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I wrote bad porn!
Feb. 17th, 2020 11:42 pm Ezio is spying. He's not sure *why* he's spying on Messer Miles, but he can't seem to help himself. The man is so gloriously *golden* to his Sight, and now all alone in the house of the Hastings...
Ezio has found him training at strange hours, bending and stretching and often contorting into strange positions. Sometimes the man sits on the floor and seems to fall asleep. Rarely he picks up a book and reads, or strums the strange Spanish instrument Leonardo made him.
Tonight however he bathes, and Ezio watches from across the rooftop and curses himself.
Miles is no strapping youth, but a man, solid and strongly built. A few years Fredrico's elder, his skin is bronzely tanned all over, making the black branding of his arm seem a strange shadow in the candle light. He lies in the large strange tub that steams with piped hot water. His hair is just long enough to curl in the damp. One scarred hand cups the flesh of his own throat while the other slides with ease and patience just below the waters surface in telling motions.
Ezio tries not to look, and finds himself watching helpless anyway. He's not his brother to be attracted to the *challenge* of a partner, there is something else about Miles that yanks on his instincts. He finds he wants to befriend the man *badly*. More, he wants to *comfort*. Though... at the moment Miles appears comfortable indeed.
With a sigh Ezio can almost hear, the man releases himself and reaches out of the tub for a towel. Thinking the bath over, Ezio prepares to move, not wishing to be caught, but instead of leaving the water Miles instead pulls an object from the cloth and settles determinedly back down. It takes Ezio's poor mind a few moments to comprehend, and by then the object is in the water and past his sight. With some deliberation Miles throws his legs over the porcelain sides, wide as a welcoming whore, and with no further obvious preparation, forces the thing straight into himself.
The thing Ezio is almost *certain* was made of stone or ceramic and shaped not ungenerously akin to a *cock*. His heart races with strange fear and sympathetic *pain*. Miles face is not an expression of rapture so much as *suffering*. The hand not below the water grips the edge of the tub with white knuckles and for long moments Ezio wonders if the man will need a *doctor*. If he is staining the waters with *blood*.
It takes an eternity for Miles to begin moving, and then only a few moments before he's throwing his head back and arching his whole body through a terrifying release. Ezio grinds his teeth and prays he will be able to forget what he is witnessing. It is too much and too strange and somehow not yet over.
The peaceful lethargy of lovemaking does not come for Miles, with his penetrated rear. Instead of relaxation and satiation, the man only seems to soften around the edges before going tense as steel again. He arches his hips, enough to breach the surface a bit with his untouched shaft, and braces both arms on the tub. Then... Ezio has no idea how, he starts to *force* himself to the peak again. Untouched. *Unhappily*. His body clenches and shudders while his face seems *tortured* and Ezio is *horrified* to watch the man wreck himself in another agonizing climax.
Finally though he seems to take some pity on himself, wrapping a hand back around his weeping prick. With rough, tight motions he dirties the water a third time, then seems... finished. The instrument is pulled away and discarded back on its towel; the tub drained and the man climbs out to stretch and dry off. There remains a sort of restless energy to his motions but Ezio sees no overt damage. No blood.
Miles takes his candle and heads to bed and Ezio remains on the rooftop, confused and hurt and aching for a man he's barely spoken to.
Ezio has found him training at strange hours, bending and stretching and often contorting into strange positions. Sometimes the man sits on the floor and seems to fall asleep. Rarely he picks up a book and reads, or strums the strange Spanish instrument Leonardo made him.
Tonight however he bathes, and Ezio watches from across the rooftop and curses himself.
Miles is no strapping youth, but a man, solid and strongly built. A few years Fredrico's elder, his skin is bronzely tanned all over, making the black branding of his arm seem a strange shadow in the candle light. He lies in the large strange tub that steams with piped hot water. His hair is just long enough to curl in the damp. One scarred hand cups the flesh of his own throat while the other slides with ease and patience just below the waters surface in telling motions.
Ezio tries not to look, and finds himself watching helpless anyway. He's not his brother to be attracted to the *challenge* of a partner, there is something else about Miles that yanks on his instincts. He finds he wants to befriend the man *badly*. More, he wants to *comfort*. Though... at the moment Miles appears comfortable indeed.
With a sigh Ezio can almost hear, the man releases himself and reaches out of the tub for a towel. Thinking the bath over, Ezio prepares to move, not wishing to be caught, but instead of leaving the water Miles instead pulls an object from the cloth and settles determinedly back down. It takes Ezio's poor mind a few moments to comprehend, and by then the object is in the water and past his sight. With some deliberation Miles throws his legs over the porcelain sides, wide as a welcoming whore, and with no further obvious preparation, forces the thing straight into himself.
The thing Ezio is almost *certain* was made of stone or ceramic and shaped not ungenerously akin to a *cock*. His heart races with strange fear and sympathetic *pain*. Miles face is not an expression of rapture so much as *suffering*. The hand not below the water grips the edge of the tub with white knuckles and for long moments Ezio wonders if the man will need a *doctor*. If he is staining the waters with *blood*.
It takes an eternity for Miles to begin moving, and then only a few moments before he's throwing his head back and arching his whole body through a terrifying release. Ezio grinds his teeth and prays he will be able to forget what he is witnessing. It is too much and too strange and somehow not yet over.
The peaceful lethargy of lovemaking does not come for Miles, with his penetrated rear. Instead of relaxation and satiation, the man only seems to soften around the edges before going tense as steel again. He arches his hips, enough to breach the surface a bit with his untouched shaft, and braces both arms on the tub. Then... Ezio has no idea how, he starts to *force* himself to the peak again. Untouched. *Unhappily*. His body clenches and shudders while his face seems *tortured* and Ezio is *horrified* to watch the man wreck himself in another agonizing climax.
Finally though he seems to take some pity on himself, wrapping a hand back around his weeping prick. With rough, tight motions he dirties the water a third time, then seems... finished. The instrument is pulled away and discarded back on its towel; the tub drained and the man climbs out to stretch and dry off. There remains a sort of restless energy to his motions but Ezio sees no overt damage. No blood.
Miles takes his candle and heads to bed and Ezio remains on the rooftop, confused and hurt and aching for a man he's barely spoken to.
