"You do it."
Irritated, Niccolò flopped back onto the bed ungraciously and voiced his utmost complaint sans mollification. "I did it last time, so now, it is your turn."
"Stay wary of your tongue, Machiavelli."
"Same goes to you, old man."
A growl. "Old man?"
"Si: You lack responsibility, old man."
La Volpe narrowed his eyes. "This preposterous claim contradicts what happened five minutes ago, giovane."
There was an acute sort of silence which permeated their previous states of fatigue, bodies unmoving, eyes boring into another set, their stances unshakeable, even as dawn filtered through the drapes in sanguine heat. Mastering the art of nonexistent patience: That was their game, the monotonous seconds that ticked by slower than the race to skewed victory; indubitably, submission was the devil's cost to pay, no matter how ridiculous this plight came to be in all the shameless glory of post coital high.
The break came out to be mutual.
"If obstinacy prevails," the thief agitatedly began, "then what are we to do about these?" He cast a cursory glance at their arousals and ended his execution with a solid frown. "Lest you wish for your coglione to turn an interesting shade of blue—aside from my own."
A scoff. "That is why I said that it is your turn."
"I did the fucking four times in a row, and my wrist will surely pop off if I put it to use once more."
"Te l'avevo detto: You are a geezer in every aspect."
"Oh? And what about you?" Quickly, the annoyed assassin shot out his hands and gave a firm squeeze to his counterpart's sides, arching an expectant brow at the pained hiss that had enough vehemence to match the aggravated scowl. "You yourself are not in such a place to impose."
"Who do you think wanted it on his back the entire time? And wanted a damn mouth on his cock for hours?"
The unlimited benefits of superiority. "Well, I am done."
"Va bene: Then, so am I."
Oh, the irony: The fornication continued ceaselessly after a minute, anyway.