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Fiore whirled, blade in hand, in a stroke that ought to have slit the throat on whoever dared to sneak up behind him.
The sword slashed through mere aether. Enzo, wiser than most, had called to him from beyond the marble bench, well out of the blade’s reach.
Fiore’s chest heaved. The sword trembled in his grasp. He dared not let it fall.
Enzo had likewise changed from his nightgown into just shirt and breeches. Moonlight shone resplendent over his powerful form. It limned the black rain of his hair in silver. His pale linen shirt seemed to glow as it clung to his sinewy chest and arms.
And the blade of his rapier glinted as he raised it in salute.
A queer sort of relief washed over Fiore’s pyretic heart. He returned the gesture.
Their duel began.
Enzo leapt over the bench with a stag’s grace. Fiore braced for his attack. But there Enzo paused, perfectly poised, waiting for Fiore to make the first move.
And so Fiore struck.
He darted forward—a reckless stab. Enzo parried it handily.
Fiore struck again. And again Enzo parried. The ring of steel-on-steel sang in his ears sweeter than any music. The force of one particular lunge sent Fiore flying past Enzo. Enzo simply spun as he parried, committing to it until he faced Fiore again, just in time for Fiore to strike afresh. Thrust after thrust, exhausting all he knew, until his fury drove him to hack away as if he wielded a longsword rather than a rapier, all possible form forgotten.
Enzo parried all. Not once did he counter-attack, even when Fiore repeatedly left himself open to it. He never stepped forward, never advanced on his opponent, only withdrew, perpetually, gliding backward as easily as when they danced, forever making way for Fiore to enter his life again and again, every thrust welcomed as gladly as when Fiore drove his blade into Enzo’s sheath in their shared bed.
Then—
Fiore thrust. Enzo parried with a swift circle of his wrist. The blades slid against each other, up from the point, corkscrewing, tangling, until at last the ringing steel clanged together at the hilt, and the swords stuck fast in an upright clinch between the two men, leaving hardly a handsbreadth between their bodies, their faces framed by the crossed blades.
A swift pull might’ve torn Fiore’s sword free. Or he could drop it altogether and retreat.
Fiore’s pulse rang in his ears as he fought to catch his breath. Enzo’s chest heaved likewise. Beads of sweat glistened in the moonlight like the morning dew that would soon cover the city. The chill night air proved a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from Enzo’s body.
And Enzo’s soft dark gaze wordlessly pleaded.
Fiore’s eyes flicked to his scarred mouth and back again. Then he darted his head between the blades to seize Enzo’s mouth in a kiss.
Enzo dropt his sword to embrace him. Fiore did the same. The kiss held all the passion of their duel despite Fiore’s exhaustion. Their recent exertion forced him to break off for breath far sooner than he wished.
“Shall we retire?” Enzo asked in a breathless whisper.
Fiore hesitated.
“We don’t have to sleep,” Enzo said. “Just rest our eyes for a while.”
Fiore’s eyes had already fallen shut. He’d thrown his arms around Enzo’s shoulders and now clung in desperation. Enzo’s arms wrapped snug around him in turn, one for his shoulders and the other for his waist, with a palm trailing down to trace soothing circles in the small of Fiore’s back. The embrace seemed the only thing holding Fiore up now. Despite the nightmares, Fiore had to admit Enzo’s proposal sounded nice. He let his head fall to Enzo’s collar. There, he nodded.
Vittorio seemed most relieved of all to be going back to bed. Fiore couldn’t begrudge the lazy fellow. His withers came above Fiore’s waist, and by bracing his palm between the hound’s shoulder blades, combined with his opposing arm draped across Enzo’s back and Enzo’s arm encircling his waist in turn, he remained upright.
By the time they reached the bedchamber, Enzo half-carried him. Fiore let Enzo tuck him beneath the bedclothes. When Enzo slipped in beside him, Fiore entangled himself in his embrace once more, his ear pressed to Enzo’s chest so he might hear his heartbeat alongside his own pulse.
And thus Fiore slept dreamless at last.
~
Enzo arose before dawn on the day of the duel.
The sleeping form of Fiore beside him bid him linger. As much as Enzo longed for his embrace, he dared not wake him. While Fiore certainly possessed Endymion’s beauty, his sleep would not prove eternal.
But, fates willing, it would last long enough for Enzo to slip out unnoticed.
