Fic--"Taking Advantage"
Jan. 26th, 2011 07:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freezingrayneTitle: Taking Advantage
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Pairing: Ezio/Leonardo
Rating: Mature
Words: 900~
Teaser: His skin gleams bronze in the candlelight, sweat pooling in the dip of his lower back. Leonardo has to suppress the urge to fetch his paints.
Another one from![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
porn_tree. This canon just lends itself so well to hurt/comfort. I cannot resist!
The candlelight is warm and golden, the tiniest breath sending it dancing across the walls. Curtains are drawn against the noise of the street, the air inside the studio warm and close.
“Here, on your stomach,” Leonardo says, pointing to the mattress.
Ezio raises a brow, looking dubious even through the discomfort writ across his face. He’s stooped slightly, holding his shoulders at an uneven angle.
“Why can’t I stand?”
“You’re too tall if you stand, and sitting will only cause more strain.” He points again. “Volocemente, Ezio.”
“Va bene, va bene.” He moves slowly, lowering himself down onto his front. Leonardo can already see which muscles have been pulled from the way they move under his skin, the way he favors the left side of his body. His skin gleams bronze in the candlelight, sweat pooling in the dip of his lower back. Leonardo has to suppress the urge to fetch his paints.
He rolls up his sleeves (it’s been much too hot to wear anything indoors but an undershirt) and sits on the bed, slinging a leg over Ezio’s hips. Ezio makes a noise of surprise and tenses, followed by a harsh exhalation of pain.
“Leonardo…”
“Relax, Ezio. This will help.” He smoothes Ezio’s hair away from his neck, placing his hands against the two largest muscles in his back. “And it will hurt,” he warns.
“Non fa niente. I have withstood worse.”
Leonardo begins to massage, pressing down with the palms of his hands. Ezio’s whole body jerks and he makes a tiny noise in his throat. His fingers are gripped tight in the sheets, but he doesn’t protest, and after a couple of minutes he relaxes down against the bed.
“You should stretch before you scale rooftops,” Leonardo chides, not without humor. He can feel the place where Ezio’s muscles have pulled tight from the strain. “It will prevent things like this from happening.”
He digs the heel of his hand into the muscle below his shoulder blade and Ezio groans. It no longer sounds like a noise of pain, and it makes heat pool low and threatening in Leonardo’s belly. He moves his hands down a bit, fingers sliding in sweat. Ezio smells like steel and leather and smoke , a combination that Leonardo has come to associate with assassini climbing in through his back window.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Ezio says, “I would say you are taking advantage of my misfortune.”
Leonardo feels his face burn and he pulls his hands away swiftly. He is aroused, and he knows Ezio can feel it, pressed against the curve of his hip. This was a terrible idea.
“Leonardo.” Ezio turns his head so his voice is not quite so muffled. “I was joking. Don’t stop, per favore.”
Leonardo hesitates, before setting his hands back on Ezio’s shoulders. “If you’re sure.”
What he doesn’t say is that Ezio is right—he has been taking advantage. True, he is more knowledgeable of muscle groups and movement than all the street medici in Firenze, and it is a rare opportunity to study living muscles rather than dead, but it was the chance to have Ezio spread out beneath his hands that made him offer his services so readily. Ezio’s body is a work of art, muscles moving like clay beneath his fingertips, shuddering whenever he presses in just the right place.
He digs his thumbs into the muscles just below his neck and Ezio arches his back, drawing in breath sharp as a knife.
“Ah, there!” Ezio has begun to rock his hips, tiny stutters of movement, most likely involuntary. Leonardo presses harder and Ezio groans, the sound so deeply erotic he feels dizzy with it.
Leonardo lets go, lifting himself off Ezio. It is either that or give into the desire to lick up the sweat pooling in the dip of his shoulders, press his lips to the curve of his neck.
“That should, ah, stop the muscles from cramping.” He tries to keep his voice steady. The warmth of the room feels like it’s closing in on him.
For a few moments Ezio doesn’t respond, just lies there, breathing heavily. Then he rolls gingerly onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. For a moment something gleams desperate and hot in his eyes, before he turns away and picks himself up off the bed.
“Grazie, Leonardo.” His eyes are huge and dark in the candlelight, and he is back to moving with his usual graceful fluidity. He advances on Leonardo, reaching for his hands and pulling them up into the light.
“What’s wrong?” Leonardo draws in a breath as calluses catch the smooth skin of his palm.
“These hands are stronger that I would have expected.” He traces the nest of veins down one wrist, up until they disappear into his arm. “Maybe there’s something to be said for art after all.”
His touch is feather light, making Leonardo shiver. “Ezio—.”
He releases his hands after a moment. “Mi dispiace, Leonardo. I’ll leave you to your work. Buona notte, amico.”
“Buona notte,” Leonardo calls after him.
He stands beside his bed after Ezio has descended the stairs, trying to catch his breath. Going to the window, he opens the curtain and looks out into the evening. A breeze lifts his hair and sends the candle flames dancing, but the scent of sweat and blade steel remains.
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Pairing: Ezio/Leonardo
Rating: Mature
Words: 900~
Teaser: His skin gleams bronze in the candlelight, sweat pooling in the dip of his lower back. Leonardo has to suppress the urge to fetch his paints.
Another one from
porn_tree. This canon just lends itself so well to hurt/comfort. I cannot resist! The candlelight is warm and golden, the tiniest breath sending it dancing across the walls. Curtains are drawn against the noise of the street, the air inside the studio warm and close.
“Here, on your stomach,” Leonardo says, pointing to the mattress.
Ezio raises a brow, looking dubious even through the discomfort writ across his face. He’s stooped slightly, holding his shoulders at an uneven angle.
“Why can’t I stand?”
“You’re too tall if you stand, and sitting will only cause more strain.” He points again. “Volocemente, Ezio.”
“Va bene, va bene.” He moves slowly, lowering himself down onto his front. Leonardo can already see which muscles have been pulled from the way they move under his skin, the way he favors the left side of his body. His skin gleams bronze in the candlelight, sweat pooling in the dip of his lower back. Leonardo has to suppress the urge to fetch his paints.
He rolls up his sleeves (it’s been much too hot to wear anything indoors but an undershirt) and sits on the bed, slinging a leg over Ezio’s hips. Ezio makes a noise of surprise and tenses, followed by a harsh exhalation of pain.
“Leonardo…”
“Relax, Ezio. This will help.” He smoothes Ezio’s hair away from his neck, placing his hands against the two largest muscles in his back. “And it will hurt,” he warns.
“Non fa niente. I have withstood worse.”
Leonardo begins to massage, pressing down with the palms of his hands. Ezio’s whole body jerks and he makes a tiny noise in his throat. His fingers are gripped tight in the sheets, but he doesn’t protest, and after a couple of minutes he relaxes down against the bed.
“You should stretch before you scale rooftops,” Leonardo chides, not without humor. He can feel the place where Ezio’s muscles have pulled tight from the strain. “It will prevent things like this from happening.”
He digs the heel of his hand into the muscle below his shoulder blade and Ezio groans. It no longer sounds like a noise of pain, and it makes heat pool low and threatening in Leonardo’s belly. He moves his hands down a bit, fingers sliding in sweat. Ezio smells like steel and leather and smoke , a combination that Leonardo has come to associate with assassini climbing in through his back window.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Ezio says, “I would say you are taking advantage of my misfortune.”
Leonardo feels his face burn and he pulls his hands away swiftly. He is aroused, and he knows Ezio can feel it, pressed against the curve of his hip. This was a terrible idea.
“Leonardo.” Ezio turns his head so his voice is not quite so muffled. “I was joking. Don’t stop, per favore.”
Leonardo hesitates, before setting his hands back on Ezio’s shoulders. “If you’re sure.”
What he doesn’t say is that Ezio is right—he has been taking advantage. True, he is more knowledgeable of muscle groups and movement than all the street medici in Firenze, and it is a rare opportunity to study living muscles rather than dead, but it was the chance to have Ezio spread out beneath his hands that made him offer his services so readily. Ezio’s body is a work of art, muscles moving like clay beneath his fingertips, shuddering whenever he presses in just the right place.
He digs his thumbs into the muscles just below his neck and Ezio arches his back, drawing in breath sharp as a knife.
“Ah, there!” Ezio has begun to rock his hips, tiny stutters of movement, most likely involuntary. Leonardo presses harder and Ezio groans, the sound so deeply erotic he feels dizzy with it.
Leonardo lets go, lifting himself off Ezio. It is either that or give into the desire to lick up the sweat pooling in the dip of his shoulders, press his lips to the curve of his neck.
“That should, ah, stop the muscles from cramping.” He tries to keep his voice steady. The warmth of the room feels like it’s closing in on him.
For a few moments Ezio doesn’t respond, just lies there, breathing heavily. Then he rolls gingerly onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. For a moment something gleams desperate and hot in his eyes, before he turns away and picks himself up off the bed.
“Grazie, Leonardo.” His eyes are huge and dark in the candlelight, and he is back to moving with his usual graceful fluidity. He advances on Leonardo, reaching for his hands and pulling them up into the light.
“What’s wrong?” Leonardo draws in a breath as calluses catch the smooth skin of his palm.
“These hands are stronger that I would have expected.” He traces the nest of veins down one wrist, up until they disappear into his arm. “Maybe there’s something to be said for art after all.”
His touch is feather light, making Leonardo shiver. “Ezio—.”
He releases his hands after a moment. “Mi dispiace, Leonardo. I’ll leave you to your work. Buona notte, amico.”
“Buona notte,” Leonardo calls after him.
He stands beside his bed after Ezio has descended the stairs, trying to catch his breath. Going to the window, he opens the curtain and looks out into the evening. A breeze lifts his hair and sends the candle flames dancing, but the scent of sweat and blade steel remains.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 04:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-27 07:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-30 03:38 pm (UTC)oh yes. ♥ I like the banter, the bits of Italian that are mixed in like the game, and I like the weirdness/tension between Leonardo-as-scientist, as-artist, and as-interested-party, and especially the UST he is acting on but also won't act on.
prrrr.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-30 04:02 pm (UTC)And yes, Leonardo is a very busy guy!