The Grand Ballroom to Cesare's Room - Rome, 1494 [Wednesday, Fandom time]
Lucrezia
Lucrezia hardly recognized the grand ballroom, changed as it was thus. The streamers hanging from the walls were light, and playful; here and there were vases or elegant sculptures of a quite prurient nature. The decor suggested this was no formal gathering in the Vatican, but an ancient Roman dance. All the figures who wandered through wore lightweight clothes and carried elegant masks. The effect was mesmerizing.
She was but a lonely Echo this evening; her Narcissus would never have been permitted in these walls. She could not imagine him in finery, sweeping her across the floor in his arms. They had always been from two very different worlds; their love had existed only to its own place and time.
She did not seek a replacement this evening. Her heart was too fatigued for love. Perhaps instead she could help to further the secret society's agenda.
It would at least be fascinating to watch.
Pope Alexander VI
There was no Pope at this ball. No, presiding over it was Janus, the god of doorways, of beginnings and endings, the god with two faces. One face soberly guided the citizens of the world on their spiritual journeys, true, but tonight was a night for the other face, the ruler of Rome and benefactor of her people.
Giulia
Perhaps she should have picked a costume that better paired with Alexander's, but Giulia had the orphans huddled in the decaying bathhouses, and her coming conflict with the Cardinals, on her mind still. The baths were dedicated to Minerva, their patron, who was better known in these modern times as the goddess of wisdom, and magic. And, though she would not mention it, goddess of war.
Vannozza
Though Rodrigo was not to be Jove tonight, no one could miss the significance of Vannozza dressing as Juno. The queen of the gods, and goddess of marriage, she had to endure time after time her husband lusting after lesser women.
Still, to anyone who asked, she had merely picked the costume to celebrate Juno's aspect as protector of Rome.
Alexander VI
"Oh, how lonely the fair maiden looks," Lucrezia's father greeted her. "She simply must dance."
Lucrezia
Lucrezia bowed, playfully. "Are you offering your hand, Holy Father?" she asked. "I doubt any fair maiden could refuse Janus this evening."
Alexander VI
"We would claim a dance, as is Our right," Alexander told her, offering the hand which wasn't holding his goblet of wine. "And you shall smile and celebrate. Tonight is a night for revels!"
Lucrezia
"Then I shall smile," she said, taking his hand and drawing herself to her feet. "Cesare's success deserves no less."
She could celebrate, for Cesare.
Cesare
While Lucrezia was sitting on the side of the dance floor, her brother came to sit triumphantly beside her. "And who is my dear sister tonight?" he asked, trying to divine her costume. After today, he felt as though he could do anything.
Lucrezia
It made her heart quite happy to see him thus: carefree, powerful, and pleased with his lot in life. Cesare had won the day, and Papa had smiled his sweet approval.
She offered him a warm smile, though hers was tempered by the answer to his question.
"I am Echo," she said. The reasoning was too clear to need elucidation.
Cesare
Echo, the lover of Narcissus. And Narcissus was the name she had called her stable-boy.
Cesare's powers did not extend to causing the dead to rise -- yet -- but he would not have her dwelling on sad thoughts tonight, on his night.
"I may not be Narcissus, but may I dance with Echo?"
Lucrezia
She had not danced with Cesare in far too long. Surely it could not be her own wedding? No, there had been dancing at Joffre's, though her heart and been considerably less light then. She had been Lady Sforza, and what a miserable wretch Lady Sforza was.
"My Narcissus could not dance," she said, offering him a wry smile. "Nor read, nor write."
He had been friend as much as lover. Someone as steadfast and trustworthy as -- well. Cesare.
Cesare
He could not read or write or dance, and yet he loved her, and she him. With all the marks against him, Paolo had still won her over. Cesare could not help but be jealous. Still, this was somber talk of the dead, and he would have Lucrezia celebrating.
"Could he make you smile?" he asked.
Lucrezia
He could. Paolo had been skilled at making her smile, and not simply with his touch. He had taken her riding and called her beautiful. He had been the sun in a world of night.
But now it was daytime, and it did not do to dwell on such things. Not here, at Cesare's celebration. Not now.
And so she turned the question on its head.
"Can you?"
He could. He always could. She had every faith in him.
Cesare
"I can try," he told her, confident he could succeed.
After a bit of thought, he stroked his beard. "Were you aware, Sis, that there are scorpions whose sting is not poisonous? And were you also aware that there is a particularly fine pair of boots that our dear brother loves so much that he dare not let anyone touch them? When Juan arrives in Spain, and his luggage is unpacked, he shall find these two facts in perfect harmony!"
Lucrezia
Lucrezia stared at her brother for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"You didn't," she insisted, gasping for breath.
She could picture Juan, in her mind, knocking his boots over and cursing. Jumping as the scorpion struck.
Cesare
As could Cesare.
"Did I say 'I'?" he asked, between chuckles. "A Cardinal is above such things." Unfortunately, people were starting to look their way with concern, so it wouldn't do to keep laughing. "Hush now."
Lucrezia
One's mask made for a useful screen to hide behind, if one was overcome with the giggles. As Lucrezia was now.
"I have a confession to make, dear Brother," she said, still unable to contain her mirth.
Cesare
"Is this revelry cause for penance?" he teased, easily. "I am not wearing a priest's collar tonight, Sis."
It was good to see her laugh, the onlookers be damned.
"Though I shall open my ears for any sins you wish to unburden."
Lucrezia
"No sin," Lucrezia replied, her tone playful, as she pulled herself to standing. "But I have greatly missed my nephew, and I felt that I would like to see him more. So I took the liberty of arranging for him to pass this night in my chamber, and not yours."
The meaning of that could not be more plain if she were to embroider it on a pillow.
"Congratulations, Cesare," she said. "I thought you deserved a good night's sleep."
One he wouldn't be getting.
And with that, she took her leave of him. They would dance another night. She had Cardinals to mingle with. And Cesare had a khaleesi to pursue.
Daenerys
Dany moved through the crowd, peering through her mask at her fellow partygoers. This was simultaneously so familiar, and so foreign to her. Gowns of rich fabric brushed her bared arms and shoulders as she passed, and the sensation reminded her of home.
One could be anyone, here.
Cesare
One could be anyone. It was simple enough to slide through the crowd, unnoticed. It had taken several minutes to spot his prey, this evening, but her silvery-white hair had given her away.
He was behind her elbow a few moments later.
"I must insist on a dance," he murmured, leaning forward to breathe the words into her ear.
Daenerys
Dany smiled, ignoring the little frisson that went up her spine at being approached this way. It was different from Drogo's broad strokes and Chuck's shyness. It was knowledgeable, and flirtatious, and filled with unspoken intent.
She found she relished it.
"And what if I refuse?" she asked, lowering her mask to peek over it. "I should worry I'd prove a fool who doesn't know the steps. I'm a stranger in a strange land, after all."
Cesare
"No one who saw you this night could think you a fool," he said, offering her an inviting smile. "You could trod on men's toes and they would thank you for the experience. Beauty creates its own allowances."
Daenerys
"I shall do my utmost not to, though," she replied, raising a brow. "I'd hate to send anyone out of here limping in disgrace, particularly anyone looking as handsome as you." Dany gave him a little smile, replacing her mask. "Not quite the garb of Dothraki warrior, Your Eminence, but an improvement over the red, I think."
Though she liked the red, too. There was just more available skin here.
Cesare
"Had I known that red displeased you, I would have banished it from my wardrobe," he grinned. He held his hand out to her, that he might sweep her over towards the other couples. "You would dress me as a warrior, then? I would be happier in the garb of a fighter than I would a cleric's robes."
He lacked the temperament for the church. One day, his father would understand that, and relieve him of this burden.
Daenerys
"Only if modesty would not prohibit you," Dany said, slipping her hand into his. "The men of my khalasar do not allow clothing to hamper them much."
Perhaps it was the mask that was making her bolder than usual. Perhaps it was victory, or the surety of the evening.
"I confess I'm not surprised you'd prefer it," she added. "You've the mind of a strategist, not a priest. I would not trust any priest of mine to enact a feint as you did today."
Cesare
"You may find that I am little concerned with modesty, my lady," Cesare said easily. "Perhaps I am not suited to be a man of God. I strategize, I blaspheme, and I do not allow clothing to hamper me, either."
Would he make a suitable Dothraki? It seemed to appeal far more than his current profession.
"Do your warriors often find clothing to be a distraction?" he asked, as he turned her to face him. He lifted one hand, hoping she would mimic his movement. Follow his lead, and all would be well.
Never mind that Cesare did not especially care to be dancing at this moment.
Daenerys
She gently lifted a hand, mirroring him. This was how she'd learned to dance in the first place, and even if it would be foreign, it couldn't be that difficult.
"They do not care for the metal suits of armor that my knights of Westeros wear," she confessed. "As Dothraki, we move in what is most comfortable. Clothing is not for ornamental sake, but practicality. This gown is the first that has remotely resembled my usual attire, I admit, and even it is a bit more modest."
She shot him a curious look. "Your rules of blasphemy intrigue me. It seems that everything you might enjoy is to be prohibited."
Cesare
"I would like to see your Dothraki gowns, Your Majesty," Cesare murmured, moving them slowly as the music frolicked. "I can only imagine how sublime you appear in them."
If they were less modest than this, she would be completely radiant.
"I blaspheme when I say that I find my sister more a comfort than the love of God," he said. "And when I say that I prefer a different calling than to serve Him. Or that I am less pleased about the saving of the entire Curia than I am that not one of your exquisite hairs was harmed."
Daenerys
"Is it blasphemy to dance with one who does not belong to your Church?" she wondered softly, following his lead easily.
Cesare
"No," Cesare said, "and I would not care if it was. Besides, this night I am no Cardinal. I am Saturn, a pagan god of old. Have you heard how our pagan gods behaved, my lady?"
They took mistresses from mortal women. They seduced fellow goddesses as easily as they breathed. They enjoyed so many delights of which Cardinals were not to partake.
Daenerys
"Only a very little," Dany remarked innocently. "Your sister says that I am a war-loving goddess to whom arms were sacrificed after battle. Who is Saturn? A god of youth, or virility, perhaps?"
Innocent, indeed.
Cesare
If Cesare grinned any wider, his face might split.
"A god of justice, and time, and prosperity," he said. "And you are Lua, this evening. Lua Saturni: a consort of Saturn's."
His sister's doing, no doubt. If he had been unsure of her approval before, there could be no mistaking it now.
"Are you my consort this evening?" he asked, in a much lower voice.
Daenerys
"I don't know," Dany murmured, looking up at him teasingly. "What would consorting with Saturn this evening entail?" She glanced up through her lashes, then replaced her mask with a smirk. "I would be a most imprudent queen to not consider every option. Though, one might make the observation that I've already issued my opinion, willingly, merely hours ago. Or have you forgotten, my dear Cesare?"
Cesare
Cesare stilled, then drew closer. They were no longer dancing; now, he was pulling her against him, not giving a damn who was watching.
"I would hate for you to be imprudent," he breathed. "So allow me to make my intentions clear. I would take you from this place, and I would utterly destroy that beautiful gown you are draped in, in my haste to remove it. I would mark every inch of your skin, with my lips, and my hands, and my teeth. I would pull my name from your lips again, but louder, and sweeter, until you begged for release. I would claim what was promised me, as I have thought of nothing else since. Need I go on?"
Daenerys
It was as though the entire party crawled to a standstill around them. Dany's very skin itself was on fire; Drogo had made similar proposals -- no, Drogo would have lifted her skirts and had her here -- but it was the anticipation that was so thoroughly spelled out in this directive that broke her. She would be made to wait, still, with this new, explicit knowledge.
She forgot how to think, for a moment. She found her tongue, hoping she hadn't looked as dumbstruck as she'd felt. And even if she took a moment to seek the words, she had ways of making her point known. Dany briefly sent up a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that their clothing was not the cumbersome layers she'd been given for weeks. She shifted against him, only slightly, but enough for intention to be obvious. Her body sought his -- through the gossamer of her gown, she could already feel his excitement.
"You needn't, though who am I to deny you?" she asked softly, lifting her eyes to his. "Is it very far to your bedchamber? I may seek entertainment on the journey, and so the anticipated exploits of Saturn and his consort might be further explained. Unless, of course," she added, a wicked glint in her eye, "you'd like to stay a bit longer. I'm sure there are many who wish to pass time with the savior of Rome."
Cesare
Daenerys was surprising him at every turn. She had yet to blush, or pull away; she only spurred him on further, faster. And now she was rubbing against him, the light tug of the fabric only teasing what he needed. What they both needed.
He slid one hand to her face, dragging it up to meet his as he claimed her lips. It was rougher than the kiss she had given him; more jagged around the edges, more filled with need. His tongue swiped at her lower lip, tantalizingly. Not here.
A very large part of him wanted to have her here, or at least no longer cared if they were here. But his sister's benevolence would only stretch so far, and his father's wrath would be severe. He cared little, at this moment, but he would not bring such shame upon her head.
"My bedchamber is a thousand miles away," he sighed. In truth, it wasn't far at all, but any further than here was agony. "Come, and I will do my best to educate you. On Saturn and Lua, and our Roman ideas of entertainment."
Daenerys
Somewhere between the ballroom they'd left and the door Cesare had led her to, Dany had lost several of her feathers from her dress. She wasn't sure where they were, though she suspected they'd fallen off over the course of the several incidents where they'd very nearly not made it to the room at all. Some maid would likely follow the trail, in some hours, and the gossip that was surely already brewing would be fueled even further.
Her crown was very slightly askew, and her mask was a forgotten afterthought, clutched in a hand and remembered only as it hampered her fumblings with Cesare's clothing. It hadn't been a long walk in the slightest, but of course, time was more relative than usual at the moment. She was a creature driven beyond logic or time; all that mattered was the furthering of this gambit.
"A thousand miles indeed, Cesare," she noted softly, going onto her toes to press a soft kiss to his neck. "It is not for just anyone, or any promise that I would endure such a treacherous journey."
Cesare
Tomorrow he would pay the maids to find the feathers. He would keep them as a trophy of this night. His victory. His triumph. His reward.
His chiton was askew, and the cloak overtop pulling at its bindings. Cesare was not a patient man.
"Had I realized the length of it, my queen," he murmured, "I would have had you there in the ballroom, in view of everyone."
His hands were bunching in her dress, tugging it upward. If that tore at the seams, all the better. A ripped dress would come off more easily than a securely fastened one.
Daenerys
It did, in several places; Dany would mourn its loss another day. Now she was allowing it to be pulled, her arms raised only for the length of time it took for the garment to be removed. As soon as she was able, her hands were quick at work again at his fastenings, lest he think that she was less motivated than he.
Had she had her way, she would be bare already. As it was, she stood in her chemise as she slipped out of her shoes, distractedly working the ties of his doublet.
"And what of the jealousy of others, my Cesare?" she mumbled, flicking her tongue against his Adam's apple. "I would not be interrupted, not for jealousy or indecency or if the building were burning down about our ears."
Cesare
Cesare let out a groan from deep in his throat. Her tongue was clever, and her hands were fast. He tilted his head back in case that wonderful tongue wanted more room to explore his neck.
He could no doubt remove his doublet faster than she, being more practiced, but then he would miss the delight of her nimble fingers working loose each tie. Instead, his own fingers busied themselves getting fistfuls of her chemise. He slid one hand up her side until his palm cupped her breast through the thin fabric. His thumb found her nipple, and it pebbled against his caress.
"If anyone tried to interrupt us," Cesare said, "I would pluck their eyes out." He tilted his head down, needing to reclaim her lips.
Daenerys
She allowed him his claim, though she took it upon herself to nip lightly at his lower lip. Dany shifted against his touch, arching her breast more against his hand, needing more -- more contact, more skin, more him. She undid his doublet as quickly as her distraction would allow, hastily slipping a hand between layers to rub against his hip. The offending garment was nearly off, but she needed to feel his skin, and she was impatient.
"Quite the promise," Dany murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. "Are you confident we won't be disturbed here tonight?"
Cesare
Dany could probably feel the curve of his smile, pressed as it was against her mouth. She was impatient, then. So was he. Enough of this playing.
"The servants know better than to come in while I have guests," he said. "But I can keep my knife handy if you're concerned."
Or if she would enjoy a good eye-plucking. Some women were warriors, and he suspected this queen was among them. His last guest had been considerably more squeamish.
It wouldn't do to think of Ursula. Not now. His hands found the last strings of his doublet and yanked, hard, to pull both the leather vestment and the sheer shirt underneath over his head.
Her chemise was nearly transparent in the flickering candlelight. Cesare smirked again at the view before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her taut against him.
Daenerys
The soft groan that Dany emitted was half credited to the thought that she was being seduced by -- or, she was seducing; it all seemed very mutual -- a man who knew how to wield a blade. Not that she particularly wanted him to abuse a servant who might trespass at the wrong moment, but there was something so attractive about competence. It awakened something very primal in her, instinctive and warm.
Her body's reaction was entirely because of their proximity. The faintest flush colored her skin as she shuddered, just slightly, at the suddenness of his skin against hers. Her hands slid up his chest as though of their own accord, her palms open and exploratory. She slid her fingers through the sparse hair, and brushed her thumbs over his nipples, and experimentally ran her nails over the smooth, broad planes in front of her.
"I'm not concerned," she finally answered, leaning forward to press a kiss to his sternum. Her height was rarely convenient, but this was one of those few instances. "I doubt I would notice if anyone entered. It could begin to snow and I likely wouldn't realize. You are more than enough to occupy each of my senses."
Cesare
Her lips against his chest would be enough to drive him to the point of madness, were he not already on that brink. He pressed his own lips to the top of her head, sliding his hands up to gather her hair into his hands. Silken, fragrant, and untamed; very like Daenerys herself.
"Does it often snow when you kiss men?" Cesare asked, releasing her hair in a torrent. His arms once more found her waist, but this time he yanked upwards, as he tilted his torso back, to pull her weight onto him.
If she felt unbalanced, she could straddle his thigh. That was why he had slid it forward, after all.
"I would not be surprised if the weather itself obeys your whim," he murmured. "If you were Lua indeed, a goddess deigning to share your bed with mortals."
Daenerys
"I've never yet seen snow at home," Dany mumbled, distracted by that maneuver more than she'd like to admit. "I'm a summer child, as Lua herself must be." She wavered against him -- a likely intentional outcome -- and her hands skimmed up to tangle in his hair, her fingers twining in the dark curls. Dany was content there, for a moment, swooning slightly on her toes as she kissed him, drinking him in.
But it wasn't enough. She tugged him closer in return, her fingernails digging in slightly against his shoulders. She could be a touch rough at times; she somehow suspected that Cesare was not a man of delicate sensibilities. When she felt her back collide with the wall she was half-blindly seeking, she pulled him flush against her. One leg slid up around his waist, experimentally, her chemise slipping to expose its entirety. If he wished to lift her up, this was the act of invitation.
"And," she added, her wits semi-returning, "you are the one inviting me to your bed. Perhaps you are the god, and I the fortunate mortal."
Cesare
Her suspicions were right. And he needed no further invitation. He got one hand around her delectable thigh and hefted her weight upwards, pinning her against the wall with his own torso.
"No man could look at you and think you mortal," he breathed, releasing her lips in order to bite at her chin. From there he forged a path along her jawline, and down her open, delicate throat.
His hips rolled against hers, savoring the damp heat radiating out from her. There was little fabric left between them. There needed to be none at all.
Daenerys
Dany's breath caught in her throat, and her world grew heady and small, confined to moments. She arched her back, offering herself to him, and tightened her legs around his waist. She couldn't touch enough of him, though she tried.
An arm encircled his shoulders, for her own balance, and one hand slipped low between them. She skimmed his stomach, her fingers exploratory and light. They dipped just below the waist of his trousers before she withdrew them and pressed her palm against his hardness, cupping. She was seeking the laces, but she knew well how to drive a man to the point of insanity with well-placed caresses.
"Then," she murmured, "I consider myself a highly lucky immortal tonight." Perhaps she was immortal. She had the blood of the dragon. But now was, by far, not the moment to mention how closely he was flirting with accuracy.
Cesare
Cesare could not care if she began breathing fire. He arched and rubbed against her hand, completely lost to the moment. He was Cesare Borgia, who had just saved Rome with nothing more than fake cannon. He was bold enough to claim a goddess as his reward.
He grasped her hand, tugging it away from him and pressing a lingering kiss to her palm. If he pressed her solidly against the wall, then his weight could hold her in place, at least for a few stolen seconds, so he could use his other hand to fumble the rest of the laces clear.
A few agonizing moments and he was free. That hand could position him where he needed to go, while the other -- reluctantly letting go of her exquisite fingers -- was going to hike her knee back up to his waist.
He teased his cock against her entrance, tiny pulses which only fanned the flames.
Daenerys
Dany needed no further encouragement. The inclusion of the wall was slightly new for her -- Drogo had not been a man of much experimentation, barring when she'd initially introduced him to Doreah's advice -- but she found it far more intuitive than she would have guessed. That leg, wrapped as it was around Cesare's waist, tightened to draw him closer.
She couldn't wait longer, no. The entire evening -- half the day itself -- had been leading to this moment, and now that he had graciously granted her the control to end this dance, she would. Her fingernails dug in at his back, likely already leaving their mark, as she lifted her hips to meet his.
The moment that she finally, finally sheathed him, Dany felt a pleasure so acutely sweet that she nearly cried out then. As it was, her head tilted back in an aching, broken sigh as she breathed his name. "Cesare."
Cesare
There. There was his reward. Watching her face as he slid into her, savoring every tremble that crept across her skin. This was worth every cannon, every feint against the French King, the entire enterprise risked. He'd happily slaughter the entire French army for this moment, wrapped in her slippery warmth.
"Yes," he said, confidently. "I told you ... I would pull my name from you, did I not?"
He bent to press his lips to that graceful neck of hers as he rocked his hips forward and withdrew again.
"I make good on my ... promises, my queen."
Forgive him if his own breath was failing him.
Daenerys
"Daenerys," she corrected roughly, bracing a hand behind her so she could arch up to meet his rhythm. "I'm not -- anyone's queen, right now."
She would hear her name from him -- a promise of her own, unconscious though it was. She dipped her head, kissing his shoulder and licking across his collarbone. She didn't think -- there was nothing premeditated about her movements. There wasn't room in her mind to plan any of this. There was only the heat of his skin on hers, the taste of his sweat, the exquisite feeling of fullness and release between her thighs.
Cesare
He laughed, surprised at the insistence in her tone. From her, the name sounded like a command. He could become quite fond of being ordered around by that tongue.
"Can a queen not ... indulge with mortals?" he asked. "Or is that ... because you are in exile?"
He was only refusing now to pique her interest. She could make him say it; how dull to capitulate easily.
Daenerys
Dany still, somehow, was not used to being refused. Normally, she found it frustrating, and while she did now, it was more thrilling to be defied.
"A queen -- can do whatever she wants," she replied, and graced his shoulder with a sharp nip. "Including -- " her legs tightened around his waist as she arched her hips sharply against his, insistently, " -- ask to be called by her given name. I'm not -- your queen, anyway."
Cesare
"She can ask," Cesare agreed. He pressed his lips to her neck again, then darted his tongue along the pulsing vein in her throat. "Could I not ... swear fealty to you? I would make ... a most excellent general."
One hand was now on her hip, holding her steady as his thrusts lengthened. Slow, deliberate, and hard, filling every last delicious inch of her.
"My sister ... has a nickname for you, does she not?" he asked, struggling to sound casual. "I believe ... she calls you ... Dany."
The last was breathed, deep and husky, from deep within him. Hopefully she would understand that as it was intended: not a peace offering, but a challenge.
Daenerys
The idea of his joining her army was an entirely interesting idea for another time; she dismissed it right now, recognizing it for the distraction it was meant to be.
As was her nickname. While its use sent a pleasant shiver across her skin, breathed as it was in that voice, it wasn't what she'd asked for.
And he knew that.
Dany's hand slid down from his shoulder, scratching a faint path down his chest. She paused briefly over his heart, letting her hand rest there to feel its beat, before grabbing for the hand that wasn't supporting her.
"Dany is -- a childhood nickname," she said, hissing the words between her teeth as she drew his hand to her lips. She kissed his fingers slowly, languidly, matching the pace of his thrusts as she watched his face. When she felt her ministrations with his fingers were complete, she led his hand lower, under and up her chemise, until she folded it over her bare breast.
"And I -- most assuredly, am not a child, Cesare."
Cesare
His fingers in her mouth sent a shiver down his spine; he had to keep control, or she would push him past the brink far too early. It was a game, then, and Cesare did not like to lose.
One hand was cradling her perfect breast; a pity that he had to let go. For now. He promised himself sincerely that both breasts would receive the attention they deserved. For now, he was sliding his hands under her hips, taking more of her weight to his arms. When he was sure he wouldn't fall, he pushed himself away from the wall, Daenerys still wrapped around his torso.
"No," he answered. "You are a queen, and a goddess, and a temptress, and a ... what was that other word? Khaleesi."
He only needed to make it a few steps until they could fall onto the bed.
Daenerys
She buried her moan against his neck, wishing she could remain less affected. To hear Dothraki -- the language and tempo to which she'd set all other lovemaking to -- in the voice of this new conquest in a strange land, was almost too erotic to bear.
But it wasn't her name.
"I am a woman of many titles," she breathed against his neck, biting a trail up to his ear as she clung tightly to him. "None of them matter but one. Say it. Say my name. Or I will wrench it from you and leave you breathless and ignorant of your own."
It wasn't a threat. It was a promise of what was to come, when they reached that bed.
Cesare
He would expect no less of her. But for now, he was going to concentrate on leaning over, spilling her onto the bed. It meant withdrawing from her, but that would only make the return all the sweeter. And she looked perfectly wanton and beautiful, stretched across his bed.
His bed. The perfect place for her.
He straightened his back, standing next to the bed, and took in the view of her for a long moment.
"Daenerys," he said. Slowly. As his hands worked his leather pants the rest of the way off.
Daenerys
Leather pants. Dany would care to appreciate the view, thank you, though she was not idle. Her gaze flicked up from that enticing tableau to meet his eyes, and she smiled.
"I win," she decided, softly, as she shifted to pull her chemise over her head. She was slow -- torturous -- with her movements, shaking her hair out when the offensive garment was finally resting on the floor. "Though that was much too coherent for my taste."
Cesare
"I cannot imagine how this is losing," he said, sending his eyes slowly over every curve of her body. Her pale skin glowed in the flickering light.
If this was losing, he should lose more often.
"And I never agreed to your terms, Daenerys," he added in a low voice. He crawled onto the edge of the bed, and perched, on all fours, as he dipped his head down to bite at her foot.
From there, he could nip at her ankle, and place an open-mouth kissed to her calf.
Daenerys
She stretched her leg out with a throaty sigh, leaning back on her elbows as she watched him in the flickering light. "No, though you did give in much more easily than I thought you would."
She knew how vulnerable her position was. That was precisely why she was goading him. Her eyes tracked over his skin, her face alight with obvious enjoyment.
It was a game, all of it. And she hated losing, too.
Cesare
And now it was she who was taunting him. His response was to sink his teeth into the warm skin of her leg, and smirk at her.
"Do you think me a disappointment?" he asked, breathily. "I should hate to think I have not lived up to the khaleesi's standards."
The last time he used that word, she had moaned. Though hopefully the kisses working their way to her knees could accomplish that much.
Daenerys
She shivered, resisting the urge to reach out for him. That would ruin her gambit, her own efforts to tease. "My language sounds beautiful on your tongue," she said softly, instead, her eyes half-lidded. It made her think of Drogo, but not in a specific, painful way. It took her to tents scented with incense, to warm desert nights spent on furs. It reminded her how to be bare and sensual and wanton.
"And how could I be disappointed?" she murmured, watching him. "You are...mezahhe. Everything I could have wished and more." She smiled at him, shifting her other leg to slide her foot along his shoulder. "I shall not hold my easy victory over your head, Cesare, I assure you."
At least, not for the moment. For the moment, she would lay back, in thorough enjoyment of the course the evening had taken. It had been an entirely long winter. This was a welcome spring thaw.
[*helps with spam!* preplayed with holy_daughter and whateverknight running NPC duty! The second half here is highly NSFW because Dany's finally getting herself some action. Also, just a heads-up that yes, the scene involves a girl who is 15 and a guy who is 21, which would be squicky in today's culture, but she's a widowed khaleesi who was married at 13, and this is Renaissance-era Rome. Will be continued in comments. NFB, NFI omg!]