Mischievously, Cesare bit down on a dusky nipple, lowly laughing when the assassin reflexively jerked back in haste, not missing the sanguine flush that spread over Ezio's cheeks. He bent his head down in a devious fashion to do the same to the other one, but was caught off guard by a rough press of a pressure point on the back of his neck—it was without a doubt that the former man shoved him down none too gently onto the bed and rubbed at the sore area. Next, sans comprehension, he flopped down onto the mattress and faced away from the source of outrage; irritation fluttered through his vision.

Surely, a jest.

Lies: Denial of passing.

So he spoke. "Auditore."



Still, nothing.


Said being rolled over—of course, without words.

"You do not speak; have you been angered?"

" …"

"With what I did."


"Will you talk?"

And then, hissing: "Do you know what you just committed? You almost bit off my nipple, for Christ's sake! How sharp are those teeth of yours?"

"I do not know … anyhow, it was not even close to substantial damage."

"You would know; why don't I just bite one of your own, like a dog?"

If he expected anything less than a dark shudder, he was damned.

"Ah, why don't you?"



Ezio pushed the younger man off of him and rolled to his left, frowning harder as Cesare reached out behind him in awkward confusion. "Don't even try, idiota."

A crease. "What is wrong, now?"

"Do you know what you have just called me?"

" … my little Italian whore?"

If the bastardo didn't wipe that innocently perplexed expression off of his face, Ezio was going to do it all for him—God damn him for acting like it was the most natural thing in the world! "Si! Such derogatory terms!"

"But I cannot see what bothers you so: Was it not you who indulged in such naughty dialogue?" Pause. "In fact, I do recall that we went through such play with you under my dining table, sucking me off as if you—"

The horror. "Aye, forget I even mentioned this!"

" … your call."


Slowly, tension, pull, settle, warily. "But you know …"


"You can just call me your dirty Spanish conquistador."


Cesare poked at Ezio's ribs. "When I suck your pene, does it help when I deep throat you immediately, or after I fondle your balls?"

The other gaped.

—and slammed his head back down onto the pillow.

Subjection to the Spanish Inquisition was indeed intimidating.