Ezio widened his eyes when he felt a draft of air caress his buttocks.

"Merda, you would not—"

Smirking, Cesare pushed the older male's head down and mockingly sighed, giving the latter's bottom an appreciative squeeze. "My, my, my: I catch you snooping around my villa, and you protest such a fitting retribution? Shame on thou, Auditore—shame on thou."

A growl. "Do not dare, Borgia! Lest you wish for—cazzo!"

A loud ring of the Spaniard's hand connecting with his flesh reverberated in the room.

Cesare grinned.

And leaned his lips close to his ear.

"You have been a bad boy."

Another smack.

"A bad boy."

Once more.

"A very bad boy."

Again.

Suddenly, before Cesare could continue his punishment, Ezio greatly squirmed against his restraints, actually managing to dodge a hit as he hissed in indignation. He attempted to roll off of the younger man's lap by repeating his movements, but his crucifix was futile when a particularly hard hit knocked the breath out of his lungs, coercing him to turn limp as the edges of his vision mottled. Clucking his tongue, the general drew nonsensical patterns on the abused area in indirect fascination, his fingers trailing from the dip of his back to the sensitive location along his inner thigh—a teasing slap kept the sanguine hue of his sore rump.

"Do not test me," said being amusedly chided, feigning to initiate a soothing massage to relieve the tenderness. "You are indeed fortunate that I am letting you go without facing the entirety of the consequences."

"However, know that I shall not be lenient the next time I snare you, asesino: Your ass is mine."

"And I would be more than happy to prove it to you."