Garden of Earthly Delights, Bosch, 1515
_________________________
Isaac spent most of his lavish Italian trip with Charlotte. She knew a lot about where they stayed, and took him to many restaurants and stores and clubs he would've otherwise never known about had he gone off on his own. He could honestly admit he enjoyed his holiday, excluding the occasional morning or afternoon meal in which Josiah and Isaac didn't speak, so instead Dahlia ranted on about a guy she'd met or her new dress or complain about the workload of her classes.
During their second to last breakfast in Italy, Dahlia decided to stray away from all three topics and, instead, focus on her intense love of expensive champagne.
"I'm still debating if Italy makes the best one or—oh! All this talk about alcohol made me realize that I forgot to tell you about what happened to that drunk man, Isaac."
"I-it's fine, really. I don't need to know," he stuttered. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to hear about.
"Wouldn't you be glad to hear that he got arrested?" she asked cocking her head to the side.
"Arrested...for what? He technically didn't break the law, just called me a fag," Isaac said sheepishly. "If anything, he was praised for his bravery."
"Actually, Autumn told me he assaulted some wealthy businessman and now he's pressing heavy charges. I heard the bottle went right through his hand. Left a damn bloody mess, so they tried to be discreet about it. Though I honestly think it's because the groom was embarrassed since the man was his cousin."
Then it all came flickering back in flashes—the events from the wedding he tried to bury. Suddenly, his waffles looked unappetizing.
A loud shriek came from the chair he pushed back. "I think I'll head out now."
Then entered a voice he hadn't heard directed to him in days. Raspy and tired, there was obvious lack of restrain. "Let me guess. You have plans to meet little miss Charlotte."
He was not in the mood to deal with this right now. "I actually don't, Josiah."
"She should've been arranged to be your suitor," he said, stabbing a roasted potato with his fork, "bet you two would've gotten hitched right away."
Isaac clenched his fists and started to make his way across towards Josiah. "Why don't you just stick that fork—"
Before he could reach him, Dahlia crossed his path. "Woah, there, easy. I'll handle him." Dahlia rested hands in Isaac's shoulders and shot Josiah a sharp look. "Go have fun."
Fun—he wanted it, craved it, but he couldn't find it if it slapped him in the face. He wished he could've spent the day with Charlotte, but she was meeting up with old friends.
Walking along the ocean shores, he found serenity in volatile waves. It was odd, how a roar was sometimes tame while silence was always deafening. Finally, he settled on a small pub Charlotte introduced him to. It was the local, hole in the wall kind, the kind that let nameless musicians and angsty poets perform to their hearts' desires as customers threw darts and mingled. Isaac planned to be the protagonist in this setting, sitting isolated at the counter until the bartender noticed his sulking and asked him about his day.
His plans were ruined, because the minute he entered he felt a man's gaze on him. It was unnerving, the way he watched his every movement with an insatiable hunger in his eyes until he sat down.
"Do you want something?" he finally asked the stranger.
"Only to buy you a drink." His Italian accent was thick and his eyes dark. "You look like you could use a few."
Isaac examined the man thoroughly. He had a muscular build, larger than Josiah's lean frame and kissed by the sun, exuding raw masculinity, but more prominently—sex. It was an opportunity anyone would grasp.
"I guess I wouldn't mind a beer."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The man said his name was Leo.
When Isaac asked if he was named after da Vinci, the man shook his head and laughed.
"You're not the first to ask that," he said, "but it's actually the star sign. I was born in August, and my mom isn't very good with names."
Isaac raised his glass. "A smart woman."
"Say...how do you feel about moving this conversation somewhere else...somewhere more...fun?" the man finally said once night loomed. Sucks at discretion, that's how Isaac would describe him.
"What's more fun than a pub?"
He brought his lips to Isaac's ears, and with his deep, accented voice whispered, "my place."
"No thanks."
"What?" The man looked as if he'd never experienced a rejection.
"I said no. N-O. I don't want to have sex with you."
"But you accepted my drinks. My intentions were very clear."
"All I understood was that you wanted to buy me a drink. And I never turn down free stuff."
The man grimaced and slammed his glass onto the counter, "thanks for wasting my time, asshole," before storming off.
After that catastrophe at the bar, Isaac spent the rest of his night walking the streets of Venice, making note of countless couples riding in gondolas and eating in restaurants lit by lanterns and fireflies. A pang of undeniable jealousy hit him. He wondered if Josiah was a fan of such cheesy activities—and if he wasn't, if he still would've joined him if he had bothered to ask.
Not all of us solve our problems through sex like some whore.
And then it hit him—why Josiah was so upset that night. Isaac made it seem like he viewed him as a body, something he used to satisfy his lust. Was he wrong though? That's all their relationship was, and Josiah treated it no differently.
Does he want something else?
He considered the possibilities, tried to break down his unexplainable relationship with Josiah. Too lost in his thoughts, he paid no attention to the amount of time that had passed. Before he realized, the gondolas lessened one by one before they stopped appearing, the lanterns flickered off, and the city fell into a deep slumber. He looked up with hopes of seeing the same stars he saw by the lake, the ones that shone brighter when no one was around. He thought maybe they'd give him an answer. But they weren't there. Venice ate them.
It wasn't until the second hour of a new day that he returned to the villa, but when he did, he opened the door to a burning fireplace, dim lights, and a silhouette reading a book in a room that smelled strongly of weed.
"What are you still doing up?" he asked the shadow.
Josiah turned a page in his book without as much as a glance up. "I should be asking you that."
And then the silence came again, the living room filled with nothing but the sounds of a crackling fire, single pages turning and one cricket chirping outside an open window. Isaac could also hear his own heartbeat, so loud he tried to steady his breathing so that Josiah didn't notice. Countless hard thumps passed before he spoke.
"...Went to a nice pub."
Another page turn.
"Got free drinks."
"What'd you do? Fuck him?" Josiah spoke with an empty and solemn voice, so quiet it could barely be heard over the fire. Isaac could tell he intended humor, but something was weighing down his light heart.
"Only oral."
"Oh."
"Just kidding."
He let out a silent laugh, the kind that's barely a short huff of air, but it made Isaac smile to himself. It was the best interaction they've had all week.
"I see you're enjoying your trip."
"Indeed. Charlotte makes an excellent tour guide and daily planner."
Nothing.
He should've known better than to mention Charlotte around Josiah.
Like an idiot, he continued. "You broke her heart, by the way. "
A mumbled response.
"Funny story—I tried to console her by telling her about all your annoying habits. I told her about your smug grins, how cocky you are in your athletic ability, about how cocky you are about everything, really. And you know what she said to me?
You must really like him."
Now he had Josiah's attention back, his tired eyes widening.
"I told her that she's crazy. How does one come to that conclusion?"
"Isaac—"
"I started thinking about everything. I thought about what she said, over and over. I questioned why I was so hurt when you left me that night. It wasn't because you called me some whore. I'm not offended by words alone. It's because I realized everything you said was true," he admit, "I am a whore."
"Isaac, I'm didn't mean to-"
Isaac scoffed, interrupting his attempt to apologize. Josiah's smoking was a symbol of his raw vulnerability, it was obvious, and he wasn't planning to win a fistfight with a gun.
"My dad abandoned me to flee his debt. The uncle he left me with completely neglected me to the point where it was better to run away. Then the man who saved me from the streets only threw me back onto them. Josiah, there's a hole in my heart which love doesn't fill, so loneliness does instead. And I hate it. I'm a fucking coward, always scared of being alone, and once I discovered that sex was an easy escape, I never looked back. I sold myself, because I needed money—but mostly because I wanted to. That's how my life has always been. But when you left me there that night—when you disappeared into that black abyss, I was terrified, and not because I didn't get sex. Because I longed for something else, something I've never had before. And I knew I shouldn't."
Josiah looked at him, fear present in his darkened face."W-what...what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that whatever 'this' is, what we're doing, we should stop, before I become something I'm not. I'm a filthy whore," he said, "and whores don't get love."
Josiah was lost for words as he focused on his fidgeting hands. "Isaac...we can...it doesn't have to end like this..."
"Look at me. Do you really think we can keep going on like this...giving head in a bathroom stall, or fucking in the janitor's closet...without wanting more?"
Josiah just sat there, now staring at the floor, but he knew his answer. It was an answer he knew long before Isaac.
"That's what I thought."
He turned ready to leave, to return to his empty bed and forget everything. But he couldn't move, because Josiah had latched onto his hand.
"If this is our last night together," he said, voice shaking and hand trembling, "let me hold you...one last time. Please."
Isaac knew the right response. Just say no. It was supposed to be easy, cutting it off right there, to prevent any further knots and tangles in the rope that bound them together. Say no.
But the second he looked into Josiah's solemn eyes, bluer than the Adriatic Sea even in a fire lit room, he knew he had lost. It's always been like that. From the very first time they met at Eton, he always lost to that damn color. He clenched his gaze shut.
"...Okay."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"Ah—hurry up!" Isaac cried. Josiah worked slower than he'd ever had before to undress him, tugging at his jeans so that they were barely below his waist. "Take it off!"
Josiah disobeyed, dragging the denim off in a fashion that created heated friction between Isaac's skin and the harsh fabric. "I'm not going to be rough tonight."
"Why not?"
"Because then you're just going to remember me as all your other lovers," he answered somberly. He pressed his lips against Isaac's bare ankle, moving up his leg in centimeters, worshipping every part of his body like a treasure. "The ones that hurt you..." Chills shot down Isaac's spine every time soft lips grazed his skin. "...and I don't want that."
Isaac entirety was throbbing. From his dizzy head, to his heavy heart, down to his untouched erection—hot blood pumped in his veins making his pale body flush. His teasing was agonizing. "Just put it in, please."
"No," he said with a voice like gravel, "I want this to last," though he looked like he was fighting himself. "I want to savor each bit of you...make you remember my touch...make you tremble—everywhere."
Isaac wanted to cry. He was feeling too many things at once. Pleasure. Sadness. Aching. There was a reason behind why he begged for pain in bed. If it's rough, there's no room for vulnerability, no time for tender kisses and false words of affection. Now he's lying in front of Josiah, shaking and tearing up because he treated him like he was something precious, an act that was foreign and felt far too good.
"Oh God...did I hurt you?" Josiah got up frantically when he saw Isaac's wet face. "I'm so sorry, I'll stop. This was a bad idea—"
Before he could finish, Isaac grabbed him by the neck and pulled him back into a feverish kiss, one that yelled, don't you dare stop. When they parted, Josiah placed a hand on his face to hold it delicately, as if scared Isaac might break in his arms. "So fucking pretty," he whispered, lack of restrain in his sad voice.
Burning with embarrassment, Isaac buried his face in a pillow and moaned into it while Josiah explored his body. Throughout the entire night, he combed fingers through his hair and stroked his length with no sense of urgency, driving Isaac insane. The two made out lazily, naked and intertwined with lower halves pressed together grinding slowly, hardly enough to satisfy their cravings for contact.
And when the first pink of sunrise appeared, dreaded proof of a new day, their bodies finally connected to fulfill their desires. Neither could hide their shame or laughter when they came almost immediately. Isaac couldn't help it, the mere sight of Josiah thrusting his hips, the face he made when he felt good, it sent him to a place where self-control ceased to exist.
After it all, they fell asleep together on the bed, entangled in sheets and each other, for the last time.
A blur.
It was the longest night of Isaac's life, yet all he could remember was a hazy blur.
___________________________
it'd mean the world to me if you left a
vote or comment!