A/N: Enjoy this Lorenzo/Ezio ficlet. Rated M for a reason. Also, if you happen to see this on the AC kinkmeme on LJ, it's cool, I put it there last night sometime in the early AM.
"Take anything you want," Lorenzo sighed, all but slumping against the wall. "For your troubles, of course."
Ezio watched concernedly, noticing the Medici did not lower his sword, even though he was safe. Safe for now, Ezio darkly reminded himself. His allies were never safe, it seemed. Curse Roderigo Borgia and the long reach of his hand! It was terrible enough that Antonio and Zio Mario were having so much trouble, but for Lorenzo, the man who, in Ezio's eyes, reminded him more of Giovanni than anyone else, to be attacked in his own palazzo! Ezio would not have been able to forgive himself if he hadn't been so quick to act.
Obedient to Lorenzo's wishes, and never one to say 'no' to the offer of more gold to line his pockets with, Ezio scrounged around the room, picking bits and pieces of things that caught his eye: a pretty necklace for Claudia, earrings for his mother, a bracelet for Rosa, and small purses filled to bursting with coin. There were so many valuable things it was no wonder to him that Lorenzo kept it masterfully hidden. A thief could die trying to loot everything he could from this room. Briefly, as the thought struck him, Ezio wondered if his father had ever seen the inside of this room. He knew the Auditore family was close with the Medici, but just how trusted was Giovanni? Burning with curiosity, and, honestly craving another memory of his father to hold close to his heart, Ezio called out to Lorenzo.
"You said you knew my father," he stated matter-of-factly, "and you told me you were friends."
Lorenzo looked stricken for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what to say in the face of such a strange question. Well, he supposed the question was not so strange inasmuch as its timing was. Ezio was more than likely yearning for memories of his father that didn't tie back to the horrible day he and his two brothers were murdered, and though it grieved Lorenzo to dredge up even the fondest of memories, he decided he owed the boy more than money from his coffers. Smiling, he inclined his head and finally lowered his sword.
"Si," he said, "Giovanni was a very dear friend of mine...closer than anyone else has ever been."
You'll never realize how much...
"Ah," Ezio nodded, "then he had no doubt seen this room?"
Lorenzo chuckled at that. Of course Giovanni had seen this room. It was he who had suggested they rendezvous here for intimate acts. It was safe, private, and almost possible to get in without creating an obnoxious racket, thus alerting anyone who happened to be engaged inside. Oh yes, Giovanni Auditore had known everything about this room, perhaps even more than Lorenzo himself.
"We spent a lot of time here when we were younger," he explained, wording his thoughts carefully. He didn't know how much Ezio knew about his father's private life, but he was willing to bet sodomy wasn't a detail he'd care to hear about. "It was our safe haven."
"Haven from what?" Ezio asked, quick as a whip to tackle the issue that Lorenzo wished to keep hidden. Ah, he should have just lied.
"From the daily troubles of life," Lorenzo said, waving his hand, "nagging wives, angry brothers, anyone who wished to annoy us, it seemed."
"Were there so many?"
"Like you wouldn't believe."
Ezio tossed his head back and laughed, while Lorenzo's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't paid any particular attention before, but when he laughed like that, the tilt of his head, the squint of his eye, and those lips...he looked like Giovanni. Not too much and certainly not enough to make a painful ache rise to his chest (though it did anyways), but the resemblance was there. He couldn't mistake Ezio for anything else than an Auditore, and nothing less than Giovanni's son. No wonder he had loved the dear boy so much; Ezio's charismatic personality, kind nature, and lust for life made him irresistible.
No, don't do this, don't think of him.
Lorenzo forced a grin out, which hurt as he tried to banish the memory of his lover, lying in bed, chestnut colored hair spread across a white linen pillow, smiling the way Ezio was smiling, and laughing the way he laughed. Was there no respite from the pain? Could he not just lay his demons to rest?
"So what did the two of you get up to?" Ezio asked, getting to his feet and pocketing his findings. "My father used to tell me stories about the two of you-" Lorenzo froze "-and about how you were notorious rogues together. Come, relive some of those old tales for me."
"I-I can't," Lorenzo said, too soon, and too shakily. He shook his head back and forth and closed his eyes, refusing to look at the boy, who was certainly no longer a boy, but a man grown to walk in his father's footsteps, a man who resembled the father, whom Lorenzo had lost too long ago. Ezio's expression changed with all the subtlety of a thunderstorm as concern clouded his eyes and turned the edges of his lips downwards.
"Amico mio," he said, starting forward, "what is wrong? Are you injured?"
Such a Giovanni thing to say, Lorenzo thought idlely as he watched the assassino stalk over. And that same damn expression on his face, with those golden eyes...Giovanni would fret about his safety as well. Still shaking his head, Lorenzo sunk against the wall, closing his eyes as Ezio neared. Strong, battle-hardened hands gripped his shoulders and gave him a little shake. He could feel the heat radiating off of Ezio's body and thought, for a hellish moment, Giovanni's body sweltered like the summer heat too, before trying to push Ezio away.
"Get off!" he demanded, "Leave, now!"
"What's the matter?" Ezio asked, snapping to be heard. "Lorenzo, calm down! What troubles you?"
"You!" Lorenzo yelled, shoving at Ezio's chest. His fingers lingered. How could they not? This was a boy who he used to pick up and carry while visiting the family. This was a boy who used to be so light and fragile he had to be coaxed to even be in the same room! Now he was grown, a tall man with a hard body...like Giovanni. Lorenzo closed his eyes again. He would not be tempted.
"You trouble me!" he yelled again. Ezio refused to let him go, however, and instead pulled him closer. The heat was almost suffocating.
"What about me troubles you?Ezio asked in a low voice, soothing and free of anger or confusion. Innocent. Untouchable.
"I c-can't," Lorenzo gasped, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. No! He wouldn't cry in front of Ezio! He wouldn't...he couldn't...
"Can't what?" Ezio urged.
"No!"
"Tell me!"
Lorenzo cringed at the harsh demand, but stopped resisting. Ezio, for his part, was almost drenched in sweat. The room, cut off from windows, was stifling, and after his extensive battles he was more than ready to run across the rooftops for a while, perhaps even go for a swim...but Lorenzo was acting too strangely; perhaps he had been poisoned? No, no, nothing like that. What then? Curiosity tore at him like a cat with a dead mouse. Lorenzo had spoke of Giovanni and something about the brief conversation silenced him. What?
He waited patiently and Lorenzo slowly raised his hand and pushed the hood away from his face. Ezio blinked and opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, but was surprised to find himself silenced by two fingers over his lips.
"No," Lorenzo murmured, and Ezio was shocked to see tears in his eyes, "don't speak, just listen."
Lorenzo took a deep, shuddering breath and let his fingers slide from lips to chin.
"You look...so much like Giovanni," he whispered, tracing the strong line of Ezio's jaw, up to his earlobe. "It pains me to look at you like this, wearing his robes, performing his duties, acting as he acted. And it pains me to see the face of the man I loved so very much in yours."
The tips of Lorenzo's fingers, ghosted over Ezio's cheek, traced his dark eyebrows and the scar across his lips. Ezio did not move, did not so much as blink. He seemed to want Lorenzo to continue, and so he did.
"Don't think that your father didn't love your mother," Lorenzo said, "I knew them both, and Giovanni harbored a passion for Maria that cannot be described through mere words. He and I merely...I loved him, you must understand, and he loved me in return, but we couldn't...there was no way..."
Lorenzo trailed off and look to the right, away from Ezio, away from the face which tortured his soul so much. Why did it have to be like this? Ezio stared at Lorenzo as if seeing him for the first time. This was a man whom he remembered, through memories of his distant childhood, as a close friend of the family, visiting rarely, but a happy, delightful man who had hugged father joyfully at the door, kissed mother on the cheek, and swept him into his arms. He was like an uncle, in a way. In another, he was more so, if only because of the fresh discovery of his position as Giovanni's lover. There was more to their relationship than Ezio had ever suspected, but he found he could not resent Lorenzo. Not with the way he was clinging to his arms, looking broken, lost, and alone.
It was the way he had looked the day he watched his father and brothers die.
"I'm so sorry," Ezio comforted, drawing Lorenzo close. Lorenzo fought the hug as much as he could, but in the end he was simply too tired-too tired from fighting, running, and hiding in his own home, from burying his grief (he had never grieved properly, had he?), and from trying to present himself as a strong, steady figure to the public.
It's time to give in. Let it go.
Lorenzo slid his arms around Ezio's back and grabbed the material of his cape, the Auditore cape Giovanni had once been so proud of. He grabbed it by the handful and twisted it in his fists as he buried his face in the crook of Ezio's neck. There were no sounds of sobbing, no shaking of the shoulders or soothing words whispered between the two of them. They simply held each other for that moment in time, supporting one another, as a man who has lost a part of himself must use a crutch to stand. When they parted, Lorenzo's eyes were dry and Ezio's mouth was drawn in a thin line.
"Grazie," Lorenzo said in hushed tones, bowing his head. He missed Ezio's hand coming up to cup his cheek, and, in Giovanni's absence, he had also forgotten how fast an Auditore could be. Ezio's lips against his were soft and talented, so reminiscent of Giovanni's that Lorenzo felt his knees tremble. Only Giovanni had been able to reduce him to a shivering little puttana with just a kiss. Apparently, the son had inherited the talent.
Shocked, and yet not appalled, Lorenzo did not pull away, as he would have expected of himself in any other situation, but he reached around Ezio's neck and grabbed his hair, tugging it as he opened his mouth. Ezio took advantage quickly, tilting his head to the side and sliding his tongue against Lorenzo's. So what, he asked himself, so what if it was wrong? So what if it was a cheap 'thank you'? So what? He felt as if he should have done this a long time ago, and when Lorenzo's hands slid over his shoulders and rested against his chest, undoing buttons and ties, he did not resist.
There were no questions, no hesitation, and no regrets. They undressed one another with frightening preciseness, and Ezio experienced a strange sensation of Déjà vu, as Lorenzo seemed to know exactly how to remove the rather complicated Assassin's robes. Ezio spread a rolled carpet and they lay down. Lorenzo was responsive, perfectly so, more than even the most wanton whore in Venice. Ezio's fingers danced across pale skin, tracing small, sweet scars from childhood accidents, and lingered over the ugly wounds given by the Pazzi. Ezio's tongue followed, licking over old hurts, and Lorenzo's moans filled the air.
A hand fisted in his hair, pulled his hair tie loose, and for a moment Ezio knew why. He knew. But he did not stop and he did not question. If Lorenzo wanted to be closer to the memory of Giovanni, then so be it. His tongue explored the expanse of the body bared to him, curving along each dip and hollow, counting each rib and circling a dusky nipple to elicit another moan. The hand in his hair clenched almost painfully, making Ezio's erection leap to attention. He hissed and nipped at Lorenzo's cock. Trembling thighs almost closed about his neck, but he forced them apart, holding them down. Lorenzo gasped and let his head fall back against the rug, perspiration shining across his forehead and chest.
The lips wrapped around his cock were hot and brash, the tongue dominating and firm against his shaft. He tried so hard not to groan, but it was difficult, very difficult. Lorenzo bucked against Ezio's mouth, gasping and muttering to himself. Ezio pretended not to hear the things Lorenzo said, for they were about his father. Instead, he busied himself, wetting his fingers with his own saliva and searching beneath Lorenzo's spread legs for his entrance. The gasp he received in return for that act brought a secret smile to Ezio's face. Lorenzo pressed his palm flat against Ezio's scalp as he was stretched, moaned and dug his heels into the carpet. Everything Giovanni had done, all the tenderness and patience, all the care in the world...he wouldn't forget this. He wouldn't be able to, not in a thousand years.
"Ezio," he gasped, clamping his legs around Ezio's shoulders, "hurry."
That one word made all the difference. Ezio sat up and eagerly coated his length with a thin layer of spit, and then Lorenzo repositioned his legs about the boy's waist, thinking, in a horrified spectator way, this is Giovanni's son, and I am old enough to be his father. That did not stop him from allowing Ezio to penetrate him with one swift movement that made him throw his head back and groan so loudly it was a miracle they weren't heard. Ezio's hair fell around his face, dark and straight and making him look...just like Giovanni.
Lorenzo held onto Ezio's wrists, scratching and pinching as the boy thrust against him, setting an agonizingly slow pace. He needed more, needed it harder and faster and more of it. Ezio, never a lover to disappoint, delivered exactly what Lorenzo wanted. The harsh sound of skin slapping against skin permeated the air, and moans and grunts filled the air once more. Ezio leaned over Lorenzo, legs tucked over his shoulders as he panted. So close, they were both so close and barely any time had passed at all. He heard his name called, then his father's name. Then it was his name again and a hand between them, Lorenzo taking care of himself. The sight was magnificent, Lorenzo panting, flushed, eyes closed, hair tousled and damp with sweat. Ezio observed and, in a way, understood what it was his father had seen in the Medici.
They came simultaneously, or so it seemed to Lorenzo. Their seed mixed against his stomach, but he had no urge to wipe it off, nor did he possess the energy to do such a thing if he wished it. He merely lay on his back, chest rising and falling with every labored breath. Ezio sat still between his legs, belly heaving in and out. The men locked eyes for a moment, and something silent passed between them, something unspoken. They dressed quietly and before they left the room, they shared a lingering kiss.
"Grazie," Lorenzo whispered, cupping Ezio's cheek.
Ezio hooked his hand around Lorenzo's forearm and smiled.
It was Giovanni's smile.