I finally surrendered to the call of Lupo/Volpe. It's not a kinkmeme fill though, I just felt like I needed to do that.
I just wanted a comfort fic in which Lupo survives and finally finds someone to take care of him. Yes, it's cheesy, I want someone to love meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee - okay, affection deprived person ahoy. Don't mind me.
Pairing: La Volpe/Il Lupo
Warning: No smex! (Don't faint people!) Also, it's angsty, and turns cheesy/fluffy at the end. Because for all the smut, we need the fluff.
The city had changed. And it was nowhere what it once had been. As though time had robbed it of its original beauty, only to leave decay behind. The roofs of red had fallen to dark marroon. The hue darker still in the falling light of day. Il Lupo would have said it was melancholy but instead, all he could think was that something was missing. Fiora was long since gone. She had betrayed the templars. Had tried to kill him. He did not even recall how he was saved. Simply remembered a low voice, a man tolding him to hold still as he was writhing in pain. This man had saved him but what really irked him was the fact that this man had known who he was. He had told him, he knew he had. And he could not find him. It was a lost track long cold that he had been following. Following the trail of a man back to Florence. The city he had only seen in passing for the last few years, time an illusion he was not ready to let fall to shreds in the gutter. He was not ready to aknowledge. Aknowledge the fact that once in his life he had needed someone else. A stranger's help more than the hand that once had fed him and turned to stab him in the back. Literally. And he was not going to let it slide. He hated to live in debt for someone he knew not. There he was, facing the Duomo from the Campanile de Giotto. The sun was falling behind the hills, the Arno already dark – the black stream washing away the smoke of Savonarola's pyres still warm. He was there, and not there at the same time. It was not something that he wanted to dwell on anyway.
"You have come a long way, wolf."
That voice, it was him! He knew it. It was the same voice he had heard, a dying man on the docks. The bleeding animal ready to keel over. He slowly turned around, half expecting not to see anything. But there he was. Clad in orange breeches and a brown cape. He knew that silhouette – the chief of the Roma's thiefs, the one that fought over the Cento Occhi. Why?
"Same as you, thief."
"You know my name."
Not a question, the man rarely asked them it seemed. "I chose not to use it. And what's in a name that would be worthy of mention?"
A low chuckle answered him, as the man moved towards him. Lupo tensed, knwing that there was much more to this man than he would ever let on and therefore, he had to be prepared for any attack thrown his way.
"You have to be right. Now, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? You are not Florentine, and Rome is unaccessible to you, I hear. But to come all that way. I am curious."
"I am not here to satisfy your curiosity." He let out a growl at the same time, vaguely aware that he was still Il Lupo, no matter what this puttana did to him. No matter... It did not. Nothing ever did. He sat on the parapet, facing the other man. A silent gesture – not of trust, but of truce. He would not attack and La Volpe could as well throw him down. Considering the angle, he would miss the haystack completely anyway.
La Volpe moved to sit next to him, though far enough to prevent a passing reach or hit that could send him kissing the ground downwards.
"You saved me."
"I did nothing."
"You did!" He was growing annoyed. How could the man discard it so? "I should have died there."
"It was not you I helped. I helped a man who had been attacked and backstabbed. You trusted that woman, I heard you. She had betrayed you."
"So you did it only because you thought I was a victim? That's sick."
"To think so would be sick. I merely helped you because you did not have your chance in that fight. And I am set against unfair deaths."
Lupo was no fool. He saw the pain that contorted the man's features. It was a grief too deep to be new. It was old. And it was cankering him. He knew these wounds. And they never heal.
"Fine. I won't pry."
"Why did you come here yourself?"
"I have a debt."
"You are alive and well, this debt is repaid."
"It's not!" He launched himself at the Master Thief, not to make him fall but simply to hold him to himself. He had no clue as to why on Earth he would do it. Why he would hold that man instead of strangling him. "I have a debt, and I am not to leave until it is fully repaid. I owe you my life, I can't live on with that. I can't!" And it was true that he could not. Because he would have to erase all traces of his existence and this man knew too much. Knew his face, knew who he was.
"I know." Strong arms wrapped around him. A firm hand between his shoulder blades, holding him in place. "Look. I know how such debts can be a burden. If it eases your mind, you are free to repay me as you see fit, so long it does not imply my untimely demise at your hands. Does that sound fair?"
Lupo nodded, vaguely aware of their proximity and the fact that in other circumstances, they would
have fought. It was an odd feeling. He did not want to fight. He did not want to go against that mosnter that was gnawing at him. Begging attention from the man in front of him. "I..." How could he say this? Words he had never spoken aloud. Not even Malfatto had known. No one. "I don't want to be alone anymore." He would have been ashamed of his weakness at the time but what could be done? There was nowhere else to go but stay and await the rejection he knew would come from it. He was not expecting those arms to wrap around him, holding him closer, until his face was buried in the coarse material of his hood. Memories flashed in his head. How he had lived, the memories of carnage tearing at him.
The massacre of men and women – the orphanage ripped to the ground, forgotten from God. He had been taken then. Tall men in armour, takling the children – to train and kill.
His first kill. The man who had taken him in. Given a knife, but he had launched himself at him with animal rage. He would never let anyone touch him again. He was ten.
And so forth his life went, from training to the streets, a filthy cur people would avoid and spit on. And there was this man – with a foreign accent, Spanish. Cesare Borgia. He had decided to take him in, and train him – and he left him with Micheletto da Corella. Corella was not a bad master, Lupo had learned. He was not cruel, just cold-blooded. And he learned from him. The art of stealth, the best way to kill a man. And he grew – until the Assassins came to Rome and by the time, the wolf was ready to be unleashed. Fiora was the only one who had ever shown kindness to him but even then, it was a kindness that was called forth by need. He was being used and he was aware of it. That was the worst part of all.
Until he died. Until his trust killed him. Until...
He was not aware of how long he had stayed there, clutching to La Volpe's back. He was not a child. He was a man and he could fight his own wars. He needed no one. Not one to ever tell him. What to do, who to kill and who to let go.
"The past is gone. It still comes back to your mind but it is dead. Bury it." Bury it, do what I could not ever do.
"Help me to bury it. I can't do this alone. No more." I don't want to be alone anymore. I don't want to be the wanderer with nothing to return to. I don't care about possessions. Only to have someone to keep the leash. To keep it from my neck.
"Why me?"
"You won't chain me. Never. You will let me do as I please. And it is more than most ever could say for themselves."
"I won't." This I promise to you.
Lupo looked up at the man who just said the words he had craved without knowing he craved them. His gratitude he could not express in words and instead, he laid his lips on La Volpe's. Warmth thrummed in his entire being, part anxiety at being rejected, part desire. He wanted to be more. More than just a tool.
The night had grown old – and Lupo looked around, the warm body close to his a reassurance. He was not alone. Not anymore. Memories of the past years overridden by those of the last hours. How it felt, to have someone touching him for no other reason that they wanted to. Because they wanted to please him. He was embarrassed, that the fox did all this for him, and him alone. But he basked in it nonetheless. A faint smile spread on his lips, as he laid back on the bed, snuggling closer to his lover. It was a nice feeling, and not to mention a good amelioration, compared to nights spent right under roofs, in churches and attics. He looked at the serene face of La Volpe. Yes, he knew his real name, but he would never use it. To him, it was a fox that saved him that day. You saved me twice. He bent over, laying a chaste kiss on his lips. He knew it might wake him up, but he just wanted to. And therefore he did. Sleep addled eyes opened, and a hand brushed strands of hair from his face. "Sleep, Lupo. You deserve it."
He scoffed at that, but agreed to anyway. He would never say that to La Volpe, but to be taken care of might right be up his alley, so to speak. He rested his head on a broad shoulder, arm and leg thrown over the older thief, a possessive gesture that he had never allowed himself to use on anyone. He could get used to it.
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