Legs trembling in a mixture of apprehension and arousal, it took more than a wired mind and a working body for the great artist of Milan to even comprehend the heated situation he was currently in—cheeks vividly flushed to accentuate his fair complexion that was now spotted with crimson marks of nonviolent measures. Hitherto, he had not been pinned awkwardly to one of the many desks as such—instead, he had been slaving over a new way to design a systematic infrastructure of gateway trades to present to Giovanni with all of the comfort in the world; however, now—splayed shamelessly for all to see, with his bronze hair trailing down his aching shoulders, his sore back that was digging into his beloved manuscripts was all of the evidence needed to see that Leonardo da Vinci was closed for the day, if not forced to. The wooden walls, the ceiling, the dim light of his candle on the nightstand, were all a blur in his darkly clouded eyes that spoke of experiencing something other than what he had even known to exist in the human mind, because how could people even think of something like this oh dio gods those hands they're all over a-ah!
"Cazzo, old man, move over!" an agitated voice barks to his right, his golden pools dilating when a calloused finger raked over his twitching abdomen. "He's mine!"
For such a suave man that spoke of great intelligence and proper conduct, the renowned Altair definitely possessed an intimidating stare that matched dead-on with the irritated Auditore, his usual tone dropping a tad deeper as one of his dexterous hands swept up the inside of the flustered cosmopolitan's inner thigh. "Section XVII, verse XXI: Thou shall comfort thy brethren with all of thy heart, spirit, mind, soul, and body—whatever one brother possesses to the need of his kin, he is required to divide and share his possessions without a glimmer of thought."
Leonardo almost exasperatedly sighed at the deep pout on Ezio's face if it weren't for the younger male's touch that snaked a firm path down his heaving chest. "Merda! What kind of cursed blasphemy is this? You don't see me hunting down Malik and banging him over his stand!"
Though the situation was quite ironic and a bit comical in a deranged way, the blushing scientist felt that the last comment was hit too far, even in something so intimate as this—the dai was the Grand Master's official … partner, after all; yet, much to his horror and the youngest man's frustration, the older assassin's oriental eyes seemed to darken quickly with full-enforced stimulation, a tan appendage dancing dangerously close to his rigid member. "Hm … have you been thinking of those wicked things, little bird?" he huskily provoked, reaching upwards and sifting his powerful digits through soft strands. "Have you thought about taking him roughly over his holy sanctuary, ramming into him until he screams bloody mercy?"
Both of the Italians' breaths quickened.
"Or, if you're still early in your developing stages, you can watch me bend him over your dinner table—in fact, how about you and your lovely songbird join in?" he smoothly added, each articulation noted with a firm rub to the embarrassed figure's bottom. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind: not that he could truly think coherently during that time."
"D-Dio! The nerve you have, you stingy geezer! Leo's mine from the start!"
A sultry voice nearly sent Leonardo to the edge of no return. "Oh? Wanna prove that to me, boy?"
Whimpering as silently as he could, the tortured inventor clenched his jaw tightly and wished that he could actually move, knitting his sweating brows deeply when the sanguine sash around his sensitive wrists did not give him enough leeway. Hands, hands, those maddening hands that slid up and down his pink-tinged body in full worship, travelled up and over his most secret of places in their own fashion: delicately, roughly, slowly, rapidly, hesitantly, boldly, ferociously—with double the intensity to the point of permanent hysteria. Nimble teeth scraped over his responsive flesh in desperate possessiveness while delicious body heat wrapped itself securely over every single inch of his quivering form. He felt as if he was a bemused hare caught between two annoyed hunters that refused to renounce their share of the solo catch, and it was apparent that the both of them were not resigning as secondary any time soon.
It nearly became chaos when they chose to further proceed to the "main course."
Agile fingers that skirted playfully near his entrance were invariably batted away by more forceful and sure ones, the former swiping mischievously down the tender area only to be slapped away by the latter that massaged itself decisively to his throbbing core. Ginger ministrations, however, proved to be insufficient when deciding who and how the victor was to choose his style of sexual gratification; all too soon, forceful actions seemed to speak louder than the occasional wooing contact, and gruff growls and short exchanges of maledictions flitted in and out of the suffering individual's chain of shambled thoughts. They pillaged his hot torso and shaking lower body competitively, as if each stroke was to best the previous and seal the ordeal, and the first creeping wave of masochistic pleasure—to a large extent of Leonardo's terror—tore from him the most nerve-wracking moans he had ever emitted in his lifetime. To do so, wanton and choking with even more of the blasted noises, was as good as giving himself up for anything: The scalding handlings multiplied immensely right after his deadly erotic reactions, and he could faintly perceive low hums of arousal and approval reverberate from the two exploring figures.
Except, peace is only temporary.
"He doesn't want it on the bench or the counter," the more youthful voice counters a languid one. "He never has!"
"Well, hm … I'm guessing that he wouldn't mind the wall or the bathing room to our left, no?"
Ezio snarled counteractively to the infuriating response. "The bed, the bed, the bed, idiota! Aye, maron! It's always on the bed in Italia!"
Altair roguishly let a small smirk adorn his tan features. "Ah, the classic romantic—is that why these drunkards wander the streets, never getting any?"
"Porca vacca! He has to go to court tomorrow—"
And the demanding fray once again escalated to a higher debate involving lewd touches and dirty words the poor artist had never experienced so much in abundance in all of his many years. Blunt nails pressed themselves sturdily into soft areas of the small of his back and ghosted teasingly over the damp curls of his nether regions. Boiling to the point of where the interactions were becoming more and more serious by the second, it was inevitable for the two assassins to incorporate their secretive fighting habits over the sprawled form of the most influential man on the face of the European world. It almost made the aroused scientist come when the broad hands scrambled urgently for every territory available; but when he noticed that the belligerent males were glaring extremely at each other, and glittering, silvery objects obscured behind the folds of their clothing were peeking through, Leonardo just knew that it was his job to end the ridiculous struggle before the entire villa ended up destroyed
"W-Wait!" he meekly cried, weakly adjusting his bruised legs against the messy desk.
Two pairs of intense eyes lodged themselves onto his exciting image.
Biting down on his worried lips apprehensively, he wondered if he would at least make peace with his next ludicrous statement. "Y-You can b-b-b-oth have me …"
Two clenched jaws twitched at his broken series of words.
"On … on … on the f-floor—w-wait! A-ah!"
Ah, yes—pacifism at its finest.