DISCLAIMER: All characters are owned by Ubisoft: you probably knew that already. Us poor little penguins don't want to be sued, but we do want to keep playing. It's a compliment really...
Some sexual content so as ever if your mama taught you well don't read!
For those of you who didn't always pay attention in Bible class, in this chapter Leonardo has to finally face the two difficult truths that he has been wrestling with. Ezio is leaving him, and his 'crimes' are about to seek out their retribution. The question is, will Ezio prove to be just another Auditore son or will he show himself to be stronger than Leonardo's previous lover? Only time will tell, but remember, we're only on the seventh hole, and games of golf must always end in the clubhouse. Fish all round!
Ezio walked towards the gates of Florence, approaching his exile with slow, heavy footsteps. Sunlight was beginning to break through the clouds, lighting his way. His head felt heavy and there was a pain in the pit of his stomach which he didn't dare to name, despite knowing why it was there. The streets of the city were quiet still, though they wouldn't be for long. Soon merchants and bankers, artists and craftsmen, prostitutes and thieves would come out to join the guards for another day of noise and laughter, excitement and pain. Pain. Ezio could barely breathe. He didn't dare to. Thoughts nagged in his head; the air seemed to hang heavy around him and nothing felt right with the day. And his mind: he could focus on nothing; nothing but the thud of his feet on the ground and the fantasy images which fought for his attention. He passed yet more guards, never daring to look back, as he continued on his slow and sorrowful journey. Thoughts of Leonardo swam across his brain, making the pain in his stomach worse, and never better. He passed his own home, but didn't go in. He didn't want to say goodbye to any of them. His anger flushed looking at the still-closed shutters. In those rooms his family slept peacefully, fully aware that he was to leave Florence today, but his anger was directed more at himself than at his family. Why was he doing this? Why was he leaving when he didn't want to? Why was he leaving when someone needed him? He saw Leonardo's face flash before his eyes before he could stop the image, before he could close his eyes and shake his head and try to push the thoughts to the back of his mind.
Leonardo had stood to clear away his plates, and despite saying for the hundredth time that he had to leave, Ezio had failed to stand and leave his chair. He hadn't even been to tear his eyes from the other man. Leonardo had gone quiet on him when he had asked for some food, but he had sat beside Ezio nonetheless, not speaking, not even looking at him. Ezio had swallowed the food, thinking it to be the finest he had ever tasted, but all the while he had kept his eyes firmly on the artist. He couldn't tear them away. He had tried to hide his fascination, and with Leonardo's eyes always examining the floor or the table or his own fingers, it hadn't been hard to imagine that he was succeeding. Leonardo appeared to have forgotten his discarded, torn shirt, lost as he seemed to his thoughts. Ezio had been grateful for his friend's forgetfulness. Scooping bread and warm tomatoes into his mouth he had traced the muscles of the artist's body with his eyes. Leonardo was taller than he had realised; his body long and lean. His skin was pale, but he was defined. Ezio had realised in those moments, when he stared and tried to work out the definition of his chest, that he knew nothing really of Leonardo. Nothing of his hobbies, or of his past… he knew nothing, but the name of the crime of which he had been accused. "Leonardo?"
Leonardo had not appeared to hear him as he collected the dirty plates that cluttered the table. He had dropped them on the side and turned his body back towards the young man; as he did so Ezio watched as one of Leonardo's hands moved down his frame and came to rest at the waistband of his breeches. A thumb had slipped inside the breeches and hooked around the thin material Leonardo tapped out a pattern against his leg. His other hand had lingered at that toned chest and Ezio's had felt his eyes widen as the fingers spread out and massaged at the taut skin below. One of the fingers brushed the pale flesh of his nipple and, in that moment, Ezio could think of nothing but closing the gap between them and feeling Leonardo's skin; feeling those nipples grow hard underneath his own fingers. Leonardo had lifted his head then and met the young man's gaze, his eyes seeming to understand the thoughts that went through the other's mind, and, although, they did not seem to protest, Ezio recognised a reluctance there.
Ezio had shifted in the chair, a frown creasing his face, but as he made to move from the chair, his body had seized: it was as if each artery and vein had stopped and his body had turned to stone. A cold sculpture, he could not recall how long he had remained poised above the chair as his mind raced, searching for reasons to delay his departure; for reasons not to leave Leonardo. He had not want to go, could not go: the idea jarred against every ounce and fibre of his being. But his lips too, like the rest of his body, had failed him. His eyes found the floor: he could think of no excuses and his wishes fell to silence. A burning shame had torn through Ezio's body; gnawing away at his soul, and heat had built and pushed through his aching body; his vision became blurred as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Mustering every grain of strength left within him, Ezio had thrown himself from the chair, knocking it to the ground, and spun away from the artist who was all the while continuing his silent vigil from the other side of the room. "I…" Ezio had chocked, his voice catching in his throat. He had struggled to hold onto whatever shreds of composure he had left; but the anguish that wrestled within him proved stronger, and he had to fight violently for each breath. "I…I have to go…I have to go now."
Leonardo moved towards him, but made no sound. His eyes never once strayed from Ezio's frame.
Ezio recalled stumbling to the door; he couldn't be sure if he had been moving quickly or slowly. All he knew was that he had reached it before he wanted to, and with little grace. His hands, working out-with his control had flung open that old latch on that heavy door. The cold dawn air tumbled into the workshop, and the flames of the remaining candles had flickered at the disturbance. Ezio could remember turning on the spot to face the room and the man he longed not to leave. He could think of no words. To explain his feelings would have taken him an age. Leonardo had just looked at him, breaking Ezio's heart with eyes which were filled with sorrow, but he had seemed to be containing his emotions. Ezio feared that if he lingered longer he would not prove to be so strong. Leonardo remained frozen on the spot, waiting for Ezio to leave, but Ezio had failed once again to leave. The need to hear Leonardo's voice one more time had stayed his feet.
"This isn't a goodbye Leonardo, I will be back soon enough, and all this will have blown over…" Leonardo had interrupted him before he could finish his thought. There was anger in that soft, eloquent voice.
"I may not be here when you return Ezio, but I pray I will see you again… before… before the end,"
"Don't talk that way Leonardo," Ezio had groped to catch his stomach as it plummeted to the floor at the thought of the possible punishments which awaited this beautiful man. "I will be back… I will come back for you, and I will…I will protect you."
Leonardo's eyes had dropped once again to the floor, and he had shrugged his shoulders to dismiss Ezio's words.
"No Leonardo listen to me…" The desire to walk back into that room, to Leonardo and take his body into his arms had been overwhelming; remained overwhelming. Ezio had never been able to resist temptation, but in the end it was that knowledge of himself that had stopped him. He had to leave, at his father's command, and if he had walked back into that room Ezio knew, somewhere deep inside of him, that he would never have been able to walk away from Leonardo again. "… I swear to you that I will protect you. I can protect you…" Ezio's feet led carried him out into the street, but still he had turned back to face the barely distinguishable Leonardo in his self-imposed darkness. "… I will protect you. I won't say goodbye." And as was forcing his feet to walk away he stole the briefest of moments to look back, unable to locate his friend, but he smiled and winked into that darkness regardless, before he was compelled to turn onto his sorrowful way.
In the darkness, and filled with cold and loneliness once again, Leonardo couldn't help but match Ezio's flashing smile. Tears had spilled from his eyes and he had stood, his body racking with sorrow, until he could hear the footsteps no more.
Ezio shook himself from his reverie, and found himself passing down the broad streets which led to the gates of Florence. He was mere minutes away now, and he tasted the tears on his lips before he realised he was crying.
A part of him remained in that place still, in that small workshop, with him…with Leonardo…
'"Leonardo," Ezio whispered as he approached the artist, who leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, his body bathed in the light of the fire. The artist moved slightly, and Ezio's eyes poured over the bare chest that was presented to him. It was beautifully formed: the muscles invited him and Ezio could not resist. That day at the bordello he had been curious, but now his body ached for this love; a love that was still mysterious to him, but a love that he longed to taste. He was afraid, but he had to know He went to Leonardo and wrapped his powerful arms around the frame of the artist, dipping his head down to that chest that commanded his attention. Ezio's lips met with that hot flesh as he pressed a first, confident kiss to it. Leonardo let out a moan. Ezio's lips did not falter: they traced up that chest until they found Leonardo's nipples. Ezio's lips curved into a smile as he felt Leonardo's body jolt forward. Slipping his tongue out he circled the hardened, sensitive flesh, as his hands moved across Leonardo's back, exploring every inch of skin they could find. His hands darted down, slipping into the back of Leonardo's breeches until he reached the man's arse. Every doubt, every anxiety was expelled. Ezio knew what he wanted and he would have it, take it and enjoy it. Ezio had been in this position before, but never with a man. He had never held a lover who was equal in strength to him, and he had never before heard any person elicit such noises just from the actions of his tongue. The noises drove him on, as Leonardo turned fully into him, placing his hands into his hair and ripping out the ribbon which formed its restraint. Ezio continued lower, he moved away from the nipples, provoking yet more groans from Leonardo. The artist started to shove his head down, fingers still entwined in his hair as he moaned louder. Ezio knew where he was being directed to, and although he did not know entirely what he was to do when he got there, he was utterly disinclined to decline the direction. Leonardo rutted into Ezio who desperately moved down his body, his tongue licking and tracing a path down through the soft hairs until he met with the resistance of Leonardo's breeches. Ezio brought his hands up to wrestle with the offending clothing. He tugged at the strong leather laces, eager to unleash the treasure hidden within, and as he did so his hands brushed Leonardo's hard and throbbing erection. Ezio's knees buckled, and he dropped down before Leonardo. The artist moved his hands down to join those already at work, and the breeches fell away leaving Leonardo's engorged penis before Ezio. Ezio's hands slid up Leonardo's thighs, and came to rest on the man's hips. He held tight, his fingers sinking into the pale skin. He became nervous. A part of him wanted to shrink away, and yet a sudden pounding in his groin drove him on. He needed to discover this, wanted to know this love: he wanted to love Leonardo: to taste and enjoy every bit of the artist. Ezio moved his hands to Leonardo's manhood, and as he took hold of it a fire ignited in his body, silencing all doubts, spurring him on. He started to move his hand up and down in slow deliberate movements, and Leonardo let out long, breathy moans that pushed Ezio on. He moved closer to the man, and could feel the heat of Leonardo's flesh against his own skin; dipping his head down, Ezio opened his lips ready to take the artist's penis into his mouth. His lips brushed the throbbing head, but as Ezio made to move further, Leonardo took hold of his shoulders, and bent to meet Ezio's eager lips. And as their lips locked, Leonardo pushed Ezio back. Feeling the artist's body on top of his own, Ezio tumbled backwards, and his head hit the stone floor -'
Ezio saw stars. He watched his body slowly and heavily sprawl on the ground, first his arse and back, then his strong shoulders, and finally his head. His bent legs collapsed also, his knees crashing into each other before hitting the ground. Ezio groaned. The back of his head ached and he stared at the bright, blue early morning sky as he struggled to pull thoughts from the chaotic shambles that was his body. Gradually, he began to recognise his surroundings. There was a fountain to his left, and to his right more market stalls. As he gingerly lifted his pounding head from the cold, harsh ground, his nostrils discovered the bitter stench of stables and his eyes fell on the gates of Florence. Stars still danced in the corners of his eyes, dancing and flickering separately in bright hues of gold and scarlet before becoming one, ending his vision completely and returning it to darkness. He shook his head quickly, and immediately regretted the action. From somewhere out-with his haze he heard a voice shouting, but shouting quietly. Was that an apology? He didn't recognise the voice… Ezio slumped back to the ground, closing his eyes and luxuriating in the pain thumping throughout his body. He lay back and watched the colours swim across the midnight sky, enjoying their transitions and the shifting of their shapes. Gradually, they changed from gold and ruby and magenta to sapphire; a deep, ocean blue sapphire, and Ezio saw Leonardo's eyes. His beautiful eyes; deep and dancing and laughing, his features slowly emerging out of the darkness to smile down upon him. Leonardo was before him, Leonardo was… Leonardo!
Ezio sprung to his feet, ignoring the pain pulsating in his limbs, and ignoring his heavy head. He spun on the spot, turning his back on the gates of Florence and began moving, darting off down the street in pursuit of the guard who had sent him spinning out of his fantasy and crashing back into cold, harsh reality. They were going to Leonardo's workshop, and he had to get there before the guards. As he raced through the streets he had achingly walked down minutes before, he lost sight of those running before him. He quickened his pace, his vision remaining blurred, and pounding out his terror as he sprinted at break-neck speed to that place he had been so reluctant to leave. Ezio tore up the streets of Florence, hurtling round corners and crashing into walls, buildings, stalls: anything which stood in the path of him reaching his Leonardo. And suddenly there he was, in the workshop. He slammed into the table he had eaten at hours before. It was only then that he allowed himself to think. He hadn't had to open the door to enter this place. Turning, he saw it hanging, hinges raped and broken, and turning back to the room he saw nothing but destruction. Furniture was upturned. The chair he had sat in, desperate not to have to leave and desperate to be able to hold Leonardo upon was thrown almost into the now-dying fire. Plates were smashed, drawers lay upended on the ground and all manner of clothes and paints and brushes and tools and canvases and bottles and papers and foods decorated the floor around them. Had he been able to catch his breath Ezio knew he would still have stopped breathing. Leonardo was gone, and he didn't have to call out his name to know it. He raced back to the street, but he knew it was futile. The guards were gone with his Leonardo and they wouldn't be coming back. Slowly, Ezio wandered through the workshop, touching the trashed belongings of his friend as he went. He wanted to beat himself. If he had found anything suitable he didn't doubt that he would have. He had known he shouldn't leave. He hadn't wanted to leave. And yet he had done so and this was the result. Coming across some papers, Ezio stooped to pick them up. He couldn't stand to see Leonardo's work so abused, and he needed to touch something of the artist. Something more than the shirt he wore. Placing them upon a table and turning to leave, determined to do something of some use to Leonardo given how much he had already failed him, Ezio caught a glimpse of a familiar ring upon a charcoal-sketched hand. Was that his ring? He moved the top papers, tossing them aside with as little care as the guards had shown minutes before. And there he saw it: a sketch of his hand. And beneath that a sketch of a young man, naked. The body was taut and muscular, almost overly so; the stomach had been lovingly drawn and the chest carefully defined, and there above was a mirror for Ezio's eyes. He stared down into his charcoal self. Leonardo had drawn him; had sketched him naked with strong muscles and agonisingly erect manhood, and he had sketched his face perfectly, as though he had spent hours staring at him, memorising every detail. Now, Ezio's non-existent breath did stop. He held onto the sketch as though it was the only safety net between himself and a fate he dared not to contemplate. Nothing raced through his mind, but one name, and then finally an idea. An understanding. A realisation that he should not have doubted himself. Should not have doubted Leonardo. He should have moved towards Leonardo and taken him in his arms on any one of the occasion he had longed to do so, and if he had, he would have brought pleasure to both of them. And more importantly, as reality slowly closed back in on him, he would have been here when the guards came for Leonardo.