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“Deck prism,” said Fiore. “Original to the ship, if you’ll believe it.”
Enzo saw no reason to doubt him.
“Now, then,” Fiore continued, shutting the door gently behind them and striding to brace himself with one hand on the prow of his half-a-boat bed. “How shall we amuse ourselves?”
“I’m content to watch you again,” Enzo lied.
Fiore smiled. “Which is most flattering. But it would be easier for me if I had something to admire.”
Enzo swallowed hard. “What do you typically admire?”
Fiore’s gaze took a lackadaisical journey up and down Enzo’s frame. He met Enzo’s gaze again with raised brows. An expression which spoke as loud as words;I’ve shown you all of mine. Will you not show me some of yours?
Enzo wracked his mind for what he could safely reveal. He wanted to reveal all, to tear off his clothes and lay himself bare for Fiore to devour as he wilt. But that wasn’t the wise choice, and he needed to prove himself wise if ever he wished to regain what he’d lost.
Removing his mask was out of the question. No matter how badly he wanted to kiss those perfect lips or pay tribute to the most magnificent cock he’d seen in longer than he cared to recall. He could probably show off his chest without any danger, though he doubted it would inspire Fiore’s performance. And as for his trousers… He could not remove them altogether, of course. But he might slip them down just enough.
Fiore’s eyes widened with a gleam of intrigue as Enzo’s hands fell to the fall-front of his breeches. He watched with undisguised hunger as Enzo undid the buttons, untied the drawers beneath, and drew up his shirt-front to reveal the trail of dark hair from his navel on down to the forest surrounding the root of his prick. This foliage disguised most of his particular peculiarity. Still, he folded the waistband of his drawers down just to the root of his stem and no farther. It stood proud regardless of his own humility, half-hard from Fiore’s suggestions alone and stiffening to full mast beneath the hungry gaze of those beautiful dark eyes.
“Admirable, indeed,” Fiore purred.
Enzo knew it was just the sort of flattery required of one in Fiore’s trade. Still, that knowledge didn’t preclude the warm flush that spread through his chest and flowed down to make his prick pulse with pleasure.
A pleasure which became astonished and eager anticipation as Fiore knelt before him.
The dark lashes swept upward in a glance which enquired after permission. Enzo granted it with a nod. Fiore raised his delicate palm and wrapped his elegant fingers around Enzo’s cock.
Enzo bit back a groan. It had been far too long since someone besides himself had taken him in hand.
A self-satisfied smile stole across Fiore’s handsome features. He slid his hand along Enzo’s length like a sword-smith appreciating the hone of a blade. It sent a shiver over Enzo’s skin. Then Fiore’s fist closed tight around it for a satisfying stroke. His soft hands belied a strong grip. It wouldn’t take much more to send Enzo spilling through his fingers.
And yet Fiore paused. He shot another enquiring glance up at Enzo from beneath those dark lashes and furthermore caught his full lower lip between his teeth.
Enzo’s breath caught. He nodded again.
Fiore’s smile became a grin. It flashed for but a moment before he bent forward and took Enzo into his mouth.
Enzo gasped. Nigh-on a year of self-deprivation culminated in the all-consuming sensation of slipping into the soft wet heat between Fiore’s perfect lips. A velvet tongue lathed his cock-head, delving beneath the foreskin to encircle the sensitive ridge with a delicate tenacity that threatened to buckle Enzo’s knees. Then it withdrew—an act both merciful and merciless—only to trace the vein along the underside, following it to the very root as Fiore’s throat opened to swallow him down altogether.
And all the while those dark eyes gazed up at him. Enzo felt as if he would fall into their depths and drown.
Instinct bid him take hold of Fiore. Tangle his gloved fingers in his ebony curls, perhaps, or lay his hands upon his shoulders. But as they’d not discussed it beforehand, Enzo restrained himself to grasping the boat’s gunwales to haul upright and keep afloat on the storm-tossed seas of Fiore’s tongue.
It occurred to Enzo as another gasp escaped him that, from this angle, Fiore could see up into the open underside of the bauta mask. Perhaps that was his cunning plan all along. Enzo thought he well deserved the spoils of it. Even so, the most he could glean would be chin and jaw. Hardly enough to recognize Enzo out of costume. Certainly not enough to describe to another and have them know Enzo for who he truly was. And likely no more than he’d seen already, given the disparity in their heights.
Which was as much coherent thought as Enzo could string together before a mellifluous moan reverberated through his cock from Fiore’s throat.
A downward glance showed that Fiore had taken himself in hand. The thought of Fiore deriving his own pleasure from drawing him up to the heights of quivering ecstasy sent a shudder through Enzo’s whole frame. He fervently wished he could take Fiore into his own mouth in turn. What tribute his tongue would pay to that splendid prick. Another time, perhaps. Now, however, Enzo clenched the gunwales with a grip that threatened to splinter the wood, as if he’d tumbled into storm-tossed waves and the whaleboat alone could spare him drowning.
Another moan from Fiore shook Enzo to his core. Another coy and knowing glance from beneath those dark lashes stole what little breath remained. Fiore’s sharp cheeks hollowed, his tongue lavished Enzo’s cock, and all too soon it pulsed with ecstasy that left Enzo barely able to hold himself upright against the boat. He trembled like a sail cut loose in a high wind. The whole room spun before his eyes.
And all the while, Fiore swallowed every drop of his overwhelming tide.
Enzo returned to his senses—still standing, by some miracle—he knew not how many moments after. His ragged gasps rang in his ears. He cast his gaze down at the man who’d brought him beyond the brink.
Fiore knelt back on his heels, still stroking his own cock—idly now, no longer frantic efforts to keep up with Enzo’s pleasure. He watched Enzo with the same beautiful self-satisfied smile that had burned itself into Enzo’s memory the last night of Saturnalia.
Enzo sank to the floor before him, his thighs enfolding Fiore’s own between them. He raised his left glove beneath his mask and tore it off with his teeth. He cast it aside, then moved his bare hand tentatively towards Fiore’s cock. “May I?”
