"How many languages do you speak?" Jacob demands, sounding a little cheated as Cassandra sits in a chair beside Ezekiel's desk where they've cornered him in his office, the only one that actually has a door.
Ezekiel folds his arms over his chest, shifting his weight slightly as he leans back against the desk. "Just four. Not fluent or anything, not like you," he replies. He hadn't exactly planned on telling his lovers that he spoke other languages at all, because there wasn't a whole lot of need for that particular skill set, not when they had a linguist already. But apparently, he talks in his sleep still, a habit he thought he'd lost a long time ago. And apparently he sometimes talks in his sleep in languages other than English, too.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Cassandra asks curiously.
"Didn't matter. Cowboy's better at it anyways, so what's the point?" He doesn't know why they're making a big deal out of this. So he's got a couple phrases down, doesn't mean he could pass for a native like Jacob could if he tried.
Jacob huffs and unfolds his arms, stepping forward and reaching up to take Ezekiel's face between his hands, kissing him soundly. "Jonesy, I don't care if you're not fluent. I'd just like having someone other than Flynn to talk with. You can practice with me. You don't use it and you lose it, right?" he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs over Ezekiel's jaw. He smiles for a second and then says in German, "I imagine that this, Dutch, and French are three of your four languages. Am I right?"
Ezekiel blinks at him in surprise. "How'd you—?"
"You were speaking German in your sleep last night. That, Dutch, and French are the three main languages of Belgium."
Now he smiles, winding his arms around Jacob's waist. "And I would know the languages of Belgium because...?" His German is a little rougher around the edges than Jacob's, but it's still damn good, if he does say so himself.
"Because every diamond in the world passes through Antwerp at least once, and you're incorrigible."
He laughs aloud at that. Damn, the cowboy knows him well. "You're right, but my Dutch is for shite. I can order coffee, but that's about it."
Jacob only shrugs. "I can help you." He glances over at Cassandra again, and his expression changes slightly, intrigue and a bit of heat coming to his eyes; curious, Ezekiel turns a little in his arms and looks at their girl. Cassandra's staring up at them with a slightly glassy-eyed look on her face, a flush rising to her cheeks. "I think our girl likes us speaking other languages," the cowboy remarks, this time purposefully laying the accent on thick, observing the way she shivers and presses her thighs together almost impulsively.
"I think you are right, Mr. Stone," Ezekiel replies quietly, intrigued as well, not only by her reaction, but by the look on Jacob's face. Suddenly, he is very, very glad that they cornered him in his office, the only one with a door, a door that happens to lock, too."I would go so far to say as it turns her on. Do you agree?" He's known that nothing gets Cassandra going better than them showing off their skill sets. Competence, magic, and escaping danger in general were her aphrodisiacs, but he's never put thought towards the idea that it's not just the knowing other languages that turns her on, but speaking them.
"Oh, I think I do, Mr. Jones." Grinning, Ezekiel starts to move around the desk, reach for her, but it surprises him when Jacob catches his wrist and tugs his arm back. "Not yet. I want to see how far we can get her," Jacob says, switching to French; a wicked smile spreads across his face when Cassandra inhales sharply, her toes curling in her shoes. Still holding his wrist, the cowboy backs up a few steps and sits down in Ezekiel's chair, pulling the thief along next to him. Cassandra starts to stand up, breathing a little faster, but Jacob shakes his head. "Sit down, Cassandra, and stay there," he orders, pointing to the chair. She doesn't speak French, but his intent is unmistakable either way. She sinks back into the chair, her gaze flicking between them eagerly.
"You've got a naughty streak in you, don't you?" Ezekiel asks in French; his accent is more noticeable in French, but he's better at it than Dutch.
Jacob winks at him, his fingers lightly squeezing around the thief's wrist, rubbing circles on the soft inner skin. "Come over here, Jones."
He flushes a little as the cowboy tugs on his arm again, pulling him closer, and he gets a leg over, straddling Jacob's thighs. The chair creaks a little but holds up, thankfully. Good thing he doesn't do cheap equipment, or they'd have a big problem in a minute. The historian runs his hands up underneath Ezekiel's jumper, nibbling on the shell of his ear. "You should see her face right now. Do you think she's wet already?" he asks huskily.
Ezekiel wriggles against Jacob's lap, making the man rumble pleasurably. "Are you kidding? Did you see her face when you told her to sit down? Her knickers are probably soaked through by now. I wonder what her synesthesia makes of all this? Or do you think she just likes the language?"
Jacob hums low in his throat and nuzzles against the side of Ezekiel's neck, surely leaving a bit of stubble burn. "I don't know. But I'm really starting to like this. Do you speak Spanish or Italian?"
"Italian. Pizza's great there."
The cowboy smiles and nips at his jaw playfully. He switches to Italian next, running his hands all across Ezekiel's back and sides beneath his jumper but not pulling it off, leaving them both fully clothed. He murmurs largely sweet nonsense, affectionate praise and snatches of poetry; Ezekiel doesn't know half of it, but he returns the favour in his own way. He might not be fluent, but he knows a few choice phrases that have Jacob's ears turning pink. The callused tracing of his fingertips over Ezekiel's ribs makes him shiver happily, goosebumps spreading across his skin. "She looks like she's about to come right now, just from watching us. What do you think does it for her more, Jones? Seeing us like this, or hearing us?"
Ezekiel runs his fingers through Jacob's thick hair; he'd been letting it grow out a bit, and he could feel the beginnings of curls starting to come through. "Depends. Is she touching herself? She always touches herself when she watches us."
"No. But it looks like she's about to break the arms off the chair," Jacob rumbles back.
He kind of wants to glance back and look at her, but this game is a lot more fun than he'd anticipated. They were so going to do this again. He rolls his hips a little against Jacob's lap and is rewarded with a low purring growl. "Are we turning you on, Cassandra?" he asks without turning around, raising his voice a little to make sure she knows he's talking to her; she whimpers a little at the sound of her name. "I mean, if you're getting off just hearing us talk dirty, imagine what'll happen when we get our hands on you. We'll have you seeing so many stars you won't be able to count them all, not even with your super brain."
Jacob bites gently at the side of Ezekiel's neck and abruptly switches back to German, "And when we're done, we'll see if maybe we can't get you to babble in another language or two. I bet we could if we tried, don't you think, Jones?"
Ezekiel glances at the cowboy, watching his face, and he's torn between wanting to roll his eyes and laugh. The wanker is taking notes for later. He keeps switching languages so he can see which one really makes her squirm. And it seems that German might be the winner. He starts to turn around, wanting to see their girl's face, but Jacob tightens his arms around him, keeping him still. "No, not yet. She's almost there."
"I bet I know what'll get her over," Ezekiel replies, and before Jacob can ask, he gets the cowboy's belt undone one-handed and shoves one hand into his jeans, squeezing him through the thin material of his boxers. Jacob tightens his grip spasmodically, gasping and letting out an impressive stream of growling curses and swears as his hips arch up. Over the sound of his growling, Ezekiel hears Cassandra let out a small cry and grins victoriously.
When he turns around, their redhead's slumped over in her chair, shivering all over with her thighs pressed tightly together and her hands locked white-knuckle tight on the arms of her chair. He pulls his hand free of Jacob's jeans; the cowboy makes a vaguely displeased noise, but Ezekiel gives him a look that promises patience will be very well rewarded. He stands up and walks over to Cassandra, crouching on his heels in front of her. "Well, Fräulein, are you sure you want Jacob and me to be practicing languages? We might never get anything done again," he remarks in English.
Cassandra's head snaps up so fast he's surprised she doesn't give herself whiplash, reaching out to grip his arm tight, digging her nails in. "If you don't, I will have to kill you," she hisses back, still breathless and flushed.
Jacob joins him on her other side. "Maybe we'll just save the practicing for home, then?" he suggests with a slow, devious smile. "And speaking of home, I believe there's a lovely big bed waiting for us, meine Lieben. Shall we?"
She shivers a little bit and smiles at them both. "Only if you help me. I don't think I can walk yet."