Steal a Kiss (or two)

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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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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."

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

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

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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."

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Vico was met with a frown. Adamo was clearly lost, but right - this was Vico he was dealing with. Things would never change between them, especially over something trivial like this.

Taking Vico's hand, he finally smiled, his shoulders easing. "Si, fratello." His fingers squeezed around his, and perhaps without warning, tugged the man into a bro hug. "Now, I believe we have some shipments to sabotage."

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There was an immediate reaction to that. Vico sputtered indignantly, finding his face suddenly smashed into his friend's shoulder, thanks to his vertical disadvantage, and his arm shot out immediately to jam his palm into the underside of Adamo's chin and push away. "Merda, I was about to run you through with a knife!" he grumbled, pulling away, beret askew before he huffily pulled it back in place. "See? Like I said, idiota!" he shouted, turning and stomping (as much as one could stop over rooftops) off.

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The only response to that was a fit of laughter.

"A stick in the mud after all," he said, following behind.