Cesare struggled into his robe, the soft fabric feeling uncomfortably tight, ensnaring his arms as he tried to force himself into it. His father had practically insisted that he have someone assist him with his garments, but Cesare had put his foot down. Being helped into them would feel like being chained. Putting the robes on himself gave him the illusion of being in control even as he made his way to unwanted confessional duties.
Yet another had requested that he hear their confession. Who would it be this time? della Rovere with a letter opener? His mother confessing that one of the Borgias wasn’t a Borgia and should in fact be herding sheep at that very moment? His father spying on him to make sure he had proper form? Ursula changing her mind? Cesare resolved that if it was a member of his family, he’d make them pay. 500 Hail Marys if they valued their eternal souls. They had pushed them into this role, yes, but in it he held a certain amount of power. Even though it wasn’t the type of power he wished to wield. He preferred swords to souls and all knew it, for all the good it did him.
The window in the confessional opened. “Forgive me, brother—“ a silence, and Cesare could hear the grin in Juan’s voice when he continued—“I mean, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Christ might have mercy on Juan, but Cesare certainly would not. “Unburden your soul, my son,” he replied, putting as much emphasis on “son” as he possibly could while maintaining his calm. Letting Juan know he was rattled would be the worst idea.
“Brother—Father—I have committed the most perverse acts. I have lain with two women who are not my wife at the same time. And I have…..I have lain with men. And had them debase me, strike me. And pretended that they….that they were my brother Cesare.”
Cesare had stared fixedly in front of him during the first part of Juan’s confession. He had no doubt that it was true and that Juan needed to be absolved, just as he had no doubt that Juan was confessing to him in order to taunt him. He was lost in thought imagining new and tortuous acts of penance for Juan when he heard his brother’s voice change, become more hesitant.
Juan, Juan who would steal a woman from his baby brother wanted….his elder brother? Wanted his elder brother to use him, strike him? Cesare couldn’t speak, sun-drenched memories of comforting his younger brother after they’d sparred flooded him, drowning out Juan’s recent taunts about Cesare’s mouth issuing prayers instead of orders and wearing a skirt rather than a sword.
Apparently Cesare had been silent for too long. He heard his brother shift and make to leave the confessional. “Stay, my son. Explain precisely what you would have your brother do.”
Juan, miracle of miracles, obeyed him. “He would….he would catch me in wrongdoing. He’d threaten to tell our father, but I’d beg him to punish me himself. He’d sigh and look conflicted—he’s always doing that—but then he’d take down my breeches and put me over his knee like a child. He’d strike hard, because I am, after all, not a child, which he’d be even more aware of when he felt me, hard against his thigh. He’d sigh again, but it would be a longing sigh this time. He’d finish the punishment quickly, then push me to my knees. I’d open his breeches, and then—“
Cesare couldn’t deny that the idea of having Juan over his knee held a certain appeal. Though his brother would never wear these robes, Cesare would enjoy turning his brother’s bottom a nice shade of cardinal red. The rest, though….again, he had to admit that it sounded somewhat appealing…his brother on his knees in front of him, giving him pleasure under the robes he mercilessly mocked….and yet….and yet this was his younger brother. Much as he sometimes wanted to kill him, he had to protect him and the unity of the family. If this wasn’t what he truly wanted, if it was a fantasy that would cause problems in reality, it wasn’t something Cesare could do, much as the idea of arrogant, insolent Juan pleasuring him with those lips was giving him thoughts he wouldn’t wish to confess. There was, however, a part of the fantasy he could fulfill in good conscience.
“Stop, my son. I may be a man of the cloth, but I can well imagine where this is going. Thirty Hail Marys for the first part of your confession. And I believe more corporal penance is required for the last. Step out of the confessional and follow me.”
The brothers walked in silence to Cesare’s rooms. Cesare had considered for a moment what he would do if this all turned out to be a jest on his brother’s part. He’d half expected Juan to run away laughing. But Juan had stepped out, biting his lip, eyes shining, pupils dark even when they’d been out in the light for quite some time.
When they’d arrived at Cesare’s chambers, Cesare had taken a deep breath and seated himself, taking care not to release his breath in anything resembling a sigh. He’d much enjoy swatting Juan for that description.
Juan closed the doors to Cesare’s chambers and stood there, uncharacteristically silent, apparently waiting for direction.
Cesare gestured to him, mimicking their father’s imperious hand motions. Juan shuffled close to stand next to Cesare’s knee. Either he was a much better actor that Cesare had given him credit for or he was truly nervous, for reasons Cesare could guess but couldn’t be sure of. Well. His brother had earned a good hiding at least. Anything else….they’d have to see.
Cesare reached out to undo Juan’s breeches, making Juan instinctively step back. “Cesare….”
Cesare arched an eyebrow. “I think you mean ‘Your Eminence’ or “Father,’ Juan.”
A bit of Juan’s generally ill-advised spark returned. “No. I mean ‘Cesare.’ You’re always Cesare no matter how eminent our father makes you.”
Cesare grinned. Juan was making this so much easier. “And no matter how sore I make you. You’ll be begging me and using all my titles when I’m through with you, Juan Borgia, mark my words.” And with that he tore down Juan’s breeches and tipped him over his knee.
Cesare had never spanked anyone, though his father had, on occasion, taken a hand to him—most often for blasphemy—and he’d seen him discipline Juan on more than one occasion, so he thought he knew well enough what to do.
His father had usually started with a lighter hand, as if steeling himself to make it hurt. For Cesare, though, those lighter spanks were more humiliating than anything. He’d known he wouldn’t be forgiven and cuddled until after he’d come close to crying, and with smacks that light he knew he’d be over his father’s knee for quite some time. Now that he thought about it, he had to wonder whether it had been a combination of reluctance to hurt and the desire to prolong and humiliate that had motivated their father. He knew it definitely motivated him now.
With one hand on Juan’s back to keep him in place, Cesare started the smacking, peppering his younger brother’s rounded, muscular buttocks with sharp smacks that turned it a nice shade of pink but barely made him bounce, even though he did moan and rock against Cesare, hiding his face in Cesare’s robes all the while.
Cesare began smacking harder, lecturing in a soft, calm voice and occasionally shushing Juan soothingly when he cried out even as his hand dealt harder and harder blows.
Juan had apparently responded well to the realization of his fantasy. His cock poked into Cesare’s thigh and trailed his arousal all over his robes when he jerked at particularly harsh smacks. Cesare had never enjoyed the sight of the robes more.
When his brother’s bottom was a shade darker than his robes, Cesare decided to finish things with ten spanks delivered with his full strength. It was how their father had usually ended their spankings; they’d usually been so miserable after those harsh swats that they wouldn’t even be fully aware for some time that he’d pulled their breeches up and settled them on his lap, rubbing their backs and whispering that they were forgiven.
Cesare did the same, pulling his brother’s breeches up over his now half-hard cock and settling him on his lap. Juan put his arm around Cesare and snuffled against his neck. While Juan was still apparently enjoying his penance, Cesare remained uncertain. Enjoying a hiding was one thing. Maybe it explained why Juan was still sometimes completely unruly? But doing more….regardless of which of them carried a sword, Cesare still felt he needed to protect Juan, even from his own desires. Even from himself.
And so when Juan, eyes shining with both tears and arousal, face flushed, slid to his knees and reached for Cesare, Cesare stopped him, kissed his forehead, and made the sign of the cross over him. “ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”