Ezio was quick to take dominance in the situation. He grabbed Yusuf's wrists and yanked him down, his tongue claiming every inch of his mouth and his knees nudging him just so. The Turkish man turned into an incomprehensible mess in minutes, each touch and push from the Assassin sending another jolt of pleasure through his system. Yusuf figured he knew where this was going, and unbuckled their armor and weapons, throwing them far off, not wanting to see them or feel them.
It was when he had removed both their trousers that things became quiet. No other clothes were removed. They wouldn't get in the way. The preparation for the both of them lasted only a few moments—it might have even only been seconds. He hoisted Yusuf's knees high, locking them under his arms and holding him in place by the shoulders, then pushed into him with painstaking patience. Yusuf's mouth dropped open, but no sound came out other than heavy breathing, his brow twisting and furrowing with each inch that filled him.
It was slow, at first, but Ezio was used to this. He became rougher, deeper, hands sliding to his waist to keep him from pulling away, and it was then that the sound of desperate moaning filled the room, echoing off the stone walls, and they both silently prayed to a God they skeptically believed in, thanking Him that their apprentices were all out on duties, and that this moment—this pain, this pressure and giant sensation—could be shared in absolute peace.
When Ezio's thrusts became feral, so did Yusuf's moaning. Hands clawed and scratched, grasping into garments and hair; faces flushed and pressed against one another, basking in the presence there; skin slapped together; throats let out whimpers and cries; muscles tightened. Yusuf found himself being pushed up the pillows and rugs, shoulders digging into the wall behind him, scratching skin through the fabric with each push into him.
Ezio slowed down, holding that wall, forcing himself to take a breath and let their working muscles rest. Yusuf's hand flew to anything beneath him, anything where he could find purchase and cling, his other hand yanking on the front of Ezio's robes and keeping their foreheads pressed together.
And there it was. That cold burn, that telltale swirl in the pit of his stomach.
"Evet," he breathed, voice feather light and rasping. He ducked his head after Ezio stole a kiss, and they moved together, pushing and pulling, in and out. "That's… E-Ehh—Ezio, that is…"
His words were cut short by a buck of his hips and a cry of pleasure, his head tilting back and heels digging into Ezio's back. He gasped and touched himself, stroking in time with each move, milking out any pleasure left, and his whole body clung to the feeling as he was thrust into while his partner continued.
The feeling of hot liquid spreading across his inner walls and a restrained groan from the man above him proved he had reached his orgasm, but he rode his climax out as long as he could, the both of them moaning each breath as they pulled as much pleasure as they could from one another, and when he crumpled against the wall and on top of Yusuf, they knew they were done.
Nothing was to become of this. That was the deal. Yet as they cuddled close, Ezio cocooning Yusuf with his arms and breathing his breath, it was difficult to deny any feelings of closeness that were forming in this silent moment.