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Unfortunate; Part 3
Ezio didn't get out of bed the next morning… He just lay there for a long while staring at nothing.
Leonardo checked on him frequently, peering in with a crease between his brows because Ezio was so still. He was never so still unless he was hurt or sick or stalking you like a cat. He wanted to say something, anything to try and ease the tension he could feel emanating from the younger man like heat, but every time he opened his mouth to speak, he found he couldn't. That afternoon he returned to standing there outside the door, just watching him, the cuffs of his blouse still a little damp from washing the paint from his hands. It didn't appear that Ezio had moved at all, so he crept slowly into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. When the younger man didn't open his mouth, or really do much of anything at all, he sat his jaw and crawled across the coverlet, forming himself against the other's back, pulling and tugging at the quilt until he found Ezio's head and one pale naked shoulder.
After a few slow, gentle presses of the artist's lips against the back of his neck he relaxed some, shifting back into his embrace.
Leonardo's voice was hushed, secret and in a way apologetic;
"You're sore."
Ezio felt heat rise to his face and he shifted his head against the pillow so he could stare sightlessly at the drapes and the little dust motes dancing in the light peeking in between them.
"I have more of—"
"I'm fine…" His voice came out barely as a whisper and he seemed to curl inward a little in his shame.
"Ezio, I—" Leonardo took a deep breath and let it out slowly, finding the other man's hand where it peeked from under the blankets and lacing their fingers together. "What frightened you so?"
He tilted his head and rubbed his face into the pillow in a solid 'no'.
"Would you rather try it the other way?"
Ezio didn't speak, but drew the artist's hand up and pulled one finger slowly between his lips, his tongue working hesitantly around it.
Heat shot to Leonardo's groin and he leaned his brow into the back of Ezio's shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. How was it that in this one simple, tiny, and wholly erotic gesture, he was able to hear everything Ezio was unable to say? Either for fear, or because he couldn't put his desires into words.
It was entirely soundless for a long while, just the thunder of his heart in his ears and the warmth of Ezio's mouth around his index finger, the flutter of his breath as it quickened against the back of his hand.
The slight shift in the bed and the hum that shot from his finger to his crotch were so small, but so important, so earth shatteringly significant Leonardo couldn't help himself and he shifted closer, mouth closing over the back of Ezio's shoulder to suckle on a pale line of scar tissue, hips rocking gently against the younger man's backside through the quilts.
He could almost picture Ezio's free hand down there, beneath the blankets moving over himself, such a small, seemingly insignificant, forbidden act.
His breath hitched and he found the shell of Ezio's ear, drawing the lobe between his lips; "Trust me…" He whispered, and when the younger man tensed as he moved he said it again.
Ezio had his eyes closed, it was easier to stay relaxed if his eyes were closed. He could pretend it was simply a leap of faith, loosening his limbs and opening himself up to it, feeling chilled air on his skin as Leonardo pulled the blankets back, drawing him into strong arms, back to chest. He could feel the direction in the room, pictured himself sitting there in Leonardo's lap facing the wash stand in the corner, the windows to his right. He could practically feel those thin like knives beams of warm sunlight slicing across his skin.
"Shhhh," A warm, open mouthed kiss was pressed to the side of his throat and the artist's beard tickled beneath his ear. "Open your eyes… Look at yourself."
Ezio peeked out through slit lids, taking in the room; the hearth and its black bottomed kettle on the grate, the trunk in the corner containing bed linins. The thick dark drapes over the windows, the flicker of firelight. The washstand—The fact he could see himself in the small mirror above it… He could see himself, naked as the day he was born sitting in Leonardo's lap with his legs open, the artist's finger in his mouth and hisown hand wrapped around h-himself.
He flinched and tried to jerk his hand back but Leonardo's own wrapped gently around his wrist, knees cocking outward to widen the gap between Ezio's thighs. He cooed again, softly, breathing encouragement as his fingers dipped lower.
Ezio was enthralled by the sight, unable to look away, even as his heart thudded like a caged bird behind his ribs, and the older man's fingers slid beneath his sex to find his opening.
He was sore… and the feather light brush of the older man's fingers made the tenderness seem to burn and tingle in a not quite unpleasant way.
It was so strange seeing that part of himself, a part of himself he'd never seen before, being touched, being so carefully stroked and petted with such tenderness and l-love.
"There is more than one way to enjoy a man's company," Leonardo breathed into his ear. "Penetration is one extreme… This is another." And his fingers continued those slow, torturous motions, drawing patterns and even letters around and across that little point he could barely make out in the mirror.
It… It felt amazing… Intense and nearly overwhelming, watching as if from outside his body while feeling it as well. He moaned around the finger in his mouth, taking in another when it was offered, arm going above his head to brace himself by gripping the older man's shirt. He could feel heat and firmness at the small of his back and he arched against it as much as he could, hearing a soft whine from the man behind him.
Through the entirety of their failed attempt the night before, Ezio could not remember hearing the blonde make any sound of pleasure. It—It felt empowering that he'd been able to draw such a sound out now, when there was no penetration involved. When his body was not being breached and when Leonardo was still tucked into his pants.
It was freeing, perhaps, to realize that one could feel such intense sexual pleasure without putting themselves in anything, or having someone inside them. He felt a little slow and dimwitted at only having discovered this now after so many years.
He had to force himself to blink, not wanting to look away from what the older man was doing to him. Finding the flex of Leonardo's wrist and fingers in the mirror probably the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. Eyes slipping every so often to the pull of his own fingers on his shaft. The moisture that had begun to steadily leak out and ease the friction of his hand.
Leonardo chuckled quietly into his hair, watching everything with pleasure glazed eyes; "This—" He indicated his fingers with a firm swirling motion against the younger man's opening, "—Can also be done with the tongue… I must admit I'd like to—"
His words were drowned out by a quick, almost startled cry and Ezio gave a little jerk in his arms. Leonardo had to pull his fingers from between those reddened, swollen lips to catch the younger man with a palm to his chest, incase he should fall into the floor.
Ezio lie there against him panting, lashes fanned on his flushed cheeks, a thin string of drool on his lower lip and chin, a sticky wetness splashed over his fingers and stomach.
Leonardo chuckled and continued to gently pet the still twitching pucker beneath his fingers and sighed. Oh, to be young again…
"You're very easy to please, I suppose." He made a pattern of little kisses across Ezio's shoulder.
"I…" He didn't open his eyes; "I was im-imaging you d-doing th-that with your m-mouth and—"
"Hmmm, yes. You would like that?"
He nodded quickly.
"Have you ever pleasured anyone with your mouth?"
After a moment of careful thought his cheeks reddened and he shook his head. "The w-women I've been with all seem satisfied w-with this."
Leonardo practically giggled; "You're able to pleasure a woman with those two minutes?"
Ezio's brow wrinkled and his eyes opened to slits; "Normally I'm not so quick to please."
"Then perhaps it is the company you keep that bores you."
He didn't reply, but the tilt of his brows made Leonardo feel a bit smug and he rolled his hips again trying to find a little more friction. He may have lived celibately for years now, but he was a man and being denied his release twice now was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He reasoned he would have to make sure Ezio was either fully awake or tucked back to sleep before… before—
Those gold eyes were locked on his own now and there was something in them. Something unsure but grateful, and his petting fingers were still petting…
"Leo…"
He couldn't really protest, couldn't say that he thought it best if he left the room and dealt with his 'problem' privately because there was such want in Ezio's face he wasn't sure he would be able to fully restrain himself. So when the younger man moved, shifting off his lap, groping for and finding the cloth Leonardo had used to sooth him the night before and hastily cleaning himself, the artist just sat there and watched.
Leonardo couldn't conceivably deny Ezio anything. So he wordlessly did whatever the other told him with the tilt of his gaze and the flush of his cheeks. Leaned his shoulders back against the pillows and watched as those strong calloused hands, turned gentle and somehow clumsy, tugged at the lacings of his pants, how those fingers trembled a little with anticipation as they drew him slowly out, eyes curious.
Part of him wanted to give pointers, to instruct him, but another part just wanted to sit back and see what Ezio would do on his own. Perhaps the loss of control the night before had been what was ultimately their downfall? Ezio's fear of being pinned? Maybe it was the act itself. Maybe it was still just unfamiliar and now would be different?
Ezio's hands worked carefully, eyes watchful ready incase he did something wrong.
Leonardo would never admit aloud that Ezio looked a little awkward there, naked, sitting on his thighs, one hand braced on the pillow, the other pulling slowly, carefully, his expression so very unsure of himself.
It seemed somehow unnatural that Ezio would be unsure of himself, that he would feel anxious or afraid.
Leonardo brushed his knuckles against the younger man's cheek, smiling when Ezio leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut.
His arousal already returning, and Leonardo was baffled once more, by the capabilities of a young man's body.
"Ezio?"
He flinched a little at the suddenness of the sound and his grip went very tight for a second, then loosened.
"Switch hands."
"What?"
Leonardo smiled indulgently and took the younger man's right hand away from his shaft and wrapped it around the assassin's own. "Switch hands… You are primarily right handed, yes?"
He nodded, looking confused.
"Then your left will follow your right."
Ezio blinked, as if the realization literally smacked him in the face and he settled himself a little closer, taking a deep breath and letting it out. He felt a little foolish, there was no mystery in a man's body. He'd explored his own in private frequently enough, although he would never admit it, when it came to pleasuring himself with a curled palm he was well versed. Why then had he been moving so slowly? So experimentally? Leonardo was a man, more likely than not what felt good to Ezio would in practice feel good to the older man as well, but there he'd been going about it hesitantly, as if he didn't know what he was doing! If Leonardo had been a woman, Ezio would have been kicked out of the bed by now.
"You're trying too hard," Leonardo chuckled lightly; "It is very simple, don't over complicate things."
Ezio snorted in embarrassment and he tilted his head back, eyes fluttering closed. It was his nature to over think things. That was how he'd survived as long as he had. It was sometimes confusing when he was presented with simple things such as this. He had to focus himself and remind his body that sometimes things were purely and simply what they were.
Leonardo's hands rested easily on his hips, fingers kneading gently, his hips rocking slowly.
He was right, Ezio decided, the left does follow the right in simpler activities. He chuckled to himself, 'simpler activities' indeed.
Leonardo's hands pulled a little and Ezio leaned himself forward into it, seeming to know by instinct how to cock his knees outward a little more to allow the movement, shifting himself forward just a little more until he was aware of that startling heat and firmness pressed to the underside of his own. His head rocked forward with a gasp and he found himself staring down through his lashes where he and the blonde were pressed so intimately together.
Leonardo's eyes were glassy and intent a light flush to his cheeks, and Ezio's left hand came up to rest on the pillow by the artist's head, the fingers of his right widening to encompass the other man's girth as well, finding this angle much easier to deal with, the stretch of muscles in his inner thighs adding to the sensation of friction as he rocked his hips uncertainly into the motions, groaning audibly as the older man's fingers slid around the curve of his behind and began oh so gently petting over his opening once more.
It was so intense that for a moment he completely shut down and merely sat there with his eyes closed and his mouth open, panting through it.
Leonardo hummed in approval; "Your body is very sensitive… do you like this?" His fingers made a spiraling pattern and pressed inward ever so slightly, drawing forth a whine of pleasure and a sharp buck of hips against his own.
He swallowed thickly and just admired the younger man hovering over him for a moment, in awe of everything, all the decisions and coincidences that had to collide to get them to this point. Part of him chuckled inside thinking that if ever he were to meet the girl who had given Ezio the confidence to admit to himself that he desired something more, that he might just kiss her, even if women were strange alien creatures with disgusting bodily secretions.
It was so very satisfying seeing the younger man straddling him like this, his fingers curled around the proof of their shared want, totally and completely at ease with the world, not a care or worry but for the continued expression of his pleasure.
Leonardo would have gladly and wantonly continued on in this fashion for all of eternity. But Ezio was pressing back onto his fingers again, urging them deeper into his body, and the tilt of his eyebrows and the hitch in his breath spoke of unsatisfied need, and Leonardo knew that this wouldn't be enough for the younger man.
"Ezio?" He wetted his lips; "Would you like to try again, or is this enough for now?"
Those dark brows knitted and his lower lip went between his teeth, a wrinkle of concentration settling into place on his brow.
Leonardo didn't move even so much as a fraction, he needed to know this decision came from Ezio, not his pleasure. He would never be able to forgive himself if they went ahead with this and it turned out the younger man was only caught up in the moment and hadn't truthfully been ready for it.
Ezio's head bobbed up and down a few times and his heart jumped into his throat.
Leonardo groped to the side of his bed and pulled the drawer, fingers automatically finding that vial of rose oil, his things so meticulously organized in the drawer he knew without looking where everything was.
Ezio kept his eyes closed, face lowered, hand moving slowly around his own and the artist's arousals. He tried to ignore all the chatter in his mind, the worry and the memory of pain from the night before, but every time he tried to shake them from his mind he could feel every muscle and organ in his belly tightening impossibly, as if just to spite him.
What was the matter with him? One moment everything felt so good and he was almost certain he was ready for it, that everything he'd wanted for such a long time would finally FINALLY happen… And the next moment he was positively shaking, his teeth chattering as if he were frozen to the bone, or going into deep shock.
"Ezio?" The hand on the small of his back was almost startling but he kept himself from flinching, kept himself from baring his teeth and crying out in surprise.
"Ezio, stop that for a moment and look at me."
He had to force his hand to stop moving, had to will his eyes to open, and once they were he wished he'd kept them closed.
Leonardo's expression was tender, indulgent, but somehow sad. And the vial of rose oil was sitting unopened on the side table.
Ezio wondered briefly what he'd done wrong, but then his eyes slid to his lap and he saw instantly what it was. Leonardo was still quite ready for the act, his arousal firm and cradled happily in Ezio's palm… but the assassin's own had deflated—
Ezio cursed bitterly, loudly, and threw himself off the bed, heels stamping into the floor as he snatched up the clothing the blonde had given him to wear and pulled it hastily on, grumbling and cursing at himself, wetness streaming from both eyes.
Leonardo was slower to move, sitting up, whining as he tucked himself back into his pants and gave the laces a jerk. His hands came up, pleading, eyes wide and confused. But as much as he tried to calm the younger man, tried to stop him, Ezio would not be stopped, and would not hear what was being said.
Leonardo could barely understand him, it wasn't even words that were coming out of his mouth, just growls and groans of displeasure and curses to himself and his manhood.
Ezio yanked his boots on and threw on a cape. He didn't stop when the blonde called his name, didn't even so much as slow down, just threw open the drapes, smacked the window open and was gone.
Everything was cold and dreary looking, the sky heavily clouded and dark, very few people were out and those who were seemed to rue the fact. Mud was thick and slippery and the stones seemed to have been greased but Ezio kept walking, arms tightly twined around his middle, hair hanging into his face. A distinct soreness between his hips at every step was like a heartbeat of a reminder. A little voice that shouted of his failure with every stride farther and farther away from Leonardo's studio.
His mind screamed at him, shouted and begged and raged and he cupped his brow for a moment and leaned against a wall grinding his teeth. When the silence he commanded didn't come he began scaling the side of the building, not even bothering to feel amused or irritated by the cries of outrage from behind him. His body protested, muscles in his lower abdomen crying out at the stress, but he didn't slow, didn't stop, he just kept climbing.
He didn't stop until he'd reached the very top of the building, frightening a few birds roosting under the cloistering of this specific tower, and there he perched himself. Crouching on the edge of the roof with his hair whipped back and forth in the cold wind, his thin shirt and breaches doing nothing to hold back the chill, cape fluttering. He wept.
He couldn't understand it. Could not conceive as to why his body would betray him like this. Before his mind had been the culprit, his body confessing its truth and his needs at every glance and brief touch the blonde had passed his way. But now it seemed to so readily recoil, as if saying in a child's voice that it had only been teasing.
It was unfair, wholly and completely unfair.
But, he reminded himself, when had life ever claimed to be fair.
What rubbish.
He scrubbed his face on his sleeve and crouched there hugging himself, staring out over the city and the sea. Snuffling back a clogged, hot feeling in his throat and sinuses.
I love him, why can I not share that? Why can I not let it happen?
He was tempted to go back to Teodora's and find that girl from before. Maybe she would understand? Maybe she could offer some little bit of wisdom that would make everything OK again?
He felt himself nodding, certainty like a flame in his chest, he stood, his knees and legs and inner muscles protesting, and off he went at a fast pace.
Teodora though, was less than pleased to see him. She seemed paler than usual and moved slowly, a thick robe around her shoulders to block out the chill. Quite a few of the other girls were similarly afflicted and when he asked what the matter was, one of the girls, wrapped in her quilts and sitting before the fire, lifted her head and called out; "It's a curse! We've all been cursed!"
A few of the others shushed her and flapped their hands.
Ezio wrinkled his nose and shook his head, what madness, to believe in curses.
Teodora answered him directly when he asked where the girl from the other night was. "She is not here." And that was the end of that.
She didn't talk much otherwise, just listed to him and refilled his cup with wine every so often. She asked him after his sixth glass, if he had eaten anything that day, and when he said no she smiled at him in a way that was anything but amused.
After he'd finished the bottle he was feeling decidedly better, and he realized a little too late that he'd been rather boldly, and openly, rubbing himself through his pants and offered a slur of an apology.
Teodora just shook her head and seemed to tilt at a peculiar angle from the floor… Then for a long while Ezio knew nothing.
He woke late the next morning lying sprawled on his face on a couch in the back parlor. With a dozen or more flushed faces pressed close to him.
He only recognized a few of them, but not in a way that would mean they should be so close to him when he felt so terrible.
His head clanged like an alarm bell. And everything ached.
"Shoo, SHOOO! Leave him alone!" A familiar voice seemed to cut through the cotton in his head and he clamped his eyes tightly shut against it.
A warm calloused hand pressed between his shoulders and that voice leaned in close, whispering; "Oh, Ezio…" A sigh; "Come on… I'll take you home."
Home?
He pried his eyes open and found himself groaning again in misery because he knew that face, knew that worry between blonde brows, and that crease he had single handedly put above Leonardo's nose.
But how did the artist figure out where he was?
Then again, why was he not surprised? There were only a few places in the city he could hide.
The walk back to Leonardo's studio was hellish. Where before it had been cloudy and wet and dreary, now the sun was out and despite the chill people were everywhere. The noise was like a drum knell in his head and twice he had to break away from the artist to stagger into an alleyway and be sick.
Drinking so much on an empty stomach had not been a wise idea.
By the time they made it back Ezio was a dead weight on the older man's shoulder and he only barely seemed capable of moving his feet.
After they were over the threshold Leonardo knocked the door shut and just politely picked him up. Sighing irritably as the younger man just hung like a dead thing over his arms.
"You are so dramatic… Surely the wine has not made your head that sore?"
Ezio groaned but refused to admit, even to himself, that part of it was shame at his impotence the day before. It was much easier to play deathly ill than deathly humiliated.
Leonardo put him on a couch to one side of the room and tugged a thick quilt over him like a tent. A few moments later the dull empty thud of a bucket echoed in the room as it was placed near by as well as the slosh of a pitcher and cup.
Ezio wrinkled his brow and ground his teeth when he felt the artist's hand settle on his shoulder. The air was very tense for a moment or so, as if Leonardo wanted to speak, but wouldn't allow himself. Then the blonde was gone, off to his work.
Ezio peeked out from beneath the quilt a few times, and just watched him. Regret like a stone in his belly.
Leonardo moved so slowly, as if his heart wasn't in it, and a few times he sat his things down and dropped into a chair with his head in his hands.
Maybe… Ezio thought, maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I shouldn't have come here… Maybe I shouldn't have told him. He swallowed an ache in his throat and closed the gap of the quilt, tucking his fists under his chin and trying to keep his breathing calm, short… Tried to bite back the burn of tears in his sinuses.
He dozed off for a few hours and woke to find Leonardo sitting in one corner, eyes almost feverish as he worked with a knife on a piece of wood.
Ezio sat up and squinted, trying to figure out what the blonde was doing. It looked like perhaps he was making the handle for a chisel or a hammer or something. On Leonardo's long list of talents was engineer, carpenter and even tailor, so Ezio wasn't really surprised. He just watched for a few minutes then sighed and said in a quiet voice that he felt filthy and was going to bathe.
Leonardo didn't even so much as acknowledge him, so Ezio hung his head and shuffled to the back wash room and set about making a fire. Judging by the placement of the sun he only had a few hours before he had to leave anyway… Damn it. He didn't know how long he would be gone, and it would be nice to bathe beforehand, even if he hated doing it. God only knew what kind of grime he would end up wading in, at least then the layers of it would be less thick if he washed right before he left.
His robes were hung carefully in one corner of the wash room, dry and cleaned and a few seams had been repaired and a patch over a stained torn place where an arrow had caught him weeks and weeks ago. He took a moment, standing there waiting for the water to heat, and fussed over the clothes, wary and feeling watched as he picked loose threads and such. He felt compulsed to do this every so often, and every time he came across a tear or a stain or a hole he'd made he felt overwhelmingly guilty for ruining his father's clothes. Clothes he'd taken such pride in.
He wanted to thump his head against a wall until his brains fell out sometimes from the shame.
By the time he was finished with his bath, dried and dressed, it was nearing sundown. He emptied the dirty water, now grown quite cold, down the grate and covered the older man's tub again, then with a sigh, exited the wash room and crept through the kitchen into the work room.
Leonardo was standing at his table with a few lamps lit around him, putting a few finishing touches on the handle he'd made. It was startlingly plain in Ezio's opinion, especially considering who had made it, but the longer he looked at it the less, he realized, that it looked like a handle to anything.
He wasn't even sure what to call it. A club maybe? Had Leonardo made a wooden stake or a large pin? Maybe it was for one of the ships at the docks?
"Leonardo, I—"
Blue eyes snapped to his face, and there was such overwhelming joy there that for a moment Ezio wondered what had happened to cause him to become so happy again.
"Ezio! Come look at this!" He held a finger to his lips and a slight flush came to his cheeks.
Ezio shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but approached anyway, his head bowed.
Leonardo presented the thing on flat palms, his face mischievous; "I think this may help you with your… our problem."
Ezio blinked stupidly at it. "What is it?"
Leonardo blushed, leaned forward, and whispered it into the younger man's ear. "I believe I've realized what the problem was… And this will help you to overcome the fear of it. It should hopefully, ease you into the whole thing—"
And Ezio felt his face go quite, quite red because now he realized what the thing was and what he was supposed to do with it.
"It might be easier this way… If it is still what you want."
He swallowed past a strange tightness in his throat and offered a quick little nod. It wasn't as if he could refuse the thing anyway. The hint of encouragement, of love, in Leonardo's expression made refusing absolutely impossible. So, feeling even more humiliated than he had been before, he took it, holding it in a bit of cloth the older man had produced, while he was given a rather serious talk on how—how to use it.
Leonardo explained in a way that seemed delicate, trying not to actually say what he meant, but implying it.
Ezio decided just saying 'put it in your ass' would have been less traumatic than this. But he held his tongue, displaying a good bit of common sense he remembered years ago, his father telling him that he lacked.
Leonardo was trying to help, and although it was horridly embarrassing, he was helping.
When the blonde finished talking and folded his hands together trying to suppress his own nervousness Ezio nodded and rolled the thing up in the cloth he'd been given and hid it at the very bottom of his bag.
"I tried to make it very plain and innocuous… Incase someone should find it… As it is you could conceivably use it as a weapon if it came down to it." He made a little chopping, or bludgeoning motion with a curled hand.
Ezio swallowed past a groan at the mental image that provided him. Only in his head the tool in question had been visually replaced by a rather realistic looking penis. He nodded and shifted uncomfortably on his feet, trying to hide the color that had risen quite steadily to his face.
After a moment of this silent awkwardness Leonardo tucked a bit of his hair behind his ear and turned away; "Be careful, Ezio… Try—Try not to…" His voice faded off and he began fiddling with things on his work bench just so his hands would have something to do. When he looked up again Ezio was much closer to him, so close he could feel the younger man's breath against his jaw.
There was no pulling away this time, no innocent shrugging off of the pressure, no clap of palms against shoulders. Ezio pulled him close and buried his face into the crook of Leonardo's neck. His arms were warm and somehow mournful that this could possibly be the last time they were able to embrace, and there was a desperation in it as well, a desperation to show and share as much as possible and not take a single moment for granted.
Leonardo tangled his fingers in the cape over Ezio's shoulders and squeezed, as if trying to draw the younger man into his breast to live and thrive in peace beside his very beating heart.
"Come back to me, Ezio… I don't care how, just please—please, come back to me."
"I will… Even if it takes me a thousand years, I will come back."
And he was gone with the sun, leaving behind only the lingering warmth in Leonardo's chest and his scent on the artist's pillows.
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I could so totally end this right here. :P
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