All characters are owned by Ubisoft; we cannot afford to be sued, and we seem to be quite bad at golf so we may need to borrow their clubs for a little while longer...

Once again, don't read if you're likely to be offended. Equally, do read if you're likely to enjoy.

More to follow.

Dawn's early light came crashing through the open window early the next morning: too early in Ezio's mind. He flailed around trying to find covers to pull over his head so he could hide from this new day a little while longer. He could find nothing, and opening his eyes, he realised in dismay that he had fallen asleep atop the covers, fully clothed, with his boots still on. He made to sit up on his bed, but was pushed back down onto the pillow by a sudden, heady force which flooded to his temples and applied an unfathomable pressure behind his eyes. If his throat hadn't been so parched, and if the noise wouldn't have hurt his head further, he would have screamed. Ezio rolled onto his back, and felt a tired ache spread throughout his limbs. He didn't remember drinking so much. Yes, he remembered the bordello, and he had been known to over-quench his thirst there on occasion, but last night had been fun and enjoyable. He had talked and laughed, eaten and drank, had enjoyed the entertainment of his favourite girl, and had made a great friend in the company of... of Leonardo. And there was the true pain, hitting him like a falling brick and crushing him further into the pillow. Leonardo. He had left him; run out on him and left him when he should have been entertaining him, and he had no idea how he would explain that... but he hadn't been the only one entertaining Leonardo last night. Ezio closed his eyes and leaned back. He had no idea what to think, let alone say. He had had such a good time last night, and had enjoyed Leonardo's company; indeed he had been thrilled to find a great friend, but what he had seen... and how he had behaved... and what he had felt to make him behave in such a way...

Leonardo was awake and pacing around his small bedroom, having expelled himself from his main workshop to prevent any more destruction occurring there by his own hand. He was angry. Very angry. Angry at himself. He had been reluctant to go out last night, and yet he had such fun despite himself, and despite his situation. Ezio had proved himself to be a true friend, and the kindness the man had shown, his gentle words, his interest and concern, and yes, his touch, had made Leonardo forget all his concerns, and be grateful beyond expression for his new friend. And then he had blown it. Had gone upstairs and paid that man, and why? To satiate a fleeting desire? And Ezio had seen him... and the look in his eyes. Leonardo raised a fist to the wall and slammed his weight into it. He felt sick at his own actions. He could have been caught the night before; maybe had been, and then his situation would deteriorate beyond all comprehension. And yet right now that was not his greatest concern. Ezio had seen him, and had left, and Leonardo had spent hours searching the streets of Florence for him without success. And now he was pacing this small room, desperate to speak to Ezio, but lacking any ideas of what to say, and feeling so sick to his stomach that he wasn't sure he would make it to the Auditore villa. He slammed his fist into the wall once again, and slumped down onto his bed. Elbows on knees and hands cradling his head, Leonardo heaved a sigh; it echoed from deep within his body, and reverberated around the small room, and seemed to last hours, travelling from one point and sounding in the artist's ears again. Dragging his body up, he pulled the shutters open, letting in the bright light of the day. It pierced his fatigued eyes like small needles pricking away at his fair skin, and he allowed the pain to pass, making no move to cover his eyes or back away from the window, the guilt and anger he felt towards himself greater than any pain that could be bestowed on his body. He leaned against the window sill, looking over the city of Florence, his mind picturing the streets and building he knew by heart, the ones he had passed through day after day; and in the distance, not far from his own workshop, he could make out the shape of the Auditore home, where Ezio would slowly be waking. His stomach churned as another pang of guilt swept through him at the thought of the young man, who he had abandoned the night before. His hands formed small, but tight fists, his skin whitening across the knuckles, as his breath caught in throat. He watched that vague shape on the horizon for what seemed like aeons, the look in the young man's eyes from the night before still emblazoned and imprinted on his memory, before Leonardo felt his strength gathering. Moving away from the window, his feet carried him to the front door and would lead him down the streets he knew so well, their purpose now clear.

But a short distance away Ezio forced himself from his bed, and went directly to a small desk on the other side of the room where he knew he would find a large jug of water. Pouring a glass he drank deep, not once pausing for breath, before immediately filling the glass and tipping it up again. The dry, almost fuzzy feeling left his mouth, and the dull ache at the front of his head seemed to ease with the cool water. He took the remainder of the water and poured it into a deep basin. A quick breath in and Ezio pushed his face into the liquid, and held it there for a few moments. Bringing his head out, he rubbed his eyes and stumbled to the window, his hands grasping weakly for support. His body still felt weak, but his mind ploughed through the images he had seen in the Bordello, peering into a room from a dingy corridor...the bodies writhing with fury and passion...and his eyes; those kind, light eyes that had met his across the small distance. Those eyes that had filled with such a profound burning as that man – the same man he had watched almost a year ago – thrust into his friend. Ezio pushed his eyes together, trying to block out the images that still played across his mind, still caused that stirring, and tried to forget how he had left his friend – how he had ran away from him, as if Leonardo was something to be feared, something to be disgusted by. But Ezio, in the clear day light, could feel a yearning, a small voice that sounded and begged him to seek out Leonardo. He needed to apologise, to explain himself, although Ezio did not understand his own actions.

Leonardo stalked through the streets of Florence, his body guiding him without thought to the Auditore villa. Again people in the street who he knew not, stared at him and passed comment. On this day, Leonardo did not care. Let them talk; let them think, for they talk about things they did not understand. His pace quickened and he neared the villa. Only there did he pause, his breath catching in his throat once again.

Ezio slunk out of his bedroom window, avoiding the courtyard, and sliding down to the ground as his brother had taught him many years before. Taking the backstreets, he half-walked, half-jogged in the direction of Leonardo's workshop.

Taking in one last deep breath, Leonardo walked across the courtyard and rapped sharply on the door. He stood, wanting to retreat, listening to the silence. Finally the door was opened.

"I was wondering if Ezio was at home..." Leonardo half whispered to the servant girl who opened the door.

"I am not sure if he is home... can I pass on a name?"

"Yes... yes... Leonardo... da Vinci. Leonardo da Vinci. I want to speak only to Ezio,"

The girl nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but a figure behind her blocked off the doorway. A harsh voice spoke:

"You may leave us now, I will deal with this."

It took Leonardo mere moments to recognise the voice, and then he felt his heart stop altogether. Memories raged to the surface, and a pain deep in his stomach took precedent over the feelings of guilt which were propelling him forward. Leonardo stumbled back.

"Federico," his voice was cracking though he tried to control it.

The servant girl was pushed harshly aside by the young man who stood behind her, and Ezio's older brother stepped into the light of the early morning sun.

"Leo, what are you doing here?"

"Federico..." Leonardo stared dumbly at the man before him, hating himself for coming here today, for not thinking his plan through. "Federico, how are you?" Leonardo made to step forward, but faltered as Federico raised a hand.

"What do you want here Leo? Is it not enough that my mother is now buying your art? Why are you here?"

The hatred in Federico's eyes could have split Leonardo's soul in two, but he stood strong, angry once again, remembering and thinking as he moved closer to the door.

"I am here to see Ezio. I must speak to him Federico, this is not about us. I must speak to your brother."

"You won't be speaking to him today. He came home drunk last night, and I know not if he is even here now. Leo you have no right to be here, I do not wish to speak to you and I do not wish for you to speak to my brother."

"Federico don't deny me this. Ezio and I are friends..."

"And I know all about that Leo, go away now please. My brother is young and easily confused, I will not allow you to corrupt him..."

"Corrupt him? The way I did you?" Anger raged in Leonardo's voice and hurt raced through his veins. "I was never responsible for that, as you well know, and I care for Ezio as a friend..."

"You know not what to do with friends! Leave my brother alone!"

"Well you would know better than most how I treat my friends, and yet I don't recall you ever complaining... Don't interrupt me. Federico that was a long time ago..."

"And you have not changed..."

"That was a long time ago... I will not taint that with harsh words now. Tell Ezio I came by, and tell him I want to speak to him, and you can feel free to keep your opinions to yourself. I am sorry Federico, I always was, but it was never my fault, what happened... what happened was never my fault... and I had hoped never to see you again, as you so wished."

Leonardo turned and walked back out of the courtyard, reaching behind his head and unleashing his hair so he had something to toy with in his anger. He passed out into the street and walked away, but still Federico stayed at the door, looking out at Leonardo da Vinci...

da Vinci... he had never known him as that. He stared as the man walked away, and as Leo let down his hair he remembered the way it used to fall across his face and neck. Standing with one hand against the door frame, he wrapped the other arm across his stomach and felt himself weaken. He had felt sure he would never see Leo again. He passed a hand across his eyes and exhaled deeply. He thought of Ezio, but he could not allow Ezio to be close to Leo. Of course the artist was a lovely man and charming and intelligent, but no, he could not allow it... he could not...

'Federico climbed the stairs of the bordello, his throat sore from laughing and talking and his head heavy with wine. He wanted his friend, and he searched for him now, looking for more stories and extravagant tales, and as he passed through the rooms of the bordello, looking in and finding nothing, his desire increased ever more. Finally he found himself at the final door on the second floor. Opening it, he looked into the darkness and there he saw his friend, Leo, splayed on his back, legs on another man's shoulders, and face contorted in pleasure. As he thought of leaving, silently closing the door and turning aside, Leo reached out a hand to the other man's waist and forced him down into his body. The groans of pleasure stopped any further thoughts of leaving, and Federico positioned himself so he blocked out much of the light from the hallway. He continued to stare into the room, at his friend. With each deep, searching thrust Leo's back arched further off the bed towards the other man, and with each gasped breath and each groan of passion Federico clung harder to the doorframe for support. His legs trembled beneath him, and fingers sunk into the wood; his head spun as he watched the two bodies, each quaking with need, and hands that were searching out, grasping for the hot flesh of the other. The man on top dipped towards Leo, his lips pushing against the artist's flesh, and the contact caused Leo to let out a long, unfathomable moan. It sounded above all the other noises – the wails from the girls just down the corridor; the breath and groans from the other man – and Federico felt a quiver move down his spine; it spread across his body and reached his front. He felt the tension in his penis build; it began to swell, to ache...Leo let out another thrilled cry as the other man quickened his pace, his hands pressing Leo down, keeping him pinned to the bed. The teasing from the man on top seemed to spur Leo on, and he bucked furiously against the other, while his hands moved to grip the firm muscled body that now plunged into to his enticing shape. Federico bit his bottom lip, stopping a moan that burned to be free, his body agonised and tormented with the new feeling that raged within it. What he viewed was something new to him; it intrigued his mind, and he longed to discover it. He wanted Leo; he wanted to discover this new world with his friend. And more than anything, Federico wanted to touch that body that he saw before him. He had never seen a man move that way before, and he had never imagined that sex could be this way before. He had never seen such passion; such desire, it didn't even feel right to him to debase the sight he witnessed by calling it sex. This was love, and that was Leo, and Federico wanted to be part of it more than he had wanted anything else in his life before. Shaking aside the concerns about the nature of the act before him; about his family and his background, Federico walked into the room. He threw money on the bedside table, and physically removed the other man, allowing him to take the money. Leo was left, panting, wanting, and naked on the bed, and Federico closed the door, and shut out the world.'