Light - by Liva Wilborg
Whatever it was that imbued the waking Leonardo with the energy that couldn't let his hands and mind rest, it had apparently simply stepped out of the body, leaving a barely breathing husk. Only the fingertips Ezio rested against Leonardo's chest allowed him to feel the soft breath, convincing him that the sleeping artist was still among the living.
It seemed almost impossible that it was only a few hours since he had found Leonardo slumped on the bed, looking like a dead man. The horror Ezio had felt then was now a vague and distant memory, washed away by other violent emotions and finally drowned in the physically exhausted and contented quiet that had reigned between them as they crawled to bed together.
The nakedness shared under the blanket painted a wide, incredulous grin on Ezio's lips in the dark as he pressed against Leonardo's back and breathed in his smell. Warm. Male. A hint of something sharp: the odd alchemical mix of the oils and pigments, blood and metal from the workshop.
Ezio wasn't certain how long he had been listening to the subdued night soundscape of the city, staring into the summer darkness in the enclosure of the bed-niche, when he finally realised that his mind was leaping happily from thought to thought and that he would not be sleeping any time soon.
Trying not to wake Leonardo, he slowly and carefully dislodged himself from the embrace and soundlessly crawled from the bed, feeling the cool clay tiles of the floor under his feet. He thought he'd made his escape when he heard Leonardo's sleepy whisper: "Are you leaving?"
"No. Just for a moment." Ezio said gently and reached down to touch the artist's shoulder. "Mm." Leonardo commented and promptly went back to nigh-immobile sleep.
Ezio grinned in the darkness as he softly padded to the door, picking up an unlit lantern from the bedside table before going back to the workshop in search of his pants. When he found them, he dressed and then slowly gathered his shirt and Leonardo's clothes, intending to bring them to the bedroom to reduce the chaos to the workshop. He felt surprised when a rush of warmth through his body informed him that Leonardo with his clothes out of reach was a lot more interesting than being a good guest. The bundle of clothes was left on the tabletop.
Eyes adapted to the darkness he slowly made his way around the work area, scanning the floor, hoping against hope to spot a light in the dark.
The white king had skipped and rolled across furniture and canvasses and boxes and scrolls to land, incredibly, next to Ezio's boots. He gingerly picked it up, enjoying the symbolism and envisioning the possibilities inherent in keeping the small chess monarch. He hoped Leonardo wouldn't remember the game piece until after he had gone and would shrug its disappearance off; it would be interesting to keep for later. Mind aflame with possible scenarios, Ezio put the small king in one of the ammunition pouches in his belt, left in a chair earlier.
Drawing a deep breath, shaking his head in disbelief at how natural this novel turn of events felt, he picked up the lantern and made his way into the yard.
The door was open.
The realization hit him like a splash of icy water. Anyone could have walked in on them, considering that the door to the street probably wasn't even locked and how laughably simple it was to scale the wall.
Angry at himself for having let control slip, he stood in the moonlit yard, a cool breeze playing against his skin as the argument of risks and precautions and what-he-should-have-dones played out in his mind. He sighed. He hadn't even brought a weapon to the bedroom. And while he felt confident that he would be able to handle most attacks in close quarters unarmed, Leonardo would most likely get hurt if he were caught in the middle of...
His thoughts left this angry, self-admonishing discussion and jumped to a visit about a year ago when he had found Leonardo almost in tears because a cat, that wasn't even his, had rolled up and died of old age in the workshop. Ezio seriously doubted that the artist would be any kind of help in a fight, probably more the opposite.
It suddenly felt as though an old, frozen pain snapped and broke and dissolved in his chest and he let out a long sigh.
"Leonardo would be useless in a fight!" he whispered under his breath, as the happiness reclaimed its position at the forefront of his consciousness. He felt grateful that nothing bad had happened and that Leonardo had never been forced to wield a knife at anyone whose heart still beat. And the further realisation that he had somehow managed to secure a special access to the artist's gentleness, made Ezio grin in the darkness.
With renewed vigour he put the lantern down and took one of the chairs at the table, jumping off it to reach the high ledge of the balcony overlooking the yard. He pulled himself up and retrieved the rolled up bundle of paper and charcoal he had tossed up there earlier in the evening, before dropping soundlessly back down.
He tested the door to the street, surprised at finding it locked. Everything was quiet and deserted when he quickly scaled the wall to steal a flame for his lantern from one of the braziers illuminating the street.
Back in the workshop, door firmly bolted behind him, he lit his way to the pile of weapons, bringing a dagger with him; the paper and coal held under his arm.
In the bedroom, the lantern was placed on a hook in the roof beam of the bed-niche and the paper by Leonardo's pillow. The artist slowly stirred and half sat up, an apprehensive, sleepy frown on his face as he rubbed his eyes: "Something wrong?" he asked, anxious, as Ezio crawled past him, retaking his place in the bed, resolutely placing the weapon within reach.
"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted light." Ezio said softly, resting on his side, his head in his hand and pushing Leonardo gently back down on the pillow.
The artist bounced back up, fully awake now: "Why the weapon, then?" he asked, eyes fixed on the dagger.
Ezio gave a laugh and pushed Leonardo back: "I just realised that I was wrong earlier."
Leonardo sat back up, the worried frown deepening: "Wrong about what?" he asked quietly.
"About thinking peace was out of our reach. ...Or that it's the opposite of interesting." Ezio replied, pushing Leonardo back again, this time moving closer to pin the artist down with a hand resting on his chest.
Leonardo finally relaxed, giving him a wistful stare: "And peace is the same as having weapons close by?"
"No. Peace is about... finding a way to live without denying your nature." Ezio said slowly. "I don't think you could have peace as a notary or administrator. Or without your weapons." He reached over and tapped the paper by the pillow.
The smile slowly spreading on Leonardo's lips made him look like one of his painted angels in the pale golden candle light. He tentatively reached out and let his fingers caress Ezio's face, running along the stubble on his jaw: "People very rarely surprise me. But every time I think I have... unriddled you, you do something like this." he said gently.
"Unriddle?" Ezio laughed. "I think I'm the only one here with the right to be surprised..."
Leonardo nodded: "Are you-" he caught himself and shook his head as though to dismiss a thought. Then he rolled onto his side too, so that they faced each other in the flickering light and gave Ezio a merciless stare: "Would you change what happened, if you could?" he asked bluntly.
"No." Ezio simply stated, calmly holding Leonardo's gaze.
The artist's posture had seemed calm, but his shoulders relaxed visibly at the reply.
"But I don't know what will happen now." Ezio said: "If you were not a man and if you were not my friend, I would be on firmer ground."
Leonardo grinned. "Well..." He gathered some pillows scattered around the bed to lean more comfortably on: "I suppose the first question will be if we wish to acknowledge that this happened? Or if we want to pretend it didn't?"
Ezio gave him a puzzled stare: "But it did happen." he stated.
Leonardo smirked, satisfied, and Ezio felt the artist's gaze wander over his skin: "It happened." Leonardo said. Then he asked: "Do we intend for it to happen again? Or do we wish to leave it at this. One night."
"Why would we keep it at one night?" Ezio asked, an eyebrow raised quizzically.
"To..." Leonardo stopped himself and seemed to cast about in his mind for the proper explanation, finally giving a laugh: "Maybe in thinking it would protect our friendship."
"We would always just fret in our minds about what we might have missed." Ezio stated and his fingers took pleasure in exploring well-defined muscles under warm, unscarred skin: "I don't see how this lessens our friendship." he added casually.
"I believe that is very a judicious assessment..." Leonardo commented breathlessly and reached out to pull the assassin closer on his stack of pillows.
Ezio's hand wandered to Leonardo's hips, fingering the blanket covering him: "I have a question." he asked between the artist's teasing kisses.
"Mhm?" Leonardo whispered and gently bit Ezio's shoulder.
"Why now; why not when we met?" he asked and was surprised when Leonardo slowly moved back, creating distance between them. There was a sudden apprehensive look on the artist's face that marred the intimacy built up between them and an undecipherable question in his gaze.
"I don't understand." Ezio said gently: "What did I just do to earn that look?"
"...I'm sorry." Leonardo finally replied, averting his eyes: "I thought... I don't know what I thought." He shook his head and slowly leaned closer again: "The year we met, you obviously had your hands very full. 1476 was just not a very blessed year for either of us." He grinned suddenly, despite himself: "I apologise for the odd reaction."
"You already answered the important question earlier. I don't want your secrets until you want to tell them to me." Ezio said and Leonardo slowly leaned closer again, the closeness between them gradually re-establishing itself.
"I will tell you. But not now. It's depressing." Leonardo rolled onto his back pulling Ezio with him, and the assassin felt his smile as their lips met warmly.
"Actually..." Leonardo finally mumbled breathlessly "When we met, I thought you were very handsome." he smiled: "And quite appealing." He started laughing: "...And rather dim."
"That's interesting..." Ezio whispered smilingly. "Because I thought that you were just my mother's tame new art-monkey."
"...Tame new art-monkey?" Leonardo laughed.
o-O-O-O-o
In the grey pre-dawn light, Leonardo finally put his sketching paper away. They were mostly studies. Ezio's hand as it rested on the pillow, calloused by years of wielding weapons. The curves of iron-lean muscles in his arms and the glow of the candlelight off his skin. Finally he had moved on to the peaceful half-smile lurking on the assassin's lips and the drawing had blossomed from there. It would be very good, once he had the light to fill in the details with greater accuracy. He gently ran his fingers through the assassin's hair, then, smiling, he wrote the title on the sketch: The Angel of Vengeance, asleep in my bed.