(no subject)
Roma, 1512.
"How about... this one?"
Ezio chuckles under his breath, a rumble deep in his chest. Sofia is smiling down at him like an angel, the golden sunbeams of the late afternoon making her pale skin glow. Under the light, her hair is a fierier shade than usual. Her fingertips drift across the surface of his skin, running a little firmer over the scars and pocks. There are many, and though most are tiny and barely off-colour, others are a bit more noticeable.
So far, she only knows the story behind the one on his lip.
"If I told you all the stories, you would be here in bed all day," he informs her, tracing the contour of her jaw with his fingers.
"You say that as if I have any intention of leaving this bed today," she replies, airily, as she reaches up to put her hair in a messy bun. He likes the curve of her neck, the pale contours of her collarbone, the way her breasts sit on her chest, free from any corset. She's supple to the touch, and touch he does, fingers sliding against her milky pale skin. How she can live in sunny Konstantiniyye and not get much colour surprises him, but then again, she's a Venetian.
"Mmm... we need to get dinner, and to bathe," he says, finally. For now, though, he appreciates his bed with a long, comfortable sigh.
Sofia smiles, shifting down to lay against his chest. He lets out a hum of contentment, one hand drifting up and down her side. She points out the rather obvious scar on his chest, just shy of his shoulder, and she traces its shape with a finger.
"Tell me about this one... and I will bathe you myself."
He makes an amused noise; they both know they'd do each of those things without needing a trade of any sort, but it's fun to barter. "Va bene, I suppose that's a fair trade. I got that one when I was shot."
Her eyebrows raise and she lifts her head just a touch, eyes moving to meet his.
"Shot? And you survived? It's right over your heart."
"Not quite, but close. There was an attack on the villa in Monteriggioni and I lost my armor, so I went without. I was attempting to reach the gates when missed gunman managed a lucky shot."
"How did they get it out?" she asks, wide-eyed.
He laughs. "I was unconscious, but I imagine they used a knife. Bullets are not much different from arrowheads, but certainly more painful. It wasn't pleasant in the least."
"It sounds awful, let alone to feel it," she says, a touch of concern leaking into her voice, despite all the years. She traces her fingers over the scar again.
"Sofia, you fuss over paper-cuts."
She feigns ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not," he replies, wrapping a leg around the back of hers and running his skin up against hers, back and forth. He likes feeling her brace against him when he does it, and seeing her teeth catch her lower lip for the slightest moment. Mm, mmm. "But yes, it was awful. It certainly taught me to improve my aim, so that no poor fool should suffer."
"Mm," Sofia murmurs. "And what of this one?"
Her hands are going over a couple other pockmarks down his side, just off his ribs.
"Arrowheads finding the gaps in my armor," he says.
"And these?" She's found the thick white slash just under his ribs, the skin healed with a good half-inch of scar tissue there, the edges puckered where Caterina's surgeon hadn't been neat enough -- or where Ezio didn't give it enough time to heal before popping a few stitches.
He laughs under his breath, prepared to make her start up the concerned and surprised expressions again.
"Stabbed. Left to die on a roadside in Forlì," he says.
As expected, Sofia gives him the expression theatrics.
"Oh mio dio, how did I fall for such a reckless man?" she asks, crawling a bit further up his body so that her face is level with his, her weight entirely on his body, pressing him deeper into the mattress.
"Reckless?" he laughs, hand sliding down to reach her backside. She gives a hum, the tip of nose touching his. "I've never been reckless."
"You climb around on rooftops like a monkey."
"I have ways of getting back up in case I fall."
"If you don't break your back first," she says. "Or your big head."
He looks at her with that roguish smile. "And were I to tumble or get stabbed and be bed-ridden for the rest of my life, would you be there to ease my suffering?"
"Of course, darling."
Sofia leans to kiss him, deeply, and Ezio's fingers press into her supple skin before sliding up her back. They canoodle for a moment, until Ezio bowls her over to pin her under him, and she just laughs and wraps her arms around his neck.
And still, they had many scars to go.
"How about... this one?"
Ezio chuckles under his breath, a rumble deep in his chest. Sofia is smiling down at him like an angel, the golden sunbeams of the late afternoon making her pale skin glow. Under the light, her hair is a fierier shade than usual. Her fingertips drift across the surface of his skin, running a little firmer over the scars and pocks. There are many, and though most are tiny and barely off-colour, others are a bit more noticeable.
So far, she only knows the story behind the one on his lip.
"If I told you all the stories, you would be here in bed all day," he informs her, tracing the contour of her jaw with his fingers.
"You say that as if I have any intention of leaving this bed today," she replies, airily, as she reaches up to put her hair in a messy bun. He likes the curve of her neck, the pale contours of her collarbone, the way her breasts sit on her chest, free from any corset. She's supple to the touch, and touch he does, fingers sliding against her milky pale skin. How she can live in sunny Konstantiniyye and not get much colour surprises him, but then again, she's a Venetian.
"Mmm... we need to get dinner, and to bathe," he says, finally. For now, though, he appreciates his bed with a long, comfortable sigh.
Sofia smiles, shifting down to lay against his chest. He lets out a hum of contentment, one hand drifting up and down her side. She points out the rather obvious scar on his chest, just shy of his shoulder, and she traces its shape with a finger.
"Tell me about this one... and I will bathe you myself."
He makes an amused noise; they both know they'd do each of those things without needing a trade of any sort, but it's fun to barter. "Va bene, I suppose that's a fair trade. I got that one when I was shot."
Her eyebrows raise and she lifts her head just a touch, eyes moving to meet his.
"Shot? And you survived? It's right over your heart."
"Not quite, but close. There was an attack on the villa in Monteriggioni and I lost my armor, so I went without. I was attempting to reach the gates when missed gunman managed a lucky shot."
"How did they get it out?" she asks, wide-eyed.
He laughs. "I was unconscious, but I imagine they used a knife. Bullets are not much different from arrowheads, but certainly more painful. It wasn't pleasant in the least."
"It sounds awful, let alone to feel it," she says, a touch of concern leaking into her voice, despite all the years. She traces her fingers over the scar again.
"Sofia, you fuss over paper-cuts."
She feigns ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not," he replies, wrapping a leg around the back of hers and running his skin up against hers, back and forth. He likes feeling her brace against him when he does it, and seeing her teeth catch her lower lip for the slightest moment. Mm, mmm. "But yes, it was awful. It certainly taught me to improve my aim, so that no poor fool should suffer."
"Mm," Sofia murmurs. "And what of this one?"
Her hands are going over a couple other pockmarks down his side, just off his ribs.
"Arrowheads finding the gaps in my armor," he says.
"And these?" She's found the thick white slash just under his ribs, the skin healed with a good half-inch of scar tissue there, the edges puckered where Caterina's surgeon hadn't been neat enough -- or where Ezio didn't give it enough time to heal before popping a few stitches.
He laughs under his breath, prepared to make her start up the concerned and surprised expressions again.
"Stabbed. Left to die on a roadside in Forlì," he says.
As expected, Sofia gives him the expression theatrics.
"Oh mio dio, how did I fall for such a reckless man?" she asks, crawling a bit further up his body so that her face is level with his, her weight entirely on his body, pressing him deeper into the mattress.
"Reckless?" he laughs, hand sliding down to reach her backside. She gives a hum, the tip of nose touching his. "I've never been reckless."
"You climb around on rooftops like a monkey."
"I have ways of getting back up in case I fall."
"If you don't break your back first," she says. "Or your big head."
He looks at her with that roguish smile. "And were I to tumble or get stabbed and be bed-ridden for the rest of my life, would you be there to ease my suffering?"
"Of course, darling."
Sofia leans to kiss him, deeply, and Ezio's fingers press into her supple skin before sliding up her back. They canoodle for a moment, until Ezio bowls her over to pin her under him, and she just laughs and wraps her arms around his neck.
And still, they had many scars to go.