Ezio stole his lips away before Cesare managed to meet them. "So?"
A growl. "You murderous tease."
Another lost kiss. "Merda, hold still."
Sighing in defeat, the Spaniard dropped his head back onto the pillow and impishly tugged at his counterpart's hair, his submission bringing a devious grin that left no room for argument.
"I feel used."
Oh, if only he knew.
"I am simply getting started."
Sleeping with a man, Cesare found, was like fighting a battle—there was the build of conflict, the ascension, the climax, and then, the indubitable aftermath that would end up with dead silence and a down of wine. He found it disappointingly mediocre: entertaining in the initial stages, but the taste would be no different from fornicating with a woman. There would be no doubt that he would win.
But with Ezio Auditore, however …
Ah, si, that would be a different story.
Cesare found no comparison.
And Ezio preferred it that way.
"Does it still hurt?"
Groggily, Cesare cracked an eye open and raked his fingers through his locks, his sigh lengthy as he brought the covers higher over his shoulders. "A tad: The pain should ebb by the end of this week, according to the dottore."
"Aye, you should have been more careful, idiota. Now, you suffer."
A groan, a rustle of sheets, and then:
The lazy grin that overrode the world.
"You should expect no less of me, hurrying back to see you."