"H-Here," Leonardo whispered, looking back over his shoulder as he gripped the edge of the anvil. "I-I-I have one."

Ezio took one look at the thin animal bladder.

Took another at his cock.

And ripped the sheath into shreds.

"Does it look like I use this?"

Widening his eyes, the older man barely shook his head as he fought to keep his eyes away from the destroyed casing, his body tense as Ezio towered over him. He bit his lip as he was roughly pushed back into his prior position and dug his fingernails into the hot metal, widening the space between his legs by the direct command of an insistent hand. The urge to break and turn was all too overwhelming, and for the longest of whiles, he contemplated any escape, even if he had to run out into the streets of Roma as naked as a newborn babe.

Yet, he was cut short, his face surely pushed down.

"That is what I thought."

Oh, God.

"Now, bend over and show me that ass. I am not a patient man."


He could not take it, anymore.


He could not take it.


He really could not.

"Use your tongue like I told you to."

For it must have been the ache in his jaw, the hands pulling his hair back roughly, his trembling touch, that set his body ablaze with a malady that required him to settle his own ache—to at least bestow the slightest stroke, to take a bigger bite of the forbidden fruit. For it must have been that erratic tempo that controlled him, only him: the disheveled state of his self. For it must have been the darkest gaze boring into his incomprehensible desire to satisfy the man above him, where here he was on his knees, daring his eyes to see for that small sliver of acknowledgement.

For it must have been his open mouth.

That tongue.

The cock in his hands.

The hunger.

"Suck harder."

—that had him weakly pushing himself up on his forearms, his fingers gripping Ezio's thighs as he met that candid stare.

And had him praying: "Per favore." Again. "Per favore." Once more. "Per favore, Ezio."

His answer would consume him in the greediest of breaths.

"Did I say that you can speak?"

But the truth was all too lucid.


Breathing heavily, Leonardo fought against his body's resistance and continued to work the ivory phallus deeper inside of himself, stunned as his legs collapsed underneath him, only to leave him flat on his back with his throat used and raw. His vision blurred into nothing out of everything, until it morphed into a suffocating haze of shadows and carnal airs. And it was at that apex of desperation that he senselessly grabbed for the tool in his last stand for sanity.


And lost.

"Work it deeper."

Ezio latched onto his wrist in a crushing grip and forced him to do so, his gaze dark and predatory in the mindless depths of his control.

"Show me how much you love cock."

There was no other way.


"Lean back," Ezio harshly ground out, "and keep moving. Let me enjoy a show, for once."

Leonardo nervously nodded, leaning his hands back onto the other's chest as he slowly began to lower himself down—

"Too slow."

— Only to find himself roughly impaled before the next breath.

"Oh!" If only he knew. "Oh, Dio!"

Yanking the artist's locks back with his hand, Ezio scraped his teeth down the angle of a quivering jaw and possessed the former's ear.

"We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way."

"W-W-Wait, I-I—"

"You can either move, or I will take the initiative."

The fingers on his hips tightened.

The heat spoke volumes.

"Let us see if you really are a smart man, da Vinci. For, as of the moment, I am not very convinced."


On his hands. His knees. His face pushed to the floor.

"You know, I bet you have done this before."

In the open. Exposed. Broken from his completion a mere second ago. He responded to the gruff handling of his chest as he denied. Furiously. Indignant.

"N-No! I never d—"

"Look at you," he felt Ezio whisper against his shoulder, gripping his hips painfully as he continued to fuck him into the ground like the dirty, ravenous bitch he was. "Lying." Faster. "Do you know what happens to little boys who lie?"

God God God God God God—


"They get punished."


"They get punished," the assassin growled. "Punished."

"E-E-E-Ezio, p-per favo—"

"So spread your legs, little boy. Daddy is no jester."