Maybe he's a little selfish.

Maybe he doesn't care.

Luca's squirming beneath him, either attempting to get away or to get a better hold on the situation, and he finds he doesn't care either way. He loves Luca, sure – he was his bro, his best friend, someone he'd do anything to protect – but he doesn't care. His grip tightens and he presses him closer against the headboard of the bed, easing up just a little when Luca gives a soft sound of pain. It must hurt to be pressed against it, with a needy teenage boy kissing you, but Luca's getting better at it, and Spada thinks if he'd just relax a little, it wouldn't hurt so much. But he isn't that kind of person, no more than Spada's the kind of person to let up when he knows the boy can handle the heat, and Luca's proved that as delicate as he seems he isn't as fragile as he shows himself to be, so he pushes harder and harder and fuck if the little sounds, the little movements, the little everything isn't getting him more fired up.

Fires die down, though, and his slackens, just like his grip, just a little, and he breaks the kiss to look Luca right in the eye. Luca licks his lips nervously, as red as– he could say as red as Iria's hair, and maybe he's right about it. There's nothing to say either, just catching breath, before Luca finally gives in to something and leans forward, kisses him, and Spada lets a grin press against those womanly soft lips before he sets about his business again.

And maybe, he thinks, maybe Luca's a little selfish, too.

And maybe, maybe Spada doesn't care.