Warning - the following contains scenes of a sexual nature, for mature audiences only. Homosexual relations graphically described: don't read if you don't like; do read if you do like.

All characters are owned by Ubisoft - we just play in their paddling pool.

It was hot in Florence. So hot one could not wear clothes; Ezio too had decided not to wear clothes – he was, indeed, very naked. But still too hot – his chiselled form moist and glistening with sweat. Ezio sighed, stroking his form luxuriously before the mirror. He glanced uninterestedly around the small room in which he inhabited in his parents' house. Florence was always too hot in the summer; the streets, the tall buildings, the lack of sea breeze… how he longed for a sea breeze…

Ezio's ponderings were interrupted by a sharp knock on his bedroom door. Startled, he assembled breeches and a loose cotton shirt and pulled them over his taught, youthful frame. Upon answering the door he found himself staring into the kind face and eyes of his mother, asking him to join her on a walk to collect paintings commissioned, but much delayed, by the family. In his mind, Ezio sighed again. A trip out into the hot heat to meet with an artist currently enjoying his mother's favour did not meet with his preferential ideas for enjoying this hot Florentine day.

Reluctantly Ezio conceded to his mother's wishes and accompanied her out. It was a busy day in Florence: merchants strolled absent-mindedly around with boxes; beggars and musicians moved carelessly, while courtesans flaunted themselves on corners. Today was one of Ezio's impatient days – his mother walked ever so slowly, five of her tiny steps just matching one of his very long strides. He waited at ever corner for her to reach him. And the next. And then the next. And then the next, until he reached the artist's workshop. Ezio waited at the rather ornately carved door before knocking…

Ezio knocked, and knocked again, and still no reply. When his mother finally joined him on the doorstep he reported to the apparent fact that the artist was not at home. His mother appeared displeased.

'We have waited long enough for these paintings. The man is talented, but he delays, procrastinates… he takes too long'.

Ezio knocked again. Still no response came from the large wooden door protecting the artist's studio from the outside world. Ezio took a step back out into the street and stared up towards the windows on the second floor. He thought of the climbing he had done, the competitions he had won, with his brother. He could easily scale the walls to those windows to find out if the artist was at home or not. Deciding against this option given his mother's presence he made to move back to the door, but as he did so, he heard a noise, clearly echoing from one of the windows he had just been considering. He heard a definite moan, a long, drawn out, breathy human voice moaning into the afternoon air. He paused. Another followed. A different frequency? A different voice? He stalked back to the door.

"He must not be at home, we shall return in the evening," his mother said, disappointment in her voice. She began to walk away.

Ezio stalled by the door, feeling annoyed that his mother should be so put out on such a hot day.

"I will wait a little while longer. He may return home. I shan't wait long. I will follow you"

His mother acknowledged him, and left, walking slowly back down the alleyway and steps leading to their home. Ezio waited until she was out of sight. Then, when sure she was gone – no need for her to discover her son's new-found climbing skills – Ezio returned to the spot he had inhabited minutes before, listening for noise. Again he heard a moan. Glancing briefly around him, he reached up his arms, grasped for the closest window ledge, and pulled his strong, athletic frame upwards, reaching for the next hand-hold as he did so. Within moments he was at a window, the moans and noises becoming ever louder on his ascent. Pulling himself up one final time, Ezio peered over the window ledge and allowed his gaze to fall into the room into which the window led. There he saw a figure, bent over another, over a bed. The figure bending over, the older of the two men present, leaned closer to the other man's face, his lips moving across the other's face without care, while the other man below gyrated his hips against the older man. Finally, the older man's lips found the younger man's – they seemed to meet and battle with one another, each fighting for dominance over the other, their teeth clashing in such a harsh way that Ezio could hear it from his position from the window. Their bodies suddenly crashed together, writhing together with want, both men letting out agonising moans. Ezio thought of some of his experience with women; the way he wantonly laid them down, his heavy body against their silken frame – the process he watched seemed the same. The lust was there, the need for human contact. The two men seemed to melt into one another then the older man flipped the other over, his fingers disappearing down his back to somewhere slightly out of Ezio's view – the younger man let out a long, heavy and agonising groan.

Ezio, sun beating on his back, watched and stared. Of course he knew of such men, but never before had he witnessed such physical interactions, such love… He looked again. The younger of the two squirmed teasingly away, finding the older man's lips. The older man, the stronger and the better, was now reaching across a slender, but well defined torso. Ezio watched, his fingers losing a little grip as he concentrated on the action occurring before him. Without seeing where the hand of the older man went, he heard the cry from the younger man. He watched the eyes of the younger close, his fingers clasp around the longer hair of the older man and the white sheets on the bed behind him. Ezio's fingers lost a little more grip without his notice. Then he watched a pumping arm, fingers lost to his gaze, increase pace in time with the increased groaning of the man now spread across the bed. He looked no longer at the younger man, but now at the older. He stared at the body, strong and muscled, toned and slender, expertly working through the act into which it was now committed. He found his breath escaping him, but he did not know why. The act was so passionate, but the skill; the skill of the older man, pounding fingers and hands up and below the younger man, the stroking and the stares. Ezio was lost. The older man was breathing heavily now; laboured almost to the point of not breathing. He watched as the sweat poured from his neck and back, he watched the older man arch backwards into the bed, lifting the other man with an arm of whose fingers remained invisible. The younger man arched against the bed, rising as if to meet a descending God. Ezio heard the shrieks, the screams, the panting and the missed breaths. He watched the sweat streaming across the naked bodies, and he realised just a moment too late that his fingers had released their final and weakly remaining grasp on the window ledge.

Ezio saw screaming blue sky with not a whisper of cloud. He saw the sun. He felt his back smash against something solid, his head beaten against the same substance. He looked to the sky, unaware of the gurgling moans he now let out. Rolling to his side, he stared at the passers-by on the street, and he thought… thoughts that would stay with him for hours if not days, and days if not weeks.

He was dizzy. He clawed out, praying for anything to grip against, anything that could hold his weight, support him. Instead, he found himself clutching at air, at nothing, and forcing himself to his feet. But his legs felt weak, like liquid beneath him that could move and bend at a small breeze. A few minutes passed before Ezio could truly move with his normal grace, and with a fully functioning mind. For a while he seemed like a zombie, moving between the street vendors and urchins, moving habitually through the streets of Florence, his head still filled with the images of the two men, one thrusting, his mind on those images. His mind lost to those images.

Finally Ezio found his way home, back through the courtyard, up the stairs to his bedroom. There he stripped back down to his chiselled physique and crawled between the sheets, running his hands down from his neck, through his torso and further, to the strong stomach muscles and lower again. Ezio fell asleep that night, dreaming, thinking and breathing what he had witnessed… dreaming until finally sleep took him and he lay under the covers with one hand grasping his pillow and the other caressing his strong abs.

Awoken again by sharp poundings on the door, Ezio arose and dressed carelessly before answering the door. There again his mother stood, same kind face and eyes, asking him once again to go to the artist's door. Ezio dressed quickly without thinking much of the task in hand and left with his mother, walking through the streets, passing through crowds without recognition. He found himself at the artist's door.

He heard his mother knock, while his eyes remained fixed on the window to which he had climbed the previous night and stared, a voyeur studying things he could never before have hoped to see. Ezio waited with baited breath.

The door was answered. A man, younger than Ezio could have imagined given his experience of the night before, but older than him. Long, fair brown hair hanging to his chin and small stubble, two nights too long, adorning his cheeks. The man stared out into the street as though he had long since seen daylight.

"Ah, you are here for the paintings; come inside and look at your art"

Ezio and his mother moved into the small, dingy workshop, the darkness of the place competing with their eyes' gaze, blinded by the morning sun, for dominance. Ezio looked to his mother who was staring at the paintings; he himself looked to the artist. He recognised the man as the one he had judged older in the previous nights' escapades. He looked at him now under his tunic, jacket and breeches, and imagined the toned figure he had seen, fantasised, panted and fallen over the night before. The artist did not speak, merely watched his female patron as she examined the works. With a breath of relief he exhaled as she listed a stream of gushing compliments for the work over which she now poured over. With tired, yet still exhausted eyes the artist looked at Ezio. A flash fluttered between them - a passion, astrength, a truth – and then was gone.

"I am unfamiliar with you. Do you share your mother's taste in art?" the artist asked Ezio eagerly.

Ezio found himself unable to answer, too consumed with the images of the previous night to verbalise his thoughts.

"I have never taken any notice of my mother's taste in art… I do value artists and their work, however… I feel as though I would like to come to know your talent better."

The artist blushed, gazing at the strong and proud figure of such a young, yet self-assured man standing in his workshop. The artist thought back to the previous night and sighed… how long had it been since he had been able to feel the warmth of a strong and athletic body, one capable of showing him the love and the passion which he was capable of showing others. The artist, Leonardo, fell silent, looking at the young man in his workshop who was for some unknown reason staring around the room as if piecing together pieces of a puzzle of which only he knew.

Leonardo felt troubled, felt abandoned and open, but this young man with all his confidence mixed with insecurities, was more than a mere interest to him. He stared hard, and tried to comprehend the curiosity in his eyes.

"Ezio, I must go tell your father that the paintings are done – he will be so pleased! Would you bring the paintings with you when you are ready," Maria Auditore gleefully said, as she reached the wooden door. She left quickly, Ezio and Leonardo barely began to utter 'Good-bye' before the door fell shut again plunging them into semi-darkness and silence.

The silence stagnated in the air, thick – almost suffocating. Ezio found himself posturing, trying to maintain composure, and hoping that his shaking hands would not betray his display of confidence. Meanwhile, Leonardo kept his position, his eyes still fixed on his new visitor. The silence was tangible to him, and he felt an awkwardness creep through the room, although he was not sure of its cause. Tearing his gaze away, he passed to a table in the corner of the room and procured two small glasses and a bottle of cheap white wine. He poured the liquid into the vessels and returned to his guest.

"I don't believe it's ever too early for a small glass of refreshment. I hope you don't mind, it's not the best grape variety, but it does the same job."

Ezio continued to stare around the room, but he finally, after long moments, reached out and brought the glass to his lips. He pulled a face as the harshness of the wine made contact with his tongue. Leonardo winced slightly, but was appeased when a smile broke out on the younger man's face.

"I have certainly tasted better," Ezio smiled, "But also have I tasted worse".

"Sit" Leonardo implored, motioning to two chairs, pushed close together near the fireplace.

The young man took his seat. For a reason Leonardo didn't dare vocalise let alone think, he wanted to sit as close to the young man as the chairs would currently allow; instead though, he moved his a little left so the two were facing the fireplace, positioned at a slight diagonal angle. The young man brought the glass once again to his lips. This time he made no face, but taking the glass in his right hand, spread his legs slightly and leaned forward, hunching his elbows onto his knees and looking into the empty hearth.

"I feel I should have asked sooner," Leonardo asked. "What is your name?"

"Ezio Auditore Da Firenze."

Leonardo laughed loudly at the young man. "I had already guessed at your surname, Ezio. Unless, you were not Maria's son, but, rather, her pretty, young lover?"

The artist's words stirred indignation in Ezio; he made from his seat, but Leonardo reached out a hand to the naked flesh of Ezio's forearm, his long artistic fingers latching tightly around the young man.

"Ezio, please, it was but in jest!" Leonardo exclaimed, feeling the surging pulse of the other. Ezio's dark eyes met with the artist's kind blue eyes, and, for the briefest of moments, both could feel a surge of heat. Ezio's seemed to tremble at Leonardo touch; without guilt or question Leonardo's hand lingered, though his grip eased gradually, until it barely held the strong arm. He could feel the muscles that operated below the olive skin and wondered over them – the man who stood before Leonardo, still half angered but still too intrigued to move away, was, indeed, powerful though young, and his beauty astounded the artist. "Sit again, Ezio."

"No, I must take these paintings to my mother and I have dallied too long. Would you please help me? These are too many for me to carry on my own."

Leonardo nodded, and, without a word, heaved up the first painting, as Ezio did the same.

Out into the tight and winding streets of Florence, the air still hanging hot and heavy from the buildings towering above, the two men walked, each carrying their share of paintings to the Auditore home. They spoke not a word on the walk, and brief though the journey was it felt like an eternity had passed before they reached the gates to the courtyard. Ezio led Leonardo inside, in through the front door and into the drawing room where he set down his share of the load while glancing to a small stairway in the corner of the room which led to his bedroom. He thought of the turmoil which had plagued his mind the night before, and the companion who now stood beside him, in unfamiliar surroundings, tense and silent.

"Let's set them down here," Ezio said softly, "She will no doubt wish to show them off when she returns home… They are very good…"

The artist blushed and laid his load beside Ezio's.

"You have a beautiful home," Leonardo said admiringly. "It must be such a pleasure to live here, speaking from one who has come from humble country-side beginnings"

"It is nice," Ezio agreed, "Although I wonder then that I perhaps do not appreciate it as much as I should… Would you like a brief tour? I am sure I can find some wine to meet with your non-too-exacting standards!"

Ezio smiled broadly once again and Leonardo laughed. Such strength and confidence this man embodied.

"Ezio I apologise if my comment…"

"No, I apologise, I behaved badly. Come, come let me show you the home of those to whom you now provide the most beautiful of works, and then let us share a glass the way I should have received it in your own beautiful home."

"Friend, let us do that!".

Ezio led the way through the home, walking into rooms and explaining their significance while the artist marvelled, yet for some reason he kept taking pathways through the house which were uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in that they did not present the easiest and most pleasing way through the house, but strangely comfortable in Ezio's confused mind, because they led the way directly to his small room, with his small collection of wine.

However, their slow meanderings soon took them to Ezio's bedroom. Pushing open the door, Ezio gestured his guest inside, a nervous feeling rising inside – his stomach seemed almost heavy, as Leonardo entered, immediately finding a position by the window. Closing the door firmly behind him, Ezio moved unconsciously to a small cabinet, retrieving two glasses and a bottle of half full wine, which he poured generously between the vessels, before presenting one to the artist. Leonardo took it gratefully, then, after admiring the view from the window a moment longer, moved to sit on the bed, while Ezio's mind, seeing the older man their, was flooded with visions of the act he had seen at the workshop's window but a night ago. Ezio debated going to keep his guest company on the bed, but, although his will would not allow, something in him wished to join him, just to be near the man that kept his curiosity so. Instead, he took a place by the window, peering out over Florence, the sun just going down, sipping his wine, the presence of the other man looming over him. Leonardo felt the silence closing upon him, and began to talk of the room: the furnishings, their origin and worth; the colour of the walls; the small, seemingly sentimental, souvenirs that were caringly displayed. However, Ezio's mind was swimming, his thoughts somewhere else.

Ezio stared out onto the skyline of Florence, but his eyes did not report the sights to his mind. Instead he thought back two nights, to that room in that workshop. He felt his hand bring his glass to his lips, and he swallowed deeply.

Turning, Ezio looked upon Leonardo sitting on his bed. He watched as the man removed his jacket and loose shirt, loosened his breeches and lay back. Arched back. Down onto the pillows. One hand stroked loosely across his torso, and the other played with the long, light brown hair which fell seductively across his face. Ezio whetted his lips. The man was strong, clearly, but slender. Ezio couldn't help but imagine the many nights the man must have spent producing art leaving his beautiful body neglected of nourishment. He whetted his lips again. Such a beautiful body lay before him, and he felt his heart stir, his stomach spasm and his palms grow clammy. He moved across the room and sat beside this beautiful man who now presented himself to him. He reached out his left hand and took over the task of controlling the artist's hair. His other hand moved the hand lingering upon Leonardo's torso onto his own, and Leonardo's fingers fumbled with straps and buttons until Ezio found himself in the same state of undress as his companion. Lifting his feet from the floor, Ezio lent fully over the artist, and always stroking the body he now found himself adoring, he passed his tongue over the artist's lips, and groaned as the action was repeated. Leonardo kissed hard, not desperately, but expertly, exploring Ezio's mouth, banishing mystery and replacing it with pure longing. Ezio moved his arms and placed his palms on either side of Leonardo's head, upon the pillow. He continued to kiss, and he felt, as he had seen, Leonardo move his hips up to meet with his. He felt the warmth of the man, and the passion. He felt the physicality and he craved it. Finding himself desperate, yet wanting to maintain his confidence and control. He found himself losing the battle; found himself wanting no longer to be the strong one. Looking into Leonardo's eyes he saw there a strength and he wished beyond wishing that he were not the one on top now looking down, but were lying weak and naked, staring into those deep and beautiful blue eyes. He kissed Leonardo's lips again…'

"Ezio?... Ezio?"

Ezio started. "Sorry, I was distracted. The skyline is so beautiful on nights such as these."

"Yes, yes it is, but not normally on such cloudy nights? It has grown dark Ezio, I wondered if we may light some candles? And my question? Did you not hear? How long have you inhabited this room? It seems so small for such a large, strong young man…"

Ezio felt his body flinch. His stomach pounding, he felt a bottomless pit appear within it, suddenly filling with nerves. He could barely bring himself to turn and look at the man. Those images, the look in Leonardo's eyes, his warm and strong touch upon him. Ezio turned to his glass and tipped its contents into his mouth, only to find no liquid left. He paused, and found himself smiling.

"More wine, and candles, yes. Yes, let us do that"

Ezio never did answer Leonardo's question, for once again he had barely registered it. Instead, he located another bottle and poured more liquid into their glasses. Lighting a few candles around the room, he moved to the bed, sat upon it and then lifted his legs under him. Pushing himself up, he moved across the bed so he sat diagonal to Leonardo, but further across the bed, up against the wall. In so doing he missed the tongue which caught the artist's lips and the small choke which Leonardo suffered as he attempted to swallow a rather large mouthful of the newly presented wine.

The night waned on, while the two moved from sips to gulps of wine. Their talk, although intelligent to begin with, moved into that deep, hazed speech only – usually – shared between two close friends. The candles, meanwhile, burned down, the wax spilling over in long, colourful tendrils, collecting on the wooden cabinet, creating a messy pool. Ezio's eyelids fell and for several times he believed he could not pull them apart and remain conscious, the need for sleep and the wine playing against him. Leonardo must have felt the same, and several times Ezio witnessed the older man's posture slipping, the arm that propped him up falling away. The two had to concede – sleep had to take hold, and, with dwindling bedtime speech, Leonardo found his head upon a pillow, so soft, that carried him off. For a while his speech continued incoherently, till replaced with long breaths, his eyes finally giving in, Leonardo Da Vinci had fallen into a deep sleep. Ezio, drunken though he was, and staring incomprehensibly though he was, looked upon the man now asleep in his bed. Courtesans, wealthy heiresses, women of all shapes and sizes, colours and creeds had been in this bed – unknown to his parents – beside him at night, and yet never had he had someone so beautiful and tender curled up so close and tight in his bed. Ezio, without even considering his usual judgements, lay himself slowly down beside the sleeping artist. As he did so he removed his shirt, for the warmth of the night, or the warmth of the wine, had taken its effect on him. Leonardo's face softened as his sleep deepened; the world wearied lines seemed to disintegrate away, and left simply a face so beautiful, so untroubled and so innocent. Keeping his own wants at bay, Ezio wrapped his muscled arms around his own chest, but wishing, all the time, that it was someone else holding him; someone pulling him close; someone moving his head and holding it against their chest. He shifted slightly in the bed, moving closer to the artist, close enough to feel the man's breath against his hot skin – Ezio tingled feeling it, cool and steady; rhythmic and succinct. Still fighting off the need to sleep, Ezio watched the rise and fall of the other man's chest. The idea of sleep seemed unhappy to him. Ezio wanted to stay awake, to keep watching, and even as the wine and the warmth and his own exhaustion overtook him, he felt the loss of those lingering moments he could have spent further staring at the artist's sleeping form.

Dawn came too quickly, and the sunlight streaming in from the window awakened Ezio from his deep and happy sleep. He rolled over in bed, retaking his left arm from the position it had assumed in the night, and in so doing he felt an incredible sense of loss. His head pounded, his mouth was dry and he longed for water, and yet he was reluctant to leave his bed. He looked to the right side of the bed, and there he saw a vision which he recalled falling asleep with, and once again in the morning light he thought it the most beautiful vision he had ever beheld. Leonardo da Vinci lay beside him. Clothed and beautiful, peaceful… Ezio propped himself up on his right elbow and stared at the man. Never before had he shared a bed with a man, and somewhere in his stomach his body begged him never to deny himself that pleasure again.

The artist stirred, a hand crawling from the pillow above his head and down his torso. The hand went further, until Ezio lost his mind on the vision before him. The artist stirred no further, no nearer to waking than he had been, and slowly Ezio dragged his frame from the bed and left the room in search of water and food.

The house seemed empty, but Ezio moved quickly to the kitchens and there furnished a plate with bread and cold meats. He brought warm water and lemon slices too, along with a jug of ice cold water. Then he returned to the little room which he had so recently left, and was dismayed to find Leonardo awake, dressed and composed, sitting on the edge of the bed, above the covers and staring at him.

Ezio swallowed hard, before giving a somewhat, forced smile. "You are awake." The sentence hung in the air, and, to Ezio, seemed somewhat foolish. "Would you like breakfast?"

Leonardo was unaccustomed to eating in the morning – he rarely ate until well into the afternoon, but on seeing Ezio's expectant smile, he felt obliged to, at the very least, try. He gave a harsh nod and Ezio placed the bread and meat indelicately in the bed, while he placed the separate containers of water on the nearby cabinet. "Wonderful," Leonardo said trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Please eat."

To Leonardo, it was more of a command, and he was compelled to obediently obey, shuffling his body closer to the plate and closely examining what lay before him. In the background, Ezio fixed cups with the warm water and lemon, spilling some onto the cabinet, his head still aching dully, while Leonardo selected a small piece of bread and diligently ripped it into smaller, bite-sized pieces. The younger man watched as the artist tentaviely raised the small portion of bread to his lip before delicately taking the smallest of bites. His lips closed tightly together, his tongue snaking out to collect a small crumb, and Ezio watched intently, remembering those lips and that tongue, and the things he had seen them do before. His body was overwhelmed to be near the man, to feel those supple lips. The artist looked around, unaware that he was under such close scrutiny, pushing his long, dishevelled hair away from his face – Ezio felt a quiver through his spine, his body moving noticeably. "It is chilly this morning…"

Leonardo titled his head; there was still no breeze, and, perhaps, the wine from the night before was still warming his system, but it seemed just as hot as yesterday. He nodded calmly, a small smile touching his lips as he thought of the young man and his obvious nervousness. For being so confident, so young, Ezio betrayed his emotions in such slight ways that the artist's keen eyes could only notice, like he had known the man for years. "I am not sure…Is that water for me?"

A jump from the young man followed as he hurriedly fetched the hot water. "Yes, yes." His nervousness again let him down, and his shaking hands let some of the liquid slip out the vessel onto Leonardo and the bed.

"I am so sorry friend; it must be the wine," Ezio exclaimed, leaping forward to mop up the spill. "Let me get your shirt, your breeches, I'll have them cleaned"

"No, no, I'll keep my clothes on if you don't mind. I should really be getting back to my workshop, I am more of an evening person then a morning bird"

"Must you?" Ezio asked, his voice failing to conceal his disappointment. Leonardo looked at him and Ezio felt himself blush, he was self-conscious, an emotion with which he was not fully familiar. "I… It's just… I liked our time together…"

The younger man looked to the floor, and Leonardo couldn't help but smile. He was beginning to understand the young man's secret, if indeed it was a secret that the young man fully knew himself. He looked again at the strong and athletic form, and he was grateful although he could not express why. For years Leonardo had sought the company of men, and had loved them dearly, and yet with this man, he found himself wanting to delay. Initially he had barely dared to hope that Ezio, this beautiful young man, could possibly want what he himself most desired, but now it seemed that the signs lay complete before him. Across his body, as though tattooed upon his skin, Leonardo felt the warm hands and exploring fingers of Ezio Auditore da Firenze, as they had lain upon his throughout the night. He remembered the breath of the young man against his neck and torso, and he remembered the tensions in his body as his compulsion fought against his senses for fulfilment. He knew he had to leave, and yet he did not want to leave Ezio.

"I must go now, my friend, but come to my workshop later this evening. As I said, I am more comfortable in the evenings, and I should like to become more comfortable with you." Leonardo understood fully the connotations of his words, and he couldn't help but smile to himself as he saw the heat rising in the young man's cheeks. The evening seemed to him to be a long time away.

The evening came slowly, agonisingly so to Ezio's mind. The hours moved slowly and tormentingly, and Ezio paced his room, and, by the time the sun began to move down in the sky, it felt that his feet had covered miles. His feet ached dully, yet still he delayed his journey to the workshop; a crossroad now erected in his path, while the distant knowledge of a change terrified his soul - it was something he could not go back on. For a long time, he stood at his window, peering out over the city, watching the merchants shut up for the night, their feet directing them home or to the nearest tavern. Finally, he forced himself to move, and chose, so as not to alert his parent's to his absence, to exit through the window. Ezio heaved his body over the ledge and found his footings in the rough stone wall below. He allowed himself to come down significantly, before dropping to the ground, landing gracefully and silently into the street below.

The walk to Leonardo's workshop was brief. Ezio tried to delay his journey as long as possible, despite the eagerness in the pit of his stomach to see Leonardo again. He was nervous. As he finally approached the workshop he saw the flicker of candles from the window of the second storey room in which he had first seen Leonardo. His stomach leapt to his throat and his breath caught. He paused. There were lights on in the main workshop itself, as slowly Ezio approached and raised a hand to the door. To his dismay, before he could bring himself to knock he heard voices. One was Leonardo's, and one was that of another man. They were talking quickly. Ezio failed to make out the words: the speed with which two were speaking and the hushed nature of their voices made it impossible for him to follow the conversation, but there was passion in the voices, and an unmistakable anger. Ezio moved around to the nearest window, and looked once again unbidden into the artist's studio.

Leonardo was there, with his back to the window once again, facing the man Ezio had first seen him with. The other man was angry, shaking, and visibly upset. He could make out nothing from his poor angle of the actions of Leonardo, but it seemed to him that the artist was reaching out to him. He flinched as the artist took the other man's hands gently in his, still speaking in hushed tones. The man pulled away, and Leonardo moved towards him again, this time putting an arm around his waist and steering him to the left of the room, towards, as it seemed to Ezio, the door leading to his bedroom which faced the main door. Ezio felt himself flush to anger, and as he did so he clenched the window frame, sending the open panel swinging into the shutters with a crash. He darted out of sight, but he heard the voice of the other man become flustered and began shouting, loudly this time. Ezio still couldn't understand the accent. The man spoke Italian, but it was a harsh dialect which Ezio had never heard before, but which Leonardo seemed to understand perfectly. Ezio's mind wandered back to Leonardo's words as he had shown him around his family's home. 'Humble country-side beginnings'. The artist himself was from out of town. This man to whom he now spoke, his lover, must have followed him to Firenze. Ezio felt jealousy rise within him. The man Ezio had first seen him with was more than just a stranger passing in the night; and now, after inviting Ezio to his workshop Leonardo was trying to hide his lover, to keep them meeting… Anger built in Ezio now, and he debated confronting the artist. He stepped aggressively towards the door, the voices within now rising and the sound of bodies coming into contact easily recognisable through the heavy wooden door. Thinking better of entering the workshop, Ezio changed his mind and his direction quickly and made to move back through the streets of his home city. He wanted to run, release his anger, and he could not do that on the artist, for despite his now hurt emotions and wounded pride, it felt wrong to bring him to harm. He began to stalk off into the night, lost to his own thoughts, when something heavy grabbed him from behind and pushed him to the ground. Ezio flung the man from him. It was Leonardo's lover. The man swung a clenched fist at Ezio's face, but Ezio pulled back and the punch landed on his shoulder. Ezio was incensed. He grabbed the man and lifted him to his feet, pushing him hard against the solid stone wall of the artist's workshop and pounding his fists into him, one at a time, fast and furiously, until he felt strong hands grab his shoulders and pull him away. He turned to distribute the same punishment on his new aggressor, but found Leonardo. Anger burned in his eyes, but he said nothing, and looked quickly to the other man. Now Ezio became angry again. The artist's clear defence of his lover who had attacked him first… he made to hit the man again.

"No Ezio," Leonardo pulled him back with such force that belied his stature and made the young man stumble. "Please go inside, let me deal with this. I will be with you in a moment."

Ezio poured forth a half-formed string of accusations; the man was his lover, Leonardo was teasing him, using them both for his own amusements. A hand clamped down over Ezio's mouth, and Ezio tingled once again.

"Not here my friend, not in the street. Go inside and I will come to you." At his words the other man lunged forwards, and Leonardo now pushed him back against the wall. "Go inside Ezio and let me deal with this, I won't ask again".

Ezio, still angry, moved slowly backwards towards the door, and again he saw the artist move to put his hands on the other man, slipping back into the broad accent which Ezio struggled to understand. He left the two men in the street and went back into the semi-darkness of the artist's workshop. Hours seemed to pass as he paced the room, pacing as he had done all day in anticipation of this evening which now seemed to have gone so horribly against all that he had expected that he wished it were over. He became aware, slowly that the voices outside had died down, and when he looked up from his feet he saw Leonardo watching him. He realised he had no idea how long the artist had been standing there, in the door.

"I am sorry Ezio, I did not want you to see any of that"

"As I can imagine Leonardo, if you will excuse me I will take my leave. If I had wanted to play games, I would have gone to the brothel."

"Ezio," the artist stood in the door frame and barred his path, and as Ezio tried to push past he realised once again the strength that the artist concealed in his slender frame, and once again something deep within him told him not to leave. "Ezio, I am not playing games. I do not seek to hurt anyone, or anything, although I fear now I have done both. The man you saw here tonight, I wanted him to leave before you came"

"Again, I had worked that out on my own Leonardo," anger still dripped from the young man's voice.

"Well then you worked it out wrong," Leonardo said, angry again himself. "That man I have known for years, and I have loved him dearly, at times, and I have failed to love him at others. I wanted him to leave before you came here tonight, because… because I had hoped that tonight maybe… maybe…" Leonardo blushed and looked away; he seemed to surrender and dropped his arms from the doorframe. He stood aside to let the man pass. "I am not a cheat Ezio, I have never been that. I am sorry for this evening. I hope you will believe me when I say that I was trying to deceive no one here tonight. I was trying to ensure that I was free… to not feel guilty about my position with him, if things were to… happen tonight as I have dreamed since our first meeting they might".

Moving to leave, still torn, he drew close to Leonardo, and again felt the hot breath of the man against his skin, and that same burning that seemed to start at his spine and work its way through his limbs and down. Their shoulders brushed and Ezio tilted his head slightly to meet the other's eyes; they were darker than the other times he had stared into them, frightened but hungry. Hand shooting up, Ezio took the artist's face, and dragged it to his, kissing him roughly. Leonardo at first startled and unsure, did not react, his body becoming stiff, but feeling the warm lips against his, he gave in, and allowed his lips to part, and Ezio's tongue quickly darted inside, exploring this wholly new territory. The strong hands of Ezio caressed the more soft and supple skin of the artist, moving one of his hands into Leonardo's long brown hair, while the other's hands moved down to the torso. Above the thin cotton shirt, Leonardo could feel the tight flesh, and muscles, but just as he began fully grip at the body, he felt himself suddenly moved, Ezio's lips still firmly pressed against his, their tongues battling, and the door was kicked shut by an impatient Ezio. Roughly, the younger man spun him, their bodies now closely pressed together against the hard wooden door, while he continued his exploration, one of his hands moving down Leonardo's thin frame, taking in the contours of his body, the lines, and the muscles. As he pushed his hands down he felt the bare skin between the artist's shirt and breeches, and felt the desire rising within him, his erection throbbing.

Ezio kept pushing, pushing Leonardo further into the door as he kissed him harder and harder, not stopping for breath. No thoughts passed through his mind beyond the carnal desire which raged through his system, urging his hands to move and explore further, sometimes touching gently, at others pulling hard at the body and clothes which he seemed to have been dreaming of for an eternity.

Again Leonardo exercised his strength on him. While still kissing, the artist switched their positions so that it was Ezio who now stood, back pressed hard against the door, erection pressed hard against Leonardo. Leonardo broke their kiss, and instinctively Ezio raised his hands again and made to grab the artist's face. Leonardo clasped his hands and smiled into his eyes. Some of their blue seemed to have returned, but there remained a darkness there. The candles flickered in the background, coming to the end of the lives. Leonardo clasped both of Ezio's wrists in one hand and lifted them above his head. He moved his one free hand down to remove the younger man's shirt from the breeches into which it was loosely tucked. He traced the man's neck with his parted lips as he did so. He felt Ezio shiver and he smiled again. Pulling the shirt free and then ripping apart the ties which held it in place, he raised the rest expertly above Ezio's head and tossed it onto the floor behind him. The young man was a sight to behold, and he was glad to finally have the opportunity. His olive skin was taught across the muscles of his torso and stomach, his arms lifted above his head strong and well-defined. Leonardo dropped his hold and dropped to his knees. He knelt before the younger man's crotch and began to undo his breeches. For all his physical strength he felt Ezio tremble again, and he remembered how new the young man was to this. He remembered his first time, years back into his past now. He smiled again and loosened the trousers, pulling them down to the young man's knees and beyond. Ezio kicked himself free. Staring now at Ezio's erection, the excitement Leonardo felt was tangible to both. Ezio dropped his head back, as though reluctant to look. Leonardo looked up concernedly, but Ezio stretched out a hand and mingled his strong fingers into the artist's hair. He pushed his face into his tight stomach, and the artist parted his lips again to explore the lower regions of Ezio's body. He traced with his tongue the lower muscles of the man's stomach, traced the bones of his pelvis and the hair previously hidden by his breeches. He reached out a hand hesitantly toward Ezio's erection. He knew the young man had looked down from the groan he emitted. Taking the younger man in his hands, he traced his tongue along the length and width of his manhood, and then, without waiting to listen to the response he had encouraged, he slipped his mouth around Ezio's erection and pulled the younger man deep into him. He felt Ezio weakened, but he continued the action of his tongue, stroking and licking, exploring, pulling and grazing him deeper and deeper into his mouth. He brought his arms up, his hands moving around Ezio's strong, broad thighs and settling just under his ass. He pushed up the younger man's weakening knees as he continued sucking Ezio's cock. He felt the man's erection throb against his closed lips. He pulled harder, now moving Ezio's body forward with his hands, encouraging the man to push further into his mouth. Ezio seemed reluctant, but Leonardo performed the action for him, driving the man into him until Ezio was fully inside his mouth. He continued, feeling Ezio squirm once again, but this time the man grabbed his hair harder and pushed himself into Leonardo, again and again. Leonardo stroked his tongue furiously around Ezio's penis, as the man fucked into his mouth. He lent back slightly further, and quickened his pace. Ezio throbbed in his mouth again and the younger man let out a groan. He spread his legs slightly further and bent slightly over the artist, never releasing his grasp on Leonardo's hair, but seeming to slow slightly. He was holding himself back, and that Leonardo knew and didn't want. Removing one hand from its position high on Ezio's leg, he slipped between the younger man's legs, forcing them apart further while Ezio remained bent and breathing heavily over him. Finding without faltering the younger man's entrance, he stroked Ezio, and as the man darted forwards in shock, thrusting himself deeper into Leonardo's mouth, the artist thrust a single finger inside the young man. Ezio seemed to scream, but his voice caught in his throat. His grasp on Leonardo's hair now was painful, but he released it as he groaned louder, finding his voice and releasing his passion into Leonardo's waiting mouth. For seconds Leonardo knelt obediently, his own erection threatening to give away the extremes of desire he felt. He swallowed hard, and he heard Ezio gasping. Swallowing until Ezio withdrew, he couldn't help but smile. He wondered if he was the first whom Ezio, despite the experience he had undoubtedly had in this area, had ever known to enjoy such actions. He leant back further, withdrawing his finger and licking his lips softly. He stood again. Ezio seemed so weak and reliant, upon him he hoped, leaning into the door and panting, his eyes closed and one hand clutching his stomach. Leonardo leant against him and the young man made to kiss him. Leonardo stopped him with a finger to his lips, and Ezio seemed hurt.

"Not here, come to bed with me, come to my bed and lie down… let me love you."

Taking Ezio's hand, Leonardo, without effort, led him to the staircase and up to that room, which Ezio had spied into just a few nights before. The weakness in Ezio was clear, but Leonardo led him in an unrelenting fashion to the bed, and laid the man down before him. Ezio's chest glistened with sweat, and he pushed his head back into the bed, pulling himself up its length while staring constantly into Leonardo's once again darkening eyes. Ezio's heart pounded, but he was scared. His body burned where Leonardo had touched him, and his brain refused to focus on anything. He needed those hands back on his body, touching him and stroking him again, setting his skin on fire with lust. He licked his lips as Leonardo stripped before him and climbed slowly on top of him. Placing his elbows either side of Ezio's head he bent his head down, seeking those lips and finding them, and kissing them and loving them… He moved his legs and torso across Ezio's body, positioning himself directly above him. He felt the younger man's warmth on his cold skin, and he felt himself melt. Legs, knees and crotch touched, awkwardly at times, parts of bodies intertwining and hitting together, but it was every bit as perfect as Leonardo had barely dared to imagine. Ezio raised his stomach and hips to meet his and Leonardo stroked his hands back down Ezio's body, starting just under the arms which Ezio now raised above his head, and tracing his strong muscular sides, down once again to those beautiful thighs. Ezio groaned, this time he wasn't holding back. Maybe he couldn't. Leonardo pushed Ezio's legs up, bending them at the knee and pushing himself down the man's body until he once against traced his tongue across that beautiful stomach. Ezio spread himself before him, wantonly, and yet Leonardo could feel the nerves pulsing just under the olive skin. He admired the man's courage. Something in him, his confidence and self-assurance was driving him on where Leonardo had seen other, more experienced men falter. Ezio raised his hips from the bed, and Leonardo darted between his legs. He parted Ezio's legs further, and slipped a tongue inside of the young man. For all his confidence, Ezio immediately pulled away, but Leonardo grabbed his hips, leaving bruises which would linger for days as he pulled the man back down onto his waiting mouth. Ezio groaned, screamed, cried; Leonardo couldn't be sure, but he kept pushing with his tongue inside of the man until the passion, the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears deafened him to anything other than the warmth of Ezio. Withdrawing, Leonardo reached for the bedside table, where a candle flickered still, not yet burning out. Burning longer than its now weakened nature seemed to suggest it would be capable of. Leonardo pulled out a small bottle, unlabelled, but perhaps often used, and uncorked it, pouring its contents over his fingers and over Ezio's leg. Ezio flinched at its coldness. Leonardo looked to him again, as if asking permission. Ezio gave none, but stared nervously at him. Then, taking Leonardo's hand in his, he moved the artist's long, slender fingers down and then up between his legs. He felt Leonardo pressing at his entrance; the artist seemed reluctant, but Ezio had long ago worked out the pain that he should expect. Lifting his hips once again he drove himself upon the artist's slick fingers, and screamed into the night, repeating the action until Leonardo realised that this was what the younger man wanted. He pushed his own hands inside of Ezio, leaving the young man to pound his head back against the bed.

Leonardo continued the motion, feeling Ezio stretch around his fingers until he could hold himself back no more. He needed this body, this strength. For such a young man he was so strong and athletic that when Leonardo caught his muscles moving beneath his olive skin his breath stopped… Leonardo withdrew, and took up the vial again. This time, Ezio looked directly at him. He pushed himself up on the bed and took the vial from the artist's hands. Opening it, he smelt the oil, and pouring it into his palm, he warmed it, and reaching forward further he took the artist's member into his slicked hands and spread the oil over him. The feeling of the artist between his hands sent him pounding back onto the bed. He wasn't breathing, he didn't need to. Whatever oxygen had provided him with was nothing compared to the life-force he now received from Leonardo's body. He felt tears well in his eyes and knew that he had long desired this. He raised his body from the bed once again and looked to Leonardo.

"I… I don't want to hurt you,"

Ezio didn't respond, other than to raise his hips further to meet the artist. Leonardo pressed against him, and Ezio tensed. Running a hand down the younger man's body, Leonardo tried again, and this time Ezio pushed his back and head further into the soft bed. Leonardo pushed forward, and as they both groaned, too loudly given the open window and the early hour of the night, he entered Ezio, sinking fully into him. Ezio didn't breath, and Leonardo lingered although it made his body and his heart ache. When Ezio finally opened his eyes and stared into the artist's Leonardo continued. He set a motion, not fast but deep reaching, and he moved that way against Ezio. Ezio returned little. He made no noise, but bit his lip and grabbed at the bed. He remembered in fleeting visions the night he spent at the window, and thought himself more fortunate than words could describe to be now trading positions with Leonardo's old lover. He clenched the sheets as the artist continued. He snaked his eyes open to look into the older man's face. Leonardo's eyes were closed now, and although he moved without disturbing their rhythm his face clenched and moved into shapes of passion which Ezio had never known his body to produce in another before. He felt the poundings growing stronger, and he felt Leonardo's breath growing short. Hands roamed his body, settling on his hips and pulling him closer and closer to the act which Leonardo now performed. There was pain; pain like Ezio had never felt before, but pain as he had never wanted pain to last before. Leonardo was breathing rapidly now, if he was breathing at all. He pushed himself up the bed, angling himself perfectly into Ezio's body and rocked harder, and harder, and harder until he released his passion and an animalistic moan into the younger man. Ezio clenched around him, and Leonardo fell upon him, breathing slower now, kissing Ezio's neck and mumbling unintelligibly into him. Leonardo remained inside of Ezio, until his spent passion drove them apart.

"Leo…"

"Hush," Leonardo whispered, and he rolled from Ezio's strong body to the side of his new lover. Pulling Ezio onto his side and into him, he pressed their bodies together and they lay bathed in sweat and warmth and love and watched the candle die out finally as they fell asleep.

"Thank you for letting me love you," Leonardo whispered to his young, newfound lover. Then, with tears welling in his own eyes, he slunk against the neck of the sleeping Ezio and mumbled; "Please stay…"