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Title: Hand of God
Pairing: Rodrigo Borgia/Cesare Borgia

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Showtime owns it
Word Count:
Summary: It's Lent, and to suffer abstinence is just something Cesare and Rodrigo will not abide.
Warnings: Parent-child incest, vaguely sacrilegious


Heat descends on the Vatican, the choking wet heat only Rome can bring about. Lent is upon them. Abstinence is called for, and it’s easy to call for it, but to make some promise not to fall between some whore’s thighs or, God forbid, stroke yourself off in the solitude of your room is far different than the act itself. But Cesare is trying, and Lord, when Lucrezia smiles at him with that trusting look, as if to say we are together in this, he cannot, cannot betray her trust.


He sees his father suffering. His mother wields her chastity as a weapon, and even the Holy Father’s favored courtesans seem to be attempting faithfulness in this most trying time. Perhaps they think devotion will save them; Cesare does not believe this, but his opinion has never really mattered.


Abstinence affects his father, visibly so. The Holy Father fidgets more, has a sort of edginess snapping in his person that Cesare cannot help but notice. Good, he thinks, you’re still a man after all. His father was never one to suffer unduly, and his uneasiness brings Cesare a smug satisfaction, until he remembers his own discomfort. He squirms.


Sex crackles around him and fills his confessional booth. A cardinal is still a man and a man can only take so many whispered confessionals of erotic perversity by his fellow citizens before something primal snaps.


As these things so often do, it happens at night.


It is late, and he is walking through the halls of St. Peter’s when he is suddenly and abruptly pulled inside a confessional booth. The hand fisted in his blood red robe is adorned with the papal rings.


“Father,” Cesare hisses, “I see Lent is upon us.”


Holy Father,” he says as he pulls his son roughly forward. Cesare feels the heat from him and smirks. Still a man, and far less than holy.


“You insisted last Lent was an once-in-a-lifetime affair, Holy Father.”


“Honoring thy father is a continual act, my son.”


The confessional booth is far too small to fit two grown men comfortably, and with Rodrigo’s looming presence Cesare is soon crushed into a corner. The Holy Father’s hands come up under the cardinal robe and find the stiff evidence of Cesare’s consent. He never could refuse his father.


Rodrigo is draped against him, erection hard and forceful against Cesare’s thigh. “You should hear what the priests confess after Lent,” he pants against his son’s ear, strokes quickening. “Absolutely filthy things.”


Cesare swallows hard and bangs his head back against the smooth wood of the confessional. “We’re in good company, then,” he groans out, and God Almighty, where his father had learned such tricks…


Rodrigo laughs against his neck. Cesare feels the breath puff against him and finishes with a shudder. Shame burns through him hot as lead, but he’s left with no time to dwell—he’s pulled down efficiently and directed towards the Holy Father’s groin.


Robes are pushed aside and he swallows him whole. Rodrigo praises the Lord as Cesare steadies himself, thoughts filled with touch, guilty touches, his father’s hands stroking his face, Lucrezia’s smile bright as the sun


Rodrigo fists a hand in Cesare’s hair and urges him to open his throat. As in all other things, Cesare complies. He swallows his father’s seed as he would Communion wine; the aftertaste is just as bitter.


“My faithful son,” is murmured fondly above him. A strong hand grasps his bicep and pulls him to his feet. “We are truly blessed to ease our suffering so.”


And Cesare assents, and he and his father remove themselves from the confessional with practiced ease. His father walks briskly away; his fidgeting subsides. And Cesare will return to his rooms to fast, and pray, and wonder if one day, perhaps Lucrezia will share in their blessings.


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