Chapter Text
“Oh, God. There. Right there. Yes—harder…”
Machiavelli smiled, digging the heel of his hand into the knotted muscles between la Volpe’s shoulder blade and spine. “Here?”
“Yes!” The thief’s keening turned to soft purrs when the tension bled away. “Perfect. Christ, you’re good at this.”
“Mm.” Machiavelli placed a hand on either side of the thief’s neck, rubbing his thumbs up and down along the highest point of Volpe’s spine. “You need to take better care of yourself.”
“I know, I know.” Volpe stretched, gathering up the closest pillow and nuzzling his face against it. “I’m going to sleep, if that’s alright.”
“It most certainly is not! You promised to do me next!” Machiavelli leaned forward over his lover’s back, delivering a sharp bite to Volpe’s bare shoulder and grinning at the hiss he received in return. “Come on, pass the oil.”
Grumbling, Volpe fished out from beneath the mountain of pillows and tossed it over his shoulder. Machiavelli poured it out on his back, and Volpe squirmed at the coldness until the oil heated under his lover’s diligent ministrations.
Niccolò smiled, spreading his legs a little wider around Volpe’s hips, tracing his fingers over a prominent scar across the thief’s shoulder. He frowned when Volpe hissed against the pillow.
“Does it hurt?”
“Mm. It never quite healed right.”
Machiavelli bent to kiss the mark, murmuring against his lover’s skin. “Beautiful…” He returned his hands to Volpe’s body, working on the tight knots at the base of his spine. He couldn’t help but pause to run a hand over the curve of the thief’s ass, smirking when Volpe growled at him.
“Stop that…”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Grin widening, Machiavelli bent his head to nip at Volpe’s ear. “Does it excite you?” He slid a hand beneath the older man’s body, chuckling against Volpe’s nape when he found the proud erection pressed up against the bed.”You’re hard, Gilberto.”
“No shit.” Volpe whined, struggling to lift his hips away from Machiavelli’s teasing. “Please go back to the massage, I was really enjoying that. Please?” He peeked over his shoulder at the younger man, pouting. “Tesoro…”
Machiavelli sighed, reluctantly letting go of Volpe’s hard length and running his hands along the thief’s sides, smiling a little at Gilberto’s delighted purr. “Alright. But I’m taking care of that next.”