(no subject)
Kostantiniyye to Roma, 1512
"I'm sorry I'm late, Sofia," Ezio says, dropping his hood back as he comes in through the door. "I stopped to help an old man in town, and it took longer than expected."
Her reading glasses are perched low on her nose, and she looks up over their frames with a smile. Sofia is nestled in an armchair with book in hand, as always, but at this hour he expected her to be in bed already.
"I imagine the old man is grateful, even if it means he's kept you from your wife." There's a wry look on her face. "An old man asking another old man for help seems odd, though."
"Some of us are more limber than others, saccente," he replies, and he meets Sofia half-way when she leans up to give him a kiss. Being called a know-it-all doesn't wipe the smile from her face, but then again, he didn't expect it to for even a second. "Are we going to bed? I'd like to prove to you that I am not as old as I look."
"Buona fortuna," she teases. He laughs and sits on the armrest of her chair, one arm along the back of it. She runs a hand along his thigh and looks up at him, as if she's going to keep talking, but she doesn't. Sofia just watches him, as if waiting for him to catch onto some unspoken sentiment.
"If not in bed, how am I to prove it?" he prompts.
"Well," she says, leaning against him. "You could make love to me while I'm reading."
He almost laughs, not at her but at the mental image that pops up in his imagination, but he holds it back. He didn't want to accidentally hurt her feelings. A grin would do.
"Am I that boring?" he teases, moving in close.
"No," she says, giving him a little shove on the shoulder. He moves in even closer, sneaking a kiss to her neck and then to her cheek before sliding off the armrest and moving to be face-to-face with her. He puts his hands on the armrests of her chair, trapping her there.
"What are you reading tonight, then?" he asks.
Sofia smiles, and this time it's a little mischievous. She holds up the book in hand: One Thousand and One Nights. The old book is showing its age, the Coptic binding brittle and the cover worn beyond recognition. She's not supposed to be handling the originals for anything but copying purposes, but she does it anyway, because she's Sofia and she can't resist getting her hands all over history, connecting herself to hundreds of years of dead and forgotten hands and heros.
He'd joke about being history, too, but he's not dead yet.
"I've never read it, but I'm assuming it's giving you ideas, mia cara," he says, sliding his hands along the armrests as he lowers himself to his knees. He doesn't break eye contact for a second, not even when his hands are moving down to lift the bottom hem of her voluminous skirts.
"For an ancient text, it is very..." She pauses. "Titillating."
"Go on," he says, reaching up to pull her hips forward on the seat, closer to the edge. She obliges, and with a well-coordinated tug he manages to get her drawers off at the same time. He pulls them down her legs and off her feet and tosses them aside.
"There's lots of lovemaking. And that was skillful, by the way."
"The kind the church would frown upon today?" he asks, ignoring the latter comment but smiling just the same. He sets about kissing his way up her legs, lips against silk stockings, lost somewhere under all the fabrics of her skirt and petticoats. She laughs, a little ticklish, and he breaks away for a second. "Keep going, Sofia."
There's a moment of silence where he's sure she's trying to read, but he can tell she's also still trying not to laugh, apparently having trouble taking this as seriously as planned. That or he's being one hell of a distraction. He doesn't mind either way; he's trying not to laugh, himself.
"It's a story of a porter and three ladies of Baghdad, who take him into their villa and make love to him," she says, finally. He feels her hand on the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. She laughs. "Beauty, may he come in awhile to enjoy thy charms, for love and I part nevermore."
With her knees over his shoulders and Ezio sitting on the floor as she positively slumps in her seat, he puts his mouth to her cleft and sets to it, effectively changing that laughter to another sound entirely.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Sofia," Ezio says, dropping his hood back as he comes in through the door. "I stopped to help an old man in town, and it took longer than expected."
Her reading glasses are perched low on her nose, and she looks up over their frames with a smile. Sofia is nestled in an armchair with book in hand, as always, but at this hour he expected her to be in bed already.
"I imagine the old man is grateful, even if it means he's kept you from your wife." There's a wry look on her face. "An old man asking another old man for help seems odd, though."
"Some of us are more limber than others, saccente," he replies, and he meets Sofia half-way when she leans up to give him a kiss. Being called a know-it-all doesn't wipe the smile from her face, but then again, he didn't expect it to for even a second. "Are we going to bed? I'd like to prove to you that I am not as old as I look."
"Buona fortuna," she teases. He laughs and sits on the armrest of her chair, one arm along the back of it. She runs a hand along his thigh and looks up at him, as if she's going to keep talking, but she doesn't. Sofia just watches him, as if waiting for him to catch onto some unspoken sentiment.
"If not in bed, how am I to prove it?" he prompts.
"Well," she says, leaning against him. "You could make love to me while I'm reading."
He almost laughs, not at her but at the mental image that pops up in his imagination, but he holds it back. He didn't want to accidentally hurt her feelings. A grin would do.
"Am I that boring?" he teases, moving in close.
"No," she says, giving him a little shove on the shoulder. He moves in even closer, sneaking a kiss to her neck and then to her cheek before sliding off the armrest and moving to be face-to-face with her. He puts his hands on the armrests of her chair, trapping her there.
"What are you reading tonight, then?" he asks.
Sofia smiles, and this time it's a little mischievous. She holds up the book in hand: One Thousand and One Nights. The old book is showing its age, the Coptic binding brittle and the cover worn beyond recognition. She's not supposed to be handling the originals for anything but copying purposes, but she does it anyway, because she's Sofia and she can't resist getting her hands all over history, connecting herself to hundreds of years of dead and forgotten hands and heros.
He'd joke about being history, too, but he's not dead yet.
"I've never read it, but I'm assuming it's giving you ideas, mia cara," he says, sliding his hands along the armrests as he lowers himself to his knees. He doesn't break eye contact for a second, not even when his hands are moving down to lift the bottom hem of her voluminous skirts.
"For an ancient text, it is very..." She pauses. "Titillating."
"Go on," he says, reaching up to pull her hips forward on the seat, closer to the edge. She obliges, and with a well-coordinated tug he manages to get her drawers off at the same time. He pulls them down her legs and off her feet and tosses them aside.
"There's lots of lovemaking. And that was skillful, by the way."
"The kind the church would frown upon today?" he asks, ignoring the latter comment but smiling just the same. He sets about kissing his way up her legs, lips against silk stockings, lost somewhere under all the fabrics of her skirt and petticoats. She laughs, a little ticklish, and he breaks away for a second. "Keep going, Sofia."
There's a moment of silence where he's sure she's trying to read, but he can tell she's also still trying not to laugh, apparently having trouble taking this as seriously as planned. That or he's being one hell of a distraction. He doesn't mind either way; he's trying not to laugh, himself.
"It's a story of a porter and three ladies of Baghdad, who take him into their villa and make love to him," she says, finally. He feels her hand on the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. She laughs. "Beauty, may he come in awhile to enjoy thy charms, for love and I part nevermore."
With her knees over his shoulders and Ezio sitting on the floor as she positively slumps in her seat, he puts his mouth to her cleft and sets to it, effectively changing that laughter to another sound entirely.