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***
"You're drunk." Miquel laughs low underneath Cesare's ear. He loves those sloppy, sodden kisses, Cesare's bottom lip swollen like a courtesan's. He loves it when Cesare's voice drops, when his eyes lose focus.
It's rare, though, for Cesare to lose control like that. Their business these days tends to be brisk and on the fly, more for relief's sake, a habit born from proximity, but this feels… luscious.
He traces Cesare's mouth with a finger. "Treacherous thing, mulled wine," he muses, backing him up against the headboard.
Cesare's order comes out purred. "You may have some once you’ve fucked me."
***
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