"Merda, you are heavy!" Ezio roughly growled, trying to wrestle the domineering arm that wrapped even tighter around his midsection. "For the love of God!"

Cesare did not answer, giving a few fake snores with cynicism that exterminated all into mockery, before he haughtily cracked an eye open in slow increments. "Buongiorno to you, too, Auditore." More pressure. "Might I suggest you not to wriggle like the pathetic worm you are? My sheets just came from Paris, you know."

"Not with you squeezing the air out of me!" Harshly, he dug his fingers into the noble's forearm, delighting in a small hiss of pain and the glorious break. "Dio, to think that the mornings are to be as such!"

This was just too perfect. "Oh, I don't know; I prefer a … " Tap to the chin. "different approach to dawn." With a wicked grin, he raked his calloused digits over the groaning assassin's torso in meticulous attention, noting his victory when a familiar firmness brushed against his thigh. "And what say you?"

Like he could ever respond.


The entire courtroom fell into silence.

Shocked, Ezio quietly watched Cesare latch onto his hand and pull him forward, an enigmatic glint in his eyes before his appendage was engulfed in both of the other man's, warm, calloused, unrelenting—unlike the intense scrutiny of the nobles and his audible tremors. There was that way the older man treated it as a normality, disregard the whispers of the ladies, the fools, the monks, his heart, as his fingers were embraced by teasing lips, once more, once less to know he was quivering, for that tongue to sneak out and swipe against the tips, lapping up the one drop of blood that snaked a downwards trail. Briefest kisses, along the dips of his knuckles before ascension, and he turns his palm over and brings ravishment in a mere matter of seconds.

His scroll fell to the ground.

"Why, Auditore," the Spaniard indifferently continued, waving off the sputtering pope and his enraged wife, "Next time, make sure not to get another paper-cut again, yes?"

Oh, such cruel intentions.


"What are you doing?"

Cesare brashly smirked. "I'm seducing you."

Incredulously, Ezio scoffed into the cool air of the bedchamber, turning his aching head to the side when a heated set of teeth scraped down his nape in a fashion that left no room for argument. "With your hands down my breeches."

"Of course."

Exasperation. "You're doing a lousy job at it, Borgia."

And a smug grin overrode his features. "Hard to tell."