A/N: Haha, I know you guys hate me so much for leaving this hanging for an eternity! I loathe authors' notes ruining the top of a page, but I just wanted to apologize profusely for the update taking forever, and I also wanted to thank everyone who left wonderful reviews, or urged me to continue. Surprisingly, this was one of the stories I disliked the most (in terms of my writing/editing), yet it wasone of the stories which got the most enthusiasm.
Immediately, Leonardo uncurled his fingers in surrender, hunched his shoulders sheepishly. "N-no!" he said quickly, swallowing afterward from the fire in Cesare's gaze. "No," he said again, "nothing like that. I am not a man of violence."
Cesare skeptically regarded the blonde behind him, and then he slowly brought his hand back to his lap. For a strange reason, he was willing to trust this man, this artist. He didn't know exactly why, but he doubted Leonardo would put himself in jeopardy with a stupid move, especially one that could have that slender throat broken in seconds. In all honesty, Leonardo's disposition didn't seem to be one willing to fall into confrontation.
On the other hand, Leonardo hadn't meant to startle Cesare, though, in hindsight, he could clearly see how something this forward would have anyway. It was surprising to be suddenly considered a suspect when, all this time, Cesare was the one throwing the threatening weight around.
Quietly, both men let out an exhale of relieved breath, and Cesare willed himself to relax back into the chair, enough so that his posture was correct. Leonardo managed a weak smile at the back of the dark head, and then he continued with his hands as he had been before. Cesare's muscles didn't give in just yet, but they lowered, and his head lulled forward a little.
"Mn…." Cesare murmured, brows together, his muscles easing themselves into submission.
For the next half hour or so, gentle silence consumed them, and the soft flicker of candle light was the only thing rippling the relaxation. At certain points, Leonardo increased or decreased the pressure he applied, gradually working out the tension in the other man's shoulders, and Cesare groaned appreciatively.
A while passed, and Leonardo slowly eased to a halt, his hands aching, but his goal achieved. "Signore," Leonardo whispered, amused by Cesare's slip toward unconsciousness because of a massage, "if you're really that tired perhaps you should—" Calmly, Leonardo pulled Cesare's left arm over a shoulder, pushing his own arm around Cesare's lower back. He hefted the Captain General to a stand. "I certainly didn't see my evening turning out this way," Leonardo murmured to himself under his breath.
Resistance made a quick, but short appearance in Cesare. He wanted to command Leonardo to stop, to tell the man to get away from him if solely because he looked so vulnerable when he was this tired and relaxed. The massage calmed him so much that sleep, along with glorious amounts of wine, was the next adventure of his morning. The shift upward startled him slightly awake, but he luckily remained heavily sedated and drowsy. A mumble left him, and Cesare barely knew that he was being lifted or carried elsewhere.
The bed.
Leonardo continued to lead him along, and Cesare's mind screamed sluggishly in alarm. He should be bedding himself elsewhere, not in the artist's quarters. For a moment, Cesare stopped and went stiff, but then relented and relaxed once more. Fatigue won the favor of his selfishness. He was too tired to bother walking that far across the castello.
At the bed, Cesare turned into the child that he was. Straightening himself up, he lurched forward and fell face-down onto the mattress, promptly just lying there. He didn't move, arms down beside him, dark hair washed over his face, and booted feet barely hanging over the edge. He didn't want to move. He just wanted to sleep, something that never came easily to the leader of the Papal Army.
Finally, Cesare turned his head to the side. "Don't stop," he muttered after a moment, sounding quite different from the Cesare who was typically barking orders and taunting everyone in his way. When Leonardo didn't move, he twisted to look back. His eyes flashed with a pathetic attempt at severity. "Massage me," he commanded in a husky, sleepy tone. "I said not to stop."
The thought of where he was going to sleep did cross Leonardo's mind momentarily, but when he saw how Cesare just seemed to fall onto the bed and not move soon after, arguing for a spot was the last thing on Leonardo's agenda. He knew he had slept in far worse places than the floor of a lavish guest room.
Since the air was still heavy with humid midnight air, Leonardo didn't bother to cover Cesare with a blanket, but instead peeled it away from the bed to use for himself. He moved to blow out the candles, and the room was pitched quickly into blackness. He hadn't heard Cesare the first time, and, even though he could well have been talking in his sleep, Leonardo still went to listen further. He placed the last candle on the table next to the bed, and rubbed a hand over tired eyes.
And then the request hit him. Leonardo, apprehensive and uncertain at first, peered down at the icy eyes looking back. What did he do? he wondered. Did he keep going? After a few moments of hesitation, Leonardo sighed to himself. He didn't see what harm it would do, not with being a hostage under the close reign of someone like Cesare. Besides, it would prove to be a fast way to get the man from being conscious. "All right," Leonardo said softly.
Leonardo sat on the bed and lightly put his hand on Cesare's shoulder, urging the man to turn back around and relax. Shifting enough to be more comfortable, Leonardo leaned down and started working on Cesare's shoulders again, thumbs kneading with more pressure at certain points. As the time passed, he slowly worked his way down Cesare back, random thoughts and ideas mulling through his head. Inventions and gears, the current situation, whether or not his dearest friend, Ezio Auditore, would know of his capture, if the Assassin would even bother trying to help.
Leonardo knew in the morning things would return to them butting heads and locking horns. Threats would be dished out left, right, and center, but, for now, for whatever reason, he was happy to do as he was told. As his hands continued to work, Leonardo was sure to take note of how peaceful and calm Cesare had become. Of course, it was only because of the combination of sleeplessness and alcohol, but he thought that seeing Cesare like this would make for an interesting memory, maybe one he could even draw in secret. If he ever got out of here in one piece, he was sure Ezio would never believe him.
"Tomorrow," Cesare whispered suddenly, on the edge of sleep, "you... will have... lunch with... me."
When Leonardo heard what the other had to whisper, he smirked to himself. When he replied, though he was sure that Cesare had already fallen asleep, he made sure to keep his voice soft and quiet: "Giving orders even in this state?"
Honestly, Cesare was even better when he slept; he was ten times better than when he was being Nice Cesare and not Conquering-The-Country Cesare. The Captain General, just on the edge of middle thirties, looked a lot younger, but, more importantly, a lot more human, a lot more relaxed and perhaps even happy. It was how he was supposed to look if his father hadn't tried to wield him as the merciless, evil scepter of the Church, if his father hadn't ignited the flame in him for the military through jealously.
Once he felt Cesare's breathing become deep and slow, Leonardo brought his hands away from the sleeping man and leaned across to blow out the candle. For the first time in hours, the room was cloaked in a heavy, warm darkness. He soon found the blanket that he'd laid previously across the floor and made himself as comfortable as possible.
Cesare didn't know if the artist had ever fallen asleep because he was asleep first, peacefully for once in his life. His dreams were naught, only blackness and the gentle, rocking uncertainty of unconscious. There were no dreams of Apples, none of wars, none of blood and battles, none of two-faced men smiling at him with closed lips to hide their fangs.
Unfortunately, Leonardo dreamed. Sleep had followed in a matter of minutes, but unlike Cesare, Leonardo's mind refused restful tranquility. He dreamed of his flying machine working and of much larger, more economically shaped pistols. At one point, Leonardo found himself standing in the middle of a field wearing what seemed to be Assassin robes, pearly white swathed with scarlet. Walls instantly sprung up from the ground around him, climbing to impossible heights, and as he started walking, he soon realized what surrounded him was a maze. In dreams, of course, time had no way of existing, but after he had been walking a while, he caught sight of a flash of color, and he froze when he spotted Ezio up ahead.
Ezio! he heard his voice call into the void. Ezio, I'm so glad you're here! I— Leonardo was suddenly cut off by Ezio extending a hand as if to stop him. The Assassin said nothing, but merely pointed back. When Leonardo looked down at himself once again, instead of his usual garb, he was dressed in the Borgia colors—red and gold. He frowned and then noticed something on his hands. Turning them over, he watched in horror as lines of black ink began tracing identical symbols into his palms: the Borgia crest.
When Cesare awoke, he was still face-down on the bed like the night before, but covered, this time, in daylight. After lying there for some time, he finally pushed himself up onto a forearm, his free hand bushing back through his hair to remove it from his eyes. Where...? His face tensed.
The room he put Leonardo in.
He swallowed through the feeling of cotton in his mouth. Hastily, he rolled himself up to a sit at the edge of the bed. On the floor, his eyes immediately caught Leonardo's form, and he didn't know whether he wanted to feel sorry of glad about the discovery. Quietly, Cesare stepped down and went for the door, but half way there thought better of it and returned to the sleeping form. He knelt and gathered the artist up, as rocky as it was, and then he put the man back down on the bed. "Lunch," he said firmly by the artist's ear. "You will be there."