circle7 | Steal a Kiss (or two)

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Steal a Kiss (or two)

It was early morning when Vico and Adamo had made it to Barcelona. They had traveled by boat from Roma on a mission for some vital information. Actually, it was a lead up to that Spanish noble who waltzed his way through Roma just two months earlier - one of his connections. They were to find out where the iron was being transported from, and to sabotage the operation.

However, it required a little courting. The official - a Senator - had an adventurous wife, it turned out, and they - well, one of them - was to court her while the other distracted the Senator at a party they were having that very night. (They would be under the guise of Borgia officials.)

As it turned out, though, sea travel did not get along with Adamo. He was heaving half the time, huddling in the most stable corner he could find. As they finally docked and reached an inn, he flopped into his bed, groaning into the pillow as he held his stomach. Everything still felt like it was tilting back and forth over and over.

"Let's take horses back. Ugh."

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With the hesitance appropriate for his role - a lowly guard about to engage in an affair with an official's esteemed wife, Vico toed open the door of the room, which had been left slightly ajar. It was dark inside, but his eyes adjusted quickly - they had to, because the Madonna had pushed his back to the door almost as soon as he stepped foot inside, slamming it closed. "Madonna," he said, breathlessly and almost chidingly, because she was certainly a very aggressive woman - maybe it was the Spanish blood?

"Shh, shh," she cooed, and it would have been matronly if she was not palming at his trousers. The Italians did not love any less fiercely than the Spanish, but Vico was a little disoriented by the speed at which she seemed to be working. It was probably necessary for the discretion required of one-night trysts, but the assassin had always enjoyed a more leisurely, step-by-step ideal of romance, and his inexperience was showing. She gave him a look. "Are you a virgin?"

"N-no!" Vico protested, coloring in the face and thankful for the darkness. "It is just...I am worried about your husband, madonna. I hear many rumors about his power in the Borgia ranks from my master, because he supplies us with so much of the iron..." As if to convince her of his interest, he put his hands low on her waist, squeezing.

She liked that, judging from her smile. "I would not worry about him. He is probably feeling up some petty whore in the opposite corner of the house," she said, and Vico had to bite on his lip to stifle his laugh at the thought of Adamo being that 'petty whore' she was referring to. "Besides, you Borgia are in no trouble of suffering his ire in the consequence of iron. It is a good trade for both of us, and we do not let our pleasure get in the way of our money. Besides, that is a matter far away from here, mi guardita poca. All that takes place far away in those pesky mines - we never touch an ounce of it. It just gets shipped directly to Italy."

"Italia?"

She tutted him, a condescending edge to her smile. She blamed his obliviousness to his lack of rank, and in the high-handed nature of those sparing two or three florins to the poor when they could afford to spare a hundred, she tapped his jaw with her finger before kissing a trail down from that same spot. "It is a man named Alfeo de Luca, but it is no one you have to worry your pretty little head over. I," she continued, slipping a cold hand under his clothes and against his skin, pleased by the way his abdomen contracted at the sudden touch, "am all you have to worry about now."

The senator and his wife were almost made for each other, if their mannerisms were anything to go by. Señor Garcia was aggressive as well, if a bit more fast-paced - he dove straight in for Adamo's mouth, the impact pushing the assassin back against the door. Garcia's hands slid down his back, stopping low, making his intentions obvious. Adamo might have been familiar with the touching of another man, rare as it was, but he had never been on the receiving end. His reservation became a little too obvious to the senator, even as he returned the kiss forced upon him. Garcia pulled away, looking down at the younger man.

"Have you not done this before?" he asked, palm pressing in, specifying exactly what it was he meant.

"It's not that," Adamo clarified quickly. "I'm just concerned that Marco will come looking for me. He has a short-temper when business is not being taken care of, despite his rank. If he saw us fooling around, not discussing the trading matters..." Garcia laughed.

"A stick in the mud, is he? Don't worry, my wife will fix that, I'm sure," he answered. "She had her eyes on him at the market. I'm sure you noticed. But if it eases you to know, our trading is going smoothly. It is being transported from Manresa as usual. Your master must really have some insecurities, if he must send you all this way to check on the operations."

Adamo laughed with a shrug. "I suppose he does, but a job is a job, and I should not speak of ill of him. Besides, weren't we... discussing something else?" With a grin, Adamo initiated the contact again, roughened hands on Garcia's hips, tugging him forward. He seemed satisfied, with the way he let the topic go for something better at hand - not to mention the way he whirled Adamo around, edging him back towards a plush bed in the center of the room, where candlelight was sparse.

As soon as Adamo's knees hit the edge of the sheets, the senator pushed him over onto it, obviously all business even in his pleasure. Not raising a hand to help Adamo, there came a shuffle in the darkness - the pull of heavy and expensive cloth, the shuffling of fur-trimmed robes, and the jangle of belts and jewelry being stripped off and dropped onto the floor. Though the clamor was easily lost to the ears of outsiders thanks to the party, Senator Garcia was apparently a man that did things loudly and without much finesse, intentions as clear as the hunger on his face.

Then, a sound that didn't quite match with the rest - a loud crash and bang, almost like a clap of thunder, before a heavy weight fell onto Adamo's back, nearly covering the assassin like a particularly heavy and unconscious cape.

"A stick in the mud, am I?"

Adamo grunted as the weight fell on him, and even without being able to turn his head and see what had happened, he knew.

"More like my knight in shining armor," he teased, nudging the Senator off him. He certainly was no gentle man, having left marks down the back of Adamo's neck and across his shoulders. It felt more shameful than bearing a typical wound a from Templar rat. The assassin rubbed them with a frown, as though to wipe them right off his skin, to no avail. He made a point not to look at his companion as he pulled on his shirt, and straightened his pants (focusing away the discomfort that had started there). "Grazie, Vico. Though if you were there that long, you could've helped sooner. Perhaps you were enjoying it too much?" He slanted a grin at him.

Vico glanced over his shoulder at Adamo long enough to scoff, turning back to where he was inspecting the passed-out Senator. "I was waiting until he told you where their dirty iron was coming from," he answered, shoving the man's shoulder a few times to make sure he wouldn't rouse, before rolling him over to his back. Other than a bump on his head, the Senator would not wake up suffering from much.

So he drew back a fist and socked the man right in the nose, hard enough to break it.

"Hey, he told me that long before you-"

Wham. Adamo paused in the middle of sliding on the Borgia bracers, raising an eyebrow at Vico. The senator let out a grunt, but otherwise didn't stir.

"What did you do that for?"

"That broken nose is going to heal back bent," Vico said, looking mighty proud of himself as he shook out his hand. His knuckles stung, but it was nothing compared to the Senator's injury, or the sore spot on the back of Madonna Angelita's neck that she would feel for weeks after waking up, thanks to the blow he had given her to knock her out (a little more forceful than necessary). "Now they will both be perfect for each other, and maybe be more inclined to spend time with each other's spouses than with one-night affairs. I have done them a favor."

It figured. Vico could be incredibly righteous when he wanted, even if through aggressive means. It was something Adamo had grown to know, simply shrugging instead of reprimanding like he used to.

"If you say so, amico mio," Adamo said as he tied on his belt. "But I doubt their ways will change."

"In that case," Vico said, standing. "Then I just wanted to punch him in the face very badly."

Adamo was silent as he finally finished dressing, and he stared at Vico for a good moment. He stepped closer, grinning again.

"If it was for me, then I could've done it myself, you know."

"It was for his puttana of a wife putting her hands down my trousers. I couldn't very well punch a woman."

Rolling his eyes, Vico retrieved his beret from his pocket. It looked rather beaten up - like someone had run over it, and it took a great deal of shaking out for it to regain even a little of its earlier puffiness. Nonetheless, he put it back on, letting it lean more to the left than the right, once again matting his hair against the scar under his eye. "Now," he said, once they were both proper again, "Let's finally be Assassins again and get out."

"Wait, then how did you take care of her? That definitely wasn't enough time for you to finish the deed."

He didn't object to getting out of here, and this time, he opted for the window - a more discreet way to leave, fitting of assassins. Adamo unhinged it, pushing it open, looking below to make sure they were in the clear.

"I hit her on the back of the head. It is only a punch if I used my fist, and the bedpost does not count," said Vico, voice drifting down as he scrambled up to the roof.

Adamo followed closely behind, rolling his eyes as he closed the window.

"That is still harming a woman, I hope you know."

"I said I would not punch her. Not that I would not harm her," Vico said, snorting following some strange and muddle-lined code of honor, perhaps. He took a deep breath once they were on the roof, glad to be out of that perfume and spice-tinted air that stank up the atmosphere around where wealth and decadence collected. The open night smelled like freedom and potential and change - like all assassins, he survived sometimes on hope alone, and this was vital.

Once he heard Adamo pull himself to his feet, he turned around, face grim. "We are never taking one of these missions again," he declared.

"I did not think it was that bad," Adamo said, dusting himself off as he reached the rooftop. He was surprised to see there were no archers manning the area. "But given the choice, I don't think I'd do it again either."

"Then maybe the madonna was the wilder of the two," Vico said, slyly. He took the first jump off of the villa roof, onto the lower landing of a nearby building.

Adamo scoffed, jumping after Vico, glaring at his back. "I suppose you got away with worse than bites and scratches, then?"

Vico turned to him, face comically serious. "The Madonna has nails."

And they were in places that he wasn't about to show in public.

A pause. Then a glance down. "Oh." Now he felt kind of bad sticking Vico with the female.

Apparently not thinking much of it, Vico shrugged it off, canting his head at Adamo instead. "But you are all right, yes?"

Adamo wasn't sure if he was asking about his physical state, or mental.

"I've been through worse," he said, an answer that sufficed for both questions, however he meant it. An uncharacteristic silence took Adamo, and his mouth pinched in one corner as it usually did when he was in thought. Insecurity gnarled its ugly fingers around many people, and while it seldom happened to Adamo, he was still human, and it showed. Not everything could crush itself into hiding behind his grin. When Vico was practically the only friend he had, it bothered him worse. "About earlier. Your opinion of me... hasn't changed, has it?"

Vico stared for a moment, gaze piercing. "You are still an idiota who could stand for taking his pride down a few notches in all regards, if that is what you mean. That has never changed."

Adamo was almost pouting at this point, not appeased with the answer.

"You know that's not what I mean."

Vico frowned, shaking his head. "No, it is. You asked if anything has changed, and I answered you - nothing has." He held his hand out. "Fratello."

Steal a Kiss (or two)

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