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"This place is dreadfully cold," said Martín, as they walked down the Mannerheimintie in Helsinki. He looked ridiculous, shoulders bunched up to his ears, wrapped in a huge scarf and sunglasses to cover his scars- they didn't need anyone seeing such distinctive markings and causing a stir, after all. Mirko laughed at him.
"No, you're just tiny," he replied, clapping the smaller man on the back (a show of restraint- he had been tempted to aim for the ass).
"That's right, I'm not a beast like you," Martín said petulantly, but Mirko caught the sly look sent at him over the glasses, a look with a touch of heat to it. "Next, we're going to my Sicily. There are beaches there, you know. And better art."
"Nonsense," Mirko said. "It can be as warm in Helsinki as in Palermo."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. I'll show you."
And like this they ended up kissing very desperately behind the nearest cover, Martín's silly scarf on the ground by their feet, and his back pressed to the wall.
