AN: It occurs to me that this is really rather random. Why I chose to have Leonardo in here is beyond me. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to write plotless smut. Shrug.

Part I – The Man in the Room

It occurred to him, vaguely, that this was a rather odd dream. He was seated—well, getting up. Standing now, he was in a wide, open room, with marvellously large windows and an odd taste in décor. There was a man, with an equally odd taste in dress, walking towards him. He said something, in words that Leonardo knew were English, but that he heard as familiar Italian.

"The girls've gone out."

The man was smiling. So was Leonardo. He knew the man, felt intimately acquainted with him – felt a strong, deep pull towards him.

"Good," said Leonardo, in an unfamiliar voice.

"Sit back down, Miles," said the man, now close enough to touch. He wore an elegant, simple sort of spectacles over indistinctly brown-grey eyes, and hair that stood up in short spikes.

Leonardo sat, looking up at the man expectantly. Who was Miles, he wondered.

"Good," the man said, a smile that had a slightly predatory edge curling his lips. "Now, lie back."

Leonardo did. The chair was reclined, halfway to horizontal, and covered in wonderfully soft cushions. Distracted for a moment by a glimpse of brilliant red fabric out of the corner of his eye, Leonardo hardly registered that the man was now kneeling on the chair with him, straddling his hips.

Registering quickly, though, was the way Leonardo's body responded to the contact. Startled and intrigued, and beginning to not care about the strangeness of the entire situation, Leonardo watched the man lean down to kiss him.

His lips were hard, assured. He was confident, as though he'd kissed Leonardo a thousand times before, and had complete power over when and where each kiss had taken place. There was a hunger in the way his tongue slid alongside Leonardo's, and certainly also in the rather direct path his hands took to Leonardo's belt.

"When are they coming back?" Leonardo's voice asked.

"Shut up, Desmond," muttered the man against the light stubble of Leonardo's chin, his hands skilfully unfastening his pants. Leonardo, feeling like the question really had had some merit, opened his mouth to repeat it, but as the palm of Shaun's left hand pressed over the growing bulge in his open jeans, the words were lost in a silent gasp.

Leonardo's head fell back against the chair, short hair prickling against the fabric. He moaned, half-watching as Shaun slunk down his body, shifting to trail his tongue along a slow, wet line to the hem of his boxers. There, he paused, looking up at Desmond with a vaguely impish expression that Leonardo wasn't sure he liked the implications of.

He didn't have long to consider, though. The man trailed a short fingernail over his still-clothed arousal, drawing a gasp and a rise of his hips, then lifted the fabric away. His mouth descended, tongue flicking out to taste the hardened flesh, and drew away. Desmond groaned.

"Shaun—"

"Shut up, Miles," snapped Shaun, pinching at his thigh, hard enough to sting. Leonardo glowered down at him.

"Suck it, Shaun," Desmond replied, mimicking the Brit's irritation.

Shaun's lips twitched – just barely strangled in time, saved from a smile. "Fuck you, Desmond," he muttered.

"Anytime," Desmond grinned, tipping his head back as Shaun's tongue flicked over his cock again. "Anywhere."

"Whore," Shaun mumbled against him.

The banter was easy, light-hearted though not quite entirely in jest. Leonardo moaned as the man dragged his tongue along the bottom of his cock, teeth grazing the head before his lips sealed in and sucked, deeply, sinking down until his nose brushed the dark curls at the base. Shuddering, Desmond arched.

It would not take long, like this. Leonardo stared down the oddly familiar body – certainly not his own, but… not unlike Ezio's. Strange, yes, but not unwelcome, though the other man was entirely unknown.

And also not unwelcome.

His tongue traced the long vein, pressing in and pulling back to return, squeezing into the small slit before descending again to swirl around the head. Desmond's back arched again, his hips rising helplessly off the chair. Leonardo felt his hands grapple at the arms, knuckles likely white with the tension as his head dropped back with a thud.

"Oh god," said the familiar-unfamiliar voice. "Oh—I—fuck—Shaun—"

The man, clearly well acquainted with Desmond's body, drew away, leaving Leonardo shaking and almost whimpering with the sudden neglect. In a swift, practiced movement, he stripped Leonardo's jeans and underwear to his knees, unzipping his own pants while his other hand reached up, palm flat, to Desmond's mouth. He licked it, gladly, tasting vague salt and an old bit of coffee, and caught one of the fingers with his teeth. Shaun chuckled, his voice husky, before pulling the hand away.

Slicked in quick, brief motions, he lifted Desmond's legs and settled himself between them. Then, as Leonardo gave a small cry, he pushed inside.

He gave them a moment to adjust, and then was moving with all the urgency his mouth had had over Desmond's cock. Leaning down, he kissed him, sloppily, lips rushed and moist, an elbow on either side of Leonardo's head for support as his hips snapped against his. Desmond groaned, hands grappling at Shaun's ass as the man shifted his weight to free one arm, which he slid down between them to tug quickly at Leonardo's cock.

Desmond cried out, incoherent, something along the lines of ohthankgodyesfinally though it really hadn't been that long, and with a shuddering curse, he spiralled into completion. With an echoing, stuttered thrust, Shaun sagged atop him, grunting into his neck.

Breathing hard, it was some moments before either of them spoke. Shaun pulled away slowly, shifting to straddle him again. "When are the girls getting back?" Desmond asked, distantly, his eyes lidded.

Shaun waved a hand vaguely towards the door. "Soon." He looked down at Leonardo and sighed. Quickly, as though he were afraid someone might notice, he leant down and kissed him, sweetly, just once, and then swung himself off the chair. One slender finger pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Clean up, Desmond," he said, turning away. "Or you're explaining."

With a small gasp, Leonardo awoke. His eyes took a moment to focus, and when they did, he found himself staring at the back of Ezio's head. The assassin's hair was loose, dishevelled – jumbled memories of earlier entanglements floated back. He frowned. And there was something else – a dream.

A man… Shaun. And another, somewhat like Ezio – Desmond.

Leonardo considered the memories for a moment, with a mind fogged by midnight. Next to him, Ezio snored softly and shifted, tugging Leonardo's arm a little further around himself. The artist smiled, shrugged mentally, and went back to sleep.