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AUTHOR'S NOTE;
I found this prompt the other day, and it really struck a chord with me. My roommate is intersexual, and for some reason she agreed to answer my obviously embarrassing questions so I could make this as accurate a portrayal as possible. If you have a problem with this, I ask that you be mature and simply close this window now.
Thank you.
...
Also... TheAllPowerfulOz is not Ubisoft, therefore, TheAllPowerfulOz does not and will never own the Assassin's Creed universe or the characters therein.
Although, I do like to do weird things to it when nobody is looking...
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Zola = Little Ball of Clay
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Unfortunate
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Ezio was half asleep when there was a knock at the door. At first he ignored it, but when it came again he sighed and rolled into a sitting position, scrubbing a hand over his face.
There were only two reasons someone would be knocking on his door at this hour; One, a 'customer' was getting a bit too rowdy, or Two there were guards on their way up the stairs… And since he didn't hear heavy loud footsteps or screams and frantic shouting, he could overrule both of those reasons in one fell swoop.
It took him a few moments of fumbling in the dark, cursing the rain outside for blocking out the moon, before he was able to light the lamp by his bedside.
The knocking grew slightly louder, though still quiet enough to give the pretense of unobtrusiveness. Though, at the moment, he found that idea laughable.
"Signore Auditore, are you there?"
He cursed under his breath, not immediately recognizing the voice, and scooped up a knife from the table, just in case. He shuffled to the door yawning and pulled back the lock, cracking it open and blinking out with sleep hazed eyes.
The hallway was darker than normal, indicating that the rooms at this end were unoccupied, most likely because of the rain, and the girl standing there was looking up at him with large brown eyes. "May I come in?"
He sighed, a brittle angry sound and scrubbed his face. For the past week Teodora had been pressing him. Pulling him aside to try and help him 'sort through his feelings'. Saying that she had noticed how tense he'd been of late, how snippy he'd become and short tempered with some of the girls who tended to have a cycle of rather violent customers coming through their rooms every evening.
Ezio denied it all of course, and even more vehemently denied it when she had narrowed her eyes and said with an air of tragic nonchalance 'The only time you seem to be at ease is when Leonardo is around'.
"I'm not interested," And he'd started to shut the door, but a surprisingly firm little hand caught it before it could shut.
"Then I must apologize, but—" She forced herself into the room. "She insisted… And you know how insistent she can be when her mind is set."
Ezio rolled his eyes and shuffled back to the bed, letting his knife clatter back onto the side table as he sat the lamp down and collapsed back across the mattress on his face. "I have not slept well in a week… So I beg your forgiveness, but I'm truly not interested tonight."
Her weight climbed across the bed to drop beside him and he turned his face far enough that one eye peeked out over his arm at her where she was lying on her back looking at him.
Her hair was of a light, earthy brown color, rather unremarkable in the way it curled slightly, cut to lay just even with her shoulders. Surprisingly tall for one of Teodora's girls, just half a head shorter than Ezio himself, thin and willow like with a short rounded nose and thin lips.
Ezio found his head lifting, palm pressing into his temple as he let his eyes rove over her.
She wore no shift under her blouse, and the lacing on the front was loose, untied and gaping just enough that he could see the curve of small breasts and the indents of her collar bones.
Her face and skin were pale, and dotted lightly with little freckles, and he could just make out fading marks on her shoulder from love bites, the only blemishes he could see a scar running through the center of her bottom lip, as if at one point a patron had become displeased and decided to rough her up.
The closer he looked, the more he noticed faded marks like this, another in her right eyebrow, and yet another at her hairline.
He wondered who could ever want to hurt a girl who, despite her profession, still looked so young and innocent.
She gazed at him seriously, unblinkingly, with her unnervingly dark eyes, and when he shifted, curiously hooking a finger in one of the loose laces of her blouse she didn't even flinch.
He sighed, defeated, and shifted closer to her, mumbling to himself, "Didn't expect to get much sleep anyway…"
She smiled and lifted a hand to trace along his eyebrows, giggling in her throat when he closed each eye as her finger made its path.
"Are you new? I don't think I've seen you around before."
She shook her head. "I deal with… With special clients." She smiled, but it was rather transparent. "I'm not beautiful like the others, you see, so I don't come out often…" She petted his face, her gaze heating when his lips parted and he drew a fingertip into his mouth. "But I have my charm…"
Slowly, he plucked at the laces on the front of her blouse, letting the pale fabric fall open, "How old are you?"
She shifted, setting up to shrug out of her shirt; "Old enough." Her thin arms wound around his neck, lips cool and soft against his, so strange feeling with that bit of scar tissue. She untied his hair, running her fingers through it, and dragging the length of ribbon over his shoulder and across his throat.
"May I ask your name?"
She smiled, and it seemed somehow sad; "You may call me Zola… Or whatever you desire if you should forget it."
He nodded, letting his hands wander to her back, feeling thin lines, like the scars left by a thin switch in a zealous hand. He paused, shifting away from her, his mind whirring. "She doesn't think I'll be violent, does she? Is that the kind of people you deal with? What were their names?"
Zola giggled, a somehow pleased and amused sound. "Are you so protective that you would chase out every man that has ever raised a hand to me?" She pinched his cheek playfully. "You flatter me." Her lips pressed against his in an almost chaste manner.
He sighed, and when she tugged at his shirt he helped her pull it off, allowing her a few minutes to fuss over the bruises and half healed wounds on his torso. She pressed him back, her skirts swishing as she moved, pressing kisses over each abrasion, lifting his hand and forming his palm against her breast, moaning softly in approval as his thumb circled a nipple.
Her fingers were cool, almost chilled, as if she'd come to him from outside in the cold autumn air, drawing swirling patterns down his body and plucking at the laces of his trousers, palms ghosting over his thighs.
"Do all your p-patrons allow you such freedom?"
She looked up from beneath thick lashes, tongue flicking out to dip into his navel, and grinned.
He chuckled, Letting his head rest back against the pillows as he watched her, a hand lifting to comb through her hair, smiling at how soft the curls felt as they twisted around his fingers. He hated to admit it, but her attention was easing some of the tension in his body. Though his mind drifted, and his eyes slid closed, brows crinkling as he fought his mind, trying to shove away the thoughts that had plagued him for the better part of six months in growing intensity.
Zola's fingers were long, slender, yet deceptively strong, calloused only slightly, just enough to add a delicious sense of friction as they dragged back and forth over his body.
Artist's fingers…
He grunted, forcing his eyes open to watch, to see and hopefully push out—
"Are you alright?" She lifted her head, kissing gently along the curve of his hip and low over his belly, so close…
He made an impatient whining sound and worked his feet back and forth, feeling trapped with his pants around his knees like that. "Come up here…" It sounded uncertain even to his own ears, and she smiled knowingly, crawling up to lay at his side, her fingers sliding down to curl around his shaft, pulling slowly, lazily while he gently cupped her cheek, kissing deeply, tongues sliding against teeth, the texture and pace slightly awkward at first, but quickly smoothing as his hand slid down to knead her breasts, the other pulling at the closures of her skirts.
Her hand ceased its stroking the moment his fingers slipped past her waistband, and instead of helping him, Ezio found his wrist trapped in her grip, and his fingers covering a firmness he had not expected beneath all the fabric.
For half a second he kept kissing her, seemingly oblivious as to what he'd discovered, but then his eyes flew open and with a quiet little whine he tried to draw back in a panic, but her grip was bruising, and her voice was hissing in his ear.
"It's alright, signore, it is perfectly alri—"
"W-what… What is this," His free hand came up from behind her and was able to pry her hand away from his wrist, momentarily pressing her tight to his chest, and then he was fumbling, his eyes wide face pale.
He fell in an ungraceful heap in the floor with a loud thud, pants still tangled around his knees as he fought, twisting and finally managing to free one leg and scoot away with his back to the door.
He didn't even try to rationalize the fact he was still quite hard, he just sat there, trying to press himself through the door, staring at her unblinking.
Slowly, silently, she slid off the bed and stood before him, fingers pulling at her skirts and letting them fall one by one to pool at her feet, until she stood there amid a cloud of emerald greens and sky blues.
Her body was thin, hips flat and not flared as one would expect of a woman, even one of such small size. Of course, what was nestled between her hips was anything but what a woman would have.
As nauseous as Ezio tried to tell himself he was, he wasn't… He was fascinated, though at the same time, scared out of his wits.
"I-is this a joke?" He stuttered, his face reddening in humiliation.
"No… It's quite a serious problem." Zola stepped out of her skirts and kicked them aside, propping her hands on her thin hips, "So serious in fact, that She insisted I come to deal with you. And I was highly surprised myself, you see. So many of the girls would be heartbroken if they knew I was here." She slid onto the bed, leaning backward and parting her legs, allowing Ezio's gaze to take in everything she had to offer… And everything she didn't. "I cater to a specific class of patrons, Signore Auditore… Those who crave the touch of a man, but fear it in the same moment."
"I-I don't—"
"But you do." Her ankles crossed delicately and she tilted her head to the side. "She described to me the look you get in your eyes when he is near… The sadness, anger, longing… Even the way you flinch when he touches you, yet at the same time, how you lean into that embrace, almost as if you hate yourself for wanting it." She let her hand drift down, touching herself in an almost clinical way. "This is a part of me, the same as these," Her other hand rose to cup her breast. "I am no more a man, nor less a woman because of it… I simply am myself."
Ezio swallowed thickly, still unwilling to move as his eyes stayed glued to hers.
With a sigh, she scooted back farther onto the bed and lay there, left hand up and curled gently like a paw at her face, right beckoning him with a thin, curled finger. "There is no wrong here… Your body knows what it wants, listen to it."
Ezio stared at her for a moment longer, then slowly, as if any sudden movements may cause the flesh lying against her thigh to snap at him like a venomous snake, he pushed himself up the wall, and kicked his pants from his foot, standing there nude, his hair tousled and falling into his wide eyes.
She twitched her finger at him again smiling gently as if his reaction was not a surprise, which he realized, it probably wasn't.
It took almost a full ten minutes of coaxing, of telling him that it was alright and if he was uncomfortable she could face away from him during the act so he did not have to see it. She knew she wasn't beautiful and she didn't want to cause him distress because of this.
His face twisted at that, in soured regret and shame. "You're not ugly… That is not—It's not—" With a sigh he shook his head and stepped forward to sit on the edge of the bed near her knees, feeling stupid for staring but unable to do much else.
Her legs parted again, falling open in a sensual, yet somehow calm and indulgent way, the fingers of her right hand slipping down to open herself. "You can touch if you like, it will not bite… It is a pene, not unlike your own… Flesh and blood."
Yet, at the same moment he knew it was not like his own. Where on an average woman, one would expect to find a clitoris the flesh protruded and grew upward and outward, forming a slightly smaller than average phallus, the outer lips of her sex grown to either side of it. Everything below this point looked as he expected it. Pink and glistening slightly with moisture, and even while his heart thudded in apprehension, he found himself thinking that it was all somehow beautiful.
Her left hand lifted, carding through his hair in an appreciative way, and her voice came out in the barest of whispers, eyes shining; "It's alright…"
Carefully, like a curious virgin, his fingers followed her length, touches feather light, eyes intent as the firm flesh beneath his fingers twitched slightly.
She released a soft sound, a pleased hum and her fingers curled, giving a gentle tug.
Emboldened, his hand slipped beneath, feeling its weight and size in his palm, comparing it to his own, stroking, eyes lifting to focus on her face.
Her brows were lifted, eyes closed lightly, lips parted.
It was strange, and yet awe inspiring, watching the reaction to his ministrations, his fingers tightening fractionally on the upstroke.
She released a noise, a soft wavering little moan, and Ezio felt himself echo it with a gasp, his lips parting, as his sex gave a rather hard throb between his legs.
His mind still chided him that this was strange, and wrong, but he couldn't force himself to care at the moment, he wondered if Leonardo would make such a face of pleasure when stroked, wondered if the blonde artist would mewl and tug at his hair. Wondered what his lips would taste like. And the realization that he was actually thinking such things, actually truly wanting them sent a hard shudder through him and he found himself halting all motion to look up at Zola's face.
Her eyes were open now, smiling at him, her fingers caressing his face with such tenderness he turned his lips into her palm and closed his eyes against the intensity of it.
"Are you going to be OK?" She whispered, still smiling.
After a moment he nodded against her hand and let her guide him up her body, until he was settled between her thighs, pressing in slowly, his brow to her shoulder.
This was familiar, felt the same as any other woman he'd been with… Save the heat of her length against his belly. Is this what it would feel like to lie with a man? This similar, yet this different?
She whimpered and mewled in his ear, fingers curled on the back of his neck for leverage while he rocked. Eyes flowing from her face to the pink head of her arousal between their stomachs. He focused on each hitch of breath, each twitch of muscle, the slide of his body against hers.
It was a familiar dance, passion building slowly but steadily, moans and soft cries gaining volume and frequency as he rotated his hips experimentally, leaning forward to nibble her throat when she arched.
Her inner walls were tight around him, warm and slick, her length a firm constant pressure below his navel, and absently he fumbled with his bedside table, tugging open the drawer and rummaging around until he found the small jar of salve he'd been smearing a wound on his chest with, dipping two fingers in and sliding his hand between them, lifting himself long enough to wrap his hand around her again, a hard jolt going through him when her walls tightened on the contact. His hand jerking in time with his thrusts, mind empty but for the pleasure, empty save the realization that Zola was chanting his name softly under her breath, as if unsure if it was allowed.
The tightening sensation started in his lower back, sliding through under his balls, pulling them close to his body as his thrusts became less coordinated, quick and almost hectic, his breath coming out in high grunts that were almost whimpers as he bowed over her, feeling slender arms pulling him closer, fingers curling to cling tighter. Ezio could feel his arm shaking from the strain of keeping himself up, could feel the muscles in his back, buttocks and thighs burning, sweat rolling down his neck and chest, tendons standing out in his wrist, head dropping forward. His mouth falling open sounds coming unbidden, harsh and almost pained.
Three thrusts more and the walls enclosing him tightened suddenly, the length in his hand erupting, twitching, warmth and wetness bursting in his palm, and Ezio squeezed his eyes closed so tight he saw colors, hips rolling, and tightening, burying himself deep as he released, breath caught in the trap of his throat.
He pumped his hips lazily, body quickly going numb, and his arm finally gave out, spilling him to the side, Zola's left leg trapped beneath him, but she didn't seem to mind.
He was suddenly insufferably hot and unable to move to do anything about it, but lay there panting with his eyes closed and his hair fanned over his face, shoulders and back in sweat moistened tendrils.
A few moments later, Zola wiggled from beneath him and crawled to the edge of the bed, pushing open the window just enough to let a cool, almost cold breeze flutter the curtains, and rain to splatter on the sill and splash onto Ezio's back.
He didn't particularly mind… In fact, it felt rather good to be truthful.
"Signore—"
"E-ezio…" His lips felt numb, but he was able to slur out his own name.
"Ezio… You're staining your sheets… Set up and let me change them quickly."
He didn't know how he managed it, but he was able to move his limbs enough to sit on the edge of the bed, blinking dazedly around watching the slender nude form rushing about in the room, setting the tied bundle of dirty sheets by the door and spreading a new set over the mattress. Watched as she wrung water from a cloth and scrubbed gently but purposefully at his stomach, cleaning away the thin, almost clear splatter of her release. She smiled tenderly when he flinched and tried to stifle a ticklish giggle as she swiped his ribs, and the palm of his hand.
He watched her, almost entranced, as he fell back against the bed, his body feeling somewhat boneless and lethargic after orgasm. Yet, the almost goofy little grin on his face disappeared when he noticed that no matter how he tilted his head, she wouldn't meet his eyes.
His hand snaked up, reverently tracing the ridge of her spine and the hatch marks of scars slicing over her pale shoulders and downward, tapering off above the cleft of her behind.
She flinched visibly, her head lowered.
"I wonder if Leonardo, in his studies, has ever come across someone like you."
Slowly, she tilted her head to look at him. "The man who has your interest?"
He furrowed his brows and said nothing, eyes still focused on the pattern of freckles and scars across her back.
"It would be a waste…" She stood and crouched, scooping her skirts toward herself. "Pretty things should be immortalized with paints and colors. I'm happy where I am."
Somehow he could tell she was lying, but chose not to draw attention to it, and instead hooked his fingers on her wrist, not ready for their time together to end. He felt relaxed, calm in a way he hadn't in weeks, at peace with himself. Flexing his legs and gazing up at her with an open, wanting expression on his face he tried to draw her back into the bed.
She sighed; "If this is how you act, I can see why the girls are so eager for your affections." He looked like a bed tousled kitten, all shining amber eyes, and lightly flushed cheeks. Sleepy affection and intent gazes. "They shall be disappointed when they learn of this… How unfortunate." She smiled in a way that said she was anything but sorry.
And with a groan; "You're incorrigible…" She slid into the bed at his side, allowing herself to be drawn into his embrace, his cheek against her own, arms around her, deceptively gentle fingers drawing curls and spirals on her back and hips. "The Great Assassino… A cuddler." She combed his hair from his face. "I wonder if your artist friend will be as indulgent."
"What makes you think he and I are anything but friends?"
Zola rolled her eyes; "I know love. You two are so deeply enamored with one another it is painful to look at sometimes… Leonardo is just better at hiding it than you are."
Ezio was silent his face hidden, eyes lowered. "We are just friends."
Zola laughed, a light airy sound, and she swatted his shoulder; "Are you truly that naive?"
When he didn't answer she sighed and pressed a hand to his heart; "Forget what is said, forget about everything you think and listen to what your heart knows… The heart is a terribly wise thing. If more people paid attention to it I think the world would be a better place."
He was quiet for a long while, and slowly, his arms tightened, around her, a shudder running through him as he no doubt realized what those strange urges actually meant. "I dared not hope actually… I-I'm afraid he will laugh at me… Or worse yet, only agree because he is too kind to deny me."
She ran her fingers through his hair again, so she could see his face; "He is not a woman, and he may be a good liar, but he is also a sincere person, lying to you would destroy him inside."
Ezio lifted his head and blinked at her; "Do you know him so intimately?"
"Anyone stupid enough to find themselves the object of your affection must be the most genuinely good person in all of Italia." She pinched his nose between forefinger and thumb; "You may be lax when choosing bedmates, but your heart is something dear, and not likely to find itself in another's hand without good reason."
He touched his nose and glanced away, heat rising to his cheeks. "Most likely they've carved it from my chest."
She giggled into her hand; "You're so dramatic."
He lowered his gaze again, blushing, and followed his fingers as they traced from her elbow to the top of her thigh, gazing curiously between their bodies.
"Ezio?"
He hummed.
"How do you see yourself with him?"
He shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth to deny it.
"I do what I do, Ezio, to either slake a man's curiosity, or help him embrace his true desires without the fear of retribution or guilt… If this is more than a passing whim on your part, you should be prepared for things that occur during intimacy between two men. If it is just a fleeting thing, I can help you sate your thirst, without you having to embarrass yourself with another man."
He sighed. She made a valid point. And as embarrassing as it was to speak aloud, this was her job, as unsavory an occupation as it may seem to others.
"If you are caught in the act, or even suspected, Leonardo could loose not only his standing in society, which has only just started to climb again after last time, but he could also be killed. Secrecy, which you know well, is your best and probably only ally in this." Her hands had slid lower, fingers curling over his sex and petting it lightly, making him squirm because he was still sensitive.
"What are you doing now?"
Her expression said, quite clearly, that she thought that was obvious. "Usually, I'm bade to leave after one time…" She glanced up then, her eyes hungry; "Unless I am desired in a… Different way."
He blinked and rolled onto his back looking up at her, rubbing his eyes sleepily; "Subtlety is wasted on me in moments like this, bella—"
Without warning she swatted him on the side of the head. "Don't call me that… Keep your pretty words for those who care to hear them."
He remained silent.
"Since you chose not to answer my question, I am assuming you see yourself bent over one of his work tables."
"Not necessarily…"
She smiled, lifting herself onto her elbows and leaning over him. "But if he asked, you would do it gladly… I can see it in your eyes."
He sighed and looked away into the corner.
With a quiet chuckle she pressed a kiss to his nose; "You are hopelessly smitten, and yet it's oddly sad that you cannot admit you would like to have him ravish you. Feel his fingers on your body…" Her hand slid down his chest, watching as nipples perked beneath her palm, breath quickening. "You dream about it don't you… Dream about walking into his workshop, seeing him… Running your hands through his hair. Does he take you on the floor? Or perhaps on his bed?"
His eyes closed, eyebrows scrunched together, breath hissing from flared nostrils. If it hadn't been for the warmth and firmness pressing against her thigh, Zola might have believed he was unwilling to continue.
"Ezio…" She rolled slowly, bracing herself on her elbows on either side of her head, practically laying on top of him. Her mouth latched to the side of his neck, licking and sucking, teeth scraping just enough to send a hard shudder through him and a choked whine from between his lips.
She rocked herself slowly, listening to the soft wanting sounds he released, watching the play of emotion on his face. Confusion, fear, and such potent longing her chest started to ache from it.
She was prepared to simply rut against him, rubbing their lengths together until they were spent, allowing him time to think what needed to be thought, allowing him to come to terms with the desire, the need. But she was surprised enough to gasp when she felt his thighs shift, felt the muscles in his abdomen tightening as his legs parted just enough to let her settle between them.
"What is it you dream about? Are you imagining his hands on you?" She lowered her head, nipping lightly, not hard enough to mark, but enough to sting and cause him to arch into her touch. "Are you thinking about his body? How it would fit against your own?"
He nodded, the motion stuttered and a whine escaped his throat, hips rocking up against her.
His fingers were flexing where they rested on the pillow by his flushed face. His eyebrows turning slowly upward as the pleasure built.
There was a helpless almost vulnerable quality to him now, with his eyes closed and his body moving hesitantly, as if still too afraid to admit to himself it was real. His voice lost and forgotten while he found the pleasure he'd only before dreamed of.
"Ezio, is this what you want?" Her hand slid between them, the very tip of her finger moving, shifting behind his testicles and gently, like a feather drawn over skin, tracing the tight ring of his entrance.
It was almost as if she'd stabbed him, a shudder ran through his body and he bucked sharply up against her, one hand lifting to clap over his mouth and hold in the groan he almost released. His arousal gave a heavy throb against her own and a bit of moisture leaked from his tip.
She stopped moving all together then, staring down at him grinning while he breathed raggedly hips making gentle thrusting motions below her. "Do you want me to show you what it feels like?"
There was a tense moment where he did not move, but then, slowly, his hand fell to the bed and his eyes opened to slits. There was fear in them, fear of what it would mean, fear of being caught or found out.
He took a shuddering breath and spoke in a whisper; "W-will I bleed?"
"What?"
He wetted his lips and spoke again, his voice somehow even quieter than before. "The f-first time a woman is touched, s-she bleeds, and there is pain… I don't enjoy pain, you see… Nor do I enjoy the idea of bleeding—especially from that, that area."
"If you take your time," She reached over and retrieved the little pot of salve he'd dug from the drawer earlier and sat it on the mattress near by, "And use something like this, or even a fine olive oil, you will not bleed, perhaps a drop or two because you are still new to it, but nothing more unless there is a tear or injury… You feel pain for a reason, Ezio, if it is there, tell him."
The tension seemed to leak out of his body and he eased back into the pillows a little more.
She dipped two fingers into the jar and shifted back onto her knees. His eyes felt like heated points as they traveled from her face to her hand, to the hardened flesh against her belly.
"Unfortunately, there will be a little pain the first few times, until you've learned how to relax yourself and not fight it, preparing your body thoroughly will decrease this though."
His brow wrinkled uncertainly.
"And there are ways to distract from it…" She let one slicked finger circle his entrance again, smiling as she watched the reaction, how the pucker of flesh fluttered, how his length twitched gently, even the hitch of his breath.
She focused on his face, watching his eyes where they were locked with the ceiling, fingers curled into his palms in apprehension, and she eased the first finger into his body.
He didn't flinch, but an awkward expression came over him. He didn't so much as move as she worked the digit within him, widening him up enough to slip in a second. Then he did flinch, his fingers tightening into loose fists. Slowly, she pumped her fingers in and out, smiling when the only name she could think of to explain the look on his face was 'uncomfortable' and perhaps 'embarrassed'. "When you prepare your partner, you want, most usually, to get three or even all four fingers in. Gradually of course, just like you would let your fingers pleasure a woman to make her moist… If this step is skipped, if proper lubrication is skipped, there will be terrible pain and blood, do you understand?"
He nodded his eyebrows drawn down in concentration.
"This… Is one way to distract from the discomfort." She crooked her fingers upward, and watched his reaction.
He gave a little jolt, eyes closing, mouth twisting and his breath hitched.
With a smile, Zola rubbed the pads of her fingers against the spot, back and forth watching as his breath became more labored, and his mouth opened to gasp in breath. She was able to slip in a third finger while she had him distracted, watching as his hips began to roll with the stimulation, quiet whines and gasps leaving him.
His right hand slid down his body, as if of its own volition, and curled around his sex, pumping along with her rhythm.
She watched him for a few breaths, secretly relishing in the vision he created, spread out on his bed, his hair mussed and sticking to sweat dampened skin, brows lifted above fluttering eyes. Mouth opened, lips glistening as his tongue roved over them in an almost lewd fashion. His legs spread wantonly, tendons standing out in his inner thighs, hand working his flushed shaft, testicles heavy and tight, his hole stretched pink and wet with oil around three of her fingers, clenching in time with the flexing of her wrist.
"You're beautiful like this… Così disposti… così aperta…" She hummed hungrily, her free hand dipping into the little jar of salve and slicking her length, gasping and whimpering when her inner walls spasmed eagerly, moisture dripping down the inside portions of her thighs. Her head fell back, eyes closing, remembering the feel of his length nestled deeply inside her.
At that moment she envied Leonardo, but bit her tongue and gave her head a shake, returning her focus to the man below her, calling his name to get his attention.
"Ezio… Ezio, look at me… Si, like that."
His eyes were heavily lidded, dark and burning and she felt a tingle go through her as she forced her thick tongue to cooperate, forced herself to speak; "I am not of average size, as you can tell, so this will not be as uncomfortable as being breached by a man, do you understand? If Leonardo does this, it will—"
"It will hurt."
She nodded, petting his thigh, "He is a gentle person by nature, he will do everything he can to ease it."
He nodded, teeth sinking into his lip when he felt her pull her fingers free, his heart hammering nervously. Is this how it felt for a woman the first time? This terrifying apprehension, the shortness of breath, the numbness and yet hypersensitivity in the skin, the feeling of not quite being awake?
He tried not to watch as Zola gripped herself, guiding the wet, slicked head of her erection to him, tried not to flinch at the alien feel of hot blunt flesh pressing against him, or the terrifying feeling that it just wasn't going to fit and he would tear in two as she pressed her hips inward. There really wasn't any pain, so he didn't know why he thought that, or why his left hand came up, covering his face, didn't know why he released a sob and reached for her, tangling their fingers together in a desperate attempt to ground himself. The first push didn't really feel like much of anything besides uncomfortable, maybe a little sting as she hilted herself and bent forward to whisper encouragingly in his ear.
She made soft shushing noises and pressed kisses to his chest and neck, bracing herself on her elbow by his shoulder. "Ezio? Are you really in pain or are you just afraid?"
He shook his head and after a moment choked out in a whisper; "It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt."
"Then what are you afraid of, caro, what is it?"
"I don't know."
"I think you're lying," She leaned her forehead into his, smiling sadly down at him. "There is nothing wrong with this, despite what everyone says…" She withdrew slowly, rocking herself back into him, pulling whines from his throat with every movement. "Listen to your body, Ezio. Listen to what it is telling you, and forget everything else."
He took a deep breath, relaxed himself into the feeling, and released it in a moan, rolling his hips up against hers, almost overwhelmed by the feeling, by the heat, fullness and warmth, the stretch and pull of her shaft, rubbing with each thrust against that place inside him.
What was so wrong with this? Why was it considered evil, dirty? What did it matter who loved whom, or how you made love?
This didn't feel wrong, at all.
And just like that, he wasn't afraid anymore. The act wasn't terrible, wasn't ugly as he'd always believed. It felt… It felt good, it felt right.
His hand moved slowly away from his face, lifting to clutch at her shoulders, legs shifting to frame her hips, holding her close as she thrust, the sensation of her driving in and out of him maddening, the pressure building, his voice naught but whines and quiet moans—
He wasn't sure how long it lasted but he came suddenly, almost violently, eyes closing so tightly it hurt crying out at the abruptness of it. His body tightened, clenching around her invading length, rolling as orgasm swept through him. His own seed splashing out in sharp jets against his stomach, splattering along the flexing muscles of his abdomen and he felt two more sharp thrusts before Zola shuddered, a small burst of warmth at his insides, not nearly as much as he expected, barely enough to be noticed, and he felt her twitching gently through it, soft mewling noises echoing in the room.
She lay on his chest for a few minutes, how long he didn't know, didn't really care, because his mind seemed to have drifted away from everything letting his body be manipulated by thin hands, his limbs moved about at her will.
Consciousness was fading rapidly, but he had enough strength left in him to crack open an eye and watch her as she made her way around the room, wiping him down, hooking his leg over her arm to press the cloth to his entrance, cooing when he grunted at the contact with tender flesh.
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his side, the blankets pulled over him, and Zola was tightening the laces of her blouse, her skirts once again hiding the mystery of her lower half.
It was a strange feeling, the realization of what he'd done and yet not feeling ashamed. Knowing suddenly that the world had been wrong and that what he'd been trying to convince himself was just a skewed sense of friendship between himself and Leonardo was actually something more. That the dreams he'd had, the desires, were normal and no more disgusting than the thoughts he'd had of women as a teen… And remembering how he had flinched and drawn away whenever Leonardo had tried to hug him for a little longer than he had thought was appropriate, or how he had refused his friend when the blonde had asked if he would model for him.
All of the times he left quickly, or shied away from a comforting touch when it seemed that he would never have a moment's peace between running from guards and killing, when it seemed the darkness would eat him alive. All of it had been because he was afraid. Afraid someone would know he wanted it, afraid to admit to himself that he wanted to feel strong hands on his body, wanted to feel and touch and be loved by another man.
Zola's head snapped back toward him when she heard it, startled.
He was trying to hide his face in the pillow, pulling at the blankets with his other hand, attempting to cover his head, but his body was still shaking from the intensity of two releases in as many hours. It was a testament to his willpower that he was even still awake and not sleeping like the dead.
Most men she serviced fell asleep within seconds of their end.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand going to his back through the quilt, rubbing gentle circles. "What is it?"
He shook his head, trying to deny that anything was the matter, but she was insistent, pulling at the blankets and brushing his hair away from his face until he found himself looking up at her.
No words passed between them, words at such a moment would have been useless.
Admitting to oneself that there is love where society says there should not be was difficult. Even more difficult was choosing to pursue and live with such love in spite of what the world said.
She gave him a tender smile, tracing his eyebrows once more, "Do you need anything, before I go?"
He thought for a moment, reaching up to wipe his eyes, and then gave his head a shake. "I think, perhaps saying 'thank you' to a pretty woman would be a bit absurd after something like that… But—"
She chuckled lightly, like music, and pulled the blankets over his head. "Ah, you silly man… What did I say about those lovely words of yours? Save them for Leonardo, I have no need of them! Though, I do believe Sister Teodora will be pleased your problem has resolved itself… She worries over you so."
Ezio pushed the blankets back and watched her as she stood, blew out his lamp and walked to the door, the moonlight making her hair look coal black, eyes the color of midnight.
"Buona notte, Signore Auditore…" She opened the door and disappeared into the hallway without a backward glance.
He lay there for a few moments in the dark, listening to the breeze battering the shutters, and smiled when he realized the rain had stopped.
Two days later when the workshop door opened and Leonardo blinked out at him in surprise, inviting him in with a pleased laugh and a hug, Ezio didn't try to pull away.
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I apologize to the OP if this isn't what you wanted. But I did have fun writing it.
Thanks to my roommate for putting up with my badgering and questioning…
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