![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: The Future Waits Without Us (1/2)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Amber/Luigi
Rating: Somewhere between R and NC-17
Summary: "Fuck Dad and his cast of thousands, anyway. Think anybody would notice if I didn't show up?"
Warnings: Spoilers for the end of the movie, sex and swearing.
She could name the day they first made love. The day, the date, the very year; an anniversary of sorts in their long and tumultuous relationship. They'd been fucking for years; it was nothing more than sibling rivalry in a new dimension, struggling for superiority and attention and power. Who could get the other off faster. Who could get off first, leaving the other panting and frustrated as they jumped apart for opening doors, footsteps, voices coming in their direction. The very existence of it; it was something they had that Pavi did not, that Pavi did not even know about.
They had buried their father in the morning. The funeral was exactly the sort of huge public spectacle that Rotti Largo had adored. His body had lay in state for days, a river of people drifting past it, filling Sanitarium Square, lapping against the GeneCo building. Mag's bier lay alongside, a second island of flowers and feathers. It was as much a circus as the famed Italian Renaissance faire that had taken place on the night of the Genetic Opera itself.
The crowd drifted, drinking their fill of pageantry and excess, telling wild stories of Rotti's generosity and his ruthlessness in the same breath. Luigi was twitchy, restless. Amber kept her hand on his arm, calming and stilling at once, and damn what the press or Pavi thought. She needed to touch him as much as he needed the touch; the only solid ground in the flood.
The ceremony was long, painfully so. An exhausting line of distinguished speakers, none of whom had really known Rotti Largo at all. Luigi whispered in her ear, a combination of creative insults about their honored guests and filthy suggestions about what he'd much rather be doing. She broke down completely at one point, and he escorted her from the room, playing the considerate older brother to the hilt. They fucked in the bathroom against the wall, doing nothing more complicated than hiking her skirt up and shoving his trousers to his hips, just enough for the contact. She wrapped her legs around him and bit her lip bloody trying not to cry out.
It was enough to keep them decent for a few hours, though she kept catching him staring at her out of the corner of her eye. He looked away every time she turned her head, and she couldn't take enough attention off the well-wishers to figure out what he was doing, but the pressure of his gaze left her skin crawling somewhere between discomfort and lust.
Finally, though, the pallbearers came forward and lifted the coffin. Some of the most powerful men in the world, Luigi and Pavi among them, carried her father's body to the carriage. Someone had found a pair of matched black horses somewhere. It suited the spectacle. The funeral became a parade, a procession, and her feet ached, slipping on the pavement. GeneCo was a weight on her shoulders heavier than the coffin, the leaden sky, the crowd. Her father's absence was a presence all its own. She realized she was crying and tried to stop.
It hurts, she thought, not even sure if she meant her feet or her bitten lip or even her heart. The words of the old jingle, Zydrate comes in a little glass vial, beat through her mind like a drunken swallow, banging into everything. Graverobber mouthed the words like an obscenity, his hands against her breasts and it seemed like sacrilege, thinking about that here, but the only other thing she could think of was Luigi's mouth on hers, a different kind of sacrilege. She wondered if she had any sacred places left, if that was why she disappointed her father. You're not my daughter, the last words he'd ever said to her.
"You'd be surprised how much I am," she whispered. He didn't answer her, probably wouldn't even if he'd been able to. But Luigi and Pavi were now carrying him into the place where his schemings would at last be ended. Pavi was crying. Luigi looked slightly ill. He caught her eye. "Almost done," she mouthed at him, and he nodded. One final ceremony to endure.
The three of them converged together, one of Luigi's nervous gophers distributing the bouquets. It was heavy, mostly calla lilies and ivy, and Amber felt oddly like a bride on her brother's arm. The protest staggered through her head, But Daddy's supposed to give me away, and here I am giving him away, and she was crying again as she lay the flowers on his grave. Rottissimo Paviche Largo, Beloved Father, Savior of Millions, was etched into the marble over the dates. Luigi's hand was steady under her elbow as she bent.
And that was it. The tomb was sealed, and the first pair of the honor guard took their places. The tomb would be guarded day and night, at least at first. She had no doubt that the Zydrate of Rotti Largo would be an incredibly tempting target. Bronco was waiting with the car, she noticed with gratitude. She didn't think her ankles could handle much more walking.
"Is there anything else?" she asked, her voice shaking, as the door was closed and the car pulled away. "I can't remember the damned timetable any more."
"Si, bella, a little bit more," Pavi replied, petting her knee.
She groaned, sinking back into the seat. "Fuck Dad and his cast of thousands, anyway. Think anybody would notice if I didn't show up?"
"The fucking head of GeneCo?" Luigi snarled. "Yeah, I think they'd fucking well notice. They'd also notice if you turned up stoned, so don't even think it."
"I wasn't," she protested, even though she had been. Anything to end the endless.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Amber/Luigi
Rating: Somewhere between R and NC-17
Summary: "Fuck Dad and his cast of thousands, anyway. Think anybody would notice if I didn't show up?"
Warnings: Spoilers for the end of the movie, sex and swearing.
She could name the day they first made love. The day, the date, the very year; an anniversary of sorts in their long and tumultuous relationship. They'd been fucking for years; it was nothing more than sibling rivalry in a new dimension, struggling for superiority and attention and power. Who could get the other off faster. Who could get off first, leaving the other panting and frustrated as they jumped apart for opening doors, footsteps, voices coming in their direction. The very existence of it; it was something they had that Pavi did not, that Pavi did not even know about.
They had buried their father in the morning. The funeral was exactly the sort of huge public spectacle that Rotti Largo had adored. His body had lay in state for days, a river of people drifting past it, filling Sanitarium Square, lapping against the GeneCo building. Mag's bier lay alongside, a second island of flowers and feathers. It was as much a circus as the famed Italian Renaissance faire that had taken place on the night of the Genetic Opera itself.
The crowd drifted, drinking their fill of pageantry and excess, telling wild stories of Rotti's generosity and his ruthlessness in the same breath. Luigi was twitchy, restless. Amber kept her hand on his arm, calming and stilling at once, and damn what the press or Pavi thought. She needed to touch him as much as he needed the touch; the only solid ground in the flood.
The ceremony was long, painfully so. An exhausting line of distinguished speakers, none of whom had really known Rotti Largo at all. Luigi whispered in her ear, a combination of creative insults about their honored guests and filthy suggestions about what he'd much rather be doing. She broke down completely at one point, and he escorted her from the room, playing the considerate older brother to the hilt. They fucked in the bathroom against the wall, doing nothing more complicated than hiking her skirt up and shoving his trousers to his hips, just enough for the contact. She wrapped her legs around him and bit her lip bloody trying not to cry out.
It was enough to keep them decent for a few hours, though she kept catching him staring at her out of the corner of her eye. He looked away every time she turned her head, and she couldn't take enough attention off the well-wishers to figure out what he was doing, but the pressure of his gaze left her skin crawling somewhere between discomfort and lust.
Finally, though, the pallbearers came forward and lifted the coffin. Some of the most powerful men in the world, Luigi and Pavi among them, carried her father's body to the carriage. Someone had found a pair of matched black horses somewhere. It suited the spectacle. The funeral became a parade, a procession, and her feet ached, slipping on the pavement. GeneCo was a weight on her shoulders heavier than the coffin, the leaden sky, the crowd. Her father's absence was a presence all its own. She realized she was crying and tried to stop.
It hurts, she thought, not even sure if she meant her feet or her bitten lip or even her heart. The words of the old jingle, Zydrate comes in a little glass vial, beat through her mind like a drunken swallow, banging into everything. Graverobber mouthed the words like an obscenity, his hands against her breasts and it seemed like sacrilege, thinking about that here, but the only other thing she could think of was Luigi's mouth on hers, a different kind of sacrilege. She wondered if she had any sacred places left, if that was why she disappointed her father. You're not my daughter, the last words he'd ever said to her.
"You'd be surprised how much I am," she whispered. He didn't answer her, probably wouldn't even if he'd been able to. But Luigi and Pavi were now carrying him into the place where his schemings would at last be ended. Pavi was crying. Luigi looked slightly ill. He caught her eye. "Almost done," she mouthed at him, and he nodded. One final ceremony to endure.
The three of them converged together, one of Luigi's nervous gophers distributing the bouquets. It was heavy, mostly calla lilies and ivy, and Amber felt oddly like a bride on her brother's arm. The protest staggered through her head, But Daddy's supposed to give me away, and here I am giving him away, and she was crying again as she lay the flowers on his grave. Rottissimo Paviche Largo, Beloved Father, Savior of Millions, was etched into the marble over the dates. Luigi's hand was steady under her elbow as she bent.
And that was it. The tomb was sealed, and the first pair of the honor guard took their places. The tomb would be guarded day and night, at least at first. She had no doubt that the Zydrate of Rotti Largo would be an incredibly tempting target. Bronco was waiting with the car, she noticed with gratitude. She didn't think her ankles could handle much more walking.
"Is there anything else?" she asked, her voice shaking, as the door was closed and the car pulled away. "I can't remember the damned timetable any more."
"Si, bella, a little bit more," Pavi replied, petting her knee.
She groaned, sinking back into the seat. "Fuck Dad and his cast of thousands, anyway. Think anybody would notice if I didn't show up?"
"The fucking head of GeneCo?" Luigi snarled. "Yeah, I think they'd fucking well notice. They'd also notice if you turned up stoned, so don't even think it."
"I wasn't," she protested, even though she had been. Anything to end the endless.
