“Describe how it looks.” Ezio's voice shook, his toes curling and uncurling. The fingers sliding against his cock were torturous, though the knowledge that soon the thief's own rigid and hot sex would be taking their place was even more so. Never-the-less, he couldn't just lie there any longer, feeling the drag of the leather strap tied around Machiavelli's cock and the tease and squeeze of digits and muscle. He needed something to preoccupy him, to stop him from losing all focus and thrusting into abandon. He had long ago learned that, in sex, patience is a virtue.
La Volpe swallowed thickly and Machiavelli whimpered, nodding furiously his agreement against Ezio's well defined pectorals.
“Dio,” the thief whispered and then cleared his throat. “He's so tight. But loosening up. His skin is all flushed, shiny with oil. Cazzo, and your cock. All red and slick, penetrating him. It's is one of the most arousing sights I have had the pleasure to see.” He spread all of his fingers delved inside of the philosopher sandwiched between the two assassins and his eyes fluttered closed at the keen that tumbled from Machiavelli's lips. His hips thrusted into nothingness of their own accord, seeking out friction.“I have to...I can't-”
“Do it, fuck, please. Just, Dio, I want it in me.” Machiavelli whimpered and ground against the hard cock already inside of him and the fingers, stimulating his sensitised prostate and shuddering, crying out. Ezio's hips twitched rhythmically, his brow twisted in desperation, chest heaving.
A wave of arousal so poignant La Volpe almost lost control travelled straight and painfully to his aching cock and he took it in his grasp to lather it in viscous oil, digits leaving the heated and loosened cavern to do the job, shallow thrusts into his own hand giving his excitement away. As he shuffled close on the bed, sheets dragging under his knees, and pressed Machiavelli to lie flat on top of Ezio, the philosopher's hand reached out behind him and groped for his hard length, encircling it with strong, sword and quill calloused fingers and bringing the rosy head to bump against Ezio's gently rocking cock. La Volpe gasped at the friction, jaw hanging open as with small yet unhesitating twitches of his hips he pressed past the loosened muscle and inside, sliding against the stilling organ still occupying the tight channel. Three moans cut through the air that smelt of sex, oil and sweat.
Machiavelli bit his nails into the cushions underneath Ezio's head, clenching his teeth at the burn of a second cock stretching him open further. His sex, pressed between their slicked stomachs, withered at the burn, and he felt Ezio's deep, gravelly moan vibrate against his chest and lips. He swilled his tongue over the teeth mark bruises dotted over the older assassin's collarbone.
There was a moment of complete stillness when La Volpe's testis lay against Ezio's, fully sheathed in tight heat, all three men panting, whimpering, groaning. Then Machiavelli twitched and pressed back onto the heavy dicks penetrating him, making some strangled sound as they pushed closer to his prostate, and the air escaped from both Ezio's and La Volpe's lungs.
La Volpe's hips ground forwards as Ezio shifted his grip to the philosopher's hips, pulling him up so that he may move. A small thrust, the hitching of breath, a soft cry. The pace was awkward at first, but as La Volpe forced his eyes open from the moment they shut at the enveloping heat, they recovered, settling into an off-kilter rhythm.
FILL {1.b/1}
La Volpe swallowed thickly and Machiavelli whimpered, nodding furiously his agreement against Ezio's well defined pectorals.
“Dio,” the thief whispered and then cleared his throat. “He's so tight. But loosening up. His skin is all flushed, shiny with oil. Cazzo, and your cock. All red and slick, penetrating him. It's is one of the most arousing sights I have had the pleasure to see.” He spread all of his fingers delved inside of the philosopher sandwiched between the two assassins and his eyes fluttered closed at the keen that tumbled from Machiavelli's lips. His hips thrusted into nothingness of their own accord, seeking out friction.“I have to...I can't-”
“Do it, fuck, please. Just, Dio, I want it in me.” Machiavelli whimpered and ground against the hard cock already inside of him and the fingers, stimulating his sensitised prostate and shuddering, crying out. Ezio's hips twitched rhythmically, his brow twisted in desperation, chest heaving.
A wave of arousal so poignant La Volpe almost lost control travelled straight and painfully to his aching cock and he took it in his grasp to lather it in viscous oil, digits leaving the heated and loosened cavern to do the job, shallow thrusts into his own hand giving his excitement away. As he shuffled close on the bed, sheets dragging under his knees, and pressed Machiavelli to lie flat on top of Ezio, the philosopher's hand reached out behind him and groped for his hard length, encircling it with strong, sword and quill calloused fingers and bringing the rosy head to bump against Ezio's gently rocking cock. La Volpe gasped at the friction, jaw hanging open as with small yet unhesitating twitches of his hips he pressed past the loosened muscle and inside, sliding against the stilling organ still occupying the tight channel. Three moans cut through the air that smelt of sex, oil and sweat.
Machiavelli bit his nails into the cushions underneath Ezio's head, clenching his teeth at the burn of a second cock stretching him open further. His sex, pressed between their slicked stomachs, withered at the burn, and he felt Ezio's deep, gravelly moan vibrate against his chest and lips. He swilled his tongue over the teeth mark bruises dotted over the older assassin's collarbone.
There was a moment of complete stillness when La Volpe's testis lay against Ezio's, fully sheathed in tight heat, all three men panting, whimpering, groaning. Then Machiavelli twitched and pressed back onto the heavy dicks penetrating him, making some strangled sound as they pushed closer to his prostate, and the air escaped from both Ezio's and La Volpe's lungs.
La Volpe's hips ground forwards as Ezio shifted his grip to the philosopher's hips, pulling him up so that he may move. A small thrust, the hitching of breath, a soft cry. The pace was awkward at first, but as La Volpe forced his eyes open from the moment they shut at the enveloping heat, they recovered, settling into an off-kilter rhythm.