"Perbacco, what an ass."

Ezio gripped the sheets, burying his face into the bed.

"Seriously, what an ass," he heard the other say, flinching when another sharp slap was delivered to his buttocks. It was easy to picture the younger man's wide eyes, his flushed cheeks, the extent of his queer admiration, that had been feasting upon his backside for the longest of whiles. "I can just look at it all day long."

God forbid.

Another slap stung his flesh. "But do not worry, I will not—for now. All I want at the moment is …"

Shuddering, Ezio found that he did not have the strength to fight the hand that buried itself in his hair, the fingers pulling him back towards the hungry mouth that appeared before him. He found that strength fled him long ago at the slightest look, at the slightest touch, at the slightest caress that coerced blood to roar in his ears, and his lips burned in liquid heat. Words were nothing—words were futile; for if words had been his shield, then he would not have been breathless at the greedy plays at his locks, desperate for that mouth to move firmer, faster, and wilder.

"I am going to put it in now," Adriano stated, pulling the older man's hair harder as he grabbed his cock. "I am going to put it in."

His throat barely worked. "Do it slowly." Cristo. "Do not rush—"

"Si, si, I know that."

"Remember what I said—"

"I remember." Exasperation: "Can I just put it in now?"

" … Mark my words."

"I know, I know." A sigh. "For the last time, I know. Now, stop being stingy with your virtue, and let me put my cock in."

The last part was lighthearted, if the teasing lilt did not speak for itself—still, the mere mention of what he agreed to do caused an acute mass of heat to surge down his spine, to make him fist the linens as Adriano's cockhead pressed against him. It rubbed along the place he dared not name; it set his body ablaze; it stole his comprehension for anything other than the insistent pressure that began. It was with that very feel of the other's palms gripping his hips that he begged for sanity.

And froze.

"Smettila!"

"Che?"

"Smettila."

"But it did not go all the—"

"Adriano. Smettila."

" … Maledizione," Adriano cursed, barely managing to control the urge to press forward. "Not even the head. You cannot be serious."

Hot pain forced Ezio to collapse onto his elbows as the younger man's cock began to withdraw, his body depraved of breath and rationality. His legs locked on their own accord and, without the aid of Adriano' hands, he found that his hips could not fully support him. Breathless, mindless, limbless—that was what he was, for strength was hard to find in this scenario of which he was not himself, anymore, even setting aside his old age and usually adaptive decorum. Perhaps, that was why when another kiss greeted him in what seemed to be pacification, the entirety of what he could muster channeled through as the lightest brush of lips on his part, his vision summed up as a dark blur. There was no way for him to fully perceive the comforting strokes on his stomach, nor any second to feel his hips being righted once more—to look back into those dark blue eyes and cheat his anticipation was anything but sane, but he did so in spite of himself.

"Well, this was not what I expected," he saw the other say, those dark curls as black as the night outside. The face before him was scrunched in a reflection, as if he was truly contemplating the next step his supposed theory would need to take in order to become an axiom. "It always looked so easy when I saw others do it." A thought. "Maybe because it is our first time?"

He could not answer.

"Maybe it is because of that."

He could not speak.

"Maybe, if you could just turn my way …"

He could not act.

"A kiss again, per favore."

Yet, he did—out of what impetus he had left, he could not have known. This time, he rose to meet the mouth that hovered above his own, this time he shakily slid his hands onto the other's back, this time he opened his eyes, this time he moved—and this time he breathed, deeply, genuinely, embracing the first sign of life given to Pandora by the core of life. He saw his reflection in those eyes and saw the youth of twenty, obstinate years holding him with hands that worshipped his very being; he saw the vying of control in that gaze, and he saw the sanguine state of himself. The cheek that rubbed against the angle of his jaw could not have been any softer than the whispers he secured in the younger man's ears.

Adriano's laughter rang in the room. "Ah, messere, that is why I adore you so."

Taking hold of the sheets, Ezio shuddered at the light plays at his chest and moved his legs as the former wanted him to, winded expectation making the new kiss that much more desperate yet simple. A cool pillow was now propped under his wide position, as well as the very hands that mapped his frame, and the lips that smoothed themselves down his hair to his nape were comforting. Because what came next, his buttocks now caressed and spread apart like a revered codex, would never fully be comprehended in that regard that bore into his inflamed soul.

"I will do it again—more gently like you said.

"For we have this night; we have the days."

Their breaths were one.

"And I, your humblest of men, cannot see a better way to prove my worth."