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“I know you,” was the last thing Aldo wanted to hear.
The pope was dead. Of course Aldo missed his dear friend and mentor, but for now he had no choice but to compartmentalize and shove his grief into a drawer in the deepest filing cabinet of his brain. So, what was hurting him most was all the bureaucracy of the passing of the Holy Father, and not the terrible emotional absence he had left in his wake. So many loose ends to be tied as secretary of state, the looming threat of a schism due to the seeds of paranoia that the holy father had planted, and if that wasn’t enough all of Aldo’s colleagues had been everpresent in his ear about his chances at the pontificate.
Aldo had never wanted to be pope. It would be very self-aggrandizing to say he’d never dreamed of it; ever since his elevation, he was made aware that he was in the very small group of men from which a pope could be chosen. But he was also his own brand of crazy, so he’d made a list of pros and cons of getting the papacy like a college girl would do for a date. The list of cons was extensive and nauseating, and the list of pros made him blush at the arrogance of it. He liked the managerial role of the Secretariat. He liked all the meetings and the documents and how much he was allowed to separate all of it from his love in God. None of his work felt holy, and that was fine. He surrendered himself to God in his free time.
Thomas was going away somewhere after the conclave was over, and Aldo couldn’t bear the thought of holding the weight of the keys of St. Peter without him by his side. Aldo knew he was expected to stand against Tedesco and his pathetic conservative posse, but he hadn’t put too much thought into it. They were still two weeks out from the election. He could pray for a miracle until then.
Aldo was good enough at dealing with his own stress ordinarily, but the circumstances had him feeling a bit manic. So he left work later than even his assistant, at around ten p.m., and walked somewhat aimlessly through the streets around the Vatican until he found a bar that was empty enough. He was out of his cassock as well as his clerical collar. Just a man in a pale button up and jeans, tired and overworked on a Tuesday. He knew the possibility of being recognized was unignorable, but he also didn’t think he had enough of a remarkable face for it.
Still, he had no intentions of doing anything that he wouldn’t publicly do in a cassock. Just a drink or two while a game played on the TV. Maybe even a bit of small talk with the bartender, if the cocktails were well made.
The bar was emptier than empty. Just a girl behind the bar, eyes glued to her phone, fidgeting with her fingers as if it would make her shift end faster, and a man sitting on the corner smoking a cigarette. Aldo raised his eyebrows at the scene. Sure, it was Italy and the only other person present didn’t seem to mind or she would’ve said something, but smoking inside would never agree with him. He also noticed the man was very good looking, but he refused to allow himself to dwell on it. Dark hair, darker eyes and a well placed mole. What of it? Rome was filled to the brim with beautiful men.
He sat down at the bar and ordered a mezcal sour, because that was his idea of an adventure. The girl poured it for him immediately, excited to get back to Candy Crush, or whatever young people do on their phones, and he noticed she went a little heavy on the mezcal. Well… He was grieving afterall. Maybe he deserved it. Surely he didn’t not deserve it.
Aldo could feel a stare burning holes on the back of his head, and it could only belong to one person. Still, he refused to turn around. That was until he heard the clink of a tumbler on the dark wood of the bar top. It had half an inch of ambar still in it, and he guessed it was scotch. Immediately after, the man was sitting beside him.
After not getting an answer, he repeated: “I know you.”
He didn’t seem drunk. His voice was the type of rough that Aldo could feel down to his bone marrow, and his eyes looked kind in the most deceiving way. Aldo wanted so badly to be rude. Here was this gorgeous, mysterious stranger with a darling mole on his forehead, taking part in the perplexing act of smoking indoors, and he had the gall of interrupting Aldo on his night out. But he couldn’t be rude, because it would be all over the news if he was. Not national news, no, he wasn’t that important, but the international Catholic media sphere always had their eyes on him, and they were currently laser-focused.
He could see the headlines already. So he smiled, tight but friendly, the clearest visual ‘please, fuck off’ he could manage. “Really?”
“We’ve met,” the man said. He was grinning wider now, slow and tipsy. “You remember me?”
Aldo frowned: “Forgive me if I don’t.”
He clicked his tongue. “Yeah, I guess you didn’t seem too excited that day. My writing unfortunately doesn’t often appeal to beautiful men. They’re too busy batting their eyelashes to read my bullshit.”
Suddenly, it clicked. “Oh, God!” Aldo felt relieved that the man didn't recognize him from the church.
He was talking to Giulio Sabbadin, one of Thomas’s favorite crime novelists. On one of the few vacations that they had taken together, Thomas had dragged Aldo to a book signing in Milan. The line had been so unbearably long, the book so uninteresting and Aldo so hungry after walking all day that the whole event had mentally passed him by. Otherwise, he probably would have remembered Giulio’s face much clearer. It was a nice one afterall.
“Also, you didn’t have a copy that day. Just your friend.”
Aldo was offended on Thomas’s behalf: “And you’re saying he’s not beautiful, then?”
Giulio rolled his eyes, huffing like a child. He played with his tumbler on the bar top. “So you’re his.”
Aldo scoffs: “I’m– sorry?”
“All is forgiven.”
“No, no,” Aldo frowned. “Listen, you’re drunk, and I–”
“Drunk? I’m not drunk, love. This,” he pointed at his drink, “is only my second.”
“And I,” Aldo continued emphatically, “am not interested.”
Sabbadin’s frown was deep, his entire expression cartoonishly dejected like a kicked dog. “Why not?”
“I’m not… Not interested in men.”
Sabbadin chuckled. Aldo noticed he didn't have smile lines. He looked gorgeous laughing.
“Try again. Say something else I might believe,” he rested a hand on Aldo’s wrist, fingers burning hot. “But I’m not too inclined, so be very convincing.”
“I have work early tomorrow.”
“Wanna sleep well tonight? I’ll tire you out. What’s your name, love?”
“It’s Aldo,” and he cursed inwardly for revealing it.
“I’m Giulio,” he lifted Aldo’s hand from the counter and kissed it. His breath was warm when he whispered: “Enchanté.”
“Christ, how unbearably cheesy,” Aldo quipped, blushing and holding back a schoolgirl giggle. “So… You write.”
“I write. What do you do?”
Aldo shrugged. “I’m an accountant.”
Giulio pondered for a second, then moved on to a different topic. Works every time, Aldo thought. They never ask follow-up questions when you say you’re an accountant.
*
“Put your hands together,” Giulio had said as soon as Aldo’s clothes were off. Now, Aldo was kneeling at the foot of the bed with his hands tied in front of him, naked as the day he was born, on the pillow that Giulio had graciously placed so Aldo’s knees wouldn’t bruise on the floor of the motel room. Aldo knew that this was extremely risky. It would already be irresponsible for a random person to be at the mercy of a stranger in a love hotel, but for a public figure like him it was downright dangerous. For an archbishop? Practically social suicide.
But Giulio had a gentle hand behind his head, guiding all his movements like a lion tamer in love, and it gave Aldo the sort of mental peace and hunger he would pay to feel. So he reassured himself that it would all be alright, that Giulio didn’t know who he was, that Giulio was a public figure as well, that Giulio was already taking such good care of him and would maybe continue to do so.
“Open your mouth, love,” he instructed. Aldo opened his mouth wide enough to fit a cock, but Giulio’s pants were still buttoned.
He felt the hand pulling him forward until his tongue was met with the taste of fabric, and he could feel the hardness of Giulio’s bulge through the denim. Aldo had already been drooling at the idea of being made to choke on something, so he could feel the front of Giulio’s pants soaking through. He didn’t move his jaw, though he wanted to, because he hadn’t been ordered. He hoped Giulio got the message.
“Breathe in,” he said, and Aldo did, deep. He wished desperately that Giulio was out of his pants and in his underwear already, so he could catch a stronger whiff. As if reading his mind, Giulio’s press on Aldo’s head disappeared as he leaned back. “What an angel I have found. Go on, open your gift.”
Aldo knew his flush had traveled down his chest because he could feel it burning. His shoulders and his thighs as well. He brought his hands up and forward, careful not to test the knot with which his wrists were bound together so as not to seem disobedient, because he didn’t want to be punished. He wanted to be good. His fingers, trembling with all of the electricity in the room, undid the button on Giulio’s pants and pulled down his fly.
The sight of Giulio’s swollen cock through the tight grey underwear made Aldo’s eyes water. The best he could do to hold in a moan was shut his mouth, so what came out was a desperate muffled whine. Years it had been since Aldo had allowed himself this simple pleasure. He could see the head, the shaft, the veins, struggling against Giulio’s boxer briefs. It looked big and warm, and as his face was once again pressed against it, Aldo realized it smelled perfect. Musky, manly. Aldo felt the sea inside his skull, crashing into his brain wave after wave. “Taste it,” Giulio ordered, and Aldo sucked the head of his cock into his mouth through the fabric. He moaned at the salty taste of precum. “You sound so beautiful, angel.”
Soon enough, Giulio’s pants and boxers were off. He had his hands on either side of Aldo’s head, controlling the pace as Aldo let his throat be fucked into. His cock was a little longer than what Aldo knew to be average, and it was almost too thick for his throat, which made it perfect. His tongue was out, and there was saliva running down his front. Every once in a while a drop would hit his cock and Aldo would keen. “So good, so warm inside,” Giulio murmured, more to himself than anyone. He sounded in awe, like he was impressed with himself for having pulled it off. What ‘it’ was, Aldo didn’t know, but he liked feeling like a conquest, or like a whore who’d given in, who’d let himself be fooled and used.
Giulio began to speed up, like Aldo’s throat was his fleshlight, and distantly Aldo noticed his eyes rolling back in pleasure. He then looked down, his voice was a deep growl, like Aldo was prey. He prepared to swallow everything, but Giulio pulled him off.
He was also red everywhere, panting, smiling like a bit of a maniac. “You’re the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen. Anyone tell you that?”
Aldo shook his head ‘no’.
“Well, you are,” he wiped his thumb on Aldo’s wet chin, playing with his lower lip a bit. Every little thing Giulio did made him feel like a thing to be owned, but also Giulio’s favorite thing of all. “I’d keep you like this all day if I could. No thinking, no worrying. Come up.”
Aldo tried to get up, but his thighs were too shaky and his wrists were still bound. Giulio helped him up until he was standing. “On my lap,” he instructed.
Giulio maneuvered him so Aldo’s arms were around Giulio’s neck. It was a simple knot Aldo couldn’t name, made with Giulio’s necktie, but it didn’t look too improvised. He remembered vaguely the delicious trance it had put him in, watching it be tied. As Aldo settled into his lap, he hissed at the feeling of their cocks sliding against each other, Giulio’s covered in spit, Aldo’s slightly smaller and twitching, both a sensitive purplish red.
“I wanted,” he hiccuped, “I wanted to feel you in me.”
“I know, angel. Next time, I promise.” Giulio’s hand tightened around both their cocks. He fucked up into his hand, and the friction made Aldo whimper. “Right now I’m too impatient. Wanna see my cum on you.”
Aldo needed only a couple more strokes and he was cumming all over his and Giulio’s stomachs in a loud cry. Giulio quickly followed, fucking into his fist, driving Aldo into oversensitivity. “God, you’re so fucking easy, shit,” he groaned into Aldo’s mouth as he came.
Giulio’s fist was covered in both their messes. He brought it up to Aldo’s face and wiped his palm across his mouth. Aldo licked his lips, but it was hardly enough to clean up the mess. Giulio then licked Aldo’s cheek, his chin, his lips, everywhere that was dirty, and kissed Aldo with it. They made out for a while, lazily tasting the salty, slightly bitter mess they’d made together.
*
Aldo woke up in the unfamiliar bed of the motel at four in the morning. He woke up frightened, for many things but mostly his own behavior. His heart felt cold in his chest. He had to leave.
He breathed deeply to try and calm down and a warm, dry cloud of tobacco entered his nose.
“Are you awake?”
He turned around, and saw Giulio. He was sitting up on the bed, one hand holding a lit cigarette and the other possessively stroking Aldo’s stomach, which he only now felt. The cigarette and the moonlight from the window were enough for his face to be visible, his expression discernible. He looked calm, maybe contemplative, but also wary; Aldo knew that look. Giulio looked like he was waiting to see how Aldo would react so he could modulate his own behavior. His dark eyes, sated but serious. Aldo concentrated on the hand on his stomach as he felt the urge to run away fading into a thin mist. Inside Giulio was another wild animal just like the one inside him, so very recognizable when one was this bare.
“I just woke up.”
“Hm,” Giulio ashes his cigarette on the ashtray by the bedside table. “You were moving for a while. Nightmare?”
Aldo shook his head. He put his arms and stretched his body to dispel the stiffness of sleep. After a beat, he spoke up: “I never–”
Giulio started at the same time: “Actually–”
They both laughed, Aldo a little bit louder, but both as quiet as they could. “Go ahead,” Aldo said.
“No, please,” Giulio shook his head.
Aldo rolled his eyes. “I was just going to say I never do this kind of thing.”
Giulio nodded. It wasn’t awkward, but almost. Perhaps a bit shy. “I was going to say I know who you are. I didn’t want to scare you at first, but I don’t want to keep lying.”
Aldo willed his body and mind to be shocked but it wouldn’t come. It was too late for shock, and he was too tired. And, really, he’d figured as much, even if it had been fun to pretend. “Is this the part where I beg for your silence?” He chuckled darkly. “Do you take bribes?”
Giulio laughed as well. They looked at each other. Too fond. “So the Dean of Cardinals is a fan of my books.”
“Huge fan,” Aldo felt his body looser now with relief, and he didn’t try to contain a smile. “He loves a good murder mystery.”
Giulio’s eyes lit up: “You think they’re good?”
Aldo felt bad dismissing him but he also didn’t want to lie anymore: “Sorry, dear, I haven’t read them. But Thomas loves them very much.”
“What do I care what Thomas thinks?” Giulio shrugged, mimicking Aldo’s accent on the name.
“He has all your novels, by the way. You shouldn’t be mean like that to a faithful reader.”
Giulio groaned, putting out his cigarette and sliding downwards on the bed so he was laying down again. “I don’t wanna talk about him anymore,” he said, embracing Aldo’s side. He kissed his neck, right behind his ear. Gentle, gentler than he perhaps meant it. Aldo felt himself blush at the sudden warmth. He turned around so they were face-to-face, and Giulio kissed him on the lips. Quite clingy for someone your age, Aldo very nearly said, but decided not to. Something in the way Giulio moved told him that this man wasn’t usually like this, and that if he said anything it would spoil the mood.
“I have to go,” he whispered. Giulio kissed him again, and again. And once more. “Really, I can’t wake up here.”
“I should’ve taken you to my place,” Giulio murmured with a frown. It made Aldo smile, uncharacteristically. To be fair, no one was ever this darling with him, so it was hard to know how to act.
“I wouldn’t have been able to wake up there either. I’m too…” He searched for the words, “Too talked about, right now.”
“I live in a quiet neighborhood, you know.”
“The risk is still too great.”
“Well, what’s another hour gonna do?”
It took a bit more coaxing, and Aldo felt like he was placating a spoiled brat, but eventually managed to free himself from Giulio and get up from the bed. He put his clothes back on and took a deep breath again, heart strangely full. Giulio was starfishing on the bed now, naked, tempting, and a little moody still. “When can I see you again?”
Aldo smoothed down the front of his shirt, a small but persistent smile on his lips. “Soon,” he said, and left.