micheletto should ride to Naples, to protect Lucrezia, and to have a good weapon to turn on the Aragon family. The thought of slipping a poisoned blade inside the court of Naples made his head spin.
Micheletto never resisted his advances, so when Cesare's arm pulled him to his chest he let it, and when Cesare's commands were poured inside his ear, he heeded every word, each task punctuated by that hard cock pounding his insides:
Find Versucci.
Find the gold.
Get rid of Versucci.
Ride to Naples.
Find Lucrezia.
Protect Lucrezia.
Learn everything.
Hear everything.
Do little.
Do it only for Lucrezia's sake.
Kill for Lucrezia's sake.
A groan followed that last order and the liquid proof of Micheletto’s full understanding and eager concurrence to the plan was spilled over a credenza. Cesare hugged him tight, stirred his engorged rod before finishing gleefully inside his assassin, as if his seed could infuse Micheletto with purpose, though he need none. Micheletto was his hand and his will made flesh.
No wife could stop that.
“Find a good horse, Micheletto,” Cesare instructed while retiring his spent arm from its warm notch, “I’ll see you in the esplanade.”
Micheletto nodded and headed for the door, his hands busy with resettling his clothes. Cesare couldn’t help but notice there was a new spring on his step.
He returned to his chair, to his wine to his plans.
A wife wouldn’t stop him from taking his pleasures where he found them, but a wife meant an heir, and that was the only thing his cherished assassin could never provide.