Currently obsessed with Dishonored.
[AN: Anon asked me to write them some cute GioLor and here it is! I’m sorry it’s not very good, Anon. :c I tried!]
Lorenzo was not one to sit back and do nothing; at work or at play, his attention had to be focused on something. If he had nothing to do, he became restless and irritable.
There were exceptions to everything, however, and for the moment Lorenzo was content to simply feel his Assassin’s hands on him, feel a soft mouth glide over his skin as it was slowly bared. He shivered pleasantly, and Giovanni responded with a quiet chuckle.
[AN: Just a short one, anon, I hope you don’t mind. I kind of blanked on this one. XD]
Lorenzo was quite fond of his desk. Extravagantly large, its top was gilded wood polished to a shine, and carved into its legs were figures from Greek Antiquity, linked charmingly by their hands. Its accompanying chair was gilded too, and its cushion was made from fine Eastern silk.
And Giovanni, always intent on ruining Lorenzo’s favourite things, had stripped him naked and tied him to the strong desktop. Lorenzo would never look at his desk the same way again.
This was why he couldn’t have nice things.
“Giovanni,” he growled, straining at the ropes. Giovanni regarded him nonchalantly. “Untie me.”
Giovanni grinned. “No.”
“What on Earth possessed you to do this?” Lorenzo sucked in a breath between his teeth as Giovanni’s calloused hand smoothed down his bare torso. He wriggled, trying to shake him off, and received only a low chuckle for his efforts.
“A desire to see you literally chained to your desk, instead of metaphorically.” the Assassin hummed. He leaned in close to Lorenzo; without thinking, Lorenzo arched up to kiss him, and growled when Giovanni hovered just out of his reach.
“Or perhaps it was a desire to see you put in your place,” Giovanni added lowly, grinning.
“My place?” Indignant anger burned through Lorenzo like a wildfire, and he unleashed a string of insults that would have made a sailor blush and that had Giovanni laughing. They turned into a long moan when Giovanni lowered his mouth and began to nip gently at a perked nipple.
“Enough teasing, Giovanni,” he groaned.
Giovanni chuckled again and reached for Lorenzo’s cane. Lorenzo gasped loudly when the smooth, rounded head was rubbed against his erection.
“Why?” Giovanni asked lightly. “What’s the hurry? We have all night.” Lorenzo groaned as Giovanni’s clever tongue ran along the shell of his ear, and shivered as the Assassin whispered into it.
“And I intend to make this last.”
Lorenzo looked awful; his face was a sickly grey colour, and dark circles dipped under his red-rimmed eyes. Every now and then he would turn his head to cough into his hand, and he was clearly having trouble concentrating. Giovanni watched him, hearing the other court members murmuring amongst themselves about it, and eventually his desire to always protect his Duke won over his need for propriety. He weaved through the crowd, catching Lorenzo just as he moved to greet another fellowman.
[AN: I’M SORRY, I COULDN’T MAKE THIS SEXY OR SLASHY. It will probably bore people because of it. But I will always leap at the chance to write the Auditore family.]
All in all, this party was a huge success. Lorenzo sat at the head table, watching the revelry with a small smile; many guests were drunk, but not enough to be considered obscenely so. Giuliano sat on his right, his chin propped up in his hand as he considered the guests (or more specifically, if Lorenzo knew his brother, the young women.) The Auditore were seated at his left, watching… Well, three of them were.
Lorenzo could tell that Maria and Giovanni wanted to get up and dance together. But the three eldest children had taken off, leaving no one to watch young Petruccio should his parents leave the table. Lorenzo scanned the hall; he could see Claudia nearby, speaking with her latest crush. Federico was at the back of the hall, dancing with a nameless woman, and Ezio had vanished completely. It did not take long for Lorenzo to figure out that Federico was dancing with Cristina Vespucci’s chaperone.
He leaned over to murmur in Giovanni’s ear. “I’ll watch Petruccio. Go on.”
Giovanni looked faintly surprised. “Ah, Lorenzo, I wouldn’t-”
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “Do you think he will give me trouble, Giovanni?” he asked, cutting the older man off. Giovanni blinked, and then a smile spread across his handsome face.
“Of course not. Thank you, my friend.” He leaned over to whisper in his wife’s ear, and Maria’s answering smile could have lit the room on its own. She mouthed her thanks to Lorenzo and murmured something to Petruccio, who nodded obediently in reply. Giovanni stood, offered his arm to his wife, and together they took to the dance floor and were soon lost among the crowd. Petruccio watched them go nervously.
Lorenzo felt a little sorry for him. He had much more colour in his face than the last time the Duke had seen him, but because he was chronically ill he had little chance to interact with anyone outside his family. He was clearly overwhelmed by the festivities. Lorenzo pulled Giovanni’s chair out from under the table and patted it.
“Come and sit here, Petruccio.”
Petruccio obeyed, a nervous smile on his face. Giuliano peered curiously around Lorenzo at the boy, before shoving a silver bowl filled with red ripe cherries at Lorenzo.
“Keep him entertained with that,” he muttered cannily. “Children love food.”
“That would explain your love of it.” Lorenzo shook his head exasperatedly at his younger brother - he was as subtle as a thunderstorm sometimes - and turned his attention back to Petruccio.
“Are you enjoying the party, Petruccio?”
Petruccio smiled at him. “Yes, Sir,” he answered dutifully, before turning and searching the dance floor for his parents again. Lorenzo sighed; he was still nervous, and if he didn’t calm down he could stress himself into being sick. Begrudgingly, he decided to try Giuliano’s idea.
“Have you ever tried cherries?” he asked, pulling the bowl to sit on the table between them. Petruccio shook his head. “They’re very good. Try one! Careful not to choke on the seed.”
Hesitantly, Petruccio plucked one from the plate and popped it into his mouth. He spat the seed into his palm, reached over the table to retrieve his own plate, and discarded it on there. After a moment he smiled at Lorenzo, already looking a little more relaxed.
“I like them. May I have another?”
Lorenzo ignored Giuliano’s smug jab to his ribs. “Of course. Don’t eat too many or you will upset your stomach.”
He nearly laughed when Petruccio grinned happily. The boy really did resemble his parents.
Maria and Giovanni returned after only a few songs, Maria fanning herself and panting a little, a smile lighting up her beautiful face. Giovanni, who was probably fitter than most of the people present, was not out of breath, but he looked just as happy. Upon seeing Petruccio and his small pile of cherry pips, he stopped dead.
“How did you get him to eat those?” he asked Lorenzo. At Lorenzo’s bewildered look, he asked Petruccio with fond exasperation, “You wouldn’t touch them when I tried to feed them to you, and all Lorenzo has to do is put the bowl in front of you?”
“He offered me some.” Petruccio’s look was stern as he gazed up at his father. “And you always tell me to never refuse the Duke, Papa.”
“Well, yes, but…” Giovanni’s smile was sheepish. “Lorenzo, for God’s sake, tell him to eat his vegetables.”
“Please don’t, Sir!” Petruccio’s expression was panicked.
Giuliano quickly ducked away from the table to burst into laughter. Lorenzo didn’t bother to do Giovanni that courtesy, laughing as he patted Petruccio reassuringly on the shoulder and enjoying Giovanni’s awkward smile.
[AN: Gratuitous porn for you, il Magnifico :)]
Giovanni tongued the side of Lorenzo’s prick dutifully, trying to ignore his own arousal. He went slowly, as Lorenzo had ordered him to do, his naked body hot despite the cool night air. Lorenzo was still clothed, reminding Giovanni of his place here.
Oh, when it was Giovanni’s turn to lead, he would make his Duke beg. But for now, he would allow himself to be ordered. That was their game, after all.
Truthfully, Giovanni was never sure if Lorenzo’s aloof expression was part of their game or not. He sucked on the head of Lorenzo’s erection lightly, and the only reaction Lorenzo gave was a small, barely audible hitch in his breathing. Giovanni pounced.
“Does this please you, milord?”
Lorenzo raised a sleek eyebrow, watching Giovanni coolly. “Not at all, Giovanni. You’ve stopped.”
Giovanni bit back a smile and nuzzled Lorenzo’s erection. “Apologies, milord,” he murmured, before sinking his mouth down the entire length. Determined now to wrest even the smallest sound from his Duke, he hollowed his cheeks and sucked.
Lorenzo didn’t make a sound, which was either a testament to his iron willpower or a very large blow to Giovanni’s ego. Giovanni liked to think it was the former.
He fondled his Duke’s balls, lapping at the sensitive head of his erection. Lorenzo’s breath hitched again, but he didn’t moan or cry out. In fact, he remained straight-backed in his office chair, a goddamned throne of a thing, his elbow propped up on the chair’s arm and his chin propped up in his hand. He continued to watch Giovanni indifferently, and if Giovanni hadn’t known any better he would say that his Duke was the first and only man in the history of ever to be bored by receiving a blowjob.
Then Lorenzo leaned forward slightly, hands reaching for his desk, and- Giovanni stopped in disbelief. Was he… Was he doing his work?
Oooh, that bastard.
“You’ve stopped again, Giovanni.” Lorenzo’s voice was disapproving as he peered down at his Assassin. “Such disobedience. Do I need to tie you to my desk again?”
“No, milord,” Giovanni muttered, not wanting to repeat that experience, if only because he had utterly humiliated himself by cracking and begging Lorenzo after just five minutes. Still, if Lorenzo was playing dirty, so would he. He surreptitiously wet his fingers before sinking back down on Lorenzo’s erection, despite the fact that the weird angle of his Duke’s body made everything just that little bit more difficult. He lifted one of Lorenzo’s thighs, and slipped his fingers underneath him.
Lorenzo’s breath caught as Giovanni’s fingers probed at his entrance.
“Giovanni…” he growled warningly. Giovanni looked up at him.
“You ordered me to please you, my Duke,” he muttered innocently. “You did not specify how.” With that, he slipped a finger inside Lorenzo, slowly probing him until he found that sweet spot. Lorenzo’s jaw tensed.
“I see,” he ground out, breathless. “Well, then…” Giovanni gasped as Lorenzo’s foot rubbed against his clothed erection.
“Two can play at that game, Giovanni,” he said lowly, lounging back in his chair again.”
Giovanni groaned and rubbed himself against Lorenzo’s boot, the leather providing a beautifully hard surface for friction. He quickly remembered himself and sank back down on Lorenzo’s erection, swirling his tongue around it, his fingers probing Lorenzo relentlessly.
Lorenzo was panting now, the movements of his foot jerky against Giovanni’s erection. He wasn’t moaning yet, but his jaw was clenched and his hands gripped the cushioned arms of his chair. Giovanni groaned freely, knowing that his Duke had a particular weakness for his vocalisations. He pulled back, humming as he sucked on the head of Lorenzo’s erection, and it proved to be the Duke’s undoing. He let out a long, soft moan, bucked once, and then gave an almost obscenely loud cry.
Giovanni did his best to swallow it all, losing concentration and making a mess as he came himself, and neither of them cared. Finally, he pulled his fingers out of Lorenzo and flopped back, and Lorenzo slumped in his chair gracelessly, his thin lips curling into a sated smile as he regarded Giovanni.
“You’re a mess,” he observed fondly.
Giovanni grinned and snatched up his undershirt, wiping his mouth with it. “Are you pleased, milord?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.
“Oh, shut up.” Lorenzo snapped good-naturedly, and crooked a long finger at him. “Come here and kiss me.”
Giovanni obeyed happily.
[AN: oh my god, Anon, this is such a cruel prompt. This isn’t that great, but I’m happy with it.]
Sometimes, Lorenzo was painfully reminded of his own naiveté.
He knew the Medici had enemies, and he was not so deluded that he thought he was beyond their reach, their plans. He had been involved in political intrigue from a young age, had seen death, ordered murder, and even had a few close calls himself. He knew very well that he was mortal.
Never did it cross his mind that Giovanni might be, as well.
And why would it? From the moment Giovanni had pulled him from the Arno, Lorenzo had hero-worshipped him. Every time he had seen Giovanni fight, the man had displayed almost inhuman strength and speed. He had been fearless, undertaking each mission with a solemn determination and mercilessness, a complete contrast to the way he met Lorenzo in private, with gentle hands, soft lips and a tender smile.
Of all the things to kill him, it had been the hangman’s noose of Lorenzo’s own city.
At first, Lorenzo had loathed Uberto Alberti for his betrayal; no, loathe was not a strong enough word. Upon seeing Uberto, hatred would bubble up inside Lorenzo until it awoke a hideous bloodlust, forcing him to remove himself from Uberto’s presence lest he do something he would later regret.
Once Uberto was murdered, Lorenzo’s hatred for him subsided slowly, only to be turned tenfold on himself. Giovanni had voiced his concerns to Lorenzo; why hadn’t he taken them seriously? If he hadn’t left the city… If he hadn’t gone to the villa…
In public, he kept his cool. In private, he unleashed his fury.
He broke anything he could get his hands on, by accident or on purpose. Everything from pencils and quills to priceless oriental vases suffered his wrath, until he finally ordered that all such artefacts be moved from his office and bedroom. His poetry - and fuck, he had loved writing it once, hadn’t he? - was discarded and torn apart, and he could write very few words beyond my fault, why, and his Assassin’s name.
It took a long time for the anger to drain away, leaving a dull ache behind.
An Assassin, he told himself sternly. Giovanni was an Assassin, his job was always perilous. Except that he hadn’t been killed on a mission, he had been condemned as a traitor by the very city he strove to protect.
Oh, but Lorenzo wished he hadn’t left Florence that day. With his Assassin torn away from him, he was left to protect an entire city, alone.
Alone. Lorenzo finally cried.
It wasn’t until he talked with Ezio that Lorenzo felt at peace with Giovanni’s death.
There was something, a strange, niggling feeling at Lorenzo’s heart as he told Ezio of how he and Giovanni had met. It was familiar, and he tried to place it, but it wasn’t until he’d handed over a Codex page to Ezio that the revelation blindsided him.
Giovanni was there. Ever vigilant, he was watching, with one eye on Lorenzo and the other on his family, just as it always had been. It wasn’t until he was with Ezio that Lorenzo felt the full brunt of his gaze. His eyes itched with bittersweet tears, but instead he smiled coolly at Ezio as he bade him farewell.
As he watched Ezio go, he asked Giovanni to turn his full gaze to the young Assassin; Ezio needed the guidance more than he. In the meantime, he promised that he would live, finally live, for the both of them. And when he finally met Giovanni again, he promised to tell him all about it.
Niccolò ran his hands down Petruccio’s body, his eyes drinking in every detail. Petruccio watched him through dark, hooded eyes, a small smile on his face, content to simply allow Niccolò to explore his body for now. Niccolò bit his lip, suddenly feeling a little nervous, and pressed gentle kisses to Petruccio’s stomach. Petruccio laughed.
Vieri’s arms strained against the ropes binding them, his cock aching for attention. A hand ran over his bare chest, his skin tingling in its wake. He arched his back into the touch, and heard a chuckle.
“We are a close family,” Giovanni was telling him. God fucking damn, Vieri just wanted him to stop talking. “As such, I know everything about my children: where they are, what they do. Did you know my son is interested in you?”
Lorenzo has had too much to drink; not enough to get him drunk, but plenty to inhibit his senses. He leans upon Giovanni as his Assassin escorts him from his office to his bedroom, his smile coming easier than it normally does. Giovanni’s heart soars to see it, because Lorenzo is young, only six years older than Federico, and yet he already has more responsibility on his shoulders than men twice his age. Perhaps it isn’t fair, but Lorenzo is well-suited to dukedom, and Giovanni can think of no one else he would rather to lead Firenze in her golden age.