Of Inkpots and Honey: Part 3

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all of its characters are property of UbiSoft. I do not profit from it, apart from getting entertainment from doing my fanfiction and improving on my language and writing skills. Also, all events and characters are purely fictitious and any similarities to people or events in real life are purely coincidental.

This initially started off as a conversation with SmileBot, which steered to joking about the Assassin's Creed section being flooded with PWP, which steered to the topic on Altair and Malik pairings, to our RP on some some AltairxMalik romping (private joke between us). All swearing and cussing is courtesy of smilebot.

Anyway, on with the final chapter! I doubt I'll be doing smut of any kind in a long while... x_x

"I could think of so many ways to punish you."

Malik shivered as he stared into Altair's dilated pupils. So much desire... so much want. It was all Malik could do to not drown in it. Lifting his hand, Malik carded his fingers through closely cropped hair, enjoying the soft and downy feel of it. He barely suppressed a shudder as Altair moaned at the contact. For a moment, both were content with just letting Malik stroke his hair.

Then, Malik let out a startled gasp as he was pulled up flush against an increasingly sweaty and warm chest. Tensing up momentarily, Malik's instantly went limp and he moaned at the hot, needy breathing beside his ear.

"Malik," Altair whispered huskily.

Nothing more was said as he laved and nibbled at a vulnerable lobe. Malik merely leaned and arched into Altair, finding himself unable to do anything else. Hands strayed and grappled upon strong backs. Malik shivered and arched his back as a thumb was swiped over his head. He keened and gasped as a calloused finger dug into the sensitive slit. The moan that threatened to make itself known was swallowed up as Altair leaned forward and captured his mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue stabbed in and demanded entry and Malik, mind fogged up with desire, complied. Just for now, he told himself.

It was a battle of slick appendages and Malik found it difficult to breathe. He found himself drowning in the man above him, in his scent, in his heat and in that disgustingly sensual stickiness that was fast coating his own body.

His eyes rolled back in pleasure as Altair swiped his tongue over the roof of his mouth.

"Listen well, rafiq," Altair heatedly whispered, scraping his teeth down a flushed nape to the pants of sweet reciprocation. "Deny me a path," a smug grin, "and another will be forged."

And he cupped the back of Malil's head, the pull of desire shown in the way he snaked his tongue inside a hot mouth, his rationality askew, reveling in the deep groan of pleasure as he gyrated to the sweet rhythm that could only be measured by touch - there was so much he could reach, capture, grasp, not without flipping the both of them over to spread the warm stickiness over the once immaculate pillows.

"But give me a rope, and there will be nothing I can't pull."

Malik's eyes fluttered in ecstasy at the sensations of Altair's fleeting and desperate touches, and at the words breathed hungrily into his ear. Gasping in short, heated breaths, Malik could only reach out and grasp for more of the heat. Reaching a hand out, he let fingers run through Altair's hair once more. "So rough and stubborn, just like its owner," Malik smirked at the thought. Letting his hand slip down to the back of his partner's neck and to his back, Malik smirked as Altair let out a ragged moan when he firmly pressed into and massaged tense knots.

Feeling curiosity creep upon him and overpowering the overwhelming sense of arousal, Malik ceased his ministrations and let fingers wander upon a stubbled chin. The intense arousal he had felt previously had now dimmed to a pleasant throb. Finger dancing over eyelids, to a nose and to tracing scarred lips, Malik gasped softly as his digits slipped into Altair's mouth.

It was quite the sensation, Malik noted, to have one's tongue dancing over the fingertips. And very erotic. He decided he liked the sensation. No wonder Altair always insisted on this whenever they had foreplay. Replacing now slick fingers with his tongue, Malik allowed his tongue to explore the moist cavern before him. Altair could only happily agree. Finger's slipped down Altair's neck, down his clavicle and to his chest, laying rest at where his heart beat strongly.

Fascinated by the strong thrum of Altair's heartbeat, Malik broke away from the kiss, albeit unwillingly, and leaned to place his ear there. Altair stared at him with barely hidden curiosity, eyes smouldering with a mixture of impatience and desire. He raised his hand in a motion to pull Malik up for another kiss when he noticed the oddly peaceful expression upon Malik's face. Eye softening, he opted instead to let his hand rest upon Malik's head as a thumb gently rubbed circles behind his ear.

Overcome by a sudden foreign emotion, Malik gently pushed off Malik's chest and placed a kiss. Noticing this suddenly, Malik chuckled silently, "I'm becoming a sentimental old fool..."

Glancing up to see Altair's face, he was pleasantly shocked to see Altair looking upon him patiently, though he was twitching slightly in a bidden desire to continue what they were doing before or find release.

Smirking, Malik thrust his hip forward and both males groaned as the heads of their arousals bumped onto each other. Panting and eyes having an evil glint, Malik suddenly placed his good arm over Altair's chest and arms, effectively pinning him down.

Laving his tongue over a honey-coated nipple, Malik decided that the honey would taste better lower as his head moved southwards.

"Malik," Altair limply turned his head to the side, allowing the other man to snake his agile tongue downwards as he buried his fingers within tight curls, "Malik ... "

Without a hitch in his path, the preoccupied rafiq began to trace nonsensical patterns into the taut chest, a flick there, a dip here, moving about to grind them into further ecstasy - once, twice, nothing but plain ecstasy the impetus for his motions. There's something strange burning the tips of his fingers, as if he could map out every single contour of the assassin's frame, like it was his own, scorching the angles and planes into his memory without a need to comprehend.

"When I look at you," the latter male breathlessly said, "it reduces me to a fool."

Malik felt his face burn as he made the confession. Silently cursing himself, he was sure that statement would come back to bite him in the butt sometime in the near future.

Shaking his head lightly to clear such thoughts from his mind, Malik focused on much more pleasurable things at hand. Eyeing the familiar turgid length before him, Malik gently grasped it. Hips surged forward as the rafik started pumping. Movements were fast becoming slick as his hands squelched softly from the copious amounts of pre-release flowing from the weeping tip. Malik licked dry lips as a heavy, heady scent that was distinctly Altair filled the entire room.

Shifting up to lave at Altair's throat, Malik swiped a thumb over the head and dug it gently into the tip. The unrestrained and guttural groan that Altair released as his body went taut sent fire rushing to Malik's loins. Giving Altair a roguish smirk, Malik sank south once more and let the tip of his arousal slip past dry and slightly cracked lips. Eyes bulged out as Altair let out a silent moan. Working his jaw, Altair gazed hazily at the man before him.

However, much of his delirious haze cleared when Altair began to roughly pump into his mouth, digging his calloused fingers into his hair as his hips surged in and out - relentless in meeting hysterical gratification that was more than he could handle. He clamped his hands down on taut thighs to control the onslaught, but soon failed after the Grand Master pressed into the sensitive spot under the line of his jaw, his sex slipping further inside to meet the back of his throat.

Eyes looking up at Altair, unable to move anywhere else with the his death grip and rough thrusting, Malik was inclined to figure out a way to throttle the man. However, upon seeing the underlying helplessness laced within heavy arousal, Malik decided to let it slide. "Novice," Malik growled mentally and rolled his eyes.

Resolving to just let Altair just ride this through, Malik closed his eyes and relaxed his throat as he best could. A few more thrusts and Malik felt his throat relax to the point where he felt that he could enjoy it again.

And the unintelligible moans and grunts were filtering down to his ears. Fisting his rapidly growing arousal, which had cooled somewhat in the process, Malik moaned.

Feeling the vibrations around him finally drove Altair over the edge. A final thrust and he spent himself. Pulling Malik up till they were beside each other, Altair saw bruised lips and gave him an apologetic kiss. Gently pushing replacing Malik's hand with his own calloused one, he stroked. Leaning his head on the juncture between Altair's clavicle and neck, Malik merely panted and pumped his hips in time with Altair's stroking. Moments of riding out the sensations later, Malik came, biting into Altair's shoulder to muffle his moans.

Laying a sweaty forehead onto Altair's equally sweaty chest and draping his hand into a semblance of some form of cuddling, Malik muttered sleepily as he was rapidly lulled to sleep from exhaustion and Altair's heartbeat, "Go clean up the mess you made. If I find insects everywhere when I wake up..."

And he dozed off.

Altair gently placed Malik onto the soiled pillows as he got up sluggishly. A tired smirk came upon his lips as he examined the messy rafiq.

Clean EVERYTHING up, eh?

Of Inkpots and Honey: Part 2

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all of its characters are property of UbiSoft. I do not profit from it, apart from getting entertainment from doing my fanfiction and improving on my language and writing skills. Also, all events and characters are purely fictitious and any similarities to people or events in real life are purely coincidental.

This initially started off as a conversation with SmileBot, which steered to joking about the Assassin's Creed section being flooded with PWP, which steered to the topic on Altair and Malik pairing, to our RP on some some AltairxMalik romping (private joke between us).

I had to stop through this halfway because, as much as I have no isue with gay people, imagining graphic mansecks is not something I enjoy. And it makes me queasy... D:

But since this little mayhem-filled ficlet is something I'm using to try out other genres and categories of writing, I'll post up the third and (probably) final instalment soon.

There, in all of the shameless glory and zeal in the world, lay the cursed man, his lean frame situated among the many pillows of the makeshift bed to the haze of desire and victory - the attributes tainted his austere mockery without a streak of hesitation. A small grin, the start, and it soon spread into diabolical chicanery, a path sans warning as a calloused digit traced down the contours of a muscled chest drizzled and glistening in honey.

Malik stood at the doorway, shell-shocked.

If anyone told him that one's mind couldn't accomplish the logistics of being both blank and running a hundred miles an hour at the same time, he'd smack them up the head and run them through with his blade ten times over. Or maybe he'd just leave them alone and head straight to the man before him. He decided he favoured the latter option.

He felt his breath coming shorter as he drank in the sight.

Altair.

Was.

Naked.

With.

Honey.

The next thought that came to mind cooled his rapidly stirring arousal. Just slightly.

On my pillows.

My expensive pillows.

My expensive pillows which I just washed this morning.

With that, in spite of the arousal plainly flashed across his face, Malik stepped forward promising death in his eyes, "Altair..."

Said man watched with amusement at Malik's frown, twitching left eye and the impressive tentage. Hesensually quirked his lips. "Yes, rafiq?"

Hell: This was going better than he had initially expected.

"Altair... "

Too easy.

"Come, join me," he demanded in a deviant fashion, extending his arm out beckoningly as he settled back even further against the cool linen pillows.

Stretching out languidly and spreading legs slightly further, he allowed his beckoning hand to rest on his thigh, just below his twitching member. "Two can enjoy such play."

"Altair..."

Malik growled as he stepped even closer. Fists clenched and unclenched.

Such impudence!

With dark eyes and flushed face, Malik sat down cross-legged beside Altair and stared expressionlessly at him.

"Altair..."

A warm hand was placed upon Altair's sticky chest.

Honey flowed down with great viscosity from Altair's chest to pool and flow over the hand. Altair licked his lips hungrily as he hawkishly stared at the honey trailing thinly down the hand on his chest. Malik's already twitching left eye twitched further when a drop of the golden syrup landed onto one of his pillows.

Leaning closer and shifting his body to pin Altair down, much to said person's oblivious pleasure, Malik placed his hand onto Altair's shoulder to steady himself. Accidentally rubbing his rear onto Altair's rising member, he ignored the stifled moan he heard and increased heartbeat he felt on his fingertips and settled on bent knees. Altair closed his eyes as the hand shifted from his chest to stroke his neck languidly.

Then all hell broke loose.

Throttling Altair with that one hand, and with surprising strength, Malik roared, "Foolish novice! First, you break every LAST inkpot I had in stock. Then you molest me. And now you drip your damned honey all over my pillows? My freshly washed pillows?"

Baring teeth and nose flaring, Malik released Altair and allowed him to fall back onto the relatively sticky pillows now. Breathing evenly and up close now, he could finally fully take in what was before him.

To finally take in two very important details: Altair's chest and face were greatly flushed with arousal. And pupils with sepia eyes were dark and dialated.

Someone either had an odd kink for asphyxiophilia or he just took some perverse pleasure in pissing him off.

Drawing a shaky breath and leaning backwards in incredulity, he felt something poke him in the rump. Eyes widened as the thought of what it was processed within Malik's mind. "Oh."

Observing the prone assassin before him closely, he took note of the sweat that was beginning to dot Altair's forehead and the chest that was heaving up and down as he steadily drew in the air he had been deprived of moments before.

Eyes glazing over as he felt his body temperature spike once more, Malik leaned forward and placed a hand onto Altair's very sticky body. A sudden curiousity filled Malik at what Altair would taste like. Leaning forward, a tongue dipped out to lap at the syrup that was slowly flowing off Altair's chest. Humming his approval and licking a pectoral further, Malik decided he did like the combination of Altair and honey.

Altair slowly thread fingers through coarsely cropped hair and let out a guttural groan. "M-Malik," another mroan, "ugh, yes... "

Malik harshly bit down into a dusky nipple, "Silence, novice: Your input is not needed in my-"

And his eyes widened.

Oh, whatever god out there have mercy.

He should've known such masochism to override rationality.

All he saw was a devious and impish grin before he was flipped over and pinned down by the much heavier weight of Altair.

"Got you."

Malik shivered as Altair whispered hotly in his ear.

"You strung me up."

He was seperated from his robes swiftly and the material was chucked roughly into a corner.

"Got me all hot and bothered."

A harsh nip on the jaw.

"Then left me alone."

Malik barely bit back a moan and jerked as a bold hand slipped into his breeches.

"I could think of so many ways to punish you."

Of Inkpots and Honey: Part 1

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all of its characters are property of UbiSoft. I do not profit from it, apart from getting entertainment from doing my fanfiction and improving on my language and writing skills. Also, all events and characters are purely fictitious and any similarities to people or events in real life are purely coincidental.

This initially started off as a conversation with SmileBot, which steered to joking about the Assassin's Creed section being flooded with PWP, which steered to the topic on Altair and Malik pairings, to our RP on some some AltairxMalik romping (private joke between us).

Malik pointedly refused to look at the man who was poking around sheepishly with the incense pot on his table.

He absolutely refused to look at him.

He could believe the idiot, with all his stealth and so-called finesse, had just upset his entire and only crate of inkpots and caused the black inky mess that was previously known as his bureau floor.

Fuming madly, the rafiq wondered why he even put up with such a prime example of idiocy. Shooting a warning glance at the Master Assassin, who had attempted to speak, Malik snatched up a rag to make an attempt to clean the floor.

Muttering dark oaths about idiot assassins and water beneath his breath, Malik bent over and glared at the infuriated face that stared back.

He was very angry indeed.

"Malik, I still don-"

Feeling the vein in his head throb, Malik reached for the closest object, which happened to be an empty inkpot (that had amazingly survived the crash unscathed), and hurled it at the Master Assassin's head as an expression of his ire, "Novice!"

Bristling in annoyance at the title, Altair countered, "Those were just inkpots. There's nothing to be upset about."

Seething, Malik threw down the blackened cloth and stormed up to the unmoving man.

"These inkpots, which your feeble mind appears to be unable to comprehend, were the last of the ones I had in stock and-"

Pausing for a moment, Malik barely avoided admitting that he had found the task of carrying a crate of inkpots with one hand much more of a challenge than he care to admitted. Settling for scowling instead, Malik turned around sharply and resumed wiping the ground with the previously discarded cloth.

Moments of wiping and finally admitting that it had all been an accident, Malik allowed his tense shoulders to relax slightly. While his mood hadn't improved, his temper had cooled.

Noting the subtle change in the rafiq's posture and demeanor, Altair remarked offhandedly, "You'd make a good cleaner."

Bending down and taking the cloth from Malik's hand, Altair sought to do what the man had been doing. When the deed was done, Altair roughly pulled Malik into an embrace and pressed a kiss at the back of his neck.

Rolling his eyes at the feeble attempt of an apology and knowing that would be the most he'd get for now, Malik snorted; his voice lacking is previous bite.

"Novice."

Indifferently, Altair continued to mold his lips to the other's nape in a manner that coerced a great tick to pulse under the other's eye, his brow knitting when the irked rafiq pulled away and combated his lingering touches.

"Your hands."

A frown.

"What about them?"

"They're on my ass."

"Isn't that where they're supposed to belong?"

Momentarily stepping away from Altair, Malik cursed darkly under his breath and he glared at the window before him sourly. He couldn't bring himself to truly retaliate, however, given that the touch wasn't entirely unwelcome.

Glancing up at that goddamned smirk on that impertinent excuse of a Master Assassin, a perfectly diabolical plan came to mind.

Two could play at this game.

Lips curling into a malicious grin, Malik turned back to Altair, smiling coyly. "Hmm... you're right."

Pulling himself up flush to Altair, he allowed himself a mental dance of victory at the stunned expression and indisguisable shudder that ran through the normally stoic man. Allowing Altair's hands, which had started running down his back, to roam freely for now, Malik leaned forward and rested his weight upon Altair.

"Novice," Malik whispered breathily in Altair's ear, "you make my blood boil."

Slipping his tongue out, he gave a slow and sensual lick up the shell of the assassin's ear and breathed hotly in it, "it makes me want to do things to you... and with you."

Altair let out a breath out shakily as his hands found their place on Malik's rear. Teeth were now nibbling gently on a vulnerable lobe.

"And."

A kiss on the lips.

"It."

Hands slipped down a defined chest.

"Makes."

Lips and tongue found an exposed section on the neck.

"Me."

Malik's hand had found his prize.

"Want."

A gentle stroke and a bite on the neck.

"To."

Tongue was laving the quickly reddening mark.

Altair let out a growl as he motioned to throw Malik onto the ground and have his way with him.

Seeing an opening as Altair moved, Malik quickly spun around his body, kicked Altair to the ground and sat triumphantly on Altair.

"Sit on you."

Altair rolled his eyes and groaned in frustration at the smug expression on the rafiq's face.

That very night, Altair childishly refused to come out from the latter room, crouching low on his haunches as he grabbed a little stick and began to draw unintelligible drawings in the sand.

"I'll get him back," he resolutely ground out, relentless in drawing a giant lizard breathing fire on his failed attempt at sketching the smug rafiq, "just you watch."

Malik frowned as he walked past the room that Altair had been sulking in for the past five hours. Glancing in, he noticed him crouching over the ground, scratching something unintelligible on the ground.

Leaning on the doorframe, Malik smirked in amusement at the Master Assassin's back. Apparently, he was still sore and oversized ego bruised by having been tricked and upped by him.

Entertaining as it was to watch the Master Assassin, a grown man widely feared by people around, act as if he was a child who had his favourite toy snatched from him; Malik felt that the man had sulked long enough. Beginning to feel slightly responsible for causing Altair to be in such a sulky state, he let out a sigh of annoyance moved over to place his hand on said person's shoulder.

"Altair?"

A great sense of foreboding filled him when Altair stiffened and ceased his stick-scratching.

"...Yes?"

Something wasn't right...

"It's past the time for final prayer; you should wash up and get to bed."

Altair's eyes flashed momentarily. "Hm ... the bed ..."

Something REALLY wasn't right.

Malik eyed Altair suspiciously at his tone.

"Yes... the bed. To sleep."

"..."

The silence was thick in the air as Malik and Altair stood and crouched in their positions respectively.

"...I'll go pack some items due for Mysyaf..."

Not taking his eyes off Altair, Malik walked back into enclosed area of the bureau.

Altair sure was acting strange...

It was working.

Clearing his throat roughly, Altair masked his mischievous grin and continued his solemn litany, watching the praying man through easy subterfuge as the plays of light and shadows blended in with the inflections of their voices.

This was so simple, he could taste victory skimming the top of his tongue, the intimate devotion finally done, surveying the way the suspicious rafiq slowly backed out of the central room to pack whatever necessities he had been tasked to.

So.

Very.

Simple.

Now, where did he leave that box...

Malik cursed under his breath as he dropped the stack of scrolls onto the ground again. Damn that novice for constantly filling his thoughts even when out of the bed.

Bending down, Malik painstakingly began to pack the fallen scrolls into the crate on his table.

Easily falling into the monotonous task, Malik's thoughts wandered to hours back when he had succeeded in coming out top, figuratively and literally. Smirking at the victory, his thoughts wandered further to when he had been close proximity.

He remembered that musky scent. That scent which reminded him of the scorching sun and the sands of deserts. Of nights filled with grunts and moans and tiny gasps. And the salty taste of his skin as he had teased that ear. And the bunching and coiling of hard muscles gained from years of missions and hard training.

He remembered how Altair had tried to suppress his moan and how it had caught in his throat. And he remembered the thrill of how readily Altair, rumoured to be untouchable, had shuddered and responded to his touch. That throbbing length covered only by rough fabric.

Feeling the temperature of the room steadily climb, Malik tugged at his collar and gulped. It was probably just the lack of ventilation. Yes, that had to be it.

His throat was suddenly awfully dry. Attempting to banish further thoughts of Altair, and failing miserably, Malik resolved to focus on the task at hand - packing away items.

It was only minutes later that Malik threw up his hand in frustration.

He just couldn't get that damned assassin out of his mind. Growling in frustration, he suddenly heard a loud moan. All the thoughts that had been previously plaguing him suddenly vanished as Malik rushed to where Altair was, worried that the fool had somehow injured himself.

"Altair, what in All-"

And he froze.

Madness, I Tell You

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed and all of its characters are property of UbiSoft. I do not profit from it, apart from getting entertainment from doing my fanfiction and improving on my language and writing skills. Also, all events and characters are purely fictitious and any similarities to people or events in real life are purely coincidental.

1. Pigeons (Heian Edenwood and Smilebot)

Ezio squirmed against the heavy bonds against his wrist. "Er... Leo? Is this safe?"

"Il mio amore, of course it's safe," chuckled Leonardo as he turned around and ceased his rummaging through the chest before him.

Ezio merely nodded as he eyed Leonardo's back suspiciously. Something wasn't right.

Seconds later, Leonardo gave a triumphant cry as he brought out something from the chest. "I made this while you were gone..."

Giving a pleased smile and padding silently over to Ezio, he presented his contraption to Ezio, "I'm sure you'll love it!"

Ezio's eyes widened as he gaped at it in horror.

The horror.

Oh.

Fucking.

Damn.

Ezio mentally cursed the entire lineage of his ancestors as he stared at the evil contraption, trying his best to plaster on a sexy smile to not disappoint the other; merda, to think that he would incorporate his feathery fiends!

"I want to put this inside of you."

Hell. Fottiti. No.

Mind racing rapidly as he plastered that bedamned grin, that felt as if it was rapidly corroding his face, Ezio scanned the room for any possible sources of escape. In the meantime, he was working on releasing himself from the ropes.

Oblivious to the growing panic that Ezio was feeling, the artist continued as he stared at his creation, "I like pigeons so I made it look like one. It's supposed to measure temperature and this beak goes into your..."

Giving a triumphant cry, Ezio undid the knots and flung himself off the bed.

Roughly throwing on his clothes, Ezio fled from the room.

"...mouth."

Giving himself a mental pat on the back, and feeling slightly guilty at the dismayed expression he had briefly caught from Leonardo, Ezio made a beeline for the house door when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Oroo.

From where the moonlight shone through, approximately fifty black bodies could be seen standing between him and the door, eyes glinting evilly.

Oh merda. Fottiti mia vita. Gli uccelli si nutrono l'anima dannata intenzione di uccidermi!

2. Wedgie (Smilebot)

Al Mualim sternly glared at his cocky student, continuing to pile on more and more scrolls into Altair's straining hands. "This: Your retribution."

A frown. "Malik deserved it-"

"NO ONE DESERVES A GIANT WEDGIE IN THE BATTLEFIELD!"

3. Nether Bruises (Smilebot)

The old doctor tiredly sighed, massaging his temples in an exasperated fashion as he regarded the Grand Master's prized student-Heavens, to think that he was so! "He'll be fine, other than a few injuries."

"WHAT THE FUCK? I HAVE BRUISES ON MY ANUS! YOU CALL THAT FINE!"

4. Oroo? (Heian Edenwood)

Ezio allowed himself to sink further into his daydream.

Mmm... Leonardo...

Pressing himself onto soft lips, he-

Oroo?

Opening his eyes, Ezio stared into black beady eyes.

5. Princess Peach (Smilebot)

Altair gaped.

"DON'T YOU REMEMBER ME? IT'S ME, MARIO!"

Silence.

"NOW GO WEAR THIS PRETTY DRESS!"

6. ...and they lived ha- Oh shit! Assassins! (Heian Edenwood)

"And the templars captured them and they all lived happily ever after..."

"..."

"...Why are you assassins all staring at me like that?"

"Wait... no!"

"Al Mualim used the piece of Eden on me! EEK!"

"Noooo-"

7. Welfare (Smilebot)

Malik glared at the stubborn assassin. "Novice, how many times did I tell you that I DON'T NEED A HANDICAP BONUS?"

8. OROO! (Heian Edenwood and Smilebot)

He could stop looking at those lips anytime he wanted.

Those supple lips wrapped around a Popsicle.

At least that's what he told himself.

Shuddering pleasantly and barely suppressing a moan, Ezio hawkishly stared at the happily oblivious artist, eyes zooming in on the pink tongue that flicked out to lick at the tip of the Popsicle.

He swore that the artist was purposely teasing him and his loins.

"Ah! Such a wonderful view, isn't it il mio amico," Ezio smiled peacefully.

Letting the Popsicle dangle from his lips, Leonardo smiled innocently as he leaned over the rail and stared out innocently to sea.

"Indeed it is," Ezio growled as he pressed up to Leonardo's back and made his arousal known, "indeed it is."

Leonardo looked up, and raised an eyebrow, "Ezio, your dagger is digging me in the back."

"Mhm," Ezio hummed nonchalantly as he pressed lips gently upon the back of his artist's neck, "it is a rather dangerous weapon."

Still blissfully unaware of Ezio's advances, Leonardo frowned in slight confusion at Ezio's actions when his face suddenly brightened up. "Look Ezio, a giant spotted pigeon!"

Broken out of his erotic haze, Ezio stumbled away from Leonardo and whipped his head about in panic. PIGEON?

OROO.

Oh shit.

Stepping away from the giant pudgy THING that was watching him curiously, Ezio found himself backed up to the railing, the only thing between him and Venice's waters.

"I'm watching you," the pigeon evilly voiced, flapping its feathers as it plopped onto Leo's shoulder, "ALWAYS..."

There was a giant splash of water and a distant cry of concern from Leonardo.

And the fiend grinned fowlishly.