Cesario wasn’t really a clubbing sort of man. Not usually, at least. But he had never been able to say no to Maria. She was younger than him, and perhaps her vivacity reminded him of himself before life had begun to bear down on him. Before he had learned the reality of being a Romano, of being a Dominant, and of what intense heartbreak could do to a man. He had sworn off love, and so watching Maria’s liveliness was enough to sustain him while he kept a careful guiding hand on her to teach her how to emulate him and thus avoid the mistakes he had made in life, career, and love. Of course, he couldn’t tame her into the pseudo-hermit he was much of the time.
Their celebration of the new year had found Cesario in a Spanish club of writhing bodies, a cocktail in one hand and his other grasped firmly in Maria’s as he was dragged into the center of the dance floor where the thrum of the beat matched the sway of hips. He had been a good sport for a few of the songs, and even had a few drinks for Maria’s benefit. But his enthusiasm for participating over observing waned as he fondly thought of his piano bench; his desk where he could make progress on his latest project; or his bed where they would inevitably end up with Maria was too drunk to remember her own name and he wasn’t at all comfortable with leaving her alone for the night.
He had, of course, been right, and Maria had ended up nearly passing out in his Cadillac as he drove them to his house. At one point, when their friendship was still new, Cesario used to deposit her in his frankly luxuriant bed and then settle on his perfectly white couch to sleep off the impending hangover and ensure that Maria made it through all right. Now, she had been in his bed so many times that Cesario had found himself simply missing sleeping on his own mattress too much to afford her some societally expected distance. She had, after all, always encouraged him to join her in his bed, that it wasn’t a big deal. And it never had been, though he was accustomed to waking up beside her, and it did stave off his loneliness in spite of himself.
Cesario slept on his stomach, his face turned toward hers. So when she spoke, his dark eyes fluttered open and he gave a groan as he crawled toward wakefulness. “Happy New Year, Maria,” he said quietly, voice still groggy from sleep. “And no. You didn’t ask. If I recall correctly, you drank one, two… six shots of tequila last night and I hauled you into my Cadillac while you protested.” His voice pitched up as he moved to mimic her. “But Rio, 3 am is still early.” Laughing, he added, “So I mostly told you you were staying here. And you didn’t compain, of course, because my bed is perfect.”
“3?” She scoffed. “That is far too early.” Smirking, she stretched out, her eyes falling closed in the bliss of the stretch. “Muy perfecto..” Maria agreed, the spanish rolling off her tongue with sleepy laziness.
The only thing Maria liked almost as much as a deep percussive bass pounding through her body as she danced through a crowded club was waking up the next morning in Cesario’s cozy apartment. It felt like home to her, especially with Cesario by her side. Even if he did give her the most disapproving looks as she dragged him to the club. She could deal with that as long as she was rewarded with his world class hangover brunch the next morning.
“One of these days you’re going to start to enjoy yourself at the clubs I drag you to. I know you know how to dance. You just need to let go.” She quirked a brow at him, a playful smirk on her lips. Maria liked to tease him about being a homebody but at the end of the day their yin and yang dynamic was one she cherished. The older man taught her so many valuable lessons she couldn’t help but be grateful for just how much his personality contrasted her own.
“Tell me you at least flirted with some cute submissives..” She implored, rolling onto her side and propping her head on her arm as she met his gaze.
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