"When are you leaving?"

Ezio quickly laced up the ties on his greaves. "After the pope offers the last public confessional; it would not be long until my departure."


Silently, Cesare watched the preoccupied assassin install the rest of the equipment up himself, deft fingers efficiently attaching plates and armor together without a hitch in the process, justifying the claims of precision and professionalism by every action and use of momentum. Such skill already alluded to the dangerous allure of the older man.

"Will you be back tonight?" the younger being asked, his voice seeming too loud in the comforting equilibrium of the master bedroom. "Carnevale would—"

A sudden kiss. "Do not worry, Borgia; you worry too much. I will steal each and every ribbon, scour the rooftops, do whatever it takes.

"Thus, you had best be prepared to see the presence of a golden mask in the crowd."

He amusedly scoffed. "Then, I guess I will have to play hard to get."


Cesare frowned.

"Eat the banana, Borgia," Ezio exasperatedly said, his hand aching from jabbing the fork in front of the other man's mouth for the last thirty minutes. "Do not make it so that you will have to go to the dottore again."


A tick.

"Eat it."


"Eat it."


"For the love Christ, eat it."

Great adamancy. "No."

Irritated, the older male thrust the speared fruit towards thin lips, his hand rising up to clamp puffed cheeks as he twisted about in the silent struggle that was more of a fool's play than a child's—God, to think that one abhorred fruit with so much vehemence! It literally took him a good while to wrestle down the protesting idiot who glared at the innocent fruit as if it were the very Devil itself.

But finally, the resolution commenced.

"You will eat this now."

" … no."

All it took.

That was all it took.

"Fine! I give up!" Such anarchy gave him nothing. "Eat this banana by yourself!"

How wrong.

"That is what I was trying to tell you," grumbled Cesare, his eyes flipping down into southern areas that were not related to said food item. "But you would not give that banana to me … "

Moral of the story: Eat a balanced meal.



"My God."


"This is … incredibile."

"Oh? Is that so?"

"Simerda, Borgia: I did not know you were this talented."

"I live to please; so, how about this?"

"Damn—th-this is amazing, too."

"And this?"


"And now, this?"


"And … this?"


"Great, is it not?"

Laughing smugly, Cesare placed down another platter of cake on top of the table, reaching down to pull the other into a heated exchange that bled the sweet flavors onto his tongue. "Kiss the cook, messer."

And kiss, he did.