Leonardo shifted awkwardly against his workbench.
Ezio's visits had become less and less frequent since he had upgraded his hidden blade to hold the poison he'd acquired from the doctors; he wondered if, perhaps, he had scared the young man away.
He mouthed his lower lip, rubbing his index finger along a harsh charcoal line to smooth it, and sighed. He was too distracted; the lines looked out of proportion and disjointed. He had been thinking about too many other things recently and his work had suffered.
He sat heavily in the chair and rested his temple on his curled fist. He almost expected a knock on the door, but he knew better by now. There was little rhyme or reason to the timing of Ezio's sparse visits and regardless of the familiar footsteps he had heard on his rooftop, regardless of the commotion that he had heard outside- women admiring his physique, men seemingly insulted and appalled by his athleticism- he knew better than to expect Ezio to drop by just because he was in the neighborhood.
Settling back in the chair, he picked up a jug of wine and poured an almost disproportionate amount in a tarnished silver goblet. He drank deeply, draining the cup quickly, and shuddered. He then refilled it and repeated the process.
The warm red wine, from Umbrian vineyards, always went to his head quickly; this was precisely why he kept it around. He dragged the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, and, distractedly, slid his thumb between his lips and bit down.
He wet his thumb with his tongue and inhaled around it, shivering at the rush of cold air pulled over dampened skin.
His mind felt hazy already; he spread the wetness over his lower lip and slid his fingertips down his chest, unfastening the buckles of his doublet. His hand went to his nipple, forefinger and thumb pinched roughly.
A moment later he slid his right hand down to brush aside the hems of his doublet and chemise; he slid his hand up his thigh and groaned as he felt his own heat, radiating; he saw red as he cupped himself in tight hose and then black as his eyes slowly closed.
Silence and baking sunlight filled the room, stifling and hot, much like the heavy garments weighing down Leonardo's arms. He slid his breeches down and bit down on his lip in embarrassment as his eyes fixed on his most recent sketch of a beautiful young Florentine noble. He wrapped his hand around himself and panted harshly, imagining a hand other than his own- differently callused, dexterous, a hand that wielded a sword instead of a brush or scalpel.
He shoved his hat onto the floor, then brushed his left hand through his hair to push it back from his face. His cheeks reddened and he gripped the hair at the back of his head, gasping at the thrill of pleasure it sent up his spine. Tilting his head to the side, he could almost feel hot breath on his neck.
He swore softly as he stroked himself imprecisely, his right hand rendered yet more awkward by the wine. He felt a bead of sweat slide down his chest and groaned.
The man in the sketch stared back at him with dark bedroom eyes, his thick robes, dyed black to hide bloodstains, open down the center, his chest bared, muscles taut and bulging from sweaty combat.
Leonardo let out a sigh, his hips twitching upward as he closed his eyes and leaned onto the table in front of him. He could feel Ezio's hand on him now, the callused thumb sliding over the tip, spreading moisture down his length with experienced strokes. He panted against his elbow, his legs sliding apart as he pleasured himself. He thought briefly of the bottle of olive oil in his pantry, thought of slick fingers touching him inside as well as out, but the thought was enough suggestion for his intoxicated mind.
He could almost feel it, now; he swallowed, imagining slight pain as Ezio bent him over the table and penetrated him; he bit down on his sleeve to keep from crying out, his dominant hand tangling once again in his own hair. His hips jerked and he whimpered softly, quickening his pace.
In his mind he could hear soft growled words in a youthful voice; his legs shook. An imagined murmured question drifted past and he nodded.
He imagined Ezio moving inside him, shallow at first, teasing; he heard a soft keening sound escape his throat and went red. He almost heard breathless laughter.
He did not, however, hear the knock on the door; he never even noticed it had opened until he heard something clatter to the floor. He jumped, roughly striking his knee on the table in front of him and knocking over his cup.
The door hung open as Ezio watched him, and yet tried not to watch him. His robes, however black, were splattered with blood- in part his own, if the rips and tears in the fabric were to be believed.
"Ezio..." Leonardo swallowed heavily, fumbling with the goblet and his clothes. "Mi dispiace, I did not think-"
Ezio turned away, his cheeks red. He shut the door, courteously, and leaned a heavy hand on the doorframe. "Ah... Leonardo. I'm sorry to have walked in. You didn't answer."
"Not at all," said Leonardo, flushed and aching as he stared at Ezio's broad shoulders, his square jaw, his hand on the wall.
"Shall I return later?"
Leonardo swallowed. He didn't want Ezio to leave, but the burning in his abdomen was becoming unpleasant, painful. "No, I... I will-"
Ezio looked to the side, smiling slightly. "I will return, amico mio." He picked up the codex page he had dropped and opened the door once again, then silently left.
Leonardo let out a shaky sigh and made a mental note to discard his sketches. They never captured Ezio well enough, never did him justice.
He picked up the jug of wine and refilled his cup. He drank quickly, and a small trickle of red wine spilled from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his left hand and closed his eyes, setting the goblet down on the table.
He dragged his fingers up his chest and combed them through his hair again; his breath quickened as he squeezed his length in a shaking hand. He imagined now, instead, Ezio on his knees in front of the chair; he imagined his thighs resting on Ezio's shoulders as full, soft lips wrapped around him. He gripped his own hair and thought of pulling Ezio's hair from its ribbon, running his fingers through dark soft curtains to keep them from obscuring his beautiful flushed face.
It didn't take him long; he had only to imagine gentle fingers teasing him, dancing on his inner thighs and then entering him, and he was crying out in pleasure, louder than he had intended, as he spilled hot and wet into his hand.
He panted, embarrassed and bewildered and sated, in the chair in his workshop. After a moment of rest in which he regained his breath, he pulled his breeches up and cleaned up quietly.
A few minutes later, while he sat, fingers steepled, drunk and unshakably paranoid, at his table, there was another knock on the door.
"Come in, Ezio," he said.
The door swung open and Ezio entered. Leonardo looked up at him. His cheeks were once again red.
"I... have another page for you. Of the codex."
"Yes, I thought so." Leonardo held out his hand, and Ezio placed the rolled parchment in it. It took only a short time to decode, regardless of Leonardo's level of intoxication; meanwhile, Ezio shuffled through a loose pile of parchment he'd found in Leonardo's bookcase.
It didn't take long for Ezio to notice that he was the subject of each rough sketch or precisely-shaded charcoal drawing, that in each one his eyes were half-lidded, his lips slightly parted, his positions becoming progressively more risqué in the more recent, less yellowed sketches. Leonardo's imagining of his muscles was not inaccurate, though Ezio was bemused by the fact that he'd clearly put so much effort into them.
He swallowed as he looked at the last drawing in the pile; he was obviously nude, but tastefully wrapped in a blanket, lying flushed on a carpet that he recognized as the one on which his chair was placed. He bit his lip and replaced the parchments, then looked over to Leonardo, who was very studiously hunched over the codex page.
When he handed the roll of parchment back to Ezio, their hands lingered together for a moment- perhaps a moment too long- and Ezio smirked slightly. "I thank you," he said.
Leonardo murmured something polite and shy, and went back to his work.
Later that night, when Leonardo slept, the young man entered through the open window of his chambers.
He took his glove off, slid his hand free from the bracer that held his blade, then quietly sat on the edge of Leonardo's bed, touching his shoulder gently. He smiled as Leonardo curled beneath the light covers. "You flatter me, amico mio."