Leonardo stares at him, eyebrows drawing together in concern. It might have something to do with the fact that Ezio’s frantically unstrapping his armor and letting his sword clatter to the ground.
“Ezio, what happened?”
“A minstrel...” He mimes injecting something into his neck because he can’t recall which words to use.
Leonardo swears and reaches over, pushing Ezio’s head to one side so he can see the injection site. The pressure of Leonardo’s skin against his feels like holding a flame to tinder. Ezio groans.
“What color was it?” Leonardo is asking. He might be repeating the question because he grabs Ezio’s chin roughly and checks his pupils. “Ezio, can you hear me?”
Ezio is sweating. Leonardo smells like paint and bergamot and Ezio wants to lick him and fuck him and bite him.
“I said, can you hear me?” Leonardo asks again, pressing two fingers to Ezio’s neck, just under his jaw.
Ezio nods, closing his eyes.
“You should be alright, after you deal with…” Leonardo gestures vaguely toward Ezio’s lower half and Ezio is too relieved to be embarrassed. “You can use the back room. It stays cooler than the rest of the workshop this time of year.”
Ezio remembers seeing sheet-covered bodies in the space, waiting to be cut open and sketched. But when Leonardo pulls back the curtain, there is only a bed, a candle stub in a holder, and a pile of books on the floor.
“I sometimes sleep here in the summer,” Leonardo explains as Ezio kicks off his boots. “It gets so hot in Firenze.” He’s chattering and straightening the stack of books and Ezio watches him bend over.
Lying on the bed, Ezio slides a hand down his pants. When his thumb circles the head of his cock, the combination of relief and need is almost unbearable.
“Stay,” he says quietly.
Leonardo straightens and throws a quick glance over his shoulder as if to confirm his suspicions. He pretends he didn’t hear.
“I’ll just be working on a few things.” The curtain flaps shut behind him.
Ezio hisses in frustration, pulling his shirt over his head and untying his hair and kicking off his pants. Finally, he falls back on the bed and breathes deeply. Everything around him smells like Leonardo. He brings a handful of the sheets to his nose and thrusts instinctively into his hand. He’s making sounds, but the fabric is muffling them and suddenly he’s coming. It’s fast and his hands are wet. As soon as it’s over, it’s building again and he might as well be trying to empty the Arno with a spoon.
“Leonardo?”
“Yes?” The reply is filtered through the curtain but Leonardo is talking to him and it almost sets him off again.
“What are you working on?” Ezio asks conversationally, even as his voice catches.
Leonardo laughs. “Probably something very different than what you are doing.”
Ezio moves his hand faster. “Your voice is like wine,” he says abruptly.
Another laugh and Ezio hears him mumble something about never becoming a poet. But Ezio is past caring and he rolls over to grind his hips into the mattress. He imagines Leonardo moving under the sheets in the night, arching his back as he comes and Ezio is there too, emptying into the fabric.
“Mi dispiace,” he’s saying over and over. It’s the best he’s ever had and it sounds a bit like he’s sobbing, so it’s no surprise when Leonardo throws back the curtain.
“What happened?”
Ezio can feel Leonardo watching him and he’s ready to go again, as deliriously hard as ever.
“I can’t stop,” Ezio says into the pillow. He can’t decide if he should be miserable or ecstatic.
Leonardo walks over.
“Let me see.”
Ezio hesitates before flipping over, cock still heavy. His balls are aching like he’s been sitting in a busy brothel for an hour, waiting for the next free girl.
Leonardo’s eyes are wide.
“I could try something, if you don’t mind. It may help.” His voice is surprisingly light, almost professional.
Ezio wants to say yes clearly, so there’s no confusion or hesitation. Instead he moans and wraps Leonardo’s hand around his cock. His fingers are cold and the contrast makes Ezio throw his head back, panting.
Set Fire [2/?]
“Ezio, what happened?”
“A minstrel...” He mimes injecting something into his neck because he can’t recall which words to use.
Leonardo swears and reaches over, pushing Ezio’s head to one side so he can see the injection site. The pressure of Leonardo’s skin against his feels like holding a flame to tinder. Ezio groans.
“What color was it?” Leonardo is asking. He might be repeating the question because he grabs Ezio’s chin roughly and checks his pupils. “Ezio, can you hear me?”
Ezio is sweating. Leonardo smells like paint and bergamot and Ezio wants to lick him and fuck him and bite him.
“I said, can you hear me?” Leonardo asks again, pressing two fingers to Ezio’s neck, just under his jaw.
Ezio nods, closing his eyes.
“You should be alright, after you deal with…” Leonardo gestures vaguely toward Ezio’s lower half and Ezio is too relieved to be embarrassed. “You can use the back room. It stays cooler than the rest of the workshop this time of year.”
Ezio remembers seeing sheet-covered bodies in the space, waiting to be cut open and sketched. But when Leonardo pulls back the curtain, there is only a bed, a candle stub in a holder, and a pile of books on the floor.
“I sometimes sleep here in the summer,” Leonardo explains as Ezio kicks off his boots. “It gets so hot in Firenze.” He’s chattering and straightening the stack of books and Ezio watches him bend over.
Lying on the bed, Ezio slides a hand down his pants. When his thumb circles the head of his cock, the combination of relief and need is almost unbearable.
“Stay,” he says quietly.
Leonardo straightens and throws a quick glance over his shoulder as if to confirm his suspicions. He pretends he didn’t hear.
“I’ll just be working on a few things.” The curtain flaps shut behind him.
Ezio hisses in frustration, pulling his shirt over his head and untying his hair and kicking off his pants. Finally, he falls back on the bed and breathes deeply. Everything around him smells like Leonardo. He brings a handful of the sheets to his nose and thrusts instinctively into his hand. He’s making sounds, but the fabric is muffling them and suddenly he’s coming. It’s fast and his hands are wet. As soon as it’s over, it’s building again and he might as well be trying to empty the Arno with a spoon.
“Leonardo?”
“Yes?” The reply is filtered through the curtain but Leonardo is talking to him and it almost sets him off again.
“What are you working on?” Ezio asks conversationally, even as his voice catches.
Leonardo laughs. “Probably something very different than what you are doing.”
Ezio moves his hand faster. “Your voice is like wine,” he says abruptly.
Another laugh and Ezio hears him mumble something about never becoming a poet. But Ezio is past caring and he rolls over to grind his hips into the mattress. He imagines Leonardo moving under the sheets in the night, arching his back as he comes and Ezio is there too, emptying into the fabric.
“Mi dispiace,” he’s saying over and over. It’s the best he’s ever had and it sounds a bit like he’s sobbing, so it’s no surprise when Leonardo throws back the curtain.
“What happened?”
Ezio can feel Leonardo watching him and he’s ready to go again, as deliriously hard as ever.
“I can’t stop,” Ezio says into the pillow. He can’t decide if he should be miserable or ecstatic.
Leonardo walks over.
“Let me see.”
Ezio hesitates before flipping over, cock still heavy. His balls are aching like he’s been sitting in a busy brothel for an hour, waiting for the next free girl.
Leonardo’s eyes are wide.
“I could try something, if you don’t mind. It may help.” His voice is surprisingly light, almost professional.
Ezio wants to say yes clearly, so there’s no confusion or hesitation. Instead he moans and wraps Leonardo’s hand around his cock. His fingers are cold and the contrast makes Ezio throw his head back, panting.