Work Text:
Venice, 1525
Marius’ room, Palazzo
Amadeo looked down at Marius. Indeed, Marius had a way about him, a dance he danced with humbleness, with mortals. It was this, that he loved about his lover, yes, it had been apparent that that’s what this creature was to him. The one true thing in the world. His lover, his savior, his master. A compass in the dark.
There were many things he’d come to love about his lover. His love’s infinite capacity for grace, for speaking these sweet nothings that soothed him to no end. Though, he will admit, perhaps at the risk of pride, that he too held a fraction of the sway his master did. On occasion, equipped with the power of persuasion, Marius’ said grace could be made to extend to the other boys in the house. This was one such occasion.
It was no secret that Amadeo, the little prince of the painters, contained in him no reservations, about indulging or indeed asking for what he desired among his equals. He had become utterly spoiled, knowing this full well though, did nothing to his appetite. Filling it as far as it would be filled. He would spend days lounging about the house, reading whatever he could find while hanging off of surfaces. Languid and liquid. His curls like ink spilling on the sky tiles. Downing glasses of wine like they were going to disappear (which was only met with encouragement by his master). Eating an ungodly amount just because he could. Strolling aimlessly through the market where his steps often led him to the lovely Bianca’s house down the street. How she’d adored him not sparing a thought for her calendar.
It was his hunger for overindulgence (seemingly) that had led him to this moment right here with his master. A moment so sweet, that he couldn’t bear to be too angry at his past self from this morning. He felt absolved of little of his guilt, already.
He’d gone out later in the day, a few hours before dusk with a bottle in one hand, dragging Riccardo with the other. With Bianca's company, they’d drank the evening away and then some. On having had their fill, he set out to return home with his head tucked safely between Riccardo’s head and shoulder, grateful for the warmth.
His master was much cooler to the touch, never this warm, he thought, and never will be. Not to be mistaken, as much as he enjoyed keeping his Marius’ company, this was nice for a change. Is this how Amadeo felt in his lover’s arms? An endless well of comfort, a blanket in the bitter blizzard? Little did Amadeo know, Marius did not know what it was to be cold. To be sure, he knew what object was cold or otherwise upon engagement, just not what it felt like to be it.
While making his way through the maze of stairs to get to his room, he turned around to face his dear friend to let him know of this delightful quip he’d just thought of, and started walking backwards. Before Amadeo knew it, the world was spinning before his eyes and he was falling and falling with the steps hitting his back and legs. In the same fraction of a moment that he ended up at the steps, he felt a light throbbing at his calves threatening to get worse. Behind him, a fond howl of laughter, then Riccardo at his side picking him up.
“Break any bones, Deo?”
With Riccardo’s words still ringing in his ears, he’d immediately thought of how his master was going to be upset with him. The thought produced in him a deep sinking feeling, from his now faltering heart to his stomach. The thought spiraled downwards and inwards in the deep recesses of his mind. He thought of how his master might hit him. Even though Amadeo had somewhat come to enjoy the pain, he never could quite predict how far it might go. If his love had had a particularly frustrating evening at the studio. He thought about how his master might take and take from him without even looking at him, as he limped to where he might do it.
At the last step, in front of the threshold, he did not unwrap his arm from Riccardo’s shoulders for quite a while.
Riccardo, being the kind soul that he is, stood with him. A few moments of silence, and then “I will not let him punish you, Riccardo, he’ll listen to me.”
And he had. Marius had listened to him. Not only that, he’d laughed and then joked, “What else do you require of me, my cherub child?”
And now, he himself sat on the floor and made Amadeo sit on the bed while he took the injured leg in his lap, and rubbed a foul-smelling salve in soothing circles along his calf. “Rest, my sweet. Let me.” And so he did. Amadeo tipped his head back and let himself fall on the bed with a contented sigh, letting sleep pull him under.
When he woke up a few hours later, with his thread throbbing, he noted an almost pleasant pressure encircling his ankles and his blurry master a few steps away from him. With his master’s back facing him and his hands making synchronized movements on the table, Amadeo guessed that his master was washing paint off his hand using the bowl of water, as he’d seen him do thousands of nights before.
“I’m sorry, Master.” He didn’t turn around. “I won’t ever drink again.”
He laughed a low laugh and turned. Came his voice honey sweet, “It is quite alright, my son. How is one to learn without making mistakes?” Despite the words uttered, his eyes had betrayed him.
Amadeo had disappointed him. He knew that. “Please.” he breathed.
Marius nodded solemnly, as if he held anything but brushstrokes dear to his heart, if that, even. “What is it that you plead for? Salvation? What for?”
Amadeo had a sudden urge to reach out and touch his master. To feel the love in his touch. To feel whole. Complete. He got up and moved towards him, holding his worshipful gaze, until he couldn’t. Something wretched tugged at his ankles holding him back. He found it to be a scrawny brown rope pushed to it’s limit, with its other end tied to his bedpost. He looked up and down, irises dancing, searching for answers in his Master’s face. He found none, save for a smile, small and private.
Marius stepped forward to meet him midway. He looked down at Amadeo, enveloped him into his loving arms. Poor child, forever a slave of his desires. They stayed like that for a moment. It was Marius who broke the silence, choosing to relieve him of the confusion on his face.
Cupping his cheek, his voice just above a whisper “There, my son. These little escapades will burden you no more. Not a second longer will your body bear the weight of your mistakes. And all the while, we shall do as we please. Hmm?”
Amadeo didn’t understand. But he would come to, as time would go on. Armand, of course, understood. How could he not? What can the damned do, after all, except revel in the clarity that distance brings them? He had a sneaking suspicion that he would not be able to bring himself to love another being quite like how he loved Marius. Or, indeed, that he would again, receive and keep a love so great from another. That he would have the opportunity to look into another's eyes and know himself all over again. He had been loved in moments like these. For all that he was. As he was, again and again and again.
Amadeo would surely soon come to understand that penalties are borne out of concern. Out of a care deep enough to warrant action. Out of a genuine want to see your love flourish. All disdain does is breed indifference.
Armand remembered, just a month or so after that, his master, not being able to see his Amadeo in pain, had taken his nightmares from him. Amadeo had been having these loud dreams for a while, after recovering from his three week ‘cold’, thrashing in his sleep, cursing about a snake slithering around his legs, contorting around his ankles. But his lover had taken it. And in taking it, saved him from himself.