Post by tearing on Sept 25, 2012 14:53:58 GMT -5
warnings: incest, bad writing, bad writing, incest, and uh, guys kissing.
not for the faint hearted, so take caution when reading.
ihopeyoulikethisayuididpromiseso
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not for the faint hearted, so take caution when reading.
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| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=vAlign,top][classy=blascro] The ringing in his head did not quite stop for a break, a rest - as if he was so lucky anyway - but Riccardo is a professional and his smile does not falter. Such an expression of hesitation would be fatal, he knows this, and his confidence feeds him the energy he needs to go on. But that ringing is the alarm that is telling him that this, all of this, could be easily shattered if his concentration would even waver just a little. Riccardo feels as if he is standing on a tightrope. He is the performer with the clown face and the piano wire - one hesitation and he will fall. And when he does, it is as dramatic and it is as understated as he imagines it. Probably. - The blonde's smile has more of a bitter tinge than happy undertones. He stands with his hands tied together, pressed against his velvet suit. There isn't much point in smiling when he is hidden under the shadow of the throne; he knows this and he knows this well, but the understated, gentle smile does not leave. More like... it cannot leave. Nev must be miserable inside. He knows. The childish bet of his made with his father lost, the younger boy would have no option other than to sink into the darkness, so much so that he would have no choice but to never turn to the glimmer of light he once held in the palm of his head again. Now, Riccardo is happier about this than he should allow himself to be. The boy on the throne feels that much closer to him, and with every moment that Riccardo indulges in this selfishness of his, the more he begins the repetitive cycle of self loathing. Nev... no, the new Don, lies with his smiles and his mind is already screaming. This isn't the Nev he knows. This isn't the boy he grew up with, went to school with, and looked after. This isn't anybody at all. The person standing in front of him is nothing but a stranger. A shell. A hole. A hole that Riccardo could never fill. -- The first time they exchange words after the event is when Riccardo's long, rough fingers tug at the tie and adjusts the pocket square sitting in the other's suit pocket. "Hey Ric, you're being such a mother! I look fine, the stylists have been and gone you know." "Mhm. So they have." Ric nods, gently pulling the tie, knowing he wasn't quite ready to let his younger cousin go. "...How are you doing?" Knowing exactly what Riccardo meant by those vague words, Nev's smile falters. He should learn not to leave his emotions on his sleeve like that. Never once had Riccardo had any trouble reading the boy; he could be compared to a favorite shirt, worn so much that seeing it clung around the contours of your body is nothing but a natural occurrence. "I could ask the same to you." Ah really? He could, could he? Oh, how pitifully little this new Don knew of the world. "I have your back." Is the only thing Riccardo replies with, replying with an uneasy smile. Would he notice? --- During the celebratory party, Ric is drunk on vodka and the sickly sweet feeling stirring in the pits of his stomach. His gaze never quite leaves the sociable cousin of his - him and that glorious smile of his - as the right hand man does his part to keep the party moving as the host family. Another glass is all he can take before he calls it a night, politely excusing himself from the aimless conversation he was participating along with a growing Italian family. He leaves with empty promises and a void for a smile, and notices that Nevi is no longer the center of the gathering. His smile is worn out and so is the rest of him; right now, Ric is nothing more than a lug of flesh and bone, tired and barely hanging on, the resolve of the blond quickly snaps. The ringing in his head resembles more of a scream than a bell. ---- Nev's lips were as sweet as he imagined them; not that he'd ever admit it, of course, as Ric's own pressed against his, desperation with a hint of lust, helplessness and irrational anger, because this, this was his, and Riccardo knew he was so afraid of losing him to the black and the grey, even though he had wanted Nev to join the shadows with him. How selfish of him. How despicable of him. Hands ran through the soft blonde hair of the mafia don's, and the older man's lips only parted for a second - and in that second, Riccardo almost regretted even stepping into the Don's private quarters. "Ric, what are you- umf-" Forcing his hands over the mouth of his treasured cousin, brother, boss, Riccardo spoke with his eyes. "Just be quiet, Nev. You talk too much." He calmly muttered, grabbing his wrists together in a solid hold as his tongue broke through, getting a good taste of the boy as he otherwise tried to break free of his blinded, trusted cousin. Eyes flickering open and shut, just to stare at his mesmerizing blue eyes for a moment as even Nev was temporarily slipped into a state of pleasure; Ric tried to enjoy this as long as he could with the guilt slowly eating away at him. A free hand brushing against his cheek, and relaxing at the contact of the younger man's smooth skin, his mind suddenly halted for a fraction of a second. What now? What would happen next? Would Nev threaten to cut ties? Yet those fearful thoughts didn't stop him. With their forehead touching and their noses brushing against each other, Riccardo's lips began to kiss down the pane of his neck, taking in the distinctive smell that was the Nevi Ferravia he knew; only to leave a soft kiss behind. Just as suddenly as he invited himself into the room, Riccardo left just as quickly, stepping back, muttering a 'sorry' and taking all his feelings of self loathing out the doors with him. [/classy] |
