Warnings: Slash, sexuality, and nudity
Summary: Mercutio and Benvolio wake up in the morning. Fluff ensues. Rather kinky fluff. : ) This story can also be viewed on my LJ page.
Veni Scripsi Vici
A little background for those who haven’t read my other R&J fics: Remigio is Mercutio’s cousin and Paris’ brother. He tries to act as an older brother figure to Mercutio and they usually just end up driving each other crazy.
Eyes Closed and Lips Parted
Benvolio awakens to the warmth of his lover’s arms. He feels him stroking his hair. Smiling, he opens his eyes and is greeted by Mercutio’s green eyes smiling back. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was lying in Mercutio’s arms. He figures that they must have stayed in the same position the whole night. He knows that that is out of place somehow. As his mind recovers from drowsiness, he realizes why.
“Thou wast supposed to return home last night, wast thou not?”
Mercutio laughs quietly. “Sleep was too persistent to allow me a chance to depart. Besides, if I would have moved at all, thou wouldst have woken.”
“So thou didst hold me all the night?”
“Of course.” He leans in to press his forehead to Benvolio’s. “Waking with thee in my arms is a welcome contrast to being woken by Remigio,” he whispers. They both chuckle sleepily.
Benvolio sits up, stretching. “I am sure a servant could bring up breakfast for us both.” He moves to stand, but as he rises, Mercutio grabs him around the waist and pulls him back into bed. He lands against Mercutio’s chest with a laughing cry of surprise.
“Nay, good sir,” Mercutio protests, kissing Benvolio’s shoulders and neck in between words. “I have spent the night with thee in my arms and I have not yet done with thee.”
Laughing, Benvolio struggles to escape Mercutio’s forceful grip, to no avail.
“What, am I thy whore now? I shall do as I ple–” He is cut off as Mercutio the small of his back, making him shiver.
“Nay, thou shalt not, for thou art my prisoner,” Mercutio says, his head pressed to his lover’s back. He keeps his arms firmly wrapped around Benvolio’s thighs.
The moment Mercutio loosens his grip to change position, Benvolio takes his chance. Flipping Mercutio onto his back, he rolls onto him, pinning him to the bed. With one hand, he holds down both of Mercutio’s wrists above his head on the pillow. He knows that he doesn’t need to.
“Ah, thou art my prisoner now!” Smiling mischievously, he slowly reaches downward and grabs Mercutio’s crotch. Mercutio groans softly, giving Benvolio a wry smile.
“I see thou dost enjoy to torture thy prisoners as well.” He moans again, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as Benvolio’s grip tightens.
Massaging him firmly, Benvolio relaxes, closing his eyes and draping himself over his lover’s body. Nuzzling Mercutio’s cheek, he purrs, “Which enjoys it more: the captor or the captive?”
Mercutio laughs a low, quiet laugh. Keeping one hand clasped around Benvolio’s on the pillow, he wraps his other arm around Benvolio’s waist.
Benvolio holds the back of Mercutio’s head with his other hand. He kisses Mercutio’s face and neck over and over again, stopping occasionally to speak.
“Ay?” Mercutio’s voice comes out in a sort of throaty mumble. His eyes are closed and he smiles slightly under the onslaught of kisses.
“Sometimes” – kiss – “I wish that thou couldst be a woman.” – kiss – “Then,” – kiss – “we could be married.” – kiss.
Mercutio stays relaxed, but frowns slightly. “Yet if I was a woman, thou wouldst have no use for me.”
“Nay,” – kiss – “I am aroused by women” – kiss – “as fervently as men.”
Mercutio opens his eyes, cocking his head. “Thou art?”
Benvolio ceases kissing and sits up on Mercutio’s thighs. “Ay.”
“Thou hast never told me.”
“Did I need to?”
Benvolio bursts out laughing at the awkwardly confused expression on Mercutio’s face. He puts his hands on the sides of Mercutio’s face.
“Thou art merely afraid that thou hast double the chance of losing me to another!”
Unable to keep himself from smiling as well, Mercutio pushes Benvolio’s hands away.
“Thou cad!” he growls.
“That I am!” Benvolio throws himself back down on his lover and vigorously resumes kissing him.
Mercutio laughs heartily before taking Benvolio in his arms and kissing him back. Eyes closed and lips parted, they lose themselves in the rough embrace.
They immediately find themselves again when the sound of footsteps and soft humming reach their ears. Benvolio’s eyes snap open. He pauses for a few seconds, then tears himself away from Mercutio, reaching for their shirts, which hang on a bedpost.
Mercutio sits up, frowning, as Benvolio throws his shirt at him.
“What the devil–”
“’Tis Paola,” Benvolio interrupts, pulling on his shirt. “My chambermaid,” he adds when Mercutio raises an eyebrow. “On with thy shirt and into the truckle-bed.”
“Ay.” Mercutio dons his shirt and scrambles out of bed as Benvolio covers himself with a sheet. Kneeling on the floor, he yanks out the truckle-bed. Benvolio tosses him a blanket as they lay down in their respective beds.
“Thou art the player,” Benvolio whispers. “Play at being asleep.”
Mercutio smiles and gives a little nod before curling up as if asleep, and not a moment too soon.
“Master Benvolio?” calls a cheerful voice. There is a knock on the door. Soon after, the door opens, letting in Paola.
Benvolio raises himself up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes. “G’morrow,” he mumbles groggily.
“Good morrow to ye as well, Master Benvolio,” she answers, setting a tray with his breakfast down on the little table by the window. “Your mother is taking breakfast in her chamber. I thought ye might like to as well.” She opens the curtains, letting in the morning light.
“I thank thee.”
She turns back to the bed and smiles. “Shall I bring some up for Master Mercutio as well?” She nods at Mercutio, who appears to be sleeping peacefully, hugging his pillow with one arm.
“Please,” Benvolio answers, returning the smile.
“I’d have brought it sooner, but I knew not of his staying the night.”
“He was too weary to return home, so I let him stay.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.
“Ye’re such a sweet youth, Master Benvolio. Ye remind me of me elder brother, God rest his soul. And Master Mercutio,” she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper, “He may not always be the perfect gentleman, but I could swear on me good mother’s grave, God rest her soul, that none in Verona matches his beauty.”
Benvolio swallows a small laugh when the corner of Mercutio’s mouth twitches up in a slight smile.
“Again, I thank thee, and I am sure that he would thank thee as well.”
Paola’s cheeks turn a little pink. “Oh, do not tell him I said so, Master Benvolio.”
“I will not, I assure thee.”
She smiles sheepishly. “I thank ye.” She exits the room, closing the door behind her.
Benvolio lays down on his stomach, dangling an arm down to trace Mercutio’s cheekbone with his finger.
“Good morrow once more,” Mercutio says, opening his eyes and smiling.
“Good morrow,” Benvolio replies. “Now get thee out.” He gives Mercutio a rough pat on the cheek. “Thou hast me trapped.”
Mercutio stands, stretches, and pushes in the truckle-bed. Benvolio follows, moving to the nearby chair where they both left their hose the preceding night. He tosses Mercutio’s hose to him, then sits in the chair to pull on his own.
“Am I in danger of a proposal from thy chambermaid?” Mercutio inquires nonchalantly, pulling up his hose and tucking in his shirt.
“Nonsense,” Benvolio laughs, tucking in his own shirt. “Zounds, Mercutio, she’s twice thy age!”
“And twice as apt to desire a youth, I’d venture to say.”
“And twice the reason for thee to keep thy mouth shut,” Benvolio retorts, approaching Mercutio and tapping his lips with a finger.
Mercutio pouts. “Must I now stay silent for her as well as thee? May I not be allowed one love affair of the two to be proclaimed throughout the world, or shall I be twice silent and twice as miserable for it?” He melodramatically puts his hands on his hips.
Benvolio wraps his arms around his lover’s waist. “Why not be once silent and not miserable at all?” he asks, playing along. “Art thou not satisfied with me?” he murmurs before kissing Mercutio’s chin.
They are once more interrupted by a knock on the door. Mercutio’s pout disappears and he quickly kisses Benvolio’s lips before strutting theatrically to the door and letting in Paola. She enters, giving Mercutio a shy smile.
“’Tis mine, I take it?” he asks, nodding to the tray of breakfast in her hands.
“Ay,” she mutters.
“I thank thee.” He takes the tray, giving Paola a roguish wink. Benvolio smiles at her flushed and flustered expression as she leaves the room. They wait until her footsteps disappear before they laugh.