It draws a matching sigh from him, pleasure and encouragement, the taste of Ezio's kiss, the fingers on his body. He can taste the notes of chianti that linger on his tongue, cling to his mouth, and savors. "I would deny you nothing that was ever in my power to give you, caro." Takeshi tucks loose strands of silk soft hair behind his ear and slowly smooths his palm over his shoulder, his chest, and lets it rest over Ezio's heart. He looks up from where his hand is, meets his eyes, "Don't you know that yet?"

There are volumes of affection in the look, in the smile, of emotions unspoken between them still but no less there. He feels them every day in the brush of fingers, a kiss dusted to the back of his neck, in the warmth of bodies and legs and limbs tangled together in sleep. It's fast maybe, how quickly he's tumbled, but then life is short and people like Ezio, like Darcy are rare. He has no regrets.

Poking him lightly, he tips Ezio to his back and lets himself explore, touching, tasting, occasionally teasing and tickling very lightly. The hollow of his collarbones fascinate; he licks the shallow indents, nibbles lightly on the bones that line them. Thumbs brush his nipples, back and forth, a lazy drag of slight calluses over sensitive skin before his lips follow. His tongue swipes and circles, relearning the taste and feel of Ezio between his lips. He traces scars, relearns their texture and their shapes and sizes, laps at the larger ones, kisses the smaller ones, sympathizes with his pains and yet Takeshi is grateful for each experience that has brought Ezio to him here and now.

Palms stroke and pet, his cheek nuzzles. He feels the strength of his muscles, the warmth of his skin and dusts kiss after kiss on him, working ever lower.