"Borgia! Wake up!"
Another slap to the face. "Borgia, for the love of Christ! Stop hogging all the damn blankets!"
Such was great ignorance perfected at another level.
"And you are headed?"
"I need a washcloth."
"Because, idiota, there is come on our bodies."
"So? What do you mean, so? It will get all over the bed; it is a mess."
"Aye, aye: Do not bother."
"You are a lazy cazzo, Borgia—making me do the entirety of the work."
"I said not to bother: There is no point."
"And may I ask why?"
"Simple—we are just not messy enough."
Cesare nonchalantly read his schedule.
"Dawn: fuck Auditore.
"Morning: fuck Auditore; then, get dressed.
"Breaking of the fast: eat, fuck Auditore, eat again, fuck Auditore, and perform daily hygiene rituals."
"Midmorning: fuck Auditore, consult with the pope, fuck Auditore, fuck Auditore again on top of the altar, fuck Auditore in the man hall, meet Lucrezia.
"Noon: a meal with Charolotte, fuck Auditore, train troops.
"Afternoon: fuck Auditore, manage condottieri affairs.
"Night: supper, fuck Auditore in the bathhouse, document the rebellion.
"Dusk: fuck Auditore, fuck Auditore, fuck Auditore, fuck Auditore, and fuck Auditore."
"Merda, how many times did I tell you not to release there?" Ezio growled agitatedly, digging his nails into the small of the other man's back when he made no effort to roll off of him. "Borgia."
Cesare loomed over the older male in an adamant manner, his dogged frown complimenting the crease in his brow, as he supported himself on his forearms and oppressed the urge to snap his hips—how difficult this was, their sweaty forms tangled together under the haze of bliss "It is the only way."
"You could have just pulled out!"
A grunt. "But not when you grip my cock like death, after you come—"
God forbid if this was a mundane activity.
Cesare pointed the fork at the other man's lips. "Eat your vegetables, messer."
Glaring down at the innocent tomato, Ezio silently wished for said utensil to lodge itself in the stubborn bastard's throat, his mouth thinned and unyielding to the incessant prods of the foul food item. "Borgia."
"Auditore," the younger man mockingly reciprocated, his keen eyes twinkling in great mischief. "Come, now: Let us not be so obstinate about such a trivial matter."
"You will have to force that down my throat before I willingly eat it!"
Suddenly, heat—with a shudder. "There would indubitably be something else lodged deeply at the back of your throat: And there'd be no choice but to swallow."