[Fanfiction] The Promise 8/10

[berseker]

Title: The Promise 8/10
Authors: sakuratsukikage and berseker
Rating: PG-15
Pairings: Brazil/Argentina
Summary: Luciano struggles to believe, and Martín thinks about something completely different.








Luciano didn’t sleep as well as he thought he would. It was better than the previous night, of course, but then, that was a very low bar. And he hadn’t been anxious, or anything like that, but he still had all sorts of weird dreams, and he could remember waking up many times all through the night, and going back to sleep to dream all over again.

And the dreams weren’t nightmares, just... things he wasn’t sure he wanted to see again. He could still recall some lost images, even if he couldn’t remember any logic or context. Something about the waves, and the rain, and the water dripping from Martín’s hair, small silvery drops running down his cheeks, how beautiful it was, even if it was all wrong. Keeping him like that, that is. In the rain. But all his stupid dream could see was how much Luciano had wanted him, and then that blindfold, and how striking it looked against his golden hair and the fair skin, and that mix of anger and desire and guilt. And Martín’s arms around him. And the taste of his kiss.

Luciano had wanted him for so long. It was sometimes hard to think back to before it, before he had known him, as if knowing Martín had rewritten his memories, his own history, somehow. So it was hard to know if he’d felt this way about him, at first. He remembered first looking into his eyes and being startled by the color, but he couldn’t remember if that had been accompanied by the strange twisting jolt in his stomach he got now when he looked at Martín and he was particularly handsome. Which was usually. Maybe that had come later. But whenever he saw Martín in his dreams, he felt it, now, almost dizzy with how much he wanted him, how much he felt for him. Even on the ship, he’d been dizzy with how much he felt, even when part of it was angry, bitter, hurt. Maybe that was part of why he’d felt so strange, the thing that had come over him.

And then her. Luciano had seen her too, and he was used to having her visits in his dreams, especially when he was here. It was one of the reasons why he didn’t like to come, but this time it hadn’t even been painful. Or maybe it had, but in a bittersweet sort of way. Her smile. Her stories. And he had been complaining about it, because the story had changed since the last time, and she was always doing that, and she was laughing because she did it on purpose, and this time when he woke up he tried to remember what the story was, but he couldn’t recall a word of it.

So it hadn’t been a nightmare or anything, just too intense to be considered pleasant. And there was too much of it, like his feelings were trying to sort themselves out when he was asleep, but not in a bad way. Right now, he felt…

Luciano didn’t know. But he didn’t want to go back to sleep, so he got up and opened the window, and took a deep breath, feeling the crisp scented air from the plantation. It was calming, in a way. He had this fleeting mental image of taking Martín to a nightly walk, so he could show him all the little ways the place could be magical. They could catch fireflies.

He had actually said that, had told him about it and the way she would do that. It felt so strange. Things like that shouldn’t be shared. And he had never thought he would share it with Martín, of all people. That he would be interested enough to hear it.

Luciano smiled, his eyes still closed. He didn’t have to think about it now, did he? This could wait. Everything could wait.

So, enough of this. He closed the window, trying to come back to reality, and then changed into his everyday clothes. They were probably nowhere near as good as what Martín would wear. Considering all the stuff he had brought and all. But it wasn’t like Luciano had made them himself, either, like he had said. So there.

Martín had apologized right away. And that had hurt, back then, but now it was just... something he had said. It didn’t sting. Like last night, when they had found themselves talking about things that should have hurt, would have, any other time, but just... hadn’t. At all. Paris, and Luciano’s crew. And Lord Kirkland - who would always have the title in Luciano’s mind - and Francis Bonnefoy. It made him hopeful, made him wonder if it could always be like that. If they could talk around the worse parts and build other memories together, something that wouldn’t make them fight, or... he didn’t know. Maybe.

Everything was quiet now, and he had the whole house to himself. He tried to decide if he wanted to make himself some coffee or just wait for Martín so they could have their breakfast together. This would take a while, Martín had always hated waking up early. And he wasn’t in the mood to do it anyway.

So he went back to the porch, and sat on the same chair he had used last night. Someone should have brought it inside, in case it rained, but he wasn’t going to worry about that either. He stole Martín’s pillows, to make himself more comfortable, and waited for the sunrise.

It was hard to imagine Martín being part of all this. He was always so restless. What was Luciano supposed to do to entertain him, take him to visit the neighbors?

Though there were other things he could do to entertain Martín, of course. But he didn’t know how Martín felt about that. He’d seemed so uncomfortable, back in the carriage, but maybe that had just been because of the way Luciano had been acting, because he hadn’t... he hadn’t acted... well. But Martín had said... implied, at least, that he wanted Luciano, too. Hadn’t he? That he didn’t – wouldn’t – mind? For some reason, that made Luciano’s cheeks feel hot, thinking about it. He’d wanted Martín for so long, but almost hopelessly. He’d never thought this would happen, and now- now. But maybe he should give Martín time? Not quite like courting a girl, because Martín wasn’t anything like a girl, Martín was Martín, but-

Just look at me, he thought. So much for not mixing things up. For trying not to get too involved.

Now he could see the faint trace of light in the horizon, and he let the beauty and familiarity distract him. He had done this so many times, before going away. In his other life.

Martín had been amazing about it. Holding him, and kissing his hair, and just being there, close and solid and warm and accepting like that. So unlike the arrogant boy Luciano remembered. Or the brave, stoic soldier he had tied to a mast. It almost made him wonder how he could have changed so much. If it was just a matter of growing up, as he had put it.

And then that small, rational part of him that he could never shut up was surprised at how terrified that thought made him feel. But it did, enough to shatter that quietness and the last traces of sleep, because just thinking it made it hard to ignore it, and- but that was stupid. He wasn’t worried about that, about all this actually being some very complicated revenge plot, not really. Even if he had said it. He knew Martín couldn’t act – no, he knew he wasn’t that sick. And it had been so real. All the things they had said, and, and everything, his smile that night at the ball, when he saw Luciano and his eyes lit up like he had just found everything he would ever need in his life, and then the kiss and all the others that followed, that had the power to make Luciano so stupid, to make him careless and reckless and as brave as Martín, kissing him in broad daylight, and willing to do it again. The shock and the hurt in Martín’s eyes last night at the carriage, when Luciano knelt in front of him, everything, he knew he couldn’t be lying. And he had promised to stop that, had told Martín he would try to believe him, that he wouldn’t do this- this thing he was doing now.

He wished the idiot would wake up already, and come here to snap him out of this. Kiss his hand like he had done yesterday, smiling all the time, so, so happy for being here. With him. It had to be real. He just had to get a grip, and stop panicking.

He could do it. He was always mocking Martín for not being able to control himself – inside his head, right, but he was - so he knew he could do it. And. It didn’t matter. Right? Because they were here. He could feel that dark, painful anger he had felt at the ship, that moment when the battle was over and he saw who was the enemy, just who he had been fighting against. He was here, his home, his house, his world, his territory. More than his house in Rio, in ways Martín couldn’t even imagine.

And. That broke the spell.

Completely. In less than one second, the fear and the threatening rage were gone, to leave a strangely empty feeling, this surprise that swallowed everything else, because- Martín had done this. Hadn’t he? And Luciano had never seen it that way, because even if he knew Martín should be hurt and mad about what Luciano had done to him, he had been too caught up in his own pain to really think about it, and about all the blind trust that Martín had been showing from the start, because – Martín was reckless, but he wasn’t stupid – even if sometimes he made that hard to believe - so he had to know that Luciano could do pretty much whatever he wanted to him, now. That he could be the one unwilling to let go of the revenge - after all, Luciano had been very clear about the fact he was still bitter. And yet, Martín had never been afraid of coming.

He wondered if that idiot had even mentioned to someone where he was going. And at the same time it made sense, just like Luciano couldn’t stay away from him no matter how much he decided to do it, that Martín wouldn’t be sensible when it came to him. Right? Maybe this was just the kind of thing they had. Stupid, and irrational, and stronger than both of them, always looking for the light, wanting to happen, deciding it would happen, no matter what it cost.

Destiny.

The sun was rising. Luciano watched, feeling numb, that something big had just happened inside him, that Martín had just given him something too precious for words without even knowing. So he just stood there, waiting, watching the light spreading over the fields and every small blade of grass. Listening to the noise of the slaves waking up, feeling the smells coming from the kitchen. Coffee, and milk and chocolate. He could have even dozed off a little, he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t feel like a long time before he heard the sound of Martín’s boots on the wooden floor.

He got up to welcome him. And yes, Martín was well-dressed as ever, and he looked great - maybe it was just him, he was one of those people fortunate enough to look amazing no matter what.

Even if he looked a little too serious, but this was normal. Luciano still remembered how many times he had smiled to himself because Martín always looked a little sulky in the mornings. And Martín seemed to guess what he was thinking, because he gave a wry smile himself and then rested his hand on Luciano’s shoulder, and then kissed his cheek.

Luciano held his waist, feeling warm again. This was the reality he had hoped for, the way his clothes felt under his palm and the firm, lean body underneath, and Martín’s arms around his shoulders. So for a second there they just held each other, first a little awkward, and then tightly, as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages.

“Good morning to you too,” Luciano said, when they let go.

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes. You?”

He wasn’t going to mention the dreams to him. Or his little insane moment afterwards. Looking at Martín, and how normal he looked - if a little too serious - made him feel a little guilty about it.

“Yes, of course,” Martín answered, covering a yawn with his hand. “What about breakfast? I think I’m hungry.”

“It’s waiting for you, Your Highness.”

But he smiled, to show he was joking, so Martín just gave him a smug look, and let himself be led to the room.

And he seemed pleased with the variety of food, so Luciano didn’t feel too embarrassed for offering all that to just one person. They had coffee and milk and chocolate and juice and cream and at least two different kinds of biscuit, and bread and butter and jam and fruitcake and this was completely ridiculous, but hey. Luciano was sure he wouldn’t have to throw it away. And anyway lunch yesterday had been like that too.

He could go all out if he wanted to.

Martín was probably used to it. He didn’t seem to find anything strange about it, and Luciano was a little amused to see him favoring the sweets. He tried a little of everything, and gave Luciano a little dubious look over the one with coconut and orange juice, but he ate it anyway. This one was covered with icing sugar, so when he was done, there was still sugar in the corner of his lips.

Luciano didn’t say anything. He raised his hand, cleaning the sugar with the tip of his fingers. Martín’s eyes filled with surprise, but then he turned his face, pressing his cheek into Luciano’s hand. His lips were soft, damp against his skin, and Luciano could feel the soft texture of his eyelashes. He caressed his cheeks with his thumb, trying to find something to say.

Martín solved this for him.

“Will we do that again this night?”

“Do what?”

“Stay outside to talk. I think we should. Then we’ll drink mate.”

Luciano raised his eyebrows. Well. At least they were talking.

“... mate? Sorry, I don’t even have that-”

“I do.”

He held Luciano’s wrist, and then kissed his palm. Then he went back to deciding what he would eat next, and Luciano stared at him.

“You brought mate with you? With that... thing and the straw and all? Really?”

“Yes, and yes, why not? I’ll teach you how to drink it.”

“... you are so weird, Martín.”

“Why? It’s perfect for talking, you’ll see. And I’ll love to drink it with you.”

He said that as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The worst thing was, Luciano could see it. They could even turn this into a tradition, maybe. Even if the taste wasn’t exactly his most favorite thing ever, he could-

“So,” Martín said, “We need to- I want to ask you something.”

He was still thinking about the mate.

“I’m listening.”

“Not now. When I finish eating.”

“... right, then,” Luciano replied, a little confused. Why bring it up, then? He tried to guess what it could be, but he had no idea - it wouldn’t be anything bad, or Martín would have said it already. So he assumed Martín would change his mind in two minutes, and waited.

Martín didn’t. He just kept eating, and drinking coffee slowly, without saying anything else. It looked like he was making a point of avoiding Luciano’s eyes.

Ok, this was weird. And random. Even for Martín.

“Can I get a hint? Anything?”

“No.”

“Is there anything wrong? You can tell me. I just-”

“I said no hints.”

This time he smiled, but Luciano didn’t feel like smiling back. It looked more like Martín was enjoying making him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure he liked that. Not yet, anyway. So he just rolled his eyes, and decided he wouldn’t assume absolutely anything about this, wouldn’t get nervous about and wouldn’t drive himself crazy. He would just wait.

So he focuses on eating too, because it would be a waste to let Martín have everything. They had a brief squabble over the last cookie, and Martín held it so tight that he broke it in half, and then Luciano tried to get his half too, just to make a point, and this made him laugh.

“You’re hopeless,” Martín said, but he didn’t give him the cookie, so look who was talking.

When he finished, he looked at Luciano with a vaguely expectant look. Which was even weirder, because he was the one suddenly acting mysterious, but Luciano smiled anyway, to prove he wasn’t worried at all. And now he had to think of something to do with him. That didn’t involve visiting people, he wasn’t in the mood for that. Maybe he could show him around, visit harmless places - not her grave, right now he didn’t even want to think about it. He hoped Martín wouldn’t ask for that.

But when he asked, Martín looked a little disappointed - he tried to hide it, but Luciano could see it in his face, in the way he looked away for less than half a second, before giving him a smile that was more than a little forced.

“You decide,” he said, “Anything is fine by me.”

“Since when,” Luciano said, “Come on, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Not here,” Martín said, almost sternly, which made Luciano more annoyed than anything, and he would have snapped, but then he saw the silliness of it. They could wait at least until noon to fight, right? Since he was just thinking about how they would have to stop doing it all the time?

Anyway, he was right. The slave girls were starting to take the dirty cups and plates away, and they probably couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Not that they would need to. Not if they had seen Luciano touching his mouth like that, and the kiss this morning, and the kiss last night. And so on.

He didn’t want to think about that.

So he just sighed loudly, to make his point, and then got up, and said, “Fine, let’s go talk somewhere else.”

Martín nodded. He followed him to the living room, with that annoying vaguely regal look on his face, and then stopped when Luciano did.

“So. Want to sit down? Or we can find somewhere else, if you’re not happy here.”

Martín turned to him when he said that, and looked carefully at his face, but whatever he was trying to see there, he didn’t. He pressed his lips tightly, and that made Luciano’s heart skip a beat, because- what was going on here?

“Martín? Come on-”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“You said it. Just do it, I’ll try to answer the-”

"Do people really say that?"

"Say what?"

"That you're - what you said."

He looked suddenly embarrassed. Luciano started at him. Now he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"I don't know, what did I say?"

"About your- you being unforgettable? In bed?"

"... Oh God."

That was really, really, really unexpected. He didn’t even remember this- ok, no, he did, but he was trying not to. What was Martín trying to do? What was his problem?

"I'm just asking. And you said it. I think I need to know these things, and you -"

"I said I was sorry, didn’t I, I know I shouldn't have said that -"

"So it was a lie?"

“I just - look, I- why talk about it? It’s not important, is it? We should just forget about it.”

Martín looked away. And didn’t say anything. So Luciano tried again.

“You know I said that just because- well, I shouldn’t. I didn’t mean anything.”

“But you weren’t lying.”

He looked so serious now, as if this was a matter of life or death, as if he were... Luciano wasn’t going to say afraid, it was Martín, after all, but almost that. And this was probably one of the few times in all their history together that Luciano knew exactly what Martín wanted him so say. And Luciano couldn’t tell what his feelings were doing anymore, because he would have loved to say the right thing to please him, but at the same time he was upset because, what now, was he supposed to pretend to be a virgin? He was what he was, and Martín could just- he was about to say that, to inform Martín where he could shove his judgment, but then he looked at him.

Martín’s face was burning red now, and it went down his neck too, and he looked... well, like Martín, holding himself proud as ever, but his eyes there was this hint of hurt in his eyes, and Luciano started to feel bad again.

"I mean it, Martín, I was just - saying stuff, you shouldn't – erm. Listen to me. Just forget that."

"Why? What did you do to them?"

… now this was too weird. What the hell was he supposed to answer?

“Are you really asking that? You don’t want details, do you?”

Because if he did, then Luciano would have to kill him, just for being stupid. What the hell. But this made Martín flinch, and that was the opposite of what Luciano was trying to do, so he grabbed Martín’s arms, so he wouldn’t turn away, and tried to smile.

“No, wait, I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter, ok? I don’t even remember anymore.”

Assuming that was his problem. Because Luciano had no idea. Maybe he should have lied, it would have been easier.

“That’s good,” Martín said. He didn’t seem to mind Luciano holding him, and rested his own hands on Luciano’s shoulders. Which was good. Probably. Maybe. Then he seemed to reach a decision, and looked at him and said.

“Well, that doesn’t matter anyway. I just thought I should know what we're going to do."

What we’re going to do, Luciano thought, blankly. And he sounded so... so strangely, unfamiliarly awkward that Luciano had to blink a few times to make sure he was... really seeing this. And hearing this.

And then it hit him, and he thought, Martín wants to have sex with me, and oh, blessed Christ, now he couldn’t believe it. Now he felt nervous; his cheeks heating up and his palms and the back of his neck prickling with anxious sweat. And he almost told him he had been thinking about it just this morning, and maybe he should, tell him, that is, maybe it would make him feel better, but then he would end up saying he had been afraid, too, and he couldn't say that to Martín, it would be mean and unfair and it would ruin everything, and-

-he still couldn't believe this was really happening.

"Do. Right. So that’s what you’re saying.”

Martín looked away, and his face reddened still further. "Of course it is, you idiot," he said, but even though he didn’t look away, he bit his lip again. Luciano wondered if it were really true that he’d only ever had sex with girls before. He wondered how nervous Martín actually was. It didn’t seem possible. But he had been, in Paris, he’d basically said as much. And he hadn’t... done anything with men since, or anything, so... And hadn't he basically just asked how it was done?

“I’m just making sure,” Luciano said. “That we’re on the same page here. That you want to.”

Martín's skin was very, very flushed. "I just said that," he said, almost snapped it, and his hand tightened on Luciano's shoulders. “Well, unless you don’t. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

His eyes were very wide, and his cheeks flushed, and he kept biting his lip, then stopping, then biting it again.

"Stop doing that," Luciano said, and reached out, because he could, and slid his thumb over the place on Martín's bottom lip he kept biting. Martín glared at him, but he didn't say anything. "No, really," Luciano said, "you'll hurt yourself," and then he pulled his hand away and said, "all right. Then that's what we'll do."

“Well, don’t make me any favors. I just thought. I’m not asking anything, you know-”

“You don’t think I want you? Martín! Is that what you’re saying?”

And yes, he should have been a little more tactful about it, but this was going far off into completely insane territory, enough to make Luciano almost forget his own moment of fear right there, because, no, really, what? Martín tried to take a step back, but Luciano held him before he could, because they seemed to communicate better when they were close, and when they were silent, and because there was no way in hell he would let Martín go away now.

“I’m sorry, I swear I’m just trying to understand. That, what I said, was just... I was a little crazy yesterday, ok, I was out of my mind with worry and I wasn’t trying to dismiss you or anything, you’re not supposed to keep thinking about it, and I don’t know why you’re so worried, so- can you tell me?”

What Martín did was kiss his mouth, a sudden, harsh kiss that made Luciano gasp, and then open his mouth because- because. He closed his eyes, and kept his arm around Martín’s waist, the other hand raising to touch his hair, and pull him even closer, run his fingers through the soft strands, and leaning into the kiss, as if they could speak better through it, and make sure this would work, because it felt so awesome, so perfect, to kiss him like that.

Then Martín gave this short, choked laugh when he pulled away, and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Luciano’s.

“Worried, me?” he said, “Of course I’m not. Why would you even say that.”

“Silly me,” Luciano said. He paused, and then he added. “But I thought you knew that.”

“That you’re silly?”

“That I want you. You idiot. It’s not like I’ve been hiding it, you know?”

Martín hugged his shoulders, so Luciano couldn’t see his face anymore. But he could feel the warmth of his cheeks, the fast pace of his heart. Maybe all this was because he was... well, inexperienced, and he felt insecure about it? Could that even happen, Martín be insecure about something? Because that would be- well. Luciano wanted to tell him this wouldn’t be exactly his first time with someone like him - wait, it would, because he was different, but not his first time with a virgin, right, and anyway who cared about that? And that day at his cabin had been a stronger memory than anything he had ever done with other people.

But he knew it wouldn’t go well, Martín wouldn’t even hear this part. So he just held him, running his hand down his back.

“Right,” Martín said. “I know that.”

Luciano knew he wouldn’t say anything else, wouldn’t explain anything. That door was completely shut now. His pride wouldn’t let him, and. Luciano had handled it badly, too, he could admit that. But he would fix it. He held Martín’s waist again, gently breaking away from the hug, and then held his hand, and smiled.

“Let’s go to the bedroom? It will be more comfortable.”

Martín nodded. His eyes were still wide and he still seemed tense, but he said, "Yes, I guess,” and squeezed Luciano's hand again.

So, this meant it was solved, right? Maybe? Luciano couldn’t help feeling relieved. And he didn’t even try to hide it, he wanted Martín to see he was happy, and pleased, that he wanted this, and was glad that Martín wanted it too.

Because of course he wanted it. He thought about whether or not Martín would make noise in bed, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek, hard, against the thoughts and images that came to mind. The memory of Martín flushed and naked and sprawled across his bunk so clear in his mind he could smell the sweat and vinegar, could practically taste the dizziness that radiated off Martín's flushed, warm skin.

He pulled lightly at his hand, to lead him to the bedroom. His skin wasn't nearly so warm now, of course, but it was still warm, his hand dry and surprisingly hard against his, strong, but then, he had been a soldier, and a sailor. An officer and a gentleman, Lord Kirkland had said once. Martín had always made a good gentleman, except when he was breaking Luciano's heart, that was. Luciano wasn't sure how he'd been as an officer, but he could imagine it, Martín barking orders to his crew, Martín standing with one hand on the wheel of his ship -"You know," Luciano said, and his voice sounded a little breathless despite himself, and he thought it was kind of an offer, something to put Martín at ease, "I thought you looked handsome in your uniform, back at that party."

It worked. Martín turned to him, and he looked surprised, his eyes very wide, and his slim golden eyebrows practically climbing into his hairline, but then he grinned, wide and pleased, and his cheeks flushed in a flattered, happy sort of way that made him look like he was glowing. "You weren't bad yourself," he said. "But then, you're never bad, yourself."

And for some reason that made Luciano's stomach flip over, made him feel flushed and pleased and happy.

He opened the door, and let Martín enter first, and Martín shook his head at him, but for once he didn’t complain. He walked to the middle of the room, and then straightened his shoulders, as if he were preparing to march or something. "So," he said. "What now?"

Luciano took a deep breath, and then smiled at him. It was probably Martín’s fault, but now everything seemed to be so solemn.

He locked the door and turned to him, and for a moment it felt like he was about to do something he had never done before.