New plotbunny = Ezio getting semed. I know, I know - he is the stereotypical Italian playboy but he's he's... too cute! *noms* Do not worry, I did not turn him into a man perfectly fine with the possibility of getting it on with another one. I just like to mess with his head. So does Cesare, obviously.

Title: Messing with the Assassin ... and getting away with it.

Charas: Ezio and Cesare, though not as a real pairing. Well, you can see them as one if you want.

Summary: Should Ezio get caught and jailed by the Borgias... what would happen?

Warnings: Unrequited kissing and groping (i.e. Ezio does NOT want but Cesare's having his way). Potential OOCness - Cesare messing with Ezio's head... And risks for the writer to go on that track again... Never mind the age gap... it's all the fanartists fault!

Cold – stones against his back – damp. Metal digging into his wrists – encaged. Stare at the gaoler, eyes bright with rage. Cursing, never begging – assassins never begged even when they were about to die. A wicked smile sprawled on youthful features – too young or too old, beyond recognition. Light too scarce to see – vision changing, shades of dark blue – a red aura. A stabbing feeling at the back of his head – will not end like this. Shadow moving forward – hot breath against his face – heart pounding though unwanted. "I can free you." Spite rising – never trust a templar unless he is breathing his last.

"You won't do such thing."

"Would you want me to?"

No – yes? - no! It was not something he could allow – not with the conditions it would entail. He was facing but a kid – a kid holding a tremendous amount of power for someone so young. And he knew he was not able to retaliate, chained as he was. A sinking feeling welled in his stomach – surprised – lips brushing against his ear. Like a confession, rustle of clothes heard before cold hands on his skin. Shame washing over him – teeth clenched – unrelenting. He could hear his smile in the silence of the room. He could not see a thing and though he knew he was not blindfolded, the solid darkness seemed to engulf him. No escape for now. A brush on his lips – soft touch, hesitant. More insistent – his mind screaming for him to react – do anything but do something! He was dumbstruck – could not move an eyelash had he tried to. Tongue snaking, touching the scar – shuddering breath – reaction unwilled still existing. It was like facing the devil – knowing what was right to do but unable to. Strings tugging at his heart, pulling him back – his spine trying to make him melt into the wall. Forceful – violence to which he was unused – hand forcing his clenched jaws. Relenting – breath hastily taken before the onslaught – diving into murky waters. Invading mouth – tongue exploring – try to conquer. Head snapped backward against the wall – pain sparkling in his skull. Warmth – against the damp coldness of the place – hands trailing – touching. Did not belong – it was too late. Too late to care and too late fight of. With the same weapons, warding off subjection. Hunger rippling under his skin – mind still screamed – senseless. Brutal kiss never begging for gentleness – something they would not need – to intimate to contemplate. A close range combat – not an exchange. Heat passing on, searing – numb the pain and rage. Teeth clashing – bites – grazing his skin – shallow breaths expelled. Hands twitching – to kill – away – closer. Indecise – rare occasion. Scary thoughts sent his mind reeling. The son of the man he would have to destroy. An enemy he had to dispose of. Small victory – moan extracted from that young throat – smug grin hidden. Jerk backward – loss of warmth – the fleeting feeling of trembling hands. Fear dripped in the air – poisoning. A sudden worry – waiting for the blow. Sound of metal – hands numb and unbound, falling to his side. Wrists chaffed still sore. The hurting brightness of a torch from a guard handed in to the one still towering him. Swiftly spoken words – guards discarded. Dark eyes boring into him – nothing could be seen – they but reflected his own stare. Rage swelled up anew. A cornered animal ready to strike.

"The guards would be late for the turn tonight. Your weapons are in the guardroom at the end of the corridor. You will have only a few moments, so be swift. I will not move if you get caught again."

"Why? You will get into troubles bigger than you if I go."

"Not really." A shrug. Turning to go, black hair briefly catching the light. Shadowing an handsome face – altering it into appearing older.

He could but stare, his body still too sore to move – even if he could, he would not be strong enough to do anything.

"I gain nothing with you being chained up in here. But I would expect compensation for it."

"I did not ask – I owe you nothing." Words spat to the ground, curses at such arrogance.

"We'll see, assassino..."

And with that he was gone, door clanking shut, though without the tell-tale sound of the key turning in the lock. He was inches from freedom – and if Cesare Borgia thought he would not escape, then he would be sorely disappointed.

After all, he knew for a fact that jail was not an environment in which an Auditore could properly thrive...

Thank you for reading. I would be more than happy to hear from you if you have any comments - if you don't, that's just fine. (Because I'm an evil author who will STILL write even if she doesn't get reviews.)