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Zurich - Night 3 (Friday, May 19th) - Silvio's diario
jc_of_politics
jc_of_politics
Zurich - Night 3 (Friday, May 19th)

Poster's note:  This entry should be preceded by the Vlad-Dominique and Silvio-Dominique phone calls.  It immediately follows Kat-Dominique 2.  The entry is posted behind a cut due to length.

The elevator doors open and he walks down the corridor toward his room.  He’s tired, but can’t think why; he’s done nothing but spend the afternoon on a bench talking to that woman (Ekaterina, the psychiatrist, Vlad’s psychiatrist) about … he doesn’t quite remember; it was supposed to be about Vlad, but he thinks it ended up being about other things … about himself?  He waits for a moment to see if the memory will surface; when it doesn’t, he shrugs and continues to his door.  When he unlocks the door and pushes it open, it scrapes over a small envelope lying on the carpet.  “Already?” he thinks, alarmed, and stoops quickly to pick it up and open it.

 

Just a room number and a time (still two hours off, he notes with relief).  No reminder not to be late.  It’s as though the writer knew that warning was no longer necessary.

 

He looks at the bottle of cognac, seal still unbroken, sitting on the desk right where he’d put it earlier.  There’s plenty of time for a quick drink or two to build up his courage, or maybe just numb himself for the evening ahead.  Tempting, yes, but too dangerous.  Silvio would notice, and Silvio wouldn’t be pleased.  And that doesn’t bear thinking about.  No, safer to stick to water.  A glass of water to quench his thirst, a nice long shower to wash away any lingering traces of Ekaterina’s perfume (no point in raising questions in Silvio’s mind), fresh clothes, lip-gloss and mascara (“to tart myself up,” he thinks bitterly), and he’ll be ready to go.  He turns and locks the door behind him, then begins stripping off his clothes.

 

*************************

 

When the knock on the door comes, he’s just knotting his tie.  “Momento!” he calls out, adding a butter-yellow cashmere cardigan to his outfit of charcoal trousers and white shirt.  He looks at himself critically in the mirror, checking his freshly-shaven cheeks for any traces of stubble.  Satisfied, he moves toward the door, pulling some bills out of his pocket as he goes.  He’s already speaking as the door swings open.  “Come in, come in.  Just put the cart by the window.  We’ll --- “.  Suddenly something makes him stop and look up.  Instead of the room service waiter with his cart, Dominique is standing there, looking awkward and uncertain.  Both men begin to speak at the same time; Silvio’s surprised “Caro!” drowned out by Dominique’s “I’m sorry.  Am I too early?  Shall I go away and come back later?”

 

Flashing a quick smile, Silvio reaches out, taking Dominique’s hand and drawing him into the room.  “Don’t be silly, caro.  Come in and sit down.  Let me look at you.”

 

Dominique sits down on the sofa and leans back, looking for all the world like a man completely relaxed and at ease in his surroundings.  But Silvio has a good eye and he sees more; sees the shadows indicating lack of sleep under Dominique’s eyes (‘mascara,” he notes to himself, pleased), sees the tightness in the shoulders, sees the hands which refuse to stop trembling.  Frowning slightly, he closes the door and walks to the sofa, sitting down close beside Dominique, pretending not to notice how the younger man starts to flinch away before catching himself and stopping.  “Have you been drinking, caro?”

 

Dominique looks up at this, shaking his head in denial.  He suddenly seems fascinated by Silvio’s face, looking closely at his eye, his cheek, his lips.  Silvio smiles.  “I told you I’d recovered.  Let me prove it.”  Without further warning he leans forward, pressing his mouth hard against Dominique’s and using his tongue to probe Dominique’s lips seeking entry.  Dominique gasps slightly and his mouth opens enough for Silvio’s tongue to push its way inside.  In his mind, Dominique is thinking “No, I didn’t allow it, he took advantage,” but deny it all he wants, he’s letting the kiss deepen, stroking Silvio’s tongue with his own, falling back against the sofa cushions, his hands finding and gripping Silvio’s shoulders, pulling Silvio down with him as he lets his legs fall open.

 

Silvio finally wrenches his mouth away, panting, looking deep into Dominique’s eyes which seem all pupil.  He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, letting his hands drift down to Dominique’s waist as he prepares to take his mouth once again.  But before he can move, there’s a polite but determined rapping at the door which, for all Silvio knows, has been going on for some time, and then a voice, equally determined.  “Herr Berlusconi, bitte!  Room Service.”

 

With a muffled curse Silvio stands, patting down his clothes and straightening his tie.  “Momento, momento per favore,” he calls out in a voice which sounds only slightly strangled. “I’m coming.”  Reaching down he grips Dominique’s hand and pulls him to his feet.  “Go into the bedroom, caro mio, and close the door.  I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out.”  When Dominique starts to protest, Silvio hisses at him.  “Go now!  Look at yourself.  Do you want him to see you like that?”  Dominique looks down, then quickly back up, his face red.  Without another word he goes into the other room and closes the door.

 

*************************

 

In the bedroom, Dominique stands for a moment with his forehead pressed against the door, willing away the evidence of his arousal.  He refuses to think what it means, that a mere kiss from Silvio could bring him to this state.  Finally under control he turns and looks dully around the room.  It’s different somehow from the last time, and he tries to understand why.  Well, candles for one thing; those weren’t present before.  And red roses, filling the room with a heady perfume that makes him feel suddenly ill.  “Vlad,” his mind tells him, before he cuts off the thought.  The bed has already been carefully turned down, and there’s a tissue-wrapped package lying on one of the pillows.  He isn’t curious to know what’s inside, and the bed bothers him with its air of anticipation, so he turns away and finds himself looking at a simple upholstered chair that been placed oddly in front of the closed door leading to the bathroom.  He’s puzzled, but before he can investigate further the murmur of voices in the other room stops, there’s a “Danke, Herr Berlusconi”, and the door of the suite opens and then closes again.  A moment later the bedroom door opens and Silvio is there, telling him that he can come out into the living room again.  With a last glance at the chair, Dominique follows Silvio out into the other room.

 

*************************

 

“I think, caro, that we should eat now, or we might not get to the table.”  Dominique hears the smile in Silvio’s voice and looks over at the room service cart laden with covered dishes.  Silvio is already busying himself there, talking over his shoulder to Dominique as he works.  “I just ordered a simple meal tonight … cold meat and cheese, bread, green salad, fresh fruit, a light summery wine.  Sit down, caro, you’re my guest here.  Let me fix a plate for you.

 

The last thing Dominique wants is to eat, but he knows better than to refuse, so he’s gracious when Silvio hands him a laden plate and a glass of the Rhine wine.  He tells himself not to be stupid, to remember the last meal he shared with this man, the humiliation of the public setting, of being “shown off” as Ekaterina put it.  So he chokes down mouthful after mouthful, and sips his wine, and thinks that to anyone who didn’t know, they could just be two colleagues sharing a quick meal before getting back to whatever matter is being dealt with.  Someone who knew what to look for, though, would interpret the scene differently; Silvio’s flushed face and hungry eyes, his constant touching of Dominique’s knee, his arm, his cheek would all tell a very different story.  Not two colleagues, but a man rich enough to buy whatever he wants, and a courtesan … no, make that a male whore, whose value lies in a skilled mouth and the things to be found between his legs.

 

Dominique’s bitter reverie comes to a halt when Silvio stands and takes the plate out of his hands.  Silvio takes the plates to the service cart, leaving them there and coming back to the sofa with the bottle of wine.  He freshens their glasses then sits down beside Dominique, closer than before, resting one arm along the sofa back behind Dominique’s head.  His fingers stray up, brushing Dominique’s hair, and then reaching around to cup his cheek.  The gesture is surprisingly tender for a man who some accuse of having no heart; Dominique, not planning it, turns his face into Silvio’s palm, kissing it.  Silvio’s low, throaty “Caro!” speaks volumes; putting down his wineglass he shifts on the sofa, drawing Dominique into his arms and kissing him tenderly.  Dominique has stopped thinking; his body has taken control and is responding to Silvio’s caresses, returning kiss for kiss.

 

Dominique slips to his knees beside the sofa, pulling Silvio down onto his side.  “Don’t move,” he says.  “I’ll do everything”.  Silvio groans in reply and reaches out, capturing Dominique’s head and pulling it down against the growing hardness in his trousers.  Dominique smiles, nuzzling Silvio, hearing him gasp and feeling him thrust up against him.  “Dominique, for the love of God ….”  It’s a strangled cry but Dominique understands it and reaches up swiftly to undo Silvio’s trousers.  Dominique has him in his mouth in seconds, licking and kissing and sucking, moving his head up and down while Silvio groans and bucks and fists his hair, calling on God, and the Blessed Virgin, and all the saints, and Dominique, Dominique, Dominique, shouting the last just as he pulses and begins to spurt against the back of Dominique’s throat.  Dominique swallows and keeps on swallowing until Silvio stills; as he lets Silvio slip from his mouth he’s caught and kissed fiercely, passionately, Silvio seeking and finding the taste of himself in Dominique’s mouth.  Finally, spent, the men are quiet together, Silvio still on his side, one foot dropped to the floor, Dominique on his knees, his head pillowed on Silvio’s chest.

 

*************************

 

Dominique is the first to stir, rising on stiff legs, standing and looking down at Silvio, who catches his eye and gives him a long, slow, satisfied smile.  He sees Silvio mouth the word “caro” and reach out to brush his fingers against Dominique’s trouser leg before letting the hand drop back down again.   Dominique smiles … a satisfied client, so good for morale … and reaches down to adjust himself.  He walks to the service cart, where he finds a pitcher of ice water and pours himself a glass, drinking it slowly as he stares out the window into the mild May evening.  When he turns back to the sofa, Silvio is sitting up watching him.  Dominique raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at Silvio’s unzipped state; Silvio blushes, tucking himself back in and fumbling with the zipper, hands made clumsy under Dominique’s eyes.

 

Silvio pats the sofa beside him, watching as Dominique crosses the room to join him again.  When Dominique sits, Silvio brushes his fingers against him, savouring Dominique’s gasp.  “We need to take care of that, caro, don’t we?”  There’s no answer expected, so Dominique doesn’t make one.  Silvio tells him to go into the bedroom, strip and make himself ready, but not to get into bed.  Instead, he’s to put on what he finds in the package on the bed, and when that’s done, he’s to call for Silvio to come in.  Puzzled but compliant, Dominique stands, bends down to kiss Silvio’s upturned mouth, and walks into the bedroom.  Silvio takes advantage of his absence to call Room Service and place another order for delivery later in the evening.  Then he pours a final glass of wine and waits for Dominique to summon him.

 

*************************

 

Back in the bedroom, Dominique takes his time, removing his clothing and carefully folding it..  He thinks about putting it on the chair, but decides against it, placing the clothes on the dresser instead.  Naked now, he walks to the bed and picks up the mysterious package.  He opens it to find a beautiful silk bathrobe, blue to match his eyes.  He looks at it in cold approval.  “Only the best for the best,” he thinks.  He puts on the robe, noting the weight of the silk and the way it feels against his body, imagining himself wearing it and carefully posed on a bed; imagining the reaction of a client who would see him in it for the first time, the colour setting off his eyes and hair, the lapels drawing the eye downward to the tightly-belted waist and below, where an oh-so-casual movement of his leg would cause the robe to slip back and reveal a bare thigh.  “Merci, Silvio,” he thinks.  “I hope you don’t imagine you’re the only one who will see me in this.”  Finally, turning to face the door, he calls Silvio’s name.

A few moments later Silvio appears in the doorway.  He stops, staring at Dominique.  “Perfect,” he says.  Bello.”   “Bellissimo.”  Dominique, gratified, and suddenly, stupidly, shy, looks down.  “Do you like it, caro mio?  Does it please you?”  Silvio’s voice, soft.  Dominique nods.  “Then I’m very happy.  Now come to me.”

 

Dominique does as he’s told (so much easier not to fight), reaching Silvio and standing in front of him.  There is a whispered “Kiss me, caro” and he complies, easier now, his mouth knowing the shape and taste of Silvio’s.  Silvio’s arms go round him; he feels hands stroking his back through the silk, and the sensation makes him shiver with pleasure.  He reaches out, wanting to return the favour, and slips off Silvio’s cardigan.  The tie goes next, and then he leaves the shirt to Silvio while he turns his own attention to Silvio’s belt and trousers.  The kisses are sharper now, hungrier.  Dominique moans into Silvio’s mouth and tries to thrust against him, but he’s stopped when Silvio gasps out “Wait, caro, wait.  Something better.”  Breaking free, Silvio finishes stripping, kicking off his trousers, shorts, socks, and shoes as one, then pulling Dominique to him, hardness against hardness, clutching and kneading Dominique’s buttocks through the robe.  Dominique’s head is spinning; he’s gasping out “Dieu!  Silvio!  Please!” without knowing or caring what he’s asking for, just needing.

 

Suddenly Silvio is walking him somewhere, kissing and caressing as they move through the room.  When they finally stop, it’s not at the bed, and Dominique moans in frustration, almost desperate now for release.  A low, throaty laugh from Silvio, “Later, caro, later; I promise you,” has just registered in his mind when he’s suddenly stopped, spun around, and pushed down into the chair.

 

The surprise of it shocks him sober, and as he looks around, realising it’s the chair in front of the bathroom door, Silvio steps around him to open the door and turn on the light.  Dominique finds himself staring into his own eyes reflected in a beautiful old cheval glass that’s been placed just inside the bathroom doorway.

 

Dominique continues to watch himself, hearing Silvio move around behind him, occasionally catching a glimpse of him in the mirror.  Silvio’s voice, a seducer’s voice, in the living room where lamps are being turned off.  “Look at yourself, caro.  See how beautiful you are.  Untie the belt of your robe and let it fall open.  Look at yourself.”  Slowly Dominique complies, looking at the play of light and shadow on his chest as it’s reflected in the mirror, spreading his legs and watching his aching erection spring to life.  Silvio’s voice is closer now, in the bedroom.  “I’m putting your money with your clothes, caro mio.  It’s 4 million for last time – the money you forgot to collect, and 4 million for tonight.  I told Vladimiro to tell you that I had your fee and would pay you the next time I saw you; I didn’t trust him to give it to you himself.  Vladimiro is a nice man, caro; I like him.  But he’s a bit of a prude, don’t you agree?  And so self-righteous.  Always thinking he knows what’s best for everyone.”  Dominique’s eyes close in pain at the mention of Vlad’s name, but some part of him listens to Silvio’s words and acknowledges the truth of what Silvio is saying.

 

The strike of a match, and candles are being lit, one after another, filling the room with a warm golden light.  The bedroom lamps are turned off.  Dominique watches in the mirror, fascinated.

 

Silvio is standing behind him now, locking eyes with him in the mirror.  “Touch yourself, caro.  See how good your hand feels.  Watch yourself do it.”  Dominique’s mind is at war with itself, one half saying “No, this is perverse, obscene”; the other half … the one controlling his hands, apparently … relishing the novelty of the exercise, relishing Silvio’s cleverness, moving his right hand closer and closer until the goal is reached and the contact of skin on skin makes him arch and begin thrusting instinctively.

 

Silvio has come around the chair now, stopping and looking down for a moment, then walking into the bathroom and turning off the light, leaving candlelight the only illumination.  He comes back, resuming his place behind Dominique, who has closed his eyes and is rolling his head from side to side as he thrusts into his fist.  Silvio watches for a moment, strongly aroused, then he bends lower, kissing and licking Dominique’s throat, pushing the blue robe off his shoulders and skittering his fingers across Dominique’s chest to find and roll and pinch his nipples, watching Dominique’s eyes fly open at the new sensation, watching his breathing grow laboured and his thrusts grow ragged as he approaches climax, finally whispering in Dominique’s ear “Come for me, amore, come now,” blowing a puff of breath into Dominique’s ear, then biting his shoulder hard, these last sensations too much for Dominique, who is shouting Silvio’s name as he shoots against his own chest and belly.  A moment more for Silvio to catch his own breath and watch, and then Dominique’s left arm snakes up around Silvio’s neck and pulls him down into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

 

Silvio’s around the chair as fast as he can move, taking Dominique by both hands and pulling him laughing and stumbling to his feet.  He pushes the blue robe back and down off Dominique’s arms, leaving it in a heap on the carpet.  That encumbrance gotten rid of, he walks him backwards until the back of Dominique’s legs hit the bed and he goes down on his back, lying there laughing.  Silvio fumbles hurriedly in the bedside table, finding what he’s looking for, and preparing himself.  Dominique’s legs are lifted up and draped over Silvio’s shoulders, and then hands are running up and down the soft skin of Dominique’s inner thighs.  He moans and tries to arch off the bed, but all movement suddenly ceases when first one finger, then two, slip easily inside him.  The bit of his mind that’s still trying to process all this rationally thinks “Lube!  Merci, Silvio”, then is drowned out by sensation as the fingers inside him begin to scissor, opening and stretching him, relaxing him.  A few minutes of this and Dominique is keening, begging without words for the next thing.  Silvio withdraws his fingers, but before Dominique can register that they’re gone, something thicker and blunter is slowly slipping inside him.  The keening goes up in pitch and Dominique’s fingers scrabble for purchase on the coverlet.  One final push and Silvio is fully inside.  Time stops for a moment.  Silvio shifts his feet, balancing himself better and settling Dominique’s legs more firmly on his shoulders.  Dominique feels Silvio deep inside him and recognises with a shock that he’s experiencing pleasure, not pain.  He gasps out “Silvio, please,” and Silvio takes that as permission to move.  Long, slow stokes at first, deep inside Dominique’s body, and soon Dominique finds the rhythm himself, rising off the bed as best he can to meet Silvio’s thrusts, then falling back, waiting until it’s time to rise up and slam against him once again.  They’re silent now; this is something primal, instinctual, and whether it’s that thought or something different that crosses Silvio’s mind, his thrusts suddenly become faster, shallower, more ragged, and then all at once he’s shooting, and Dominique feels the hot jets pouring into him, filling him, marking him, claiming him.

 

When he can move again, Silvio slips carefully out of Dominique, then eases his legs off his shoulders.  He pulls Dominique fully onto the bed, then lies down beside him, face to face.  He pulls the blankets up to cover them, and lies back down with a sigh.  Dominique is watching him, his expression unreadable.  Silvio whispers “Sleep now, caro.”  Dominique nods solemnly, then reaches out and takes one of Silvio’s hands, kissing it and then intertwining their fingers.  He pulls their joined hands against his heart, closes his eyes, and drifts off to sleep.  Silvio lies there, looking at Dominique, wondering why this game, this bit of amusement he started as a way to forget his election defeat, seems to have changed into something different.  He’s still awake, still trying to work out what it all means, an hour later, when a discreet tapping at the door announces the prompt room service waiter.  Silvio looks at his hand, still held prisoner by Dominique, and mentally shrugs.  “Go away,” he thinks.  “Take the champagne and strawberries back to the kitchen.  I’ve changed my mind.  Nothing else is wanted here.”

 

 

 

 

- fin -



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D/V CANON TRAIL: You are in Volume 10 ("Weekend of Silvio's Third Night"), Chapter 06
NEXT CHAPTER: Domi flees to Vlad's and tries to take drastic action to deal with his shame

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