Ezio/Leonardo - Wing!kinksnoozing_kittenOctober 16 2011, 20:47:57 UTC
Of birds and men - Ezio/Leonardo
Leonardo loved birds. He always had, it wasn’t anything conscious, no more than lying in sun-warmed fields watching a hawk soar high in the air and marvelling that nature could allow something to fly so freely. Half of the charm of a bird was its freedom, the fact that at any moment they could take to the air and be gone. He liked to free birds, because without that charm they were just song, and it was so much more humane to just pay a minstrel for music.
Ezio, in his current incarnation, with his white robes and habit of leaping from buildings (like the earth couldn’t hold him down) to dive upon prey with flashing blades, was no different than he used to watch.
The ink was sooty black, and Ezio’s skin was tanned, darker across his shoulders where he would train in the sunlight without his robes. The gradient was smooth, no lines from the collar of his shirt because Ezio habitually left the hood up and down to shadow his face. The contrast was nice, more appealing then black ink on pale skin.
“I can endure a lot of pain, but this is almost too much.” Ezio growled.
“Don’t move.” Leonardo admonished, lifting the edge of the thin brush he was using.
His research had shown that this, here, was the muscle used probably to pull the arm down, and here, the arm up. The placement would probably differ in the wings of birds. No way to properly place a set of wings on the human back.
The soft drag of paint over skin was sublime. Why even bother with canvas when he had this? Ezio mumbled something crude and flexed under Leonardo’s thighs. It wasn’t movement so much as Ezio tensing all the muscles down his back and in his thighs. Leonardo caught his breath, perfect musculature, tight and perfect between his thighs, his half hard cock pressed against the .
“Don’t do that. It’s distracting.”
He could make a study of just Ezio, the lines of his back and legs. He was an anatomical marvel, as divine as the Coliseum in form and function.
“Then hurry up.”
“Art takes time.” It was a common excuse for him.
He was tracing the edges of Ezio’s wings. All dark and tan and beautiful. He could spend all day filling in the outline of the wings he’d drawn-- give them life. They flexed with each breath and shift, he had drawn them, but they were all Ezio.
“Enough of this.”
“Hm?” Leonardo wasn’t sure what happened, one moment he was sitting on Ezio’s thighs, feeling the lax strength in his shoulders against fingertips stained with ink (he couldn’t stop himself from touching, smudging the edges with his fingertips because the skin was warm and textured with raised scars.) Then he was on his back, and Ezio was leaning over him. It happened way too fast, landing on his back with a jolt that threatened to take his breath.
“Enough of that.”
“Impatient.” Leonardo scolded, leaning up for a kiss.
He shifted, curling himself a little more comfortably so Ezio could fit between his legs, one hand was curling around the ridge of his ribs, holding him close as they kissed. There had been a time when he’d been desperate to know what that scar right there tasted like, if it felt any different than the other side. Not a bit.
“I think you’re still ready.” Ezio sighed against his lips and Leonardo pressed his heels to the small of his back. Fingers pressed up inside him, one then two with barely a breath in between them, and he was still slick and open, sore but too empty. He groaned against Ezio’s lips, pulling him closer and curling his own hands under his arms and across his back.
When Ezio grabbed his hips and pushed inside he dug his nails in there, breathing out fast like he’d been struck. Ezio arched up into the touch as if the wings were sensitive.
Leonardo loved birds. He always had, it wasn’t anything conscious, no more than lying in sun-warmed fields watching a hawk soar high in the air and marvelling that nature could allow something to fly so freely. Half of the charm of a bird was its freedom, the fact that at any moment they could take to the air and be gone. He liked to free birds, because without that charm they were just song, and it was so much more humane to just pay a minstrel for music.
Ezio, in his current incarnation, with his white robes and habit of leaping from buildings (like the earth couldn’t hold him down) to dive upon prey with flashing blades, was no different than he used to watch.
The ink was sooty black, and Ezio’s skin was tanned, darker across his shoulders where he would train in the sunlight without his robes. The gradient was smooth, no lines from the collar of his shirt because Ezio habitually left the hood up and down to shadow his face. The contrast was nice, more appealing then black ink on pale skin.
“I can endure a lot of pain, but this is almost too much.” Ezio growled.
“Don’t move.” Leonardo admonished, lifting the edge of the thin brush he was using.
His research had shown that this, here, was the muscle used probably to pull the arm down, and here, the arm up. The placement would probably differ in the wings of birds. No way to properly place a set of wings on the human back.
The soft drag of paint over skin was sublime. Why even bother with canvas when he had this? Ezio mumbled something crude and flexed under Leonardo’s thighs. It wasn’t movement so much as Ezio tensing all the muscles down his back and in his thighs. Leonardo caught his breath, perfect musculature, tight and perfect between his thighs, his half hard cock pressed against the .
“Don’t do that. It’s distracting.”
He could make a study of just Ezio, the lines of his back and legs. He was an anatomical marvel, as divine as the Coliseum in form and function.
“Then hurry up.”
“Art takes time.” It was a common excuse for him.
He was tracing the edges of Ezio’s wings. All dark and tan and beautiful. He could spend all day filling in the outline of the wings he’d drawn-- give them life. They flexed with each breath and shift, he had drawn them, but they were all Ezio.
“Enough of this.”
“Hm?” Leonardo wasn’t sure what happened, one moment he was sitting on Ezio’s thighs, feeling the lax strength in his shoulders against fingertips stained with ink (he couldn’t stop himself from touching, smudging the edges with his fingertips because the skin was warm and textured with raised scars.) Then he was on his back, and Ezio was leaning over him. It happened way too fast, landing on his back with a jolt that threatened to take his breath.
“Enough of that.”
“Impatient.” Leonardo scolded, leaning up for a kiss.
He shifted, curling himself a little more comfortably so Ezio could fit between his legs, one hand was curling around the ridge of his ribs, holding him close as they kissed. There had been a time when he’d been desperate to know what that scar right there tasted like, if it felt any different than the other side. Not a bit.
“I think you’re still ready.” Ezio sighed against his lips and Leonardo pressed his heels to the small of his back. Fingers pressed up inside him, one then two with barely a breath in between them, and he was still slick and open, sore but too empty. He groaned against Ezio’s lips, pulling him closer and curling his own hands under his arms and across his back.
When Ezio grabbed his hips and pushed inside he dug his nails in there, breathing out fast like he’d been struck. Ezio arched up into the touch as if the wings were sensitive.
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