An Evening At The Gala
Nov. 26th, 2019 05:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saxophonicSeries: CJC Week 2019
Title: An Evening At The Gala
Summary: Lisa Lisa brings Caesar and Joseph along to a museum's Christmas gala.
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 8,464
Note: Fill for CJC Week 2019, Day 3: Holidays/Seasons. X-posted to AO3 today! Click here [x] for a tweet that is basically an alternate summary.
Lisa Lisa refuses to budge. “Your training is more important, JoJo. We don’t have the luxury of time. Sending you back home for the Christmas holiday would be a matter of days which none of us have.”
With a pout, Joseph breaks off a piece of the crostata with his fork. “But it’s Christmas.”
“And you’ll spend it here,” Lisa Lisa says. She takes an efficient sip of her morning coffee. “We can arrange for you to write to your grandmother. Though you’ve refused every other offer, maybe you’ll take this one seriously.”
“No.” He shoves the food into his mouth and chews noisily. Caesar throws him a look of mild annoyance. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend Christmas with your family? Not stuck here training?” Joseph gulps the mouthful down. “You’re the who went on and on about lineage and all that shit.” No one says anything, so Joseph shrugs. “We can’t celebrate Christmas without family! It’s tradition.”
Lisa Lisa pulls out her cigarette case and sticks one in her mouth. “There are other traditions.” She rifles in her pockets for something else, presumably a packet of matches, but comes up empty. Caesar produces one of his fancy lighters to offer her a flame. She thanks him and takes an igniting drag on her cigarette. “You could say we have all become as close as family.”
“It isn’t the same,” Joseph says.
“Deal with it,” Caesar bites. Joseph wrinkles his nose at Caesar in mockery. “And finish eating; we need to get that mask back on you.”
Loggins sweeps into the dining room, his footfalls unnaturally quiet. Joseph wonders when he and Messina eat. Maybe early in the morning with that cute blonde maid, Suzie, who Joseph has caught staring at him a few times. He holds a thick parchment envelope in one hand. “Lisa Lisa, this just came for you.”
“Who is it from?” She reaches an elegant hand to receive it.
“The Museum.”
Lisa Lisa slides a finger beneath the envelope’s flap to break the seal. She reads over the document. “As expected.” Slipping the parchment back into the envelope, Lisa Lisa gives it back. “Have Suzie add this to my afternoon correspondence.”
Loggins salutes before leaving the room.
“Hey.” Caesar snaps his fingers in front of Joseph’s face. “Hurry up.”
“I’m eating!” Joseph grabs his wrist and doesn’t let go, even as Caesar tries to pull his hand back. “Give me a minute.”
“No need,” Lisa Lisa says, getting to her feet. She lifts her eyebrows and turns down the corners of her mouth in perfect aloofness. Joseph can feel the temperature in the room drop from her stare. “Your daily schedule starts now.”
---
Chunks of pig fly across the training yard after Caesar lands a roundhouse kick to the hog. Ripple fizzles out in each piece.
“Very nice!” Messina says, applauding with Loggins.
“Not that nice,” Joseph mutters under his breath. “I could do better.”
Caesar resets his stance, light enough on both feet that he could dodge an oncoming attack but heavy enough to ground his next strike. His fists come up to protect his head. “No, you can’t.” Another rotation of his body sends his legs arcing through the air. He attacks the remainder of the pig on the spear with a powerful kick.
“Watch me,” Joseph says. He swipes the tip of his nose with his thumb as he puts his arms into position. According to Loggins, training with these pigs is a rare occasion. The butcher couldn’t sell these pigs for food, the specimens too old and kept too long that they’re too close to rancid, so he sold them at a steep discount. Messina said something about ‘getting used to a certain density’ to transmit Ripple, but Joseph hadn’t been paying too much attention earlier. Caesar had been stretching, and his shirt had come untucked. That accidental reveal of skin had been too compelling for Joseph to resist.
The last time Caesar had exposed so much skin, they were fighting for their lives under the Colosseum. He didn’t have the mind or the time to properly appreciate it then. Now that they’re spending almost every minute of every day together, Joseph realizes what a rarity that was. He’d be damned if he allowed this morning’s chance to pass him by.
Approaching his porcine target, Joseph jumps from foot to foot to limber himself up. Then, without a glance at Caesar, he lurches forward. He breathes in time with the wind-up, the pitch. Ripple shimmers down his arm to crackle at his fist. He lands a solid punch, if he says so himself. It feels right against his knuckles, the pig’s flesh offering up the same kind of resistance he expects from a fistfight in an alley. With the charge of Ripple, the tension shatters and his attack makes a gaping hole in the carcass, clear through to the other side.
The momentum of his swing curves his body around and Joseph follows the motion with a twist through his hips. He pivots and lifts his leg high to slam the bridge of his boot-covered foot against, and eventually through, the rest of the target. It sends chunks of pig in every direction. Some of it ends up on Caesar.
Joseph grins, pleased. “How’s that for better?” He gestures at the ground around them. “Look at how much more I knocked off! How much further mine went!”
With a grimace, Caesar wipes the pork from his clothes with both hands. “A bigger explosion doesn’t mean it’s better.”
“Yes, it does,” Joseph says. “That’s the point of explosions.”
“You’re here to train your Ripple.” Caesar stalks across the training yard until he’s a few paces from Joseph. “Concentrate your power, like putting your thumb over the mouth of a garden hose. Focus, JoJo!”
Joseph scoffs and punches the pig again, this time without using Ripple. He knocks the rest of it off the spike. “You’re just mad because I beat you.”
“What? You didn’t beat me.” Caesar gestures with both hands at his pig. “That last punch doesn’t count.”
“Was it a competition?” Lisa Lisa’s voice rings like a church bell in a small town. She glides toward them in her heels, cutting across the courtyard with ease. Joseph no longer resists the now-ingrained habit to bow at her approach. “A proper competition would clearly define the terms of victory. Loggins? Messina?” Both training masters stand straighter, heels snapping together. “I assume you can judge the winner.”
Loggins and Messina exchange looks. “Caesar.”
“No!” Joseph groans.
Lisa Lisa offers the suggestion of a shrug, barely a twitch of her shoulder and a turning of her head. “So it’s settled.” She casts another cold look at Joseph. “I have an opportunity for you both. Think of it as a Christmas gift.”
“What is it?” Joseph asks, sneaking a glance at Caesar. He seems just as intrigued.
She pauses to observe each of them in turn. “A Venetian museum, supported in part by the Speedwagon Foundation, hosts a holiday reception every Christmas season. Once again, I’ve been invited as a guest of honor. I’ve decided to allow both of you to accompany me.”
Joseph wonders what museum would throw such a celebration, and why Lisa Lisa would be named a guest of honor. It must be something to do with her mysterious affiliation with the Foundation. And they do love a good soirée. Granny Erina and Uncle Speedwagon used to dress him up for those big fancy parties when he was a kid. He hated the clothes, loved the food, and adored the attention. As he got older, the attention changed, then waned. The fun dropped off sharply with it.
Still, surprising some rich old stiff in a suit with a Ripple-propelled spray of champagne never failed to cheer Joseph up when the events would drag. After training for the better part of two weeks, he can’t wait to see how much his aim has improved.
Excitement spills over into a toothy grin on Caesar’s face. “Really?”
It must be contagious. Watching Caesar, Joseph finds himself smiling, too.
Lisa Lisa nods. “We’ll need to arrange for your tuxedos before the end of this week. It is a gala, after all.” She turns and motions for them to follow.
Joseph scrambles after her, ready to leave the hard work behind him for the rest of the afternoon. “You’ll take off the mask, right? For the party?”
Keeping pace beside him, Caesar snorts and answers for Lisa Lisa. “Now why would you want to waste a perfectly good evening? You need to keep it on for your training, JoJo.”
“It isn’t your normal black tie accessory.”
“Neither are wedding rings full of poison.”
Joseph rolls his eyes. “Those aren’t by choice!” Ahead of them, Lisa Lisa reaches the door back into the castle and passes through it without hesitation. “Well, I suppose the mask isn’t by choice either.” Joseph frowns behind the device, brow furrowing as he catches the door before it swings closed. He holds it open for Caesar with one hand and gestures at the breathing device with the other. “But people can see this thing and, let’s face it, it’s ugly!”
“It isn’t ugly.” Caesar pauses in the doorway to let his eyes trail up from Joseph’s waist to his chest, pausing at his throat, before coming to rest on his face. It’s an intense look he’s seen before, one that makes his own cheeks hot with the force of that heavy gaze. A smirk. “Actually, I’d say it’s an improvement over the usual landscape.”
Joseph resists slamming the door on his ass, if only because he doesn’t want to haul it open again.
---
After the sun has set on Air Supplena Island, Joseph eases himself into the freshly-drawn bath after a hard day’s worth of training. Today, they’ve mastered balancing on top of twin spires and metering their breaths until a single intake of air lasts far longer than Joseph thought possible. Steam rises from the surface of the bathwater, casting a hazy veil of humidity into the air. The condensation that forms on his breathing mask doesn’t bother him so much anymore.
He’s supposed to be cleaning himself up for the event tonight but all Joseph wants to do is sprawl his aching limbs in the hot, soapy water and sit there until the bath runs cold. An idea bursts into his head. Maybe he can use Ripple to keep the water warm! They can be late to the gala. He knows those things never start on time, anyway, and parties always seem to run later than expected.
Joseph looks over his naked body. ‘A certain density,’ Messina had said. He shudders and banishes from his mind a comparison to the pig carcass he exploded with a Ripple punch earlier that week. Maybe he’ll save that water-warming idea until he’s better at fine-tuned control.
Someone pounds their fist on the door. By the force of the knocking, Joseph knows it’s Caesar before he begins hollering. “Hurry up!” The banging stops. “Lisa Lisa says if you take more than ten minutes, she’ll make you wear the mask.”
With a roll of his eyes, Joseph looks around for the soap. “I’ll be done even sooner than that.”
“Suzie’s bringing up our tuxedos.” Caesar continues without acknowledging Joseph’s response. “We’re meant to undergo our final fitting for last-minute adjustments before we take the boat to Venice. It shouldn’t take long, but who knows. Better safe than sorry.” A tense silence follows his platitude. Joseph can’t see through walls, but he knows Caesar still lingers outside the door, waiting to say something. “And don’t forget to wash your ass. If you don’t, they’ll smell you before they see you, and you don’t want to embarrass Lisa Lisa.”
Prick.
Once he’s sure Caesar’s gone, Joseph sinks into the tub until the water swallows him whole.
---
As Joseph enters their shared bedroom to grab his underthings, he comes to an abrupt stop. Caesar’s eyes meet his as Joseph’s breath catches in his throat, and he could swear Caesar does the same. Seeing Caesar in his tux, with his hair slicked back and the undone bowtie string trailing under either side of his unbuttoned collar, shouldn’t be an arresting experience. Joseph finds it hard to move at the sight.
His heart doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo, racing as much as it is.
“Almost done,” Suzie says from one side of her mouth; the other corner grips a few extra-fine sewing pins between her lips. More stick out from the bracelet-style pin cushion wrapped around one wrist. “Just need to finish hemming this sleeve and tying his tie.” She needs to stand on a stepstool to reach Caesar’s arms, which he holds out to each side of his body. In the middle of the room, stuck between two twin beds they pushed to opposite walls, Caesar seems to take up all the space.
Joseph, his hair still dripping water from the bath, readjusts his grip on his towel wrapped low around his hips. He sits on the edge of the nearest bed, which just happens to belong to Caesar.
“Put your clothes on,” Caesar snaps. He won’t look at Joseph, probably to maintain a tenuous tether on his anger, or perhaps some misplaced sense of modesty, but either way Joseph feels like he’s won something.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Joseph says. “You’re in the way.”
Suzie lowers her gaze, an attractive blush coloring her cheeks. “I can move so you can get your drawers.”
“He can move himself, Suzie.”
She ducks out of the way anyway, so Joseph gets up to retrieve a clean set of briefs and a singlet. “Thank you,” he says to her. He lingers in front of Caesar, smirking at him. This close, he feels complete possession of every single centimeter of height he has over Caesar. Joseph doesn’t move, watching Caesar determinedly keep his gaze shifted somewhere over Joseph’s shoulder.
Caesar snaps his eyes shut, then meets Joseph’s stare with irritation. “What.”
“Nothing.”
The corners of his mouth twist down. “Then go, so Suzie doesn’t have to look at you.”
“Oh, I don’t mind!” Suzie interjects almost immediately.
Joseph grins.
“Leave now or you’ll make us late.” Caesar raises his eyebrows and adds, voice laced with false sweetness, “I thought you wanted to get the mask off."
That’s true, which makes it a far more compelling argument than anything else Caesar’s flung at him so far. “Fine.” Joseph readjusts his grip on his towel. He heads out the door and grumbles, “Christ, why do you care so much if I’m wearing that mask or not?”
Caesar mutters something in response, and he must try to move, because Joseph can hear the sound of Suzie admonishing him fading as he slips down the hallway.
When Joseph returns, towel-dried and semi-clothed, Caesar is gone. An odd sense of disappointment fades away with Suzie’s eager handling. She’s efficient, getting him dressed and guiding him through the final fitting. “I was worried about the shoulders. I can’t believe you don’t need them let out any more,” she says as they finish up. “They’re a bit tight still, but it should be fine for tonight.”
“The tailor did a good job,” Joseph says.
Suzie pinches the pins out of her mouth and jams them into the wrist cushion, a few at a time. “All that’s left is your tie.” She looks up at him, her baby blue eyes rounder for it. “You can put your arms down, JoJo.” There’s a giggle in her voice to match the amusement on her face.
A knock at the door demands their attention. “They’re leaving,” Loggins says. “Is he ready?”
She gives him a small push with two hands against his lower back. “Close enough,” Suzie says.
Loggins leads Joseph through the castle, winding through hallways and staircases down to the dock where a hired dinghy awaits. Lisa Lisa has already climbed aboard in her dazzling gown and luxe overcoat. Caesar stands at the pier, finishing a cigarette. “We were about to leave you behind,” Caesar says. He exhales smoke through pursed lips.
Joseph waves it away. “No, you weren’t.”
Caesar says nothing. He drops the cigarette butt to the ground and extinguishes it with a twist of his foot.
“Thank you, Loggins. Enjoy your night off.” Lisa Lisa raises a hand at him. Loggins nods and heads back inside. She then signals the captain, who turns and signals for a sailor to begin unlooping the mooring rope from its post on the pier.
“All aboard!”
The ship dips with the addition of Joseph’s weight, then Caesar’s, bobbing in the water when the waves push against the hull. As they sail, the gulf becomes rough with the winds blowing crisp and cold over the water. Lisa Lisa sits away from any spray, though Joseph assumes her overcoat is meant to help protect her finery as much as it is to provide warmth.
“Hey,” Joseph says loudly to Lisa Lisa’s back. “Look, I still have this breathing thing on.” He cups the front of the device for emphasis, despite the fact she isn’t looking at him. “I thought I earned a free night off.”
Seated beside him, Caesar snickers. “Too bad.” His face folds into a frown. “You left your bow tie undone.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Caesar plants a hand on the bench between them. He leans on it as he reaches over to flick one of the dangling ends of the tie with his forefinger. “You call this tied?”
“Suzie left it that way. I didn’t do anything.”
Another flick. “Obviously.”
Joseph exhales heavily through the mask, mostly to enjoy how his breath steams as it leaves the pipes. “You tie it then.”
Caesar drops his hand. “Tie it yourself.” He pushes himself back upright.
“Fine.” Joseph grabs both ends and forces them into a double overhand knot. The tails stick out at odd angles. Good. He claps his hands twice, swiping his palms together as if to rid them of dust. “Done.”
Caesar rolls his eyes. “Testa di cazzo.” He shifts his weight again, this time to swing a leg over the bench to straddle it. With his open jacket exposing the two columns of pleats down the front of his shirt, and the folds in his pants angled over the tops of his thighs, Joseph lets the lines in the clothes draw his eyes to Caesar’s hips. He blinks and looks up into Caesar’s face, shadowy from the faint moonlight struggling to break through the clouds. “Why would I expect anything different? Here, move your leg.”
“Are you serious?”
“JoJo.”
Joseph shrugs. “Only if you take my mask off, too.”
“No.” Caesar pats the bench with his hands. Joseph thinks he deserves a round of applause for not looking at Caesar’s thighs again. “Just do it.”
“Fine.” Joseph swings a leg over. “You’re so stubborn.” He spreads his knees to mirror Caesar, who reaches to undo the spiteful knot around his neck. “Hey, careful how you pull that.”
Meeting his eyes, Caesar stills his hands. “I know what I’m doing.” He drops his gaze to Joseph’s throat and scoots closer. His nimble fingers tease the fabric, loosening the tie bit by bit. Joseph tries not to swallow. Or breathe. Caesar doesn’t seem to notice, his forehead wrinkling between his eyebrows as he works. Finally, the knot comes undone, and Joseph breathes a sigh of relief. “Did you need to tie it so tight?” Caesar shakes his head.
“I was making a point,” Joseph grumbles. A cloud moves in the sky, and the moon peeks out like a nervous mother bird from its nest.
With a shake of his head, Caesar pulls the tie from around Joseph’s neck. “Like a child.” He pinches the ribbon between his fingers on one hand and pulls with the other to smooth away the crinkles of Joseph’s petty knot.
Joseph shrugs one shoulder. “Whatever works.” Even in the scant light, Joseph can see how the corners of Caesar’s mouth lift in amusement. “Whatever gets the job done.”
“I get the job done without acting like a toddler. You should try it sometime.” Caesar moves to fix the top button on Joseph’s shirt.
The boat takes a wave hard, launching Joseph forward. He reaches out to keep himself from falling, bracing himself against Caesar’s thighs. Caesar’s hands slide over either side of his neck and send goosebumps over Joseph’s skin to tingle his scalp. Their faces almost smash together before the rocking stops. Caesar’s lips a breath away from Joseph’s mask.
As soon as he can, Joseph sits back upright. Both sets of hands retreat from where they had lain on each other’s bodies. “That was an accident,” Joseph says.
Ignoring him, Caesar flips Joseph’s shirt collar up against his throat. He slings the tie around his collar, crossing it at the front before pinching and looping the fabric. The wrinkle of concentration reappears on Caesar’s forehead before he finishes contorting the ribbon into a standard butterfly tie. “There.” Caesar folds Joseph’s collar back down.
Before Joseph can say anything, Caesar cups Joseph’s face in his hands. His fingers press heat against Joseph’s skin, a stark contrast from the cold night air that would make him shiver if he wasn’t so surprised. Face cast half in shadow, the look in Caesar’s eyes is hard to read. Anger, maybe? Joseph fails to parse it out while the now-familiar feeling of Ripple pulses run along Joseph’s jaw.
The mask unlocks with a fizzle and a pop. “Finished.” Caesar pulls it from his face. He sets the device in the space between them.
Joseph steadies the mask with one hand to keep it from rolling. “Thanks.”
“See?” Caesar swings his leg over the bench again to face his body forward, then turns his head back to look at Joseph. “I’m not stubborn.”
---
When Lisa Lisa specified a museum, Joseph had been expecting a small, private collection somewhere in the city center.
Abutting a convent on one side and the main canal on the other, the courtyard of this complex could comfortably hold several dozen people. However, only a few staff remain outdoors. One woman guides their small group of attendees through the empty museum to the coat check, then gestures them down a hallway to join the celebration.
The sounds of indistinct conversations overlapping and small ensemble music grow louder until, after one last corridor lined with framed Baroque paintings, they pass through an arched opening and into the party. A large room lined with sculpted columns and more art hung on the walls hosts one or two hundred people on polished tile floors. Above them, the room’s high ceiling boasts decorative molding around several frescoes. Traditional chandeliers, festooned with red velvet bows and sparkling tinsel garlands, cast a golden glow over the revelers.
“Watch out for the mistletoe,” Joseph jokes, pointing at the bit of shrubbery fastened by a red ribbon to the crown of the doorway.
“What?” Caesar pauses in his stride to glance up. “It’s just some decoration. Why would I care about that?”
Lisa Lisa doesn’t wait for them, so Caesar and Joseph resume trailing her through the crowd. “No, there are rules to mistletoe.” People seem to move out of their way “Kissing boughs! Doesn’t everyone know this?”
Raising a dubious eyebrow, Caesar says, “Some of us have more important things to worry about.”
Joseph makes a noise in frustration, one that he quickly strangles under a silencing look from Lisa Lisa. He ducks his head closer toward Caesar. “Oh, you know what I mean,” Joseph hisses. “It’s one of those long-standing Christmas traditions.”
“It’s silly.” Caesar buzzes his lips with a dismissive puff of air. “I’ve always thought it was an excuse for men like you to try and steal a kiss from someone out of his league.” With a quick swivel of his head, Caesar scans the room. “Like her.” He gestures to a woman in a dusty blue gown with champagne lace accents, her gold jewelry twinkling at her wrists and throat. “Although,” Caesar says thoughtfully, “I suppose mistletoe does have its charm for someone who knows how to use it.”
“Are you talking about yourself?”
“Well, I’m certainly not talking about you.”
They arrive at the bar, where Lisa Lisa receives a warm welcome from the bartender and a glass of red wine without so much as a word from her. She turns to appraise her pupils. “You are both free to enjoy yourselves, within reason. There’s no need to follow me the entire night.” Opening her clutch purse, she drops a cash tip in the jar beside the bottles of liquor. “We’ll leave in a few hours. Don’t forget: your training menu begins before breakfast tomorrow.” With that, she disappears into the crowd, calling out a greeting to another attendee.
Joseph groans. “I was hoping to have some fun tonight.”
“This is fun,” Caesar says, then orders a drink.
“No, it isn’t.” Looking out at the crowd, they’re easily the youngest people here. How boring. “Everyone looks like they’re going to fall asleep any second, and all the fun’s back there.” Joseph jerks his thumb at the bar.
Caesar sips from his glass. “The alcohol? It’s fun if you drink it, JoJo.”
Eyeing bottles of sparkling wine, Joseph says, “It explodes nicely, too.”
“Please do not destroy my bar,” says the bartender.
“He won’t.” Caesar gets a drink for JoJo, the same that Caesar ordered. “What is it with you and explosions this week?”
Joseph shrugs, eyes catching on an older woman who seems to be paying them extra attention. “Actually, I take that back.”
“Take what back?”
With a grin, Joseph accepts the glass from Caesar. He raises it to his lips. “This just got interesting.”
---
It doesn’t take much pressure from Joseph to get Caesar to agree to the challenge. But after seeing Caesar dance with his third partner for the night, the picture of perfect poise, Joseph is beginning to reconsider the terms of their competition.
Whoever engages the most partners wins.
Wins what, well, that’s a detail they can argue about later. Joseph figures their share of chores around the island can be divvied up to favor one of them. Hopefully him.
As Caesar releases his partner at the end of the song, Joseph looks away to avoid seeing the showboating kiss Caesar drops on her hand. Unfortunately, he can’t ignore Caesar when he comes over to gloat. “Have you been keeping count for me?” Caesar says. The small dots of color on his cheeks make his eyes seem brighter, even with the gleam of excitement left behind after a vivacious dance. “Since you seem to have nothing else to do.”
Joseph waves him off. “I’m strategizing. These aren’t my kind of dances anyway.”
“You can dance the foxtrot, can’t you, JoJo?”
“You know I can. You’ve seen me earlier tonight,” Joseph says.
“Once.”
He flaps his hand again. “I’m picky. It can’t be just anyone.”
Caesar turns his eyes back to the crowd. “You’re not here to pick out a bride. It’s one dance. Maybe half a song.”
Amongst a cluster of businessmen half a room away, a face looks familiar, if a few years older. “Does it have to be dances?” Joseph asks. He turns his head to address Caesar. “You can have a partner engaged in conversation, right?”
Tilting his head, Caesar considers the question. “Wordplay, but I suppose that’s true.”
“Great!” With renewed interest, Joseph moves to introduce himself and leaves Caesar standing alone.
---
As it turns out, several faces from Joseph’s youth found their way to Venice for the evening’s festivities. “Oh, yes! The young Master Joestar,” says a woman dressed in a fine charcoal black suit with a thin fitted tailcoat. “You were always such a cute little boy. My, how you’ve grown!”
Joseph grins under the attention. By his count, this second group of people brings his total engagement to seven. He scans the room for Caesar.
“How is your dear Uncle?”
“Oh, Speedwagon?” asks Joseph. Injuries beneath the Colosseum, growing distant with time, return fresh in the moment. He brushes over the concern nipping at his mind. “He’s well, the last time I saw him. Returning to good health.”
Another person murmurs in concern. “I hadn’t heard he was ill.”
“It was a severe head cold,” Joseph lies. “Nothing to worry about. Right now, he’s over in America, relaxing with my grandmother through the new year.”
“How exciting! I’ve heard from a few people that they’re still doing that time ball in New York City.”
The first woman laughs. “Yes, I should think so!” She places a gloved hand on her companion’s forearm and asks, “Have you ever been, my little duckling?”
There. Joseph notices a flash of that blond hair amongst older pairs. Caesar whirls the same partner from earlier around the dance floor, keeping his count at five. Ha! Joseph clenches his fist in quiet victory. While Caesar limits himself to one dance partner at a time, Joseph’s been able to surpass him with ease.
---
“No, I’m at six,” Caesar says over refreshments at the bar again, their implicit check-in location. “Five and six were twins.”
“Twins?” Joseph narrows his eyes and doesn’t admire the way the wine on Caesar’s mouth catches the light. Or the way his tongue swipes over his lips moments later. “You’re making that up to catch up to me.”
Caesar glares at him, then looks back at the crowd. Joseph takes advantage of the moment to slug down half his drink in one go. They notice the twins at the same time, standing side by side in identical dresses. The only way Joseph can tell them apart is their hair. One of the sisters has curled her bangs and pinned her dark hair up to one side. The other sports a Greta Garbo-inspired asymmetrical pageboy cut.
“Huh,” says Joseph. “I guess they are twins.”
With a self-satisfied chuckle, Caesar takes another sip. “At this rate, I’ll win easily.” Another pair of women pass in front of them. “How long do we have, again?”
“Oh, another hour or two, I’d guess.”
Caesar sets his glass down on the bar. “Perfect.” He adjusts his tie with both hands as he follows the swishing skirts.
With a put-out frown, Joseph watches him go. The women seem charmed by his advances, and Joseph doesn’t need to be close to know the gist of what Caesar’s saying. He scrunches his nose and mimics Caesar in a quiet voice. “Oh, signorina,” he intentionally bastardizes the Italian pronunciation, “how could I have passed the ball without making your acquaintance? You are a flower, and I am a honey bee, he who longs to drink your sweet nectar.” He grimaces and rolls his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah.” He finishes his drink with a gulp and a loud sigh through gritted teeth.
The bartender chimes in, “Can I get you another, or would you prefer something less bitter?”
“Hm? Bitter?” Joseph shakes the cup before he sets it on the counter. “This wasn’t bitter at all.”
With a tight-lipped stare, the bartender recoups the glass. “My mistake.”
---
Dancing with one of the twins, Joseph directs their path to cross Caesar’s on the floor. He leans over to interrupt Caesar’s quiet conversation. “What’s the count now?”
“JoJo, have some class.” Caesar leads his partner through a turn. She looks old enough to be part of Granny Erina’s sewing circle, but the happiness on her face makes her look at least ten years younger. “I’m busy.”
He guides the twin along, his movements mirroring Caesar’s as Joseph draws up alongside him. “I’m at ten.”
“Does that include her?” Caesar flashes Joseph’s partner a brief smile. “Hello again.”
“Oh,” Joseph says. They glide through the outer circuit on the dance floor, moving closer to the center. The pairs here cover less ground with their smaller steps. “Eleven, then.”
Caesar scoffs.
“You too? You can’t be more than me, unless…?”
He forces his answer through gritted teeth. “Eight.”
Joseph laughs. “I knew it!” He leans over to gloat more, until he catches the annoyance on the face of Caesar’s partner. Glancing at his own, he finds a similar expression. “What?”
“You’re dancing with her,” Caesar cuts in. “Act like it.”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks irritably, raising the frame of his arms. “See? We are dancing together.” With a grumble of frustration, he rotates their pose on the next box step so he can see his partner and Caesar without turning his head.
It’s a mistake. At this angle, staring at each other, it almost feels like they could be dancing together. When Caesar steps forward, Joseph steps back. Slow, slow, quick-quick.
They take another turn, slower and tighter for being on the inner track. “You shouldn’t speak with others when you’re dancing with a woman.” With that, he whisks his partner back into the faster track. Joseph tries to follow, but other couples cut between them and he loses Caesar in the long strides of pairs moving in time with the music.
---
The older couple, and they were already old when Joseph met them ten years ago, laugh at his jokes about the hors d’oeuvres. He crams another piece into his mouth from the napkin in his hand.
“Are you here to enjoy the holiday?” the husband asks.
The wife adds, “I haven’t seen your grandmother here tonight.”
Joseph shakes his head. “She isn’t in Italy with me. Neither is Speedwagon.”
“How lonely for you!”
“What brings you to Venice, if not on family holiday?”
Long raven hair flutters into Joseph’s field of vision as Lisa Lisa walks with another woman, deep in conversation. Like she could read his mind, or perhaps because she could feel his eyes watching her, Lisa Lisa looks at Joseph. She gives a tiny nod of her head as if to give permission for Joseph to speak.
“I’m staying with Lisa Lisa,” Joseph says. He shifts his attention back into his conversation. “I’ve been here for several days now. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind, if I can be honest.”
The wife claps her hands once, clasping them together before her bosom. “Isn’t she a dream?” she says. “What a lovely young woman. I hope her parents are proud of her! She’s one of the most cultured people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”
Memories of Hell Climb Pillar surface in Joseph’s mind. He grits his teeth into a passable smile. “She’s ruthless, and she certainly knows a lot for someone so young.”
“All she needs is a husband,” the man says. “Then she’ll have everything.”
With a scowl, the woman elbows him in the ribs hard enough to send him into a coughing fit. “You mentioned you’re staying with her?” she asks, voice sweet despite the vicious stab moments earlier. “What for, JoJo?”
Joseph rubs his jaw with one hand. “To learn from her! She’s agreed to teach me. Since I arrived, I’ve been working nonstop.” He drops his hand to his chest, resting over the Wedding Ring in his heart. “All the lessons and exercises that Lisa Lisa puts me through have demanded the best from me.”
The wife gasps and holds a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my! How strenuous!”
“You’re right, it is tough,” Joseph nods, “But the progress I’ve made under her guidance is actually impressive!”
“Good, then it sounds like you’re up to the task.”
Recovered from his coughing fit, the husband asks, “What did you say you were learning from her, again?”
“I didn’t,” Joseph says cheerfully. He pops the last crunchy canapé into his mouth and drops the empty napkin on a passing server’s tray.
“She’s never spoken about her work in detail and I’ve never been to her island, but from simply judging by the bizarre architecture, I have always assumed she taught athletes. Acrobats or gymnasts, something of that nature.” He shrugs. “Now you can tell me all about it. Am I right?”
Someone knocks into him before he can reply. “Oh, JoJo! There you are!” Caesar places a hand on Joseph’s arm. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Joseph blinks. “You have?”
Caesar offers an apologetic smile to the couple. “Please excuse us, I need to borrow him for a moment.”
“Oh, no trouble at all,” the woman says, then addresses her husband. “It’s getting late, dear, don’t you think?”
Sliding his hand up Joseph’s arm, Caesar curls his grip almost almost possessively around Joseph’s bicep as he drags Joseph along. They weave through the party, dodging conversations and avoiding people who would wave them over. The crowd thins as Caesar brings them closer to another arched doorway, decorated like the one they entered through earlier. But instead of leading into another corridor, this one leads them outside to a small sculpture garden.
Joseph shakes out of Caesar’s hold to stop shortly after they pass beneath the arch and into the moonlight of the courtyard. “What the hell are you doing?” he hisses.
“I could ask you the same thing!” Caesar says. “Blabbing about Lisa Lisa like that to strangers.”
Joseph frowns. “They weren’t strangers. I’ve met them before.”
“They’re perfect strangers to our situation.”
Exasperated, Joseph throws his hands into the air. “Our situation? You thought I was going to tell them about the Pillar Men?”
“Training with Ripple is something these people, normal people, wouldn’t understand,” Caesar says. “They’d ask questions. The wrong ones.”
Joseph frowns. “We fought with Ripple in the middle of Rome. In broad daylight.”
“That’s different.”
“There were witnesses.” Joseph folds his arms across his chest. “It wasn’t a problem for you then when you gave that tourist a Ripple kiss.”
Caesar crosses his arms, too. “We weren’t in training and hiding out from the Pillar Men.”
Barking out a laugh, Joseph says, “You think the Pillar Men are here? That they’re sponsors of the arts and the preservation of artifacts from human history? Remind me to thank them for their generous donation.”
“No, of course not! That’s not what I…ugh.” Caesar fumes and lowers his voice. “They’re looking for the Red Stone, and you saw how quickly they caught on to modern languages. You don’t think they could figure out how to track us? To strike us before we’ve completed our training?”
Joseph considers the idea. “They might keep track of us as the time for our showdown gets closer,” he says. The Pillar Men are quick to adapt, of that Joseph has no question. But would Wham break the terms of their agreement to seek him out for an easier victory, or would doing so call his honor into question? “The timeline for the rings is very specific. I don’t think that Wham would do anything to jeopardize his own rules.”
“You don’t think?” Caesar asks, then repeats as an accusation, “You don’t think! That’s the problem.” He puts a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “I hope you’re right about them not trying to find us sooner. We’re not ready.”
“We’re not.”
“But please don’t forget that they’ll act on their own terms.” Caesar’s voice gets tight and low. He squeezes Joseph’s shoulder. “Each one of them.”
Joseph turns his head to look into Caesar’s face. The frustrated, angry outburst has burned away, leaving behind something close to pleading and concern. Joseph isn’t used to seeing his eyes as bright and as close as they are right now. “I won’t,” he says. It comes out quieter than he expected. “I was a part of setting this all up, remember?”
Caesar considers him for a long moment. “I suppose that’s true.” He looks away. “Oh.” Pointing at the door, Caesar says, “I guess they hung mistletoe here, too.”
True enough, another bough of mistletoe hangs from the apex of the arch. A bright red ribbon tied into a bow keeps the sprigs together.
“I guess they did,” Joseph says slowly.
They turn to each other at the same time.
---
Brackish spray from the sea spreads into a fine mist in the night air. The water grows choppier again the further away they sail from Venice’s semi-protected lagoon.
“What a party!” Joseph says from behind his breathing mask. “That wasn’t as boring as I thought it was going to be.”
Lisa Lisa pauses digging in her purse to smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, JoJo.” She returns her attention to her clutch to bring out a carton of cigarettes. It looks fresh, like she managed to buy one from a tobacco shop despite the late hour. Lisa Lisa props one in the corner of her mouth before fishing in her handbag for a lighter.
“I didn’t realize when I came here that I’d know so many people.” Joseph inhales as deep as the device will allow and stretches his arms above his head. The seams in his jacket’s shoulders strain with the combined movement.
She chuckles like he’s made a joke. “People have a way of coming back to you. Life’s funny that way.” In her hands, the lighter struggles against the wind. She cups a protective hand around the ignition and tries again.
Joseph opens his mouth to suggest she use Ripple.
“JoJo, some things are not improved by the application of force,” Lisa Lisa says.
He closes it again.
On the other side of the boat, Caesar coughs. Joseph turns his head towards him in time to see Caesar look away.
Lisa Lisa manages to catch a light when Joseph isn’t looking. The cherry glows bright between her fingers as she takes a drag. Her other hand tucks the lighter back into her purse. No motion wasted.
“Do we really have early training tomorrow?” Joseph asks. When she doesn’t respond, Joseph adds, “That was a joke, right? It’s past midnight.”
Smoke and steam mix when she exhales. “No, I wasn’t joking. You’ll rise before breakfast.”
Joseph wrinkles his nose. “Will we have a break on Christmas? Please tell me there’s no training on Christmas.”
Lisa Lisa offers him another enigmatic, unenthusiastic stare. Damn.
With a sigh, Joseph looks back across the boat. The moon paints a silver ribbon of light over dark waves and the occasional swipe of of cresting foam. Caesar’s head remains steadfastly turned to gaze out at the passing water.
---
Lying on his bed after lights out, Joseph stretches his back in a futile attempt to squeeze restlessness from his body. He tries sticking both feet out from underneath the covers, but it leaves him too exposed. When he rolls to one side, his shoulder sinks into the mattress at an uncomfortable angle. He rolls over in the other direction but knocks his blankets askew in the process. With a groan, Joseph gives up and buries his face into the pillow until the breathing masks chokes him.
He eventually finds an adequate position with his body in various stages of rotation beneath his sheets. Eyes straining against the darkness, he looks across the bedroom. Caesar lies in his bed, facing away from Joseph, his back unnaturally rigid for someone pretending to be asleep.
So he’s still thinking about it, too.
Joseph grins as he closes his eyes and remembers.
“They hung mistletoe here.”
“I guess they did.”
---
Neither of them speak. Joseph becomes acutely aware of Caesar’s closeness, and watches his expression change as the same realization dawns on Caesar.
Joseph’s own breathing changes. “What was your final count, again?”
A pursed smile. “I didn’t say.”
“Try me.”
Silence.
“Fine, I’ll go first.” Joseph considers lying for a brief second, but figures any falsehoods would come back to bite him in the ass. “Thirteen.”
The corners of Caesar’s mouth go tight.
“I won, didn’t I?”
With a slight turn of his head, as though this game was an idle trifle he could shake off and not a competition they both pursued fiercely, Caesar says, “Ten.”
Victory’s grin calls too loudly for Joseph to resist. “Oh, really?” Ten! He could laugh if he had the presence of mind, or maybe a little less interest in seeing this opportunity through to the end. “We never decided what the winner gets, you know.”
A blond eyebrow arches in question. “And?”
“We both walked through that doorway.”
Green eyes close slowly before opening again. “We did.” Caesar’s throat bobs with a swallow. “Is that what you want?”
The muted sounds of the party carrying on inside the museum remind Joseph they could be discovered any moment. His heart races. “Is it an option?” Joseph’s eyes skim down Caesar’s face.
Caesar’s hand on his shoulder moves in a metered slide toward Joseph’s neck. The first brush of Caesar’s thumb against his skin raises goosebumps all the way down to his toes. “Don’t answer a question with a question.”
“It’s a good one.”
Hot breath steams when Caesar sighs. His fingers curl around the collar of Joseph’s jacket. “JoJo.”
“Fine.” Joseph reaches his forefinger to touch the top button on the front of Caesar’s jacket. It’s small enough and innocuous enough that they could argue later about what it means. They probably will, if they ever talk about this. “We’d be following tradition.” It isn’t a whisper, though it’s quiet enough that it reaches Caesar’s ears only, like a secret that needs to be kept from even the stone statues in the garden.
“Tradition,” Caesar says, like he’s considering the weight of the word in his mouth. “You’re saying it’d be bad luck if we didn’t?”
Managing the smallest nod, Joseph says, “Right. And we wouldn’t want that.”
“Of course not.” The words become wisps curling in the night air between them. “Not with so much ahead of us.”
Joseph hooks his finger over the clasp of the first button and gently pulls Caesar toward him. “We shouldn’t risk it.”
“That would be…” Caesar takes a step, closer than toe-to-toe now. “Irresponsible.”
His gaze falls, not for the first time, to Caesar’s lips. Something in the solitude of the gardens and the moonlight on Caesar’s face creates a sensation of gravity, and Joseph allows himself to give in to the pull. “Very irresponsible.” Joseph delivers the words against Caesar’s jaw as he closes his eyes. His nose bumps against the apple of Caesar’s cheek. All they need to do is turn their heads.
Lips press together beside Joseph’s mouth, slow and chaste. A near miss. “There. For luck.”
A small noise of protest vibrates in Joseph’s throat. “Caesar.”
Caesar laughs, warm and low. He inhales, taking Joseph’s breath from his mouth, before Joseph loses all patience and steals a proper kiss. Eagerness overcomes the sins of limited experience, or so Joseph hopes. It’s clumsy at first, more of a smoosh of mouths than anything else. But a pair of dry lips press confidently against his own and guide Joseph into form. As Caesar closes both fists on either side of Joseph’s lapels, Joseph readjusts the angle of his head. One kiss slides into another, then another, and they grow more comfortable with each deliberate practice.
They fit together unlike anything Joseph expected. His hands splay against Caesar’s torso, skimming down to lead Joseph’s arms around Caesar’s trim waist. Caesar pulls back for a breath. He slides his hands up Joseph’s lapels, smoothing the fabric. They lean in again at a different angle, excitement flowing through them both. Joseph never imagined learning to kiss Caesar could feel so thrilling, and every last inch of him sings.
They break apart, but only just, and their breathing mingles with ruffles of steam. “That should be enough, right?” Caesar asks, panting.
“No, I…” Joseph swallows thickly. “No, I think we need a little more.” And this time, it’s Caesar who cups Joseph’s face in his hands and kisses him hard.
Their lips fit back together with an eagerness outpacing Joseph’s dreams. When a quick tongue swipes gingerly against his top lip, Joseph reciprocates on their next pass. Back and forth, they kiss and lick, slickened mouths growing bolder with each exchange.
His quiet insistence drives Joseph further into delirium, and Joseph clenches his hands tighter on Caesar’s jacket to pull their hips flush together. Another pass of their lips, another lick. A gentle nip. Each kiss quenches like a drink of water after a hard run, refreshing and nourishing and necessary in ways his body needs. A want beyond craving.
Caesar wraps his arms around Joseph’s neck and teases his tongue along the seam of their lips, but never presses further. Never progresses this exchange into a full-on open-mouthed experience. But when Caesar catches Joseph’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucks lightly, Joseph loses all sense of care and whines against his mouth. Caesar’s small hum of pleasure almost gets lost in the response, a steady stream of kisses like magma flowing deep beneath the earth.
Joseph slides one hand up Caesar’s back to fit between his shoulder blades, tightening their embrace. Lightheadedness threatens with a giddy buzz through his veins. Is it from Caesar himself, or the languorous kissing unfolding between them, or the breaths they steal in the moments between? Joseph can’t tell the difference, doesn’t want to know. Wrapped around each other like this, he doesn’t want to think of anything else. He flicks his tongue before trying that same nip technique on Caesar’s bottom lip.
The spell breaks when they both open their mouths and two sets of teeth clack together sharply. “Ow!”
They push away from each other to bend over and clutch their faces. “Shit!”
Joseph checks for blood and chipped enamel with his tongue. Nothing. Good. He presses his fingers against his lips. They feel warm and swollen with prolonged use.
“That should be more than enough,” Caesar says, voice hoarse before he clears his throat, and rights himself. “For luck.”
“For luck,” Joseph agrees, standing up straight.
Color stains Caesar’s cheeks, something easily explained away by the cold if Joseph didn’t feel the same heat in his own face. “We should head inside.” He wipes a knuckle against the corner of his mouth. “The party should be winding down by now.”
“Right.” Joseph had forgotten entirely. “People are leaving.”
“Lisa Lisa will be looking for us.” Caesar straightens his suit jacket and smooths his hair back with both hands. “Let’s not keep her waiting.” He turns without looking for Joseph to follow, and carefully avoids the mistletoe hanging from the doorway.
Joseph waits for him to disappear completely from sight. He touches two fingers to his lips again and grins. Only then does Joseph follow Caesar back inside.
Title: An Evening At The Gala
Summary: Lisa Lisa brings Caesar and Joseph along to a museum's Christmas gala.
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 8,464
Note: Fill for CJC Week 2019, Day 3: Holidays/Seasons. X-posted to AO3 today! Click here [x] for a tweet that is basically an alternate summary.
Lisa Lisa refuses to budge. “Your training is more important, JoJo. We don’t have the luxury of time. Sending you back home for the Christmas holiday would be a matter of days which none of us have.”
With a pout, Joseph breaks off a piece of the crostata with his fork. “But it’s Christmas.”
“And you’ll spend it here,” Lisa Lisa says. She takes an efficient sip of her morning coffee. “We can arrange for you to write to your grandmother. Though you’ve refused every other offer, maybe you’ll take this one seriously.”
“No.” He shoves the food into his mouth and chews noisily. Caesar throws him a look of mild annoyance. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend Christmas with your family? Not stuck here training?” Joseph gulps the mouthful down. “You’re the who went on and on about lineage and all that shit.” No one says anything, so Joseph shrugs. “We can’t celebrate Christmas without family! It’s tradition.”
Lisa Lisa pulls out her cigarette case and sticks one in her mouth. “There are other traditions.” She rifles in her pockets for something else, presumably a packet of matches, but comes up empty. Caesar produces one of his fancy lighters to offer her a flame. She thanks him and takes an igniting drag on her cigarette. “You could say we have all become as close as family.”
“It isn’t the same,” Joseph says.
“Deal with it,” Caesar bites. Joseph wrinkles his nose at Caesar in mockery. “And finish eating; we need to get that mask back on you.”
Loggins sweeps into the dining room, his footfalls unnaturally quiet. Joseph wonders when he and Messina eat. Maybe early in the morning with that cute blonde maid, Suzie, who Joseph has caught staring at him a few times. He holds a thick parchment envelope in one hand. “Lisa Lisa, this just came for you.”
“Who is it from?” She reaches an elegant hand to receive it.
“The Museum.”
Lisa Lisa slides a finger beneath the envelope’s flap to break the seal. She reads over the document. “As expected.” Slipping the parchment back into the envelope, Lisa Lisa gives it back. “Have Suzie add this to my afternoon correspondence.”
Loggins salutes before leaving the room.
“Hey.” Caesar snaps his fingers in front of Joseph’s face. “Hurry up.”
“I’m eating!” Joseph grabs his wrist and doesn’t let go, even as Caesar tries to pull his hand back. “Give me a minute.”
“No need,” Lisa Lisa says, getting to her feet. She lifts her eyebrows and turns down the corners of her mouth in perfect aloofness. Joseph can feel the temperature in the room drop from her stare. “Your daily schedule starts now.”
---
Chunks of pig fly across the training yard after Caesar lands a roundhouse kick to the hog. Ripple fizzles out in each piece.
“Very nice!” Messina says, applauding with Loggins.
“Not that nice,” Joseph mutters under his breath. “I could do better.”
Caesar resets his stance, light enough on both feet that he could dodge an oncoming attack but heavy enough to ground his next strike. His fists come up to protect his head. “No, you can’t.” Another rotation of his body sends his legs arcing through the air. He attacks the remainder of the pig on the spear with a powerful kick.
“Watch me,” Joseph says. He swipes the tip of his nose with his thumb as he puts his arms into position. According to Loggins, training with these pigs is a rare occasion. The butcher couldn’t sell these pigs for food, the specimens too old and kept too long that they’re too close to rancid, so he sold them at a steep discount. Messina said something about ‘getting used to a certain density’ to transmit Ripple, but Joseph hadn’t been paying too much attention earlier. Caesar had been stretching, and his shirt had come untucked. That accidental reveal of skin had been too compelling for Joseph to resist.
The last time Caesar had exposed so much skin, they were fighting for their lives under the Colosseum. He didn’t have the mind or the time to properly appreciate it then. Now that they’re spending almost every minute of every day together, Joseph realizes what a rarity that was. He’d be damned if he allowed this morning’s chance to pass him by.
Approaching his porcine target, Joseph jumps from foot to foot to limber himself up. Then, without a glance at Caesar, he lurches forward. He breathes in time with the wind-up, the pitch. Ripple shimmers down his arm to crackle at his fist. He lands a solid punch, if he says so himself. It feels right against his knuckles, the pig’s flesh offering up the same kind of resistance he expects from a fistfight in an alley. With the charge of Ripple, the tension shatters and his attack makes a gaping hole in the carcass, clear through to the other side.
The momentum of his swing curves his body around and Joseph follows the motion with a twist through his hips. He pivots and lifts his leg high to slam the bridge of his boot-covered foot against, and eventually through, the rest of the target. It sends chunks of pig in every direction. Some of it ends up on Caesar.
Joseph grins, pleased. “How’s that for better?” He gestures at the ground around them. “Look at how much more I knocked off! How much further mine went!”
With a grimace, Caesar wipes the pork from his clothes with both hands. “A bigger explosion doesn’t mean it’s better.”
“Yes, it does,” Joseph says. “That’s the point of explosions.”
“You’re here to train your Ripple.” Caesar stalks across the training yard until he’s a few paces from Joseph. “Concentrate your power, like putting your thumb over the mouth of a garden hose. Focus, JoJo!”
Joseph scoffs and punches the pig again, this time without using Ripple. He knocks the rest of it off the spike. “You’re just mad because I beat you.”
“What? You didn’t beat me.” Caesar gestures with both hands at his pig. “That last punch doesn’t count.”
“Was it a competition?” Lisa Lisa’s voice rings like a church bell in a small town. She glides toward them in her heels, cutting across the courtyard with ease. Joseph no longer resists the now-ingrained habit to bow at her approach. “A proper competition would clearly define the terms of victory. Loggins? Messina?” Both training masters stand straighter, heels snapping together. “I assume you can judge the winner.”
Loggins and Messina exchange looks. “Caesar.”
“No!” Joseph groans.
Lisa Lisa offers the suggestion of a shrug, barely a twitch of her shoulder and a turning of her head. “So it’s settled.” She casts another cold look at Joseph. “I have an opportunity for you both. Think of it as a Christmas gift.”
“What is it?” Joseph asks, sneaking a glance at Caesar. He seems just as intrigued.
She pauses to observe each of them in turn. “A Venetian museum, supported in part by the Speedwagon Foundation, hosts a holiday reception every Christmas season. Once again, I’ve been invited as a guest of honor. I’ve decided to allow both of you to accompany me.”
Joseph wonders what museum would throw such a celebration, and why Lisa Lisa would be named a guest of honor. It must be something to do with her mysterious affiliation with the Foundation. And they do love a good soirée. Granny Erina and Uncle Speedwagon used to dress him up for those big fancy parties when he was a kid. He hated the clothes, loved the food, and adored the attention. As he got older, the attention changed, then waned. The fun dropped off sharply with it.
Still, surprising some rich old stiff in a suit with a Ripple-propelled spray of champagne never failed to cheer Joseph up when the events would drag. After training for the better part of two weeks, he can’t wait to see how much his aim has improved.
Excitement spills over into a toothy grin on Caesar’s face. “Really?”
It must be contagious. Watching Caesar, Joseph finds himself smiling, too.
Lisa Lisa nods. “We’ll need to arrange for your tuxedos before the end of this week. It is a gala, after all.” She turns and motions for them to follow.
Joseph scrambles after her, ready to leave the hard work behind him for the rest of the afternoon. “You’ll take off the mask, right? For the party?”
Keeping pace beside him, Caesar snorts and answers for Lisa Lisa. “Now why would you want to waste a perfectly good evening? You need to keep it on for your training, JoJo.”
“It isn’t your normal black tie accessory.”
“Neither are wedding rings full of poison.”
Joseph rolls his eyes. “Those aren’t by choice!” Ahead of them, Lisa Lisa reaches the door back into the castle and passes through it without hesitation. “Well, I suppose the mask isn’t by choice either.” Joseph frowns behind the device, brow furrowing as he catches the door before it swings closed. He holds it open for Caesar with one hand and gestures at the breathing device with the other. “But people can see this thing and, let’s face it, it’s ugly!”
“It isn’t ugly.” Caesar pauses in the doorway to let his eyes trail up from Joseph’s waist to his chest, pausing at his throat, before coming to rest on his face. It’s an intense look he’s seen before, one that makes his own cheeks hot with the force of that heavy gaze. A smirk. “Actually, I’d say it’s an improvement over the usual landscape.”
Joseph resists slamming the door on his ass, if only because he doesn’t want to haul it open again.
---
After the sun has set on Air Supplena Island, Joseph eases himself into the freshly-drawn bath after a hard day’s worth of training. Today, they’ve mastered balancing on top of twin spires and metering their breaths until a single intake of air lasts far longer than Joseph thought possible. Steam rises from the surface of the bathwater, casting a hazy veil of humidity into the air. The condensation that forms on his breathing mask doesn’t bother him so much anymore.
He’s supposed to be cleaning himself up for the event tonight but all Joseph wants to do is sprawl his aching limbs in the hot, soapy water and sit there until the bath runs cold. An idea bursts into his head. Maybe he can use Ripple to keep the water warm! They can be late to the gala. He knows those things never start on time, anyway, and parties always seem to run later than expected.
Joseph looks over his naked body. ‘A certain density,’ Messina had said. He shudders and banishes from his mind a comparison to the pig carcass he exploded with a Ripple punch earlier that week. Maybe he’ll save that water-warming idea until he’s better at fine-tuned control.
Someone pounds their fist on the door. By the force of the knocking, Joseph knows it’s Caesar before he begins hollering. “Hurry up!” The banging stops. “Lisa Lisa says if you take more than ten minutes, she’ll make you wear the mask.”
With a roll of his eyes, Joseph looks around for the soap. “I’ll be done even sooner than that.”
“Suzie’s bringing up our tuxedos.” Caesar continues without acknowledging Joseph’s response. “We’re meant to undergo our final fitting for last-minute adjustments before we take the boat to Venice. It shouldn’t take long, but who knows. Better safe than sorry.” A tense silence follows his platitude. Joseph can’t see through walls, but he knows Caesar still lingers outside the door, waiting to say something. “And don’t forget to wash your ass. If you don’t, they’ll smell you before they see you, and you don’t want to embarrass Lisa Lisa.”
Prick.
Once he’s sure Caesar’s gone, Joseph sinks into the tub until the water swallows him whole.
---
As Joseph enters their shared bedroom to grab his underthings, he comes to an abrupt stop. Caesar’s eyes meet his as Joseph’s breath catches in his throat, and he could swear Caesar does the same. Seeing Caesar in his tux, with his hair slicked back and the undone bowtie string trailing under either side of his unbuttoned collar, shouldn’t be an arresting experience. Joseph finds it hard to move at the sight.
His heart doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo, racing as much as it is.
“Almost done,” Suzie says from one side of her mouth; the other corner grips a few extra-fine sewing pins between her lips. More stick out from the bracelet-style pin cushion wrapped around one wrist. “Just need to finish hemming this sleeve and tying his tie.” She needs to stand on a stepstool to reach Caesar’s arms, which he holds out to each side of his body. In the middle of the room, stuck between two twin beds they pushed to opposite walls, Caesar seems to take up all the space.
Joseph, his hair still dripping water from the bath, readjusts his grip on his towel wrapped low around his hips. He sits on the edge of the nearest bed, which just happens to belong to Caesar.
“Put your clothes on,” Caesar snaps. He won’t look at Joseph, probably to maintain a tenuous tether on his anger, or perhaps some misplaced sense of modesty, but either way Joseph feels like he’s won something.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Joseph says. “You’re in the way.”
Suzie lowers her gaze, an attractive blush coloring her cheeks. “I can move so you can get your drawers.”
“He can move himself, Suzie.”
She ducks out of the way anyway, so Joseph gets up to retrieve a clean set of briefs and a singlet. “Thank you,” he says to her. He lingers in front of Caesar, smirking at him. This close, he feels complete possession of every single centimeter of height he has over Caesar. Joseph doesn’t move, watching Caesar determinedly keep his gaze shifted somewhere over Joseph’s shoulder.
Caesar snaps his eyes shut, then meets Joseph’s stare with irritation. “What.”
“Nothing.”
The corners of his mouth twist down. “Then go, so Suzie doesn’t have to look at you.”
“Oh, I don’t mind!” Suzie interjects almost immediately.
Joseph grins.
“Leave now or you’ll make us late.” Caesar raises his eyebrows and adds, voice laced with false sweetness, “I thought you wanted to get the mask off."
That’s true, which makes it a far more compelling argument than anything else Caesar’s flung at him so far. “Fine.” Joseph readjusts his grip on his towel. He heads out the door and grumbles, “Christ, why do you care so much if I’m wearing that mask or not?”
Caesar mutters something in response, and he must try to move, because Joseph can hear the sound of Suzie admonishing him fading as he slips down the hallway.
When Joseph returns, towel-dried and semi-clothed, Caesar is gone. An odd sense of disappointment fades away with Suzie’s eager handling. She’s efficient, getting him dressed and guiding him through the final fitting. “I was worried about the shoulders. I can’t believe you don’t need them let out any more,” she says as they finish up. “They’re a bit tight still, but it should be fine for tonight.”
“The tailor did a good job,” Joseph says.
Suzie pinches the pins out of her mouth and jams them into the wrist cushion, a few at a time. “All that’s left is your tie.” She looks up at him, her baby blue eyes rounder for it. “You can put your arms down, JoJo.” There’s a giggle in her voice to match the amusement on her face.
A knock at the door demands their attention. “They’re leaving,” Loggins says. “Is he ready?”
She gives him a small push with two hands against his lower back. “Close enough,” Suzie says.
Loggins leads Joseph through the castle, winding through hallways and staircases down to the dock where a hired dinghy awaits. Lisa Lisa has already climbed aboard in her dazzling gown and luxe overcoat. Caesar stands at the pier, finishing a cigarette. “We were about to leave you behind,” Caesar says. He exhales smoke through pursed lips.
Joseph waves it away. “No, you weren’t.”
Caesar says nothing. He drops the cigarette butt to the ground and extinguishes it with a twist of his foot.
“Thank you, Loggins. Enjoy your night off.” Lisa Lisa raises a hand at him. Loggins nods and heads back inside. She then signals the captain, who turns and signals for a sailor to begin unlooping the mooring rope from its post on the pier.
“All aboard!”
The ship dips with the addition of Joseph’s weight, then Caesar’s, bobbing in the water when the waves push against the hull. As they sail, the gulf becomes rough with the winds blowing crisp and cold over the water. Lisa Lisa sits away from any spray, though Joseph assumes her overcoat is meant to help protect her finery as much as it is to provide warmth.
“Hey,” Joseph says loudly to Lisa Lisa’s back. “Look, I still have this breathing thing on.” He cups the front of the device for emphasis, despite the fact she isn’t looking at him. “I thought I earned a free night off.”
Seated beside him, Caesar snickers. “Too bad.” His face folds into a frown. “You left your bow tie undone.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Caesar plants a hand on the bench between them. He leans on it as he reaches over to flick one of the dangling ends of the tie with his forefinger. “You call this tied?”
“Suzie left it that way. I didn’t do anything.”
Another flick. “Obviously.”
Joseph exhales heavily through the mask, mostly to enjoy how his breath steams as it leaves the pipes. “You tie it then.”
Caesar drops his hand. “Tie it yourself.” He pushes himself back upright.
“Fine.” Joseph grabs both ends and forces them into a double overhand knot. The tails stick out at odd angles. Good. He claps his hands twice, swiping his palms together as if to rid them of dust. “Done.”
Caesar rolls his eyes. “Testa di cazzo.” He shifts his weight again, this time to swing a leg over the bench to straddle it. With his open jacket exposing the two columns of pleats down the front of his shirt, and the folds in his pants angled over the tops of his thighs, Joseph lets the lines in the clothes draw his eyes to Caesar’s hips. He blinks and looks up into Caesar’s face, shadowy from the faint moonlight struggling to break through the clouds. “Why would I expect anything different? Here, move your leg.”
“Are you serious?”
“JoJo.”
Joseph shrugs. “Only if you take my mask off, too.”
“No.” Caesar pats the bench with his hands. Joseph thinks he deserves a round of applause for not looking at Caesar’s thighs again. “Just do it.”
“Fine.” Joseph swings a leg over. “You’re so stubborn.” He spreads his knees to mirror Caesar, who reaches to undo the spiteful knot around his neck. “Hey, careful how you pull that.”
Meeting his eyes, Caesar stills his hands. “I know what I’m doing.” He drops his gaze to Joseph’s throat and scoots closer. His nimble fingers tease the fabric, loosening the tie bit by bit. Joseph tries not to swallow. Or breathe. Caesar doesn’t seem to notice, his forehead wrinkling between his eyebrows as he works. Finally, the knot comes undone, and Joseph breathes a sigh of relief. “Did you need to tie it so tight?” Caesar shakes his head.
“I was making a point,” Joseph grumbles. A cloud moves in the sky, and the moon peeks out like a nervous mother bird from its nest.
With a shake of his head, Caesar pulls the tie from around Joseph’s neck. “Like a child.” He pinches the ribbon between his fingers on one hand and pulls with the other to smooth away the crinkles of Joseph’s petty knot.
Joseph shrugs one shoulder. “Whatever works.” Even in the scant light, Joseph can see how the corners of Caesar’s mouth lift in amusement. “Whatever gets the job done.”
“I get the job done without acting like a toddler. You should try it sometime.” Caesar moves to fix the top button on Joseph’s shirt.
The boat takes a wave hard, launching Joseph forward. He reaches out to keep himself from falling, bracing himself against Caesar’s thighs. Caesar’s hands slide over either side of his neck and send goosebumps over Joseph’s skin to tingle his scalp. Their faces almost smash together before the rocking stops. Caesar’s lips a breath away from Joseph’s mask.
As soon as he can, Joseph sits back upright. Both sets of hands retreat from where they had lain on each other’s bodies. “That was an accident,” Joseph says.
Ignoring him, Caesar flips Joseph’s shirt collar up against his throat. He slings the tie around his collar, crossing it at the front before pinching and looping the fabric. The wrinkle of concentration reappears on Caesar’s forehead before he finishes contorting the ribbon into a standard butterfly tie. “There.” Caesar folds Joseph’s collar back down.
Before Joseph can say anything, Caesar cups Joseph’s face in his hands. His fingers press heat against Joseph’s skin, a stark contrast from the cold night air that would make him shiver if he wasn’t so surprised. Face cast half in shadow, the look in Caesar’s eyes is hard to read. Anger, maybe? Joseph fails to parse it out while the now-familiar feeling of Ripple pulses run along Joseph’s jaw.
The mask unlocks with a fizzle and a pop. “Finished.” Caesar pulls it from his face. He sets the device in the space between them.
Joseph steadies the mask with one hand to keep it from rolling. “Thanks.”
“See?” Caesar swings his leg over the bench again to face his body forward, then turns his head back to look at Joseph. “I’m not stubborn.”
---
When Lisa Lisa specified a museum, Joseph had been expecting a small, private collection somewhere in the city center.
Abutting a convent on one side and the main canal on the other, the courtyard of this complex could comfortably hold several dozen people. However, only a few staff remain outdoors. One woman guides their small group of attendees through the empty museum to the coat check, then gestures them down a hallway to join the celebration.
The sounds of indistinct conversations overlapping and small ensemble music grow louder until, after one last corridor lined with framed Baroque paintings, they pass through an arched opening and into the party. A large room lined with sculpted columns and more art hung on the walls hosts one or two hundred people on polished tile floors. Above them, the room’s high ceiling boasts decorative molding around several frescoes. Traditional chandeliers, festooned with red velvet bows and sparkling tinsel garlands, cast a golden glow over the revelers.
“Watch out for the mistletoe,” Joseph jokes, pointing at the bit of shrubbery fastened by a red ribbon to the crown of the doorway.
“What?” Caesar pauses in his stride to glance up. “It’s just some decoration. Why would I care about that?”
Lisa Lisa doesn’t wait for them, so Caesar and Joseph resume trailing her through the crowd. “No, there are rules to mistletoe.” People seem to move out of their way “Kissing boughs! Doesn’t everyone know this?”
Raising a dubious eyebrow, Caesar says, “Some of us have more important things to worry about.”
Joseph makes a noise in frustration, one that he quickly strangles under a silencing look from Lisa Lisa. He ducks his head closer toward Caesar. “Oh, you know what I mean,” Joseph hisses. “It’s one of those long-standing Christmas traditions.”
“It’s silly.” Caesar buzzes his lips with a dismissive puff of air. “I’ve always thought it was an excuse for men like you to try and steal a kiss from someone out of his league.” With a quick swivel of his head, Caesar scans the room. “Like her.” He gestures to a woman in a dusty blue gown with champagne lace accents, her gold jewelry twinkling at her wrists and throat. “Although,” Caesar says thoughtfully, “I suppose mistletoe does have its charm for someone who knows how to use it.”
“Are you talking about yourself?”
“Well, I’m certainly not talking about you.”
They arrive at the bar, where Lisa Lisa receives a warm welcome from the bartender and a glass of red wine without so much as a word from her. She turns to appraise her pupils. “You are both free to enjoy yourselves, within reason. There’s no need to follow me the entire night.” Opening her clutch purse, she drops a cash tip in the jar beside the bottles of liquor. “We’ll leave in a few hours. Don’t forget: your training menu begins before breakfast tomorrow.” With that, she disappears into the crowd, calling out a greeting to another attendee.
Joseph groans. “I was hoping to have some fun tonight.”
“This is fun,” Caesar says, then orders a drink.
“No, it isn’t.” Looking out at the crowd, they’re easily the youngest people here. How boring. “Everyone looks like they’re going to fall asleep any second, and all the fun’s back there.” Joseph jerks his thumb at the bar.
Caesar sips from his glass. “The alcohol? It’s fun if you drink it, JoJo.”
Eyeing bottles of sparkling wine, Joseph says, “It explodes nicely, too.”
“Please do not destroy my bar,” says the bartender.
“He won’t.” Caesar gets a drink for JoJo, the same that Caesar ordered. “What is it with you and explosions this week?”
Joseph shrugs, eyes catching on an older woman who seems to be paying them extra attention. “Actually, I take that back.”
“Take what back?”
With a grin, Joseph accepts the glass from Caesar. He raises it to his lips. “This just got interesting.”
---
It doesn’t take much pressure from Joseph to get Caesar to agree to the challenge. But after seeing Caesar dance with his third partner for the night, the picture of perfect poise, Joseph is beginning to reconsider the terms of their competition.
Whoever engages the most partners wins.
Wins what, well, that’s a detail they can argue about later. Joseph figures their share of chores around the island can be divvied up to favor one of them. Hopefully him.
As Caesar releases his partner at the end of the song, Joseph looks away to avoid seeing the showboating kiss Caesar drops on her hand. Unfortunately, he can’t ignore Caesar when he comes over to gloat. “Have you been keeping count for me?” Caesar says. The small dots of color on his cheeks make his eyes seem brighter, even with the gleam of excitement left behind after a vivacious dance. “Since you seem to have nothing else to do.”
Joseph waves him off. “I’m strategizing. These aren’t my kind of dances anyway.”
“You can dance the foxtrot, can’t you, JoJo?”
“You know I can. You’ve seen me earlier tonight,” Joseph says.
“Once.”
He flaps his hand again. “I’m picky. It can’t be just anyone.”
Caesar turns his eyes back to the crowd. “You’re not here to pick out a bride. It’s one dance. Maybe half a song.”
Amongst a cluster of businessmen half a room away, a face looks familiar, if a few years older. “Does it have to be dances?” Joseph asks. He turns his head to address Caesar. “You can have a partner engaged in conversation, right?”
Tilting his head, Caesar considers the question. “Wordplay, but I suppose that’s true.”
“Great!” With renewed interest, Joseph moves to introduce himself and leaves Caesar standing alone.
---
As it turns out, several faces from Joseph’s youth found their way to Venice for the evening’s festivities. “Oh, yes! The young Master Joestar,” says a woman dressed in a fine charcoal black suit with a thin fitted tailcoat. “You were always such a cute little boy. My, how you’ve grown!”
Joseph grins under the attention. By his count, this second group of people brings his total engagement to seven. He scans the room for Caesar.
“How is your dear Uncle?”
“Oh, Speedwagon?” asks Joseph. Injuries beneath the Colosseum, growing distant with time, return fresh in the moment. He brushes over the concern nipping at his mind. “He’s well, the last time I saw him. Returning to good health.”
Another person murmurs in concern. “I hadn’t heard he was ill.”
“It was a severe head cold,” Joseph lies. “Nothing to worry about. Right now, he’s over in America, relaxing with my grandmother through the new year.”
“How exciting! I’ve heard from a few people that they’re still doing that time ball in New York City.”
The first woman laughs. “Yes, I should think so!” She places a gloved hand on her companion’s forearm and asks, “Have you ever been, my little duckling?”
There. Joseph notices a flash of that blond hair amongst older pairs. Caesar whirls the same partner from earlier around the dance floor, keeping his count at five. Ha! Joseph clenches his fist in quiet victory. While Caesar limits himself to one dance partner at a time, Joseph’s been able to surpass him with ease.
---
“No, I’m at six,” Caesar says over refreshments at the bar again, their implicit check-in location. “Five and six were twins.”
“Twins?” Joseph narrows his eyes and doesn’t admire the way the wine on Caesar’s mouth catches the light. Or the way his tongue swipes over his lips moments later. “You’re making that up to catch up to me.”
Caesar glares at him, then looks back at the crowd. Joseph takes advantage of the moment to slug down half his drink in one go. They notice the twins at the same time, standing side by side in identical dresses. The only way Joseph can tell them apart is their hair. One of the sisters has curled her bangs and pinned her dark hair up to one side. The other sports a Greta Garbo-inspired asymmetrical pageboy cut.
“Huh,” says Joseph. “I guess they are twins.”
With a self-satisfied chuckle, Caesar takes another sip. “At this rate, I’ll win easily.” Another pair of women pass in front of them. “How long do we have, again?”
“Oh, another hour or two, I’d guess.”
Caesar sets his glass down on the bar. “Perfect.” He adjusts his tie with both hands as he follows the swishing skirts.
With a put-out frown, Joseph watches him go. The women seem charmed by his advances, and Joseph doesn’t need to be close to know the gist of what Caesar’s saying. He scrunches his nose and mimics Caesar in a quiet voice. “Oh, signorina,” he intentionally bastardizes the Italian pronunciation, “how could I have passed the ball without making your acquaintance? You are a flower, and I am a honey bee, he who longs to drink your sweet nectar.” He grimaces and rolls his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah.” He finishes his drink with a gulp and a loud sigh through gritted teeth.
The bartender chimes in, “Can I get you another, or would you prefer something less bitter?”
“Hm? Bitter?” Joseph shakes the cup before he sets it on the counter. “This wasn’t bitter at all.”
With a tight-lipped stare, the bartender recoups the glass. “My mistake.”
---
Dancing with one of the twins, Joseph directs their path to cross Caesar’s on the floor. He leans over to interrupt Caesar’s quiet conversation. “What’s the count now?”
“JoJo, have some class.” Caesar leads his partner through a turn. She looks old enough to be part of Granny Erina’s sewing circle, but the happiness on her face makes her look at least ten years younger. “I’m busy.”
He guides the twin along, his movements mirroring Caesar’s as Joseph draws up alongside him. “I’m at ten.”
“Does that include her?” Caesar flashes Joseph’s partner a brief smile. “Hello again.”
“Oh,” Joseph says. They glide through the outer circuit on the dance floor, moving closer to the center. The pairs here cover less ground with their smaller steps. “Eleven, then.”
Caesar scoffs.
“You too? You can’t be more than me, unless…?”
He forces his answer through gritted teeth. “Eight.”
Joseph laughs. “I knew it!” He leans over to gloat more, until he catches the annoyance on the face of Caesar’s partner. Glancing at his own, he finds a similar expression. “What?”
“You’re dancing with her,” Caesar cuts in. “Act like it.”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks irritably, raising the frame of his arms. “See? We are dancing together.” With a grumble of frustration, he rotates their pose on the next box step so he can see his partner and Caesar without turning his head.
It’s a mistake. At this angle, staring at each other, it almost feels like they could be dancing together. When Caesar steps forward, Joseph steps back. Slow, slow, quick-quick.
They take another turn, slower and tighter for being on the inner track. “You shouldn’t speak with others when you’re dancing with a woman.” With that, he whisks his partner back into the faster track. Joseph tries to follow, but other couples cut between them and he loses Caesar in the long strides of pairs moving in time with the music.
---
The older couple, and they were already old when Joseph met them ten years ago, laugh at his jokes about the hors d’oeuvres. He crams another piece into his mouth from the napkin in his hand.
“Are you here to enjoy the holiday?” the husband asks.
The wife adds, “I haven’t seen your grandmother here tonight.”
Joseph shakes his head. “She isn’t in Italy with me. Neither is Speedwagon.”
“How lonely for you!”
“What brings you to Venice, if not on family holiday?”
Long raven hair flutters into Joseph’s field of vision as Lisa Lisa walks with another woman, deep in conversation. Like she could read his mind, or perhaps because she could feel his eyes watching her, Lisa Lisa looks at Joseph. She gives a tiny nod of her head as if to give permission for Joseph to speak.
“I’m staying with Lisa Lisa,” Joseph says. He shifts his attention back into his conversation. “I’ve been here for several days now. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind, if I can be honest.”
The wife claps her hands once, clasping them together before her bosom. “Isn’t she a dream?” she says. “What a lovely young woman. I hope her parents are proud of her! She’s one of the most cultured people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”
Memories of Hell Climb Pillar surface in Joseph’s mind. He grits his teeth into a passable smile. “She’s ruthless, and she certainly knows a lot for someone so young.”
“All she needs is a husband,” the man says. “Then she’ll have everything.”
With a scowl, the woman elbows him in the ribs hard enough to send him into a coughing fit. “You mentioned you’re staying with her?” she asks, voice sweet despite the vicious stab moments earlier. “What for, JoJo?”
Joseph rubs his jaw with one hand. “To learn from her! She’s agreed to teach me. Since I arrived, I’ve been working nonstop.” He drops his hand to his chest, resting over the Wedding Ring in his heart. “All the lessons and exercises that Lisa Lisa puts me through have demanded the best from me.”
The wife gasps and holds a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my! How strenuous!”
“You’re right, it is tough,” Joseph nods, “But the progress I’ve made under her guidance is actually impressive!”
“Good, then it sounds like you’re up to the task.”
Recovered from his coughing fit, the husband asks, “What did you say you were learning from her, again?”
“I didn’t,” Joseph says cheerfully. He pops the last crunchy canapé into his mouth and drops the empty napkin on a passing server’s tray.
“She’s never spoken about her work in detail and I’ve never been to her island, but from simply judging by the bizarre architecture, I have always assumed she taught athletes. Acrobats or gymnasts, something of that nature.” He shrugs. “Now you can tell me all about it. Am I right?”
Someone knocks into him before he can reply. “Oh, JoJo! There you are!” Caesar places a hand on Joseph’s arm. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Joseph blinks. “You have?”
Caesar offers an apologetic smile to the couple. “Please excuse us, I need to borrow him for a moment.”
“Oh, no trouble at all,” the woman says, then addresses her husband. “It’s getting late, dear, don’t you think?”
Sliding his hand up Joseph’s arm, Caesar curls his grip almost almost possessively around Joseph’s bicep as he drags Joseph along. They weave through the party, dodging conversations and avoiding people who would wave them over. The crowd thins as Caesar brings them closer to another arched doorway, decorated like the one they entered through earlier. But instead of leading into another corridor, this one leads them outside to a small sculpture garden.
Joseph shakes out of Caesar’s hold to stop shortly after they pass beneath the arch and into the moonlight of the courtyard. “What the hell are you doing?” he hisses.
“I could ask you the same thing!” Caesar says. “Blabbing about Lisa Lisa like that to strangers.”
Joseph frowns. “They weren’t strangers. I’ve met them before.”
“They’re perfect strangers to our situation.”
Exasperated, Joseph throws his hands into the air. “Our situation? You thought I was going to tell them about the Pillar Men?”
“Training with Ripple is something these people, normal people, wouldn’t understand,” Caesar says. “They’d ask questions. The wrong ones.”
Joseph frowns. “We fought with Ripple in the middle of Rome. In broad daylight.”
“That’s different.”
“There were witnesses.” Joseph folds his arms across his chest. “It wasn’t a problem for you then when you gave that tourist a Ripple kiss.”
Caesar crosses his arms, too. “We weren’t in training and hiding out from the Pillar Men.”
Barking out a laugh, Joseph says, “You think the Pillar Men are here? That they’re sponsors of the arts and the preservation of artifacts from human history? Remind me to thank them for their generous donation.”
“No, of course not! That’s not what I…ugh.” Caesar fumes and lowers his voice. “They’re looking for the Red Stone, and you saw how quickly they caught on to modern languages. You don’t think they could figure out how to track us? To strike us before we’ve completed our training?”
Joseph considers the idea. “They might keep track of us as the time for our showdown gets closer,” he says. The Pillar Men are quick to adapt, of that Joseph has no question. But would Wham break the terms of their agreement to seek him out for an easier victory, or would doing so call his honor into question? “The timeline for the rings is very specific. I don’t think that Wham would do anything to jeopardize his own rules.”
“You don’t think?” Caesar asks, then repeats as an accusation, “You don’t think! That’s the problem.” He puts a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “I hope you’re right about them not trying to find us sooner. We’re not ready.”
“We’re not.”
“But please don’t forget that they’ll act on their own terms.” Caesar’s voice gets tight and low. He squeezes Joseph’s shoulder. “Each one of them.”
Joseph turns his head to look into Caesar’s face. The frustrated, angry outburst has burned away, leaving behind something close to pleading and concern. Joseph isn’t used to seeing his eyes as bright and as close as they are right now. “I won’t,” he says. It comes out quieter than he expected. “I was a part of setting this all up, remember?”
Caesar considers him for a long moment. “I suppose that’s true.” He looks away. “Oh.” Pointing at the door, Caesar says, “I guess they hung mistletoe here, too.”
True enough, another bough of mistletoe hangs from the apex of the arch. A bright red ribbon tied into a bow keeps the sprigs together.
“I guess they did,” Joseph says slowly.
They turn to each other at the same time.
---
Brackish spray from the sea spreads into a fine mist in the night air. The water grows choppier again the further away they sail from Venice’s semi-protected lagoon.
“What a party!” Joseph says from behind his breathing mask. “That wasn’t as boring as I thought it was going to be.”
Lisa Lisa pauses digging in her purse to smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, JoJo.” She returns her attention to her clutch to bring out a carton of cigarettes. It looks fresh, like she managed to buy one from a tobacco shop despite the late hour. Lisa Lisa props one in the corner of her mouth before fishing in her handbag for a lighter.
“I didn’t realize when I came here that I’d know so many people.” Joseph inhales as deep as the device will allow and stretches his arms above his head. The seams in his jacket’s shoulders strain with the combined movement.
She chuckles like he’s made a joke. “People have a way of coming back to you. Life’s funny that way.” In her hands, the lighter struggles against the wind. She cups a protective hand around the ignition and tries again.
Joseph opens his mouth to suggest she use Ripple.
“JoJo, some things are not improved by the application of force,” Lisa Lisa says.
He closes it again.
On the other side of the boat, Caesar coughs. Joseph turns his head towards him in time to see Caesar look away.
Lisa Lisa manages to catch a light when Joseph isn’t looking. The cherry glows bright between her fingers as she takes a drag. Her other hand tucks the lighter back into her purse. No motion wasted.
“Do we really have early training tomorrow?” Joseph asks. When she doesn’t respond, Joseph adds, “That was a joke, right? It’s past midnight.”
Smoke and steam mix when she exhales. “No, I wasn’t joking. You’ll rise before breakfast.”
Joseph wrinkles his nose. “Will we have a break on Christmas? Please tell me there’s no training on Christmas.”
Lisa Lisa offers him another enigmatic, unenthusiastic stare. Damn.
With a sigh, Joseph looks back across the boat. The moon paints a silver ribbon of light over dark waves and the occasional swipe of of cresting foam. Caesar’s head remains steadfastly turned to gaze out at the passing water.
---
Lying on his bed after lights out, Joseph stretches his back in a futile attempt to squeeze restlessness from his body. He tries sticking both feet out from underneath the covers, but it leaves him too exposed. When he rolls to one side, his shoulder sinks into the mattress at an uncomfortable angle. He rolls over in the other direction but knocks his blankets askew in the process. With a groan, Joseph gives up and buries his face into the pillow until the breathing masks chokes him.
He eventually finds an adequate position with his body in various stages of rotation beneath his sheets. Eyes straining against the darkness, he looks across the bedroom. Caesar lies in his bed, facing away from Joseph, his back unnaturally rigid for someone pretending to be asleep.
So he’s still thinking about it, too.
Joseph grins as he closes his eyes and remembers.
“They hung mistletoe here.”
“I guess they did.”
---
Neither of them speak. Joseph becomes acutely aware of Caesar’s closeness, and watches his expression change as the same realization dawns on Caesar.
Joseph’s own breathing changes. “What was your final count, again?”
A pursed smile. “I didn’t say.”
“Try me.”
Silence.
“Fine, I’ll go first.” Joseph considers lying for a brief second, but figures any falsehoods would come back to bite him in the ass. “Thirteen.”
The corners of Caesar’s mouth go tight.
“I won, didn’t I?”
With a slight turn of his head, as though this game was an idle trifle he could shake off and not a competition they both pursued fiercely, Caesar says, “Ten.”
Victory’s grin calls too loudly for Joseph to resist. “Oh, really?” Ten! He could laugh if he had the presence of mind, or maybe a little less interest in seeing this opportunity through to the end. “We never decided what the winner gets, you know.”
A blond eyebrow arches in question. “And?”
“We both walked through that doorway.”
Green eyes close slowly before opening again. “We did.” Caesar’s throat bobs with a swallow. “Is that what you want?”
The muted sounds of the party carrying on inside the museum remind Joseph they could be discovered any moment. His heart races. “Is it an option?” Joseph’s eyes skim down Caesar’s face.
Caesar’s hand on his shoulder moves in a metered slide toward Joseph’s neck. The first brush of Caesar’s thumb against his skin raises goosebumps all the way down to his toes. “Don’t answer a question with a question.”
“It’s a good one.”
Hot breath steams when Caesar sighs. His fingers curl around the collar of Joseph’s jacket. “JoJo.”
“Fine.” Joseph reaches his forefinger to touch the top button on the front of Caesar’s jacket. It’s small enough and innocuous enough that they could argue later about what it means. They probably will, if they ever talk about this. “We’d be following tradition.” It isn’t a whisper, though it’s quiet enough that it reaches Caesar’s ears only, like a secret that needs to be kept from even the stone statues in the garden.
“Tradition,” Caesar says, like he’s considering the weight of the word in his mouth. “You’re saying it’d be bad luck if we didn’t?”
Managing the smallest nod, Joseph says, “Right. And we wouldn’t want that.”
“Of course not.” The words become wisps curling in the night air between them. “Not with so much ahead of us.”
Joseph hooks his finger over the clasp of the first button and gently pulls Caesar toward him. “We shouldn’t risk it.”
“That would be…” Caesar takes a step, closer than toe-to-toe now. “Irresponsible.”
His gaze falls, not for the first time, to Caesar’s lips. Something in the solitude of the gardens and the moonlight on Caesar’s face creates a sensation of gravity, and Joseph allows himself to give in to the pull. “Very irresponsible.” Joseph delivers the words against Caesar’s jaw as he closes his eyes. His nose bumps against the apple of Caesar’s cheek. All they need to do is turn their heads.
Lips press together beside Joseph’s mouth, slow and chaste. A near miss. “There. For luck.”
A small noise of protest vibrates in Joseph’s throat. “Caesar.”
Caesar laughs, warm and low. He inhales, taking Joseph’s breath from his mouth, before Joseph loses all patience and steals a proper kiss. Eagerness overcomes the sins of limited experience, or so Joseph hopes. It’s clumsy at first, more of a smoosh of mouths than anything else. But a pair of dry lips press confidently against his own and guide Joseph into form. As Caesar closes both fists on either side of Joseph’s lapels, Joseph readjusts the angle of his head. One kiss slides into another, then another, and they grow more comfortable with each deliberate practice.
They fit together unlike anything Joseph expected. His hands splay against Caesar’s torso, skimming down to lead Joseph’s arms around Caesar’s trim waist. Caesar pulls back for a breath. He slides his hands up Joseph’s lapels, smoothing the fabric. They lean in again at a different angle, excitement flowing through them both. Joseph never imagined learning to kiss Caesar could feel so thrilling, and every last inch of him sings.
They break apart, but only just, and their breathing mingles with ruffles of steam. “That should be enough, right?” Caesar asks, panting.
“No, I…” Joseph swallows thickly. “No, I think we need a little more.” And this time, it’s Caesar who cups Joseph’s face in his hands and kisses him hard.
Their lips fit back together with an eagerness outpacing Joseph’s dreams. When a quick tongue swipes gingerly against his top lip, Joseph reciprocates on their next pass. Back and forth, they kiss and lick, slickened mouths growing bolder with each exchange.
His quiet insistence drives Joseph further into delirium, and Joseph clenches his hands tighter on Caesar’s jacket to pull their hips flush together. Another pass of their lips, another lick. A gentle nip. Each kiss quenches like a drink of water after a hard run, refreshing and nourishing and necessary in ways his body needs. A want beyond craving.
Caesar wraps his arms around Joseph’s neck and teases his tongue along the seam of their lips, but never presses further. Never progresses this exchange into a full-on open-mouthed experience. But when Caesar catches Joseph’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucks lightly, Joseph loses all sense of care and whines against his mouth. Caesar’s small hum of pleasure almost gets lost in the response, a steady stream of kisses like magma flowing deep beneath the earth.
Joseph slides one hand up Caesar’s back to fit between his shoulder blades, tightening their embrace. Lightheadedness threatens with a giddy buzz through his veins. Is it from Caesar himself, or the languorous kissing unfolding between them, or the breaths they steal in the moments between? Joseph can’t tell the difference, doesn’t want to know. Wrapped around each other like this, he doesn’t want to think of anything else. He flicks his tongue before trying that same nip technique on Caesar’s bottom lip.
The spell breaks when they both open their mouths and two sets of teeth clack together sharply. “Ow!”
They push away from each other to bend over and clutch their faces. “Shit!”
Joseph checks for blood and chipped enamel with his tongue. Nothing. Good. He presses his fingers against his lips. They feel warm and swollen with prolonged use.
“That should be more than enough,” Caesar says, voice hoarse before he clears his throat, and rights himself. “For luck.”
“For luck,” Joseph agrees, standing up straight.
Color stains Caesar’s cheeks, something easily explained away by the cold if Joseph didn’t feel the same heat in his own face. “We should head inside.” He wipes a knuckle against the corner of his mouth. “The party should be winding down by now.”
“Right.” Joseph had forgotten entirely. “People are leaving.”
“Lisa Lisa will be looking for us.” Caesar straightens his suit jacket and smooths his hair back with both hands. “Let’s not keep her waiting.” He turns without looking for Joseph to follow, and carefully avoids the mistletoe hanging from the doorway.
Joseph waits for him to disappear completely from sight. He touches two fingers to his lips again and grins. Only then does Joseph follow Caesar back inside.
