Page 17 of Fiorenzo

Fiore waited for the confusion, disappointment, disbelief, or disgust which tended to follow this particular confession.

Instead, Enzo’s broad shoulders relaxed in what seemed very much like relief. “Then would you be so kind as to fuck me?”

Fiore blinked up at him. He found a smile stealing over his lips as he replied, again with uncommon honesty, “Gladly.”

Enzo’s eyes gleamed. Then, to Fiore’s further amazement, he raised his hands to the brim of his tricorn hat and swept it from his head—taking the zendale hood along with it. He set both aside on Fiore’s chair. A shrug of his shoulders and a deft flick of his wrist sent his cloak to the same end.

And Fiore beheld more of Enzo than he ever had before.

Most bauta masks were held in place by the hat-brim of the wearer. Enzo’s had the further security of leather cord tied around the back of his head, which meant Fiore still had no glimpse of his face. But he saw long dark hair tied in a queue at the nape of his neck and falling down between his shoulder blades.

Fiore couldn’t resist catching that queue in his hand and running his fingers through the dark locks. Nor could he prevent himself, now that he had them in sight at last, from tracing the delicate seashell curves of Enzo’s ears with his fingertips. Enzo shivered under his touch. The eyes beneath the mask fell shut. Fiore would’ve given anything to tear it off his face and kiss him properly.

Instead, he settled for Enzo’s waistcoat buttons.

Years of experience made quick work of the dozens of black pearls between him and Enzo’s shirt. Enzo helped him along with the final few and shrugged the waistcoat off his shoulders. He made no move to prevent Fiore from moving on down to Enzo’s breeches. The fall-front fell away. His fingertips lingered on the buttons securing the knee-plackets, sliding up the stockinged calves to delve beneath the breeches’ cuffs, each button coming undone as one-by-one they succumbed to his delicate ministrations.

The loss of breeches was to Enzo’s great advantage, in Fiore’s opinion, for it revealed that the fullness at the back was not altogether an illusion of the tailor’s craft. It likewise revealed a pair of linen drawers. Fiore didn’t wear drawers himself—his shirttails did the trick—though he had seen them on gentlemen prior to Enzo.

But before Fiore could strip them, Enzo grasped the hem of his shirt and drew it off over his head.

His chest, once bared, exceeded all Fiore’s expectation. Musculature to rival a gondolier rippled beneath a virile pelt of dark hair. Fiore raised an enquiring hand. Upon receiving an affirmative inclination of the masked head, he ventured to run his fingers through the dark hair. A gasp shuddered through Enzo’s ribcage at his touch.

And still, the mask remained.

Fiore had lain with many masked gentlemen before—but they tended to remove their masks once his chamber door had shut. Unless they wished to retain their mask for a particular purpose that tended to involve more of the accoutrement Fiore kept in his sea-chest. Enzo hadn’t asked after the sea-chest yet or mentioned anything in line with its contents. Fiore wondered if he ought to offer them up or if they’d frighten him off. However, if he required a mask to lie with Fiore, then he might be more inclined towards them than Fiore had previously supposed.

Regardless, Fiore knew better than to remark upon the mask just now. Instead, with another enquiring glance and answering nod, he dropt his hands to Enzo’s stockings.

Fiore and almost everyone else in the city wore stockings as a matter of course. But he’d never yet encountered silk stockings outside of rumor. He found he quite admired the deliciously soft and smooth texture of Enzo’s. They provided both ample excuse and thrilling reward for running his fingertips over the sculptural chiseled curves of Enzo’s calves. On reflection he decided to leave them as they were.

But when Fiore’s fingers arose to dispense with Enzo’s drawers, Enzo halted him with a gentle clasp on his wrist.

Fiore of course withdrew his hands at once. He watched with undisguised curiosity as Enzo untied the drawers and began to slide them down over his hips. The root of his prick emerged, nestled amidst dark hair. A sight Fiore had seen before, true enough, but to see it again gave him no less delight now.

Enzo dragged his drawers down an inch or two further; enough for him to reach in and withdraw his half-hard cock altogether. Then he ran his fingertips beneath the waistband of his drawers and slid them down in back just enough to expose his ass. The band rested beneath the globes in such a way as to enhance their already impressive girth.

And there his drawers remained.

Fiore stared even whilst he did his best to conceal his confusion. He certainly wasn’t disappointed. Indeed, he could hardly wait to get his hands on the whole of it. But between the drawers and the mask he remained bewildered by what Enzo chose to conceal and for what possible purpose. A dueling wound sprang to mind—he’d heard tell of those who sought to humiliate as well as kill their opponents by striking between the legs before attempting any mortal blow. Perhaps Enzo bore scars similar to his own. Whatever wound may or may not have existed there, it didn’t prevent Enzo’s prick from arising into a beautiful upward curve.

As Fiore glanced up to meet Enzo’s eyes, however, he found a shy hesitance that only a heart of stone could answer with anything less than a reassuring smile.

A breath of relief escaped Enzo.

Fiore encircled his waist with one arm and took him in hand with the other. Keeping both mask and drawers on was a bit odd. He’d have liked to be kissing Enzo by now. But the rest of him more than sufficed to inspire admiration—particularly the garters and hose, which gave Fiore more of a thrill than otherwise.

A few strokes had Enzo hard as iron in his palm. The slightest touch sent him willingly tumbling into the bed, where he knelt and braced himself with a hand on either side of the boat’s bow.

The fluidity with which he assumed the posture gave Fiore pause. “Have you done this before?”

It was a pertinent rather than prurient question. Fellows who already knew how to take a cock were less likely to injure themselves in either enthusiasm or hesitation. Fiore would take the same care either way, but he still liked to know what he was getting himself into. Perhaps the modesty which drove Enzo to disguise himself from head to foot had likewise prevented him from engaging in this sort of intimacy.

“Often,” Enzo replied with ease.

“Oh.” The surprised syllable slipped out of Fiore’s lips unbidden.

Enzo merely chuckled.