Fic: Masquerade
Title: Masquerade
Fandom: Assassin's Creed 2
Pairing: Ezio/Leonardo
Rating: R
Spoilers: General for the game
Word Count: 2300
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "If you shut your mouth for a change and let him do what he does, you might learn something." Rosa smacks him sharply on the cheek.
AN: Written for zeitheist I managed to finish it before the end of the year. Now I just have to finish the game.
Ezio is confused from the moment Rosa tugs him into the wide, open space of a building that smells like paint and sawdust and sharp, sweet wine. To be honest, he was confused before, but this is the moment it becomes really noticeable.
"I'm not sure whether you will want to thank me or murder me." Rosa shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. "Hopefully the former. But you can be stupid, and difficult, so who knows."
"That is very unkind," Ezio says, and folds his arms. "Rosa, what are we doing here?"
Rosa unfolds his arms again and starts unbuckling and unlacing his tunic before unwrapping it from around him.
"Are we better friends than I thought?" Ezio says carefully, because he does not object at all if that is the case. Rosa is fierce and beautiful, even if she has always seemed unwilling to set down her sharpness and her steel long enough to be won. If only for a little while.
"Don't flatter yourself." Rosa jerks his shirt out of his trousers, with little care for the material, and strips it over his head.
"Ow, what are you doing? It's cold."
"Don't be a baby." She turns around and rummages through a box against the wall. "Take off your boots."
"Why my boots?"
"Models do not wear boots, now do it."
Ezio glares, then sighs and reluctantly slips off his boots and hose.
"If you shut your mouth for a change and let him do what he does, you might learn something." Rosa smacks him sharply on the cheek, then fixes a mask over his head. He recognises the long curving beak and the hard white material it's made of. "Aie, I have to do everything in this city. You, you are impossible."
Rosa pulls him with an arm, and Ezio is too bewildered to stop her. Because surely she has some sort of plan, something he is supposed to be doing. Someone he is supposed to kill, maybe?
"And don't kill anyone, idiota." She shakes her head at him like there is no hope for him at all.
"Rosa?"
"Quiet." She tugs him in the direction of the door at the back, pushes him through it, into -
- a wide open space, brightly lit, set with easels and wooden crates. There's a man with his back to him, white shirt loosely untucked. He's cleaning brushes with the swift, careful skill of a master. Ezio recognises him immediately, determination and focus mixed with an endless, boundless amount of energy and enthusiasm. He very nearly calls his name. Before he remembers that he's been told to be silent, for some reason - for some reason he has been told not to speak.
Leonardo turns round and spots him, and his face goes from surprise to curiosity, to focus, a waterfall of expressions. He comes close enough to catch at Ezio's shoulders.
"A doctor, perfect, an inspired choice."
Ezio lets himself be led to the middle of the room, carefully tilted this way and that.
"Carolina sent you, yes?"
Ezio finds himself nodding for no reason at all.
"Excellent, she is always so good, so very good at finding exactly what I'm looking for."
Leonardo nods and pushes at his waist, settles him back on the stool in the middle of the room. Then he leans back, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin and muttering quietly under his breath. He appraises every line of muscle, every curve and shallow and dip. His fingers find every soft, vulnerable place Ezio has, and Ezio holds his breath because it is the way one would touch a lover. More than that, it is the way one would touch something expensive and rare, something that they are afraid to break. Ezio feels like artwork, he feels immortal.
"You are beautiful," Leonardo says quietly. Then he nods, and draws his fingers away.
Ezio feels like he has been seduced without even realising it, seduced and then left in the chill of the room. He understands, in a moment of surprise and clarity, the why of Leonardo. He knows what he dreams about when he doesn't dream of riddles and wings. He thinks there are many things he has been mistaken about. Though, most confusingly, it's the thought of him in this bright room, touching other men like they are artwork, telling them they are beautiful, that Ezio doesn't like. He doesn't like it at all.
Leonardo is....
Leonardo is his.
Which is a strange revelation to have, in the chill of a barely finished studio, while he's missing all of his weapons and most of his clothes. Because Ezio is not so stupid that he doesn't realise what that means. He has always been very used to wanting and having. But this is not so clear at all. This is something very different. Yet he still wants. He still very much wants. Ezio is suddenly the one appraising Leonardo. The untidy sweep of him, with his half-untucked shirt and his careless artist's hair. All long, fine limbs and pale hair, flecked with paint, and a smile that never goes away for very long. Yes, Leonardo is very handsome. But Ezio has always known that. There's a difference between thinking someone is handsome and wanting to bed them.
Or perhaps - there is not?
Leonardo is so much more than that though, so very much more than handsome, which does him a disservice. Leonardo is genius, Leonardo is perhaps one of the best men he knows.
Ezio thinks those who accuse him of being slow may not be entirely in the wrong. Leonardo's frowning at his posture now - Ezio will admit, he has completely forgotten how he was supposed to be sitting, given the circumstances. But Leonardo is patient, he comes forward again, moves Ezio carefully. His fingers are warm and slightly tacky with paint.
"Turn just so, yes, yes, perfect. I think I could sculpt you some time, hmm? I think your lines demand it." Leonardo's warm hand catches his jaw under the mask, encourages it upwards and to the side. "Tilt your head a little more to -" Leonardo's fingers stop abruptly against the corner of his mouth. Ezio hears the sharp intake of breath, there's the faintest pressure against the scar that cuts through his upper and lower lip. That moment of almost-recognition that runs like shock across Leonardo's face. There's a quiet murmur of profanity, a little curl of air and disbelief. Ezio can feel the fingers sliding to one side, pressing gently, testing, against his mouth, as if drawn there.
It's a noise that sounds like a prayer.
A prayer that sounds a lot like his name.
Ezio catches his hand before he can pull it all the way away, drags it closer, all the way in until there are fine fingers leaving smears of white and blue paint across his chest, cold on the skin. Leonardo gives, hand loose like Ezio has dragged all the fight out of him.
"Ezio," he says softly, and it's almost inaudible under the footsteps and conversations from outside. "I know it cannot be you."
Ezio touches the pale skin of Leonardo's forearm, where the sleeves are pushed up, spots of paint still managing to hurry their way across the material - and his skin. He lets his fingers slide and grip, the most of his friend he's ever touched. For all the times they have been together.
But Leonardo is frowning, wrestling with something while Ezio was quietly fascinated by this new need to touch.
"I think it would be dishonest," Leonardo says quietly. "And not fair to you at all."
Ezio very slowly shakes his head.
Leonardo sighs, and it shakes just a little, and there's desire there, desire for him. Which leaves its own murmur of answering heat in Ezio himself. He is brave enough, reckless enough, to let it smoulder. Ezio thinks he would like to know what Leonardo's kisses are like. If they are as warm and excitable as he is, or if they are slow and clever. He wants to know if Leonardo is shy, or whether he knows his way around this other, stranger dance. Ezio feels brave enough to reach out and touch Leonardo's shirt, crumpling the material between his fingers. It's enough that Leonardo swears under his breath and tugs him off the stool, presses him back until Ezio feels the thump of wood against his shoulders.
Leonardo's mouth is a shock of warmth against the long line of his throat, and Ezio's hands end up under Leonardo's shirt. His waist is slim but strong and Ezio is strangely surprised to have it in his hands. Not just surprised, it warms Ezio all the way through in a way that he is very, very familiar with. More so when he slides his hands up, thumbs running over the gentle curves of Leonardo's ribs. The weight of him leaning Ezio into the wall, he's not so slight, all angles and strength and warmth and he smells familiar enough that pulling him closer has almost become instinct.
Leonardo murmurs something against his throat and then digs his teeth in - Ezio's head slams back into the wall, a curse strangled somewhere in his throat. It's too easy to drag Leonard's shirt up at the back, to find the long, smooth plane of Leonardo's back and it's soft and lightly muscled and so easy to press his fingers into, like he could leave marks on the skin. While Leonardo leaves tiny smears and prints of white and blue and occasionally yellow. They leave a trail across his chest and the laces of his trousers and the low plane of his abdomen. He had not expected Leonardo to be so greedy. Or that his intention would be to immediately try and leave him completely undone. There are strong, warm hands under the loosened waist of his trousers, almost unlaced completely apart. Ezio has never been very good at thinking under these circumstances.
"Leonardo," Ezio says desperately and Leonardo goes completely taut, then tries to stumble out of his grip. Ezio's voice, Ezio's voice curled round his name is an unexpected stab of reality. Ezio realises what he' done immediately. "No." He catches Leonardo before he can pull away.
Leonardo blinks, then slowly lifts a hand, Ezio can see him taking a breath, steeling himself. He's honestly not sure whether Leonardo will be happier to discover that it's really him or not. The mask slides free and Ezio's hair falls all over his face. The room is brighter than he'd realised. Leonardo goes completely still, then shakes his head like he can't speak at all.
"Carolina?" he eventually says breathlessly.
"Did not send me," Ezio says quietly, honestly. "I don't know - Rosa told me -"
Leonardo mutters something which Ezio doesn't catch.
"You would have let me -" Leonardo gestures and the meaning is obvious. His expression doesn't seem to be able to decide whether to be guilty or confused.
"No," Ezio says, then makes a noise in his throat when he realises that's not exactly true. "Maybe, alright yes, probably. I didn't realise you would be so...enthusiastic."
Leonardo looks away, and there's a flush of red making its way up his throat. Ezio reaches out and is surprised when Leonardo lets him grasp his waist and slowly pull him in again.
"I didn't know that you wanted me. It was very - it was very confusing to learn that you did."
"Is it really so surprising?" Leonardo says roughly, a hand seems to be doing its best to gesture at him without touching him. Ezio catches it in mid-air and then has no idea what to do with it. But Leonardo stares at their joined hands and blinks like he can't find any words for that.
"I can be slow, sometimes I miss these things," Ezio admits. "I missed the fact that you were, perhaps, not the only one who wanted something unexpectedly."
Leonardo smiles at him, cautiously. In a way that seems to say 'you're an idiot but I love you anyway.' Ezio is very fond of that smile. He thinks he could watch it for a long time.
"We cannot all be as clever as you," Ezio mock complains. "Some of us, it takes time, we stumble around in the dark, walking into things."
"I am very clever," Leonardo agrees.
"You built a flying machine," Ezio says, because he's not sure anyone else could have done that. Could have believed in themselves enough to do that.
"You broke my flying machine," Leonardo reminds him.
"I was sad that it broke. It was beautiful," Ezio says with a smile.
"You are beautiful," Leonardo protests, before realising that perhaps he shouldn't have said that.
Ezio can't resist finding his way under Leonardo's shirt again. Leonardo's eyes fall briefly shut, then open again.
"Ezio, my friend, I would very much like to know what you want right now?" It's said cautiously, like Leonardo is unsure where any of this is going, where their friendship is going.
"What do you want?" Ezio says. Because he thinks that is the most important thing right now.
Leonardo fixes him with a look that Ezio has never seen on his face before. "I want to take you to bed."
If Ezio had not already come to the conclusion that he might be Leonardo's, that expression would have made him certain.
He pulls him in, until he has Leonardo's mouth under his own, and it's warm and clever, excitable and strong. It's everything Ezio thought it might be - and just a little bit prickly and strange, because Ezio is not used to kissing someone with a beard. He's murmuring quiet little words every time they part, Leonardo's fingers curling and relaxing in his hair like Ezio's not the only one practising restraint.
When they break apart Ezio's mouth is numb and he's sure he's never been so desperate to be touched in his life.
"You should get dressed," Leonardo says quietly, thickly. Which is usually the opposite of what people say now, and it's very confusing. Until Ezio remembers that they are in an art studio.
"I think Rosa stole my boots," Ezio says because that's the only thing he can manage.
Leonardo laughs.
"You will not need your boots," he reassures him.
Fandom: Assassin's Creed 2
Pairing: Ezio/Leonardo
Rating: R
Spoilers: General for the game
Word Count: 2300
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "If you shut your mouth for a change and let him do what he does, you might learn something." Rosa smacks him sharply on the cheek.
AN: Written for zeitheist I managed to finish it before the end of the year. Now I just have to finish the game.
Ezio is confused from the moment Rosa tugs him into the wide, open space of a building that smells like paint and sawdust and sharp, sweet wine. To be honest, he was confused before, but this is the moment it becomes really noticeable.
"I'm not sure whether you will want to thank me or murder me." Rosa shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. "Hopefully the former. But you can be stupid, and difficult, so who knows."
"That is very unkind," Ezio says, and folds his arms. "Rosa, what are we doing here?"
Rosa unfolds his arms again and starts unbuckling and unlacing his tunic before unwrapping it from around him.
"Are we better friends than I thought?" Ezio says carefully, because he does not object at all if that is the case. Rosa is fierce and beautiful, even if she has always seemed unwilling to set down her sharpness and her steel long enough to be won. If only for a little while.
"Don't flatter yourself." Rosa jerks his shirt out of his trousers, with little care for the material, and strips it over his head.
"Ow, what are you doing? It's cold."
"Don't be a baby." She turns around and rummages through a box against the wall. "Take off your boots."
"Why my boots?"
"Models do not wear boots, now do it."
Ezio glares, then sighs and reluctantly slips off his boots and hose.
"If you shut your mouth for a change and let him do what he does, you might learn something." Rosa smacks him sharply on the cheek, then fixes a mask over his head. He recognises the long curving beak and the hard white material it's made of. "Aie, I have to do everything in this city. You, you are impossible."
Rosa pulls him with an arm, and Ezio is too bewildered to stop her. Because surely she has some sort of plan, something he is supposed to be doing. Someone he is supposed to kill, maybe?
"And don't kill anyone, idiota." She shakes her head at him like there is no hope for him at all.
"Rosa?"
"Quiet." She tugs him in the direction of the door at the back, pushes him through it, into -
- a wide open space, brightly lit, set with easels and wooden crates. There's a man with his back to him, white shirt loosely untucked. He's cleaning brushes with the swift, careful skill of a master. Ezio recognises him immediately, determination and focus mixed with an endless, boundless amount of energy and enthusiasm. He very nearly calls his name. Before he remembers that he's been told to be silent, for some reason - for some reason he has been told not to speak.
Leonardo turns round and spots him, and his face goes from surprise to curiosity, to focus, a waterfall of expressions. He comes close enough to catch at Ezio's shoulders.
"A doctor, perfect, an inspired choice."
Ezio lets himself be led to the middle of the room, carefully tilted this way and that.
"Carolina sent you, yes?"
Ezio finds himself nodding for no reason at all.
"Excellent, she is always so good, so very good at finding exactly what I'm looking for."
Leonardo nods and pushes at his waist, settles him back on the stool in the middle of the room. Then he leans back, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin and muttering quietly under his breath. He appraises every line of muscle, every curve and shallow and dip. His fingers find every soft, vulnerable place Ezio has, and Ezio holds his breath because it is the way one would touch a lover. More than that, it is the way one would touch something expensive and rare, something that they are afraid to break. Ezio feels like artwork, he feels immortal.
"You are beautiful," Leonardo says quietly. Then he nods, and draws his fingers away.
Ezio feels like he has been seduced without even realising it, seduced and then left in the chill of the room. He understands, in a moment of surprise and clarity, the why of Leonardo. He knows what he dreams about when he doesn't dream of riddles and wings. He thinks there are many things he has been mistaken about. Though, most confusingly, it's the thought of him in this bright room, touching other men like they are artwork, telling them they are beautiful, that Ezio doesn't like. He doesn't like it at all.
Leonardo is....
Leonardo is his.
Which is a strange revelation to have, in the chill of a barely finished studio, while he's missing all of his weapons and most of his clothes. Because Ezio is not so stupid that he doesn't realise what that means. He has always been very used to wanting and having. But this is not so clear at all. This is something very different. Yet he still wants. He still very much wants. Ezio is suddenly the one appraising Leonardo. The untidy sweep of him, with his half-untucked shirt and his careless artist's hair. All long, fine limbs and pale hair, flecked with paint, and a smile that never goes away for very long. Yes, Leonardo is very handsome. But Ezio has always known that. There's a difference between thinking someone is handsome and wanting to bed them.
Or perhaps - there is not?
Leonardo is so much more than that though, so very much more than handsome, which does him a disservice. Leonardo is genius, Leonardo is perhaps one of the best men he knows.
Ezio thinks those who accuse him of being slow may not be entirely in the wrong. Leonardo's frowning at his posture now - Ezio will admit, he has completely forgotten how he was supposed to be sitting, given the circumstances. But Leonardo is patient, he comes forward again, moves Ezio carefully. His fingers are warm and slightly tacky with paint.
"Turn just so, yes, yes, perfect. I think I could sculpt you some time, hmm? I think your lines demand it." Leonardo's warm hand catches his jaw under the mask, encourages it upwards and to the side. "Tilt your head a little more to -" Leonardo's fingers stop abruptly against the corner of his mouth. Ezio hears the sharp intake of breath, there's the faintest pressure against the scar that cuts through his upper and lower lip. That moment of almost-recognition that runs like shock across Leonardo's face. There's a quiet murmur of profanity, a little curl of air and disbelief. Ezio can feel the fingers sliding to one side, pressing gently, testing, against his mouth, as if drawn there.
It's a noise that sounds like a prayer.
A prayer that sounds a lot like his name.
Ezio catches his hand before he can pull it all the way away, drags it closer, all the way in until there are fine fingers leaving smears of white and blue paint across his chest, cold on the skin. Leonardo gives, hand loose like Ezio has dragged all the fight out of him.
"Ezio," he says softly, and it's almost inaudible under the footsteps and conversations from outside. "I know it cannot be you."
Ezio touches the pale skin of Leonardo's forearm, where the sleeves are pushed up, spots of paint still managing to hurry their way across the material - and his skin. He lets his fingers slide and grip, the most of his friend he's ever touched. For all the times they have been together.
But Leonardo is frowning, wrestling with something while Ezio was quietly fascinated by this new need to touch.
"I think it would be dishonest," Leonardo says quietly. "And not fair to you at all."
Ezio very slowly shakes his head.
Leonardo sighs, and it shakes just a little, and there's desire there, desire for him. Which leaves its own murmur of answering heat in Ezio himself. He is brave enough, reckless enough, to let it smoulder. Ezio thinks he would like to know what Leonardo's kisses are like. If they are as warm and excitable as he is, or if they are slow and clever. He wants to know if Leonardo is shy, or whether he knows his way around this other, stranger dance. Ezio feels brave enough to reach out and touch Leonardo's shirt, crumpling the material between his fingers. It's enough that Leonardo swears under his breath and tugs him off the stool, presses him back until Ezio feels the thump of wood against his shoulders.
Leonardo's mouth is a shock of warmth against the long line of his throat, and Ezio's hands end up under Leonardo's shirt. His waist is slim but strong and Ezio is strangely surprised to have it in his hands. Not just surprised, it warms Ezio all the way through in a way that he is very, very familiar with. More so when he slides his hands up, thumbs running over the gentle curves of Leonardo's ribs. The weight of him leaning Ezio into the wall, he's not so slight, all angles and strength and warmth and he smells familiar enough that pulling him closer has almost become instinct.
Leonardo murmurs something against his throat and then digs his teeth in - Ezio's head slams back into the wall, a curse strangled somewhere in his throat. It's too easy to drag Leonard's shirt up at the back, to find the long, smooth plane of Leonardo's back and it's soft and lightly muscled and so easy to press his fingers into, like he could leave marks on the skin. While Leonardo leaves tiny smears and prints of white and blue and occasionally yellow. They leave a trail across his chest and the laces of his trousers and the low plane of his abdomen. He had not expected Leonardo to be so greedy. Or that his intention would be to immediately try and leave him completely undone. There are strong, warm hands under the loosened waist of his trousers, almost unlaced completely apart. Ezio has never been very good at thinking under these circumstances.
"Leonardo," Ezio says desperately and Leonardo goes completely taut, then tries to stumble out of his grip. Ezio's voice, Ezio's voice curled round his name is an unexpected stab of reality. Ezio realises what he' done immediately. "No." He catches Leonardo before he can pull away.
Leonardo blinks, then slowly lifts a hand, Ezio can see him taking a breath, steeling himself. He's honestly not sure whether Leonardo will be happier to discover that it's really him or not. The mask slides free and Ezio's hair falls all over his face. The room is brighter than he'd realised. Leonardo goes completely still, then shakes his head like he can't speak at all.
"Carolina?" he eventually says breathlessly.
"Did not send me," Ezio says quietly, honestly. "I don't know - Rosa told me -"
Leonardo mutters something which Ezio doesn't catch.
"You would have let me -" Leonardo gestures and the meaning is obvious. His expression doesn't seem to be able to decide whether to be guilty or confused.
"No," Ezio says, then makes a noise in his throat when he realises that's not exactly true. "Maybe, alright yes, probably. I didn't realise you would be so...enthusiastic."
Leonardo looks away, and there's a flush of red making its way up his throat. Ezio reaches out and is surprised when Leonardo lets him grasp his waist and slowly pull him in again.
"I didn't know that you wanted me. It was very - it was very confusing to learn that you did."
"Is it really so surprising?" Leonardo says roughly, a hand seems to be doing its best to gesture at him without touching him. Ezio catches it in mid-air and then has no idea what to do with it. But Leonardo stares at their joined hands and blinks like he can't find any words for that.
"I can be slow, sometimes I miss these things," Ezio admits. "I missed the fact that you were, perhaps, not the only one who wanted something unexpectedly."
Leonardo smiles at him, cautiously. In a way that seems to say 'you're an idiot but I love you anyway.' Ezio is very fond of that smile. He thinks he could watch it for a long time.
"We cannot all be as clever as you," Ezio mock complains. "Some of us, it takes time, we stumble around in the dark, walking into things."
"I am very clever," Leonardo agrees.
"You built a flying machine," Ezio says, because he's not sure anyone else could have done that. Could have believed in themselves enough to do that.
"You broke my flying machine," Leonardo reminds him.
"I was sad that it broke. It was beautiful," Ezio says with a smile.
"You are beautiful," Leonardo protests, before realising that perhaps he shouldn't have said that.
Ezio can't resist finding his way under Leonardo's shirt again. Leonardo's eyes fall briefly shut, then open again.
"Ezio, my friend, I would very much like to know what you want right now?" It's said cautiously, like Leonardo is unsure where any of this is going, where their friendship is going.
"What do you want?" Ezio says. Because he thinks that is the most important thing right now.
Leonardo fixes him with a look that Ezio has never seen on his face before. "I want to take you to bed."
If Ezio had not already come to the conclusion that he might be Leonardo's, that expression would have made him certain.
He pulls him in, until he has Leonardo's mouth under his own, and it's warm and clever, excitable and strong. It's everything Ezio thought it might be - and just a little bit prickly and strange, because Ezio is not used to kissing someone with a beard. He's murmuring quiet little words every time they part, Leonardo's fingers curling and relaxing in his hair like Ezio's not the only one practising restraint.
When they break apart Ezio's mouth is numb and he's sure he's never been so desperate to be touched in his life.
"You should get dressed," Leonardo says quietly, thickly. Which is usually the opposite of what people say now, and it's very confusing. Until Ezio remembers that they are in an art studio.
"I think Rosa stole my boots," Ezio says because that's the only thing he can manage.
Leonardo laughs.
"You will not need your boots," he reassures him.