"Will you smile for me, caro mio?"
That's all it takes for Leonardo to respond, turning his head fully to the side and giving the sun through a glimmer of teeth, the same expression in his happy eyes, a transformation of his mirth, and Ezio trembles when the light touches his cheeks.
"You're smiling too, Ezio."
"Ride me, si?" the expectant assassin asked, gripping warm hips in his hands, nudging apart the dazed man's legs. "Per favore."
Leo found himself robbed of breath, that longing look and admiration in his eyes, a gentle plea, and it takes all of him not to melt and slip into the shadows—nodding his head in affirmation before he rose himself up and carefully started the initiation that left Ezio groaning. That simple question had power over his limbs, his mind, his movements, and soon, ecstasy coursing through his veins, he found himself answering back with his own moans of pleasure.
Always, he replied.
And always, Ezio asked.
"Ezio, what happened to the pigeons?"
A pause. "Whatever do you mean, maestro?"
And Leonardo started when those hands wove into his hair, pushing him subtly downwards, a tad nervous when he was eye-level with the amused man's lower regions. "U-Um … Ezio?"
As if he wasn't smirking. "I'd like one right here."
Perhaps he should've regretted those very words, suddenly pressed against the workshop table, with Ezio looming over him with a mischievous grin on lips. "Of course."
"Th-then I'll go and make—"
Curving his mouth seductively, the younger man lowered himself until his breath ghosted across Leo's ear. "No, I've already decided what I want to eat."