by Megan Derr
Lazzaro silently obeyed, but only because of the look Celeste gave him. Throwing his weapons to the floor, including his hidden daggers, he moved to the bedding and sat down. "So with Marco dead you finally decided to kill me?"
"The money I would get for your head is a nice bonus, your grace, but not the point. You killed Marco." Ezio said, voice almost sing-song, sending a cold chill down Lazzaro's spine. "Marco was the only one who appreciated me, who gave my talents the credit they deserved. Marco was mine—" He reached out and grabbed Celeste by the hair, jerking him to his feet. "Dead because of the cowardly little whore who walked back into his life and the worthless bastard fighting to get between his legs." He pressed the dagger to Celeste's throat. "I am torn, Nascimbeni. Do I make you watch as I kill him or make him watch—" He broke off abruptly, gasping hoarsely for air. His dagger tumbled from his finger as he scrabbled at Celeste, gripped him, shoved him into the wall. But in the next moment he went slack, leaned heavily against Celeste, and whatever he tried to say only came out a garbled mess.
Celeste shoved him away, tripping as they tangled together and landed hard on the floor, back in the corner where he had first been. Ezio tumbled face down on the floor, twitching for several seconds before he finally went still.
Lazzaro stared uncomprehending for a moment, then slowly moved to the body. Only a cursory examination was necessary to determine that Ezio was dead. Lazzaro looked at Celeste.
"Do not touch him or anything of his," Celeste said, voice flat. "I am certain at least half of all he owns is in some way tainted with his damnable poisons. He always did like them too much."
Lazzaro did not bother to point out that he was wearing gloves and several layers of clothing. Instead, he just heaved Ezio's body over so he was lying face up and took in the discoloration. "His lover was also his killer. How did you do it?"
"All whores learn poison," Celeste replied, beginning to sound weary. "We are not in ideal positions to fight back physically, should a customer get out of control. He should have remembered that, but like all of us in this sad comedy, his mind was consumed by other thoughts."
Standing, Lazzaro moved to Celeste and sat beside him. He combed a hand through Celeste's hair, mourning the loss of the long, golden tresses, but far more concerned about Celeste. "Are you all right, jewel?"
"I am alive and very tired, and would very much like not to kill anyone ever again," Celeste said, still staring at Ezio's body as though he could not look away. "He searched me, after he took me, but not very well. He believed you killed Marco in a fit of jealousy over me and thought to take the shine from the jewel of which you were so enamored, before he killed us. You arrived a bit sooner than he anticipated." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Kiss of Death, the poison is called."
"The monks called it Snake Tears," Lazzaro remarked idly, recognizing the name. "They use it in tea, in small doses, for 'meditative purposes.' I never indulged, myself."
Celeste sneered at that, as Lazzaro had known he would, but he still did not look away from the body. Lazzaro grasped Celeste's face, forced him to turn his head, and bent to kiss him—but was stopped short as Celeste turned sharply away. "The poison was on my lips. I've wiped it away, but I would not kiss me until I can clean more thoroughly and be certain it is gone."
In reply, Lazzaro just kissed his cheek, nuzzled against his hair, the soft, warm skin. "Come, jewel. We have no reason to linger here. This body can be disposed of by others. Men like him, no one asks questions. Let us go home, and tomorrow we will deal with the rest." He did not give Celeste a chance to reply, but pulled him to his feet and out of the room.
Still Celeste was too quiet, too compliant. Lazzaro stopped and abruptly swept him up, carrying him down the stairs in his arms. When they reached the bottom, Celeste hit him—hard. "Put me down this instant! Do I seem a damned invalid to you, your grace? Some frail—" He scowled as Lazzaro set him down, then struck him a second time. "Do not do that again."
"Yes, my jewel," Lazzaro replied, smiling to see Celeste revive a bit. "Shall we to home, then?" He took Celeste's hand, holding fast when him tried to pull free, and led him back across the garden and through the teahouse. He paused at the front and flagged down the hostess. "Pen and paper."
When they were brought, Lazzaro quickly penned two notes. "See this is taken to the House of Peace. See this one is taken to the royal palace and given into the hands of Prince Benito. I will be expecting replies from both, so ensure that it is done." He laid the notes on the hostess' table, along with four coins. Not waiting for her reply, he left the teahouse, Celeste at his side.
It was further testament to Celeste's state of mind that it took him as long as it did to say, "This is not how we get home."
Lazzaro laughed and held fast to Celeste's hand, not letting him get away. "I never said to which home we were going. If you went back to the House of Peace, you would get no rest. Stay with me for the night and we will return to your home tomorrow."
Celeste was silent for a long time, but finally his hand relaxed in Lazzaro's and he said, "Fine."
Smiling, but not saying anything, Lazzaro only increased their pace until they reached his home in the old Wine District. The door opened as they climbed the front steps, his butler greeting them with a sleepy murmur. Benito must have told them to stay awake; normally they knew to turn in if he was not home by a certain hour. "Thank you," Lazzaro said. "Go get some sleep."
He led the way up to his rooms, still holding Celeste's hand, until they reached his bedchamber. Celeste said something soft and indistinct, looking annoyed as he stared at the bed. "What?" Lazzaro asked, amused for no good reason. He moved away from Celeste to strip off his outerwear and deposit his purse, jewels, and daggers on the bureau, hanging his sword on a hook alongside.
"I thought your bed in the secret palace was absurd," Celeste said.
Lazzaro looked at his bed, which was even larger and finer than the one installed in the secret palace, but had been well worth the exorbitant cost. He was especially fond of the headboard, carved with images from all of the stories he had grown up with at the monastery: monkeys, tigers, ghosts, dragons, and more. It had taken quite a long time for the artist he'd commissioned to finish it. "I spent the first half of my life sleeping on a cheap cot that was as hard as stone, and I only know how hard it was because I often misbehaved and so was made to sleep on stone. I never could tell the difference between the two. I am firmly against the notion that suffering improves the mind; it only makes it sharper and more cynical."
"I think most would count those as improvements," Celeste said dryly.
"I do not believe sacrificing happiness improves anything," Lazzaro replied, and stripped off the last of his clothes. "Do you want to continue this esoteric discussion or go to bed?"
Celeste finally dragged his eyes from the bed and looked at him. "Go to bed or go to sleep?"
"You could try to sleep, and I am certain you are exhausted, but I do not think it would work well," Lazzaro said, and walked over to him, air cool against his bare skin. He took hold of Celeste's jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, then tugged his shirt free of his breeches and yanked it up over his head. He bent and pressed a kiss to Celeste's shoulder, breathing in his scent and nuzzling his throat. "I said bed, Celeste, and I meant it."
For a long, tense moment, Celeste was still and silent, to the point that Lazzaro started to think he had made a serious error in judgment—but then Celeste's hands came up to curl around his hips, slid around to splay across his lower back. He tipped his head to the side and slightly back.
Lazzaro had never been the sort of man to refuse such a lovely invitation. He grazed the fine expanse of Celeste's throat with his teeth, then mouthed his way up to Celeste's mouth—only to be pushed away. "Poison," Celeste bit out. "Get in the bed."
Obediently, Lazzaro climbed into his bed and watched as Celeste finished stripping and cleaned himself at the washbasin in the corner of the room. Finished, he stalked across t
he room and climbed up onto the bed, crawling across to Lazzaro. If a more intoxicating sight was possible, Lazzaro did not want to know of it. Making a rough noise, he reached out and snagged Celeste close, rolling him over to lie on his back, before straddling his hips and bending to take a hungry kiss.
Celeste kissed him back, the finest of drugs and better than the most potent of wines. Lazzaro drew back just far enough to say, "You had better be here come morning or I will hunt you down and tie you up here until you agree to stay."
"I am not a pet to stay where you put me," Celeste replied, and nipped his jaw.
Lazzaro matched the stinging bite with a sharp kiss. "You may not be my pet, my jewel, but you are definitely mine."
"We will see," Celeste said, but did not protest when Lazzaro kissed him again.
Breaking away after several minutes, Lazzaro kissed and licked and nibbled his way down Celeste's body, memorizing the scent and flavor of his skin. "Lazzaro—" Celeste stared at him, half-propped up on pillows, eyes wide, genuinely surprised—and then anything he might have said turned into a gasp as Lazzaro took his cock and began to suck in earnest.
He was too tired to make it last as he would have liked, but Lazzaro spared no effort, fed by every noise that fell from Celeste's lips, the fingers that teased his hair because Celeste would not quite grip it the way he clearly wanted. Lazzaro supposed Celeste was not often in the position of the one being sucked. Hot satisfaction poured through him, to be doing something that so few did, putting his mark on Celeste in his own way. He sucked all the harder, fingers cupping Lazzaro's soft sack, and pulling his climax from him; only at the last did Celeste fist a hand in Lazzaro's hair, crying his name on an unsteady breath.
Pulling off Celeste's cock, Lazzaro crawled back up his body and took a deep, hard kiss, grunting in surprise and pleasure as a hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke in earnest. Lazzaro clung to Celeste, continuing to feed upon his mouth and thrust into the hand stroking him until he came hard, cries swallowed by Celeste.
Eventually he rolled away, climbing from his bed long enough to fetch a rag from the washstand to clean them up. Tossing it aside, he climbed back into bed and pulled the blankets over them, keeping Celeste close when he rolled away. "I passed up one chance to hold you close, jewel; I will not do it again."
"You're a presumptuous fool," Celeste said, but did not move.
Lazzaro only smiled, settling down close and breathing in their mingled scents as he drifted off to sleep.
*~*~*
Celeste thanked the serving girl who brought him a breakfast tray and let her pour the tea just because it seemed to make her less flustered to be doing something. Was he that intimidating to a mere girl? He thanked her again as she left, then added sugar to the cup and stirred it slowly. Taking the cup, he moved to the window and pushed back the drapes, staring out at the ocean beyond, sparkling in the morning sunlight.
He took a sip of tea, not in the least surprised to find it was the finest that money could buy. Lazzaro might watch every coin that left his purse, but that seemed to end in the finest of results. His mouth quirked as he wondered if that included only settling for a crown jewel, as well.
Rolling his eyes at himself, because he should not be in such a good mood after all that had transpired the previous night, Celeste returned to the table to begin eating. His hair fell in his face as he sat and he felt another pang. Even at the best of times, his hair had been cumbersome and difficult. There was simply no easy way to manage hair so long it reached his hips—but he had been proud of it and he had liked the spark that appeared in Lazzaro's eyes when he looked at it. Lazzaro had not said a word about it, but he hardly needed to. Growing it out again would take years and damn Ezio anyway for that final little insult on top of all the injuries he had inflicted. So many people murdered, just because Ezio liked poison and Marco liked to make a profit.
Celeste closed his eyes and tried not to think about it—Ezio dragging him away, cutting his hair, spelling out all of the awful things he would do to Celeste just to make Lazzaro suffer. He winced at the memory of the way Ezio had grabbed him so hard that it had left bruises on his arm, had thrown him to the floor and made it very plain that dawn was hours away, and there was plenty of time to add to the nightmare.
He shuddered and drank more tea, still feeling slightly sick from the traces of poison he had ingested. It had been impossible not to ingest some when his only chance of getting Ezio to take it had been to smear it on his own lips. It was a poison he had always carried, carefully marked in a container of lip oil, but never had cause to use.
The look on Ezio's face … the way he had gasped and writhed …
Celeste gulped down his tea and poured more, adding the sugar and hastily stirring it before immediately downing half of it. When he felt a bit steadier, he tried once more to eat, but the good mood he had felt bad about was ruined. Grimacing at himself, he drank more tea.
He should return to the House of Peace; there must be a hundred things requiring his attention and Pio would be pitching a perfect fit. The very last thing he should be doing was lingering in the private chambers of the Duke of Nascimbeni, indulging in an opulent breakfast, waiting for his softly snoring … what precisely? Because that was the crux of it. Lazzaro was not 'the Duke' to him, no matter how much he might wish to keep that wall between them. Sex should not be a sign of commitment from a jewel, but it certainly seemed to be when Celeste engaged in it without expecting coin.
Sighing at himself, Celeste strode again to the window and stared out at the sea, watching the seagulls drifting over the waves and the distant ships that would shortly arrive in harbor to deposit their goods and load fresh cargo. The sound of movement drew his attention and he turned just in time to see Lazzaro appear from the bedchamber, barely dressed in a dark red silk robe, his hair going in at least twenty different directions and his face in dire need of a shave. It took Celeste a moment to realize he was staring and that he should say something … but he could think of nothing. Lazzaro smiled as he approached and slid one arm around Celeste's waist, as though they had done it a thousand times, started a thousand mornings precisely that way. "Beautiful morning, jewel."
"Beautiful morning, handsome stranger," Celeste replied, tilting his head in invitation, because he could not quite bring himself to initiate the kiss himself. Lazzaro's mouth was warm and tasted faintly of mint, his kiss lazy and slow and sweet.
"You taste like tea," Lazzaro said when he drew back. "Is there more?"
Celeste rolled his eyes. "Yes, on the table."
"Marvelous," Lazzaro said, kissing the corner of his mouth before moving to the table to pour his own cup. "How does the morning find you?"
"Well," Celeste replied, in no mood to voice his thoughts. The matter was over; better to let it lie. "How did Tula and the others treat you while I was away?"
"Very well," Lazzaro said—then reached out as Celeste drew close, grabbing his wrist and pulled Celeste down into his lap. He kissed him hard, then said, "What is troubling you?"
Celeste tried to squirm free and stand up, but could not quite manage. "I said I am well, therefore I am well. I am not some delicate flower in need of coddling."
"Only a man who killed someone last night, after being kidnapped, and I doubt he was nice to you, jewel. So I ask again, what is troubling you?"
"I—" Celeste nodded. "I am fine. Merely still a bit sick from the poison and—" He broke off again. "I am fine and will be better."
Lazzaro sighed, but only kissed him once more. "Yes, you will be better. I am sorry you had to kill."
"You've killed more than me," Celeste pointed out. "Let us just drop the matter; I am tired of dwelling upon it."
"As you like," Lazzaro conceded.
Celeste pinched him. "Let me go."
"Must I?" Lazzaro complained, but obeyed.
Moving quickly around to his seat on the opposite side of the table, Celeste asked, "What has you in such a fine mood thi
s morning?"
"My mother's killer is dead, you are safe, and you are mine," Lazzaro replied, smiling over the rim of his teacup. "Why should I not be in a fine mood?"
Celeste frowned at him. "I never said I was yours."
"You are still here," Lazzaro pointed out, voice calm, but eyes so intent.
Sighing, Celeste only picked up his teacup and took a sip. "I am a whore, your grace. Not the sort of lover the bastard son of the King, or any noble for that matter, can take around town. Or anywhere. You have a great deal of—"
"I do not need to be told of my responsibilities and obligations," Lazzaro said firmly, but without reprimand. "I know them all. I also know they were given to me by my father only after I made it perfectly clear I would accept simply if I was permitted to be a Duke in my own way. I was never meant to be one; I have no grand ambitions in regards to my title. If I lost it all tomorrow, I would survive. I am not concerned with passing on the title and everything else that fills the heads of my peers. I want you and I will pay whatever price I must to have you."
Celeste said nothing, only scowled, because so complicated a situation—so foolish and reckless and stupid a situation—should not be made to sound so easy. "Even if you are allowed to be a spoiled brat and do as you please, I cannot think it will reflect well on the throne for you to flaunt me." Never mind the devastating effect it would have on his livelihood if everyone knew the Crown Jewel was taken—and by the king's bastard son, no less. Celeste had no other sources of income, not yet. What he wanted did not matter, even if he was stupid enough to become Lazzaro's lover. The reality was that he needed an income and he would not rely upon another man to provide it.