Ezio richly laughed. "You have the face of a bambino, Borgia." Teasingly, he traced the line of the other man's stubble-ridden jaw in great amusement, noting the childish pout threatening to emerge amidst a mass of soapy foam. "A pretty one, too." A grin. "Too pretty."

Cesare frowned.

Sunday morning shaves were now out of the question.


"Pull it out."

"I cannot."


"It is … stuck."

"Che? How many times did I tell you not to push it in that fast?"

"God, Auditore: Do not make this so hard; it is already too tight as it is."


"Do not move; do not ever move."

"You pushed it in … at … at the wrong angle."

"Damn, I swore I did it right."

"Dio! Stop pushing it in even further!"

"I cannot help it. It is lodged in."

" … all the way?"

"No … there is still a lot left."

"Th-then remove it!"

"I am telling you: It is stuck."

"And I cannot take this anymore! Pull it out!"

"Fine … merda … all right, I am going to—"

Groaning, Cesare gripped onto the stubborn length with all of his might.

And pulled.


The other man breathed a sigh of relief. "You did it."

"Obviously, I did."

Ezio once more placed his new Syrian dagger into its sheathe—moving from his earlier position of being cramped together with the younger male in order to wrench out the weapon.

"That was too painful."

Most definitely.

Of which, if one may ask?


"Oh, messer," Cesare dramatically cooed, arching upwards to snag his hands into the other man's hair. "Please, be gentle with a little boy like me."

Ezio scoffed in incredulity. "Silenzio, you dirty monger."

"Ah, such naughty words!"

Laughing breathlessly, the former man rolled the two of them over, initiating a playful wrestling match atop mussed covers and pillows, their arms straining as they battled for suitable grips on their bodies to the sound of rustling sheets and pants. It was too hard to determine the winner, a smug leer versus an arched brow, his chuckles mixing with the coils of heat, perhaps fire dancing in his eyes while he dug his face into a warm nape and locked his legs around the other's, but seconds were the determining factor to the impish struggle of childish pride; and before each of them knew it, one was slammed down on the mattress without a single moment to comprehend.

The older male quirked his lips. "Now, how should I punish you for crossing me, little boy?"

Amusedly, Cesare rested his arms above his head in mock submission—a challenge through every angle of his supercilious features. "I do not know, but … " One smirk. "I have been a bad, bad boy."

"Is that so?"

It was so.