He blamed a lot of things. The years away from the hustle and bustle of the Citte. The stress of being called back for so much coin. The worry of the case, for his friend. It was a lot for anyone to take, let alone him.
Then there was.. Kalden. A large imposing man, cut of blue cloth and easily mistaken for a brute at first glance. He was anything but. A healer first, a fighter second. He had retired to run an orphanage, again putting others before himself without a hint of concern it seemed. He pushed, always pushing. For him to talk of all things! About his emotions and how he was feeling, like any of that mattered. Like it had ever really mattered. His feelings and emotions had gotten him into his damn mess and he would very much like to do without them, thank you very much. Yet still, he persisted. He wanted to be mad, he was a little but not enough. Not really enough to make him stop and it was like Kalden knew that his words rung hollow, were lip service in their own way but he kept it up.
Cicero did not want to talk right now. He wanted to do anything but talk. Too much, too many words that buzzed around his head like flies. Like vultures. Picking and plucking at him until it seemed like he would need to crawl out of his own skin to get away and then there was Kalden. How did he know? Cicero was sure, so very sure, that he'd not been obvious. That he'd kept his cards close to his chest but again, Kalden was there. Pushing. Large hands on his own, pulling him aside. Voice, low and soothing in ways that Cicero wanted to deny but Gods he was just so tired? So tired that he just...said yes.
It was freeing, saying yes. The yes meant a lot of things. Yes, he was tired; yes, he wanted a break even for a few minutes; yes, he wanted. Wanted it all to stop, to freeze. Give him time to breathe in a way that he hadn't been able to since he stepped off that boat. Perhaps even since he'd stepped onto it. Yes meant a lot of things and it especially meant yes to the lips on his own.
They were in an alley way; granted, it was dark and they were tucked far back enough to not really be seen but it was still an alleyway and perhaps that made it easier? It was almost like it was not fully real, like they'd stepped out of time for awhile. Lips and beard and breath against his face. Hands curling slowly about his waist and [gods] he knew Kalden was bigger but did not appreciate until his waist was spanned and he was lifted up between him and the cool wall. This was what he needed, what he craved. A moment, a slice that he did not have to do anything but feel and oh did it feel good!
The Mariner was all he could see, filling his vision before he closed his eyes to bare his neck, demanding. A quick warning of no marks, he couldn't bare any in his line of work, but he did not need worry. He was careful, teeth a bare whisper of what could be and yet couldn't; tongue hot and oh so perfect. He almost wished he could have marks, just to find out how Kalden would give them but no use crying over spilled wine. This was enough, more than enough. Tightening his legs just to feel the stretch in thighs spread wide around Kalden's girth brought a wave of want. Big, he was so damn big. The feel of wavy hair, and wasn't that ironic? The mariner had wavy hair, between his fingers as he held that mouth against him and oh! His favorite part. Hot and heavy against him, toes curling in his boots. If they only had time, but they did not and he squirmed a hand down only to have it batted away,
“Let me.” Deep and low in his ear and fuck if he could resist groaning at it, hands going back to Kalden's hair as he tugged that mouth against his. He would distract then, if he insisted Cicero was not to touch. Distract from the rising heat that drowned out the voices so thoroughly that he'd have cried in relief if he had not already forgotten about them under the kisses.
And what kisses they were! Later, he'd sigh at himself for attributing everything to the blasted sea and waves like some sort of third rate minstrel but he did kiss like the sea. Calm and tranquil at one moment, rough and encompassing the next. He never knew what to expect and when to expect it. He loved it.
He also loved those hands that curled under his thighs, his ass. That squeezed and stroked and so easily held him up with just one as the other busied itself between them. A little awkward, the position and angle not lending itself very well to the action but it was enough to slip two fingers inside Cicero's now opened pants and enough to give Kalden a moan to muffle.
Gods above but he felt good. Kalden's hand was work rough, calloused in places different than what he himself had. Oars to swords, one might say. They felt lovely against his cock, stroking and rubbing until they were slick and damn it all to hell, he couldn't move enough in this position! No doubt part of the damn man's nefarious plan if his chuckle was anything to go by!
“Mariner! If you do not hurry u-! Guh!” words cut off into an embarrassing sound as a thick finger slid down. Down down under his sack and curled in just the right way to have him arching sharply, words lost. Good, so good. Hips squirmed and shuddered, pressing down to get another taste that was obliged by Kalden as he did it again, whatever it was. It was good, so good. Lips against his made him realize he had been getting a little loud and he clenched at Kalden's hair to keep him there, groaning into his mouth. Let him have what he wrung from Cicero, let him drown in it so long as he did not stop.
A voice, so quiet and faint that he barely heard it, noted that shouldn't Kalden be getting something as well? He was still fully clothed was he not? But it was lost almost as soon as Cicero grasped for it when Kalden shifted and that was his entire palm pressed there. So Cicero could squirm against it, grind while those damnable fingers pressed and rubbed and coaxed him ever higher.
He was lost. In the kisses; hot and wet and full of Cicero's ever rising cries that were swallowed down greedily. Lost in the way he could only move so much, squirm so much as he was so fully encompassed by Kalden's everything. Hands, mouth, heat and scent and then he was found. Eyes widening and then rolling back. Stars flashing in his vision as he bucked as much as he could. He was sure he pulled on Kalden's hair but he didn't stop. Working him through it until Cicero was turning his face to gasp out a ragged plea. Enough, enough he couldn't.
It was a good thing Kalden was already bearing his weight as it was all Cicero could do to remember how breathing worked. In and out right? What about seeing? Forget walking, that was not on the agenda right away.
For long moments, he basked in the warm kisses pressed to his face and neck. Warm and sweet and asking of nothing, even now. Even when he could feel Kalden against him and it must be painful by now, right? Shouldn't he return the favour? But Kalden just chuckled at the question and this close he could feel it as if it rumbled through him like thunder, and there was another one! Dammit.
He was set down, tucked in and cleaned up as Kalden cleaned off his hand and tucked the dirty handkerchief into a back pocket. “There is not time now. Perhaps later, if you want.”
Not a refusal but, a delay. An offer for more should he wish it, accompanied by a kiss to his forehead before he stepped back with that same smile. As if he had not kissed Cicero breathless, not touched him as he had; like the world had not paused for it all, yet he did not feel.. displeased. He was not happy - he doubted he'd ever be happy in these lands - but he was unwound, slightly. Enough that he could breathe, the voices a quiet murmur in the back on his mind rather than a loud cacophony that threatened to overwhelm him.
He could do nothing but nod, busying himself with adjusting his clothes though he did not really need to. Licking his lips nervously brought the taste of salt and he started to speak, having no idea what to say really when a commotion stalled his words.
They turned to the end of the alley in unison and just like that, Time marched ever forwards. He could let it pass, this moment. Let it go like nothing had happened and never would but...he didn't. “We will speak of this, later.” It was quick, was it what he had been going to say before? He didn't know, but it was enough. It had to be.
“Of course, Inspettore.” It was, he could tell by that twinkle in Kalden's eye before he turned at another wave of shouts. “We should check that out.” And they were off, running off into what was likely more danger, more threats but Cicero knew there would be a time. Perhaps not soon, but soon enough. Hopefully he'd have something better than attributing everything the Mariner did to the damn sea.
fandom: masquerada: songs and shadows
pair: cicero/kalden
words: 2215
ao3 version here. this definitely is what should have happened during the game. definitely. kissing as a disguise definitely definitely should have happened.
It was not, he supposed, one of the strangest situations he'd ever been in. Surely there had been more instances, varied and colorful, over the last few years; the fact that he could only remember some as little more than their consequences lent credence to that belief. Certainly, there were few things as odd as creeping around the sewers in disguise, with a Mariner in tow, but having ended up in the gutter on more than one occasion, Cicero couldn't help but feel that this couldn't rank too highly on that list.
His companion was an odd sort; why he was so desperate to find his brother, despite not having spoken with him for years, was perhaps even stranger than their situation. Despite their differences in ideology, he and Cyrus had still spoken, and often. It only stopped when—
Hm. That was not a helpful train of thought. He shook his head to clear it, and very nearly walked straight into the Mariner's back. A large hand shot out to help steady him as he stumbled; Cicero took it by instinct, and rather than continuing to ruminate on his brother, found himself instead marvelling at the difference between their two hands. He had seen the proof of it when the ladder had broken beneath the man's bulk, and was reminded again whenever they stood shoulder to shoulder — head to shoulder: Kalden Azrus was an absolute mountain of a man. Cicero couldn't stop his mind wandering, the quiet, dark parts wondering—
"Inspettore?" The voice was soft, but puzzled, snapping Cicero out of his thoughts and the strange turns they were taking. He looked up into dark eyes, which glanced back down to where their hands were still clasped. "Is everything alright?"
"Ages," Cicero muttered, drawing his hand back quickly. "I'm sorry, I was..distracted." He laughed, and was glad that it didn't sound nearly as forced as it was. "You're quite different from Razitof. I have to wonder just what your parents fed you, growing up. Must've eaten all your spinach, and Razitof's share as well, hm?"
It was far from the response he thought he would get as the Mariner straightened up, his expression seeming to shutter as he turned away. "No," was all he said, before turning back to the mouth of the alley they occupied.
Far from put out, Cicero instead felt...what? Curiosity, surely, at that reaction. Perhaps also a touch of regret? He hadn't thought to reach a sore spot so soon, and with what he'd thought to be a harmless jest. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it just as quickly. Chances were high that anything he said to excuse himself would only exacerbate the issue; instead, he crept up next to the man, checking to make sure their way was clear. He let a hand settle on Kalden's bare forearm, blinking in surprise upon realizing there was a tattoo there. Interesting. He didn't really seem the type. Hidden depths, Cicero had to remind himself. People are not so simple as to be one-dimensional; everyone has hidden depths, and Kalden is no different.
Once he was sure he had his attention, Cicero offered a small smile. "I...apologize, for any misstep I might have made. It was not my intent to offend, in whatever way I did; I'll be sure to take more care with my words, in the future." And then, without waiting for a response, he darted out of the alley. "Come. The coast is clear, for now."
It was gratifying, then, that Kalden followed him without word or question. They made their way across what must surely have been a trading square, dodging between abandoned stalls and tables. Cicero hesitated for only a moment before swiping an apple from a forgotten bushel; he rubbed it against his borrowed sleeve before taking a bite, and only noticed after that Kalden was watching him, an eyebrow raised.
"What is it, Mariner?"
"You cannot be certain where that shirt has been," Kalden said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And I believe that may have been someone's produce to sell. Should an Inspettore really be stealing from the people?"
"Pah," Cicero dismissed the words with a wave of his hand. "The whole area's been all but abandoned! I'm merely saving this poor apple from a horrible fate, of rotting away and never fulfilling its potential as a food." He paused, thinking. "Though, you may have a point about the shirt."
It earned him a low chuckle, and Cicero had to look away quickly, busy himself with taking another large bite of apple. That was...an interesting sound. Fascinating, really, how it seemed to rumble deep in Kalden's broad chest before eventually tumbling from his lips. Cicero found himself wanting to hear it again.
They were working, however. This was neither the time, nor the place. Nor the borrowed outfits, despite how suited Kalden was to his.
"Anyway," Cicero coughed, once he'd finished chewing. "I believe we'll be heading that way," and he gestured to a nearby street. "We should—"
He was interrupted by a clattering on the other side of the plaza, and the two of them darted around the closest corner. Cursing echoed after them, as well as unfamiliar voices.
"Would you shut up!"
"Sorry, sorry! Someone scattered some damn bottles, nearly twisted my ankle!"
"Well, maybe if you weren't so clumsy—"
"Hey, who're you calling clumsy?!"
"Will the both of you shut up! Or did you forget we're looking for someone?!" The other two voices quieted immediately. "Alfons and Edvard didn't just lose their clothes, someone had to have taken them. We have to find and stop whoever that is!"
"Right!" "Of course! Sorry!"
Damn. It only made sense that they'd be found out; such a ruse couldn't possibly last. Cicero had hoped they'd had more time, however, and he glanced around as his mind raced. They were in a small, shaded alley, whose only outlet would deliver them straight into their pursuers' hands. That was not an option, not so quickly, but if he and Kalden were to stay put, they would surely be discovered. They needed to hide in plain sight, to have their stalkers turn their gazes of their own accord. His mind turned back to the five years he'd spent adrift, and of the fastest way he knew to disappear.
"Ages. Mariner, this way."
Cicero grabbed Kalden's arm, dragging him further into shadow. Far enough that the colors of their clothes were muddled by the darkness, hopefully indistinguishable between the Maskrunners' uniforms and a Contadani's day to day. The footsteps of their pursuers were getting louder; they must have left a trail, where they cleared debris from their path. Cicero looked up at Kalden, who was frowning toward the mouth of the alley.
"Should we not simply fight?" he muttered, before looking down at Cicero. "It sounds as though there are only the three; I'm sure—"
"Not without calling attention to the skirmish," Cicero interrupted. He winced as a basket went rolling past their alley. "And I'm afraid that is time we do not have to waste." They were getting closer. He needed to act, and quickly. He grabbed Kalden's hands, settling them on his waist, before hooking his own at the back of Kalden's neck. Tried very, very hard not to think about how thoroughly those large hands spanned his waist. "Forgive me," he murmured, before pulling him down for a kiss.
It was, admittedly, not the best plan. Hell, it was barely a plan at all. When he thought about all the various ways this could backfire, it very nearly made Cicero laugh; the Maskrunners would simply need to come into the alley, or Kalden could shove him away. He would be well within his right to, if he did, and so all Cicero could now was wait, and hope. Hope that the party seeking them would be so embarrassed by public affection so to turn away, hope that Kalden would trust him to let this work.
And somewhere deep in his chest, hope that this did not completely unravel what thin ties they had been already begun weaving.
Kalden froze against him nearly immediately. It was hardly unexpected. Cicero was well aware of how they would be treated if they were discovered, and a pang of guilt struck through him at how this might damage Kalden's reputation. His own was run so ragged and tarnished already that the thought of one more stain didn't bother him in the least; Kalden, however, was far from a disgraced exile. He might have a life, a family — the thought of upending whatever quiet life Kalden had made for himself twisted in Cicero's gut.
It was too late for regrets, however. Not a second later, a pair of shadows appeared at the end of the alley. Cicero could barely see them past Kalden's shoulder, found himself praying that their posing was convincing enough. The figures stood there for a moment, assessing — Cicero couldn't tell if they were watching the two of them, or if they were looking at something else — before thankfully, blessedly moving on.
"Nothin' down there, Liv."
"Yeah, maybe they escaped into one of these buildings? That one's got a smashed window, they could've climbed in there!"
"Then what are you two waiting for? Go on!"
The figures at the end of the alley were joined by a third, and Cicero could hear a quiet, derisive "don't they know what's going on right now?" before the three of them moved, past the alley and away.
Cicero let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, sagging into Kalden and leaning his head against his shoulder as relief washed through him. They hadn't been found out, not yet; it was this thought that kept his arms around Kalden's shoulder, to keep up the appearance of intimacy between them. There was no way to tell whether or not their pursuers would come back, or if someone else was following after them. The safest thing to do was to keep up pretenses, for at least a moment longer.
"Cicero—" Kalden's voice was tense, a deep, low whisper against his ear that sent a shudder down Cicero's spine. Ages. Who allowed this? At least he was keeping his voice down, quiet enough that only Cicero could hear. "What are we doing?"
He laughed against Kalden's neck, almost giddy at the fact this new ruse had succeeded. "At the moment? Keeping up appearances, in case those three return." Truly, I can't believe this worked, he thought, and bit his lip to keep from giving it voice. Best not to let Kalden know how unsure he'd been about all this, that he hadn't been remotely close to positive the deception would succeed.
Kalden only sighed deeply. "And before?"
Cicero watched for a moment more, before stepping back from Kalden. It was a strange shift, nearly unbalancing him; he hadn't realized he'd been standing on the tips of his toes to make himself tall enough. "I learned...a while ago, that most people are not fans of public displays of affection. To see a loving couple doting, or embracing — most turn their eyes away, so as not to stare. It makes people uncomfortable, so they unconsciously stop themselves from seeing it."
"And you figured that this would protect our anonymity?" There was a strange quality to Kalden's voice, something that Cicero couldn't quite place. "What if we had been discovered?"
His hands had curled into fists, Cicero realized. He took a deep breath. "Then we would have summarily dispatched them, and whatever reputation you may have here in the Citte would be safe." Cicero chewed at the inside of his lip, just for a second, before looking at him. "I am sorry. It was the quickest way I could think of to keep their eyes off of us. And if things had taken a turn for the worse, I assure you, the blame would fall squarely on my own shoulders. I would not allow it any other way."
Kalden was quiet for a moment, watching him. His hands, at least, had unfurled as he'd been speaking. "You are an…interesting man, Cicero."
A quiet chuckle, and Cicero nodded. "Thank you. It's far from the worst I've been called, and you would be well within your right to call me worse; I'll gratefully accept interesting, from you."
He turned then, creeping up to the mouth of the alley and peering around the corner. There was no sign of the people who had been chasing them, having apparently climbed into one of the buildings adjacent to theirs and kept moving. It was a stroke of luck, and not one that he intended to waste.
"Let's go, Mariner," he murmured, gesturing back at him. "We've got work to do, after all."
Again, Cicero found himself surprised when Kalden followed after him. Surprised, but also relieved. No doubt the man wanted to find his brother, and that was the reason; still, it was something of a comfort to know he hadn't yet cost himself an ally. Whether or not the partnership would last remained to be seen.
For now, at least, it was enough. They had a job to do, after all.
