"Leonardo," the young man said blandly, "tell me why you have a cow in the middle of your studio."

The artist waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss the issue. "It was a gift from a poor commissioner. I figured I could use her for something," he said.

"And what did you paint for the commissioner?" Ezio asked, his hand trailing along the cow's coarse, dark brown side. The beast mooed softly, lifting her head as if she enjoyed the touch.

Leonardo smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, let's say it's most unfortunate for her, but good for my work that she cannot have children, else my painting would have been exiled to the attic."

Ezio raised a brow, and he returned his friend's smirk. "Ah, then perhaps my suspicions of you were wrong."

Now, it was Leonardo's turn to frown. "What suspicions?" he asked, approaching the assassin.

Much to the cow's delight, Ezio moved his hand to scratch behind its ear as he stated nonchalantly, "I was afraid you had lost interest in women." In fact, he'd wondered how to bring the topic up, but hadn't ever found an appropriate time to do so.

"I beg your pardon," Leonardo said quickly, the faint blush on his cheeks betraying the calmness of his words, "did you believe I preferred the company of men?"

Ezio blinked a few times, surprised. "Well...no," he said. "I meant nothing of the sort. I simply thought you had fallen in love with your work—of course, if you thought your work had to involve men, that would be completely your business—"

"Ezio Auditore, you dog," Leonardo sighed, a wry smile on his lips, "you nearly gave me a heart attack." There was an edge to his smile, which was only sharpened when he said softly, "Don't ever say something like that again...please."

The assassin's keen eyes assessed Leonardo, and then he took a few steps toward the artist. "I can't imagine why you would come to that conclusion," he said slowly. "Unless you had something to hide. And in my experience, what seems to be blatantly obvious is often the truth."

A myriad of expressions passed over Leonardo's face. Uncertainty, anxiety and, of all things, fear! Did Leonardo think he was going to run him through on the spot for having a taste that clashed with society's beliefs? "I don't know what you are talking about," the artist said, turning his face away.

Trying to lighten the mood, Ezio moved his hand to Leonardo's waist and asked, "Maestro Leonardo, are you lying to me?" He felt the older man tense under his touch and almost pulled away, almost dropped the pretense. This was something they would need to talk about eventually, but perhaps now was not the best time...one way or another, the subject had to be broached.

"Let it be," Leonardo said sharply, though he didn't move away.

"I believe you are lying," Ezio replied, moving his arm around Leonardo's waist. He pulled the shorter man closer to him, smirking even as he felt his friend shy away.

"Release me," he said forcefully. Then, regretting the bite of his tone, said more gently, "Please, Ezio." He chewed his lip to stop it quivering and shut his eyes tightly. Not again, he prayed. Please, God, not again.

This could have happened any other day. They could have had this conversation tomorrow and neither of them would have been worse for wear. Then again, Ezio could be five cities away before morning. If they discussed this now, they could enjoy the rest of their time together rather than having the topic loom over them like a storm cloud. Today would be theirs.

"Not this time," Ezio breathed. He moved his mouth close to Leonardo's ear and whispered, "We will talk, but for now, play along. Just for the evening."

He practically felt Leonardo weighing the decision, running through scenarios of how their conversation could go. He came to a conclusion and turned his head to the side, whispering back, "Then I suppose we should make it count."

Grinning fiercely, Ezio growled, "Do you not enjoy my touch?"

"Of course I do," Leonardo retorted, his tone suddenly haughty, "I just—ow! That was my ear."

"Indeed." Ezio released his friend's ear and moved his mouth down, past long hair that shone gold in the candlelight, brushed his lips across smooth, pale skin that felt hot to the touch. He touched his lips to Leonardo's neck, nibbling gently and running the tip of his tongue in small circles, teasing, tasting.

"Ezio please...," Leonardo whispered, leaning his head back. He breathed deeply, sighing in what could have been delight or resignation—it was hard to judge the tone of a breath. "...stop."

"Why?" Ezio murmured against Leonardo's neck. "I thought you would like this. You didn't sound thrilled when you spoke of your commissioner. Did she not offer you any other sort of...compensation?"

Leonardo gasped softly when Ezio's hands slid past his belly, ghosting down below his belt. "No," he said, his voice reedy, "but I didn't ask."

"And why didn't you?" Ezio purred, his fingers tracing the considerable bulge at Leonardo's groin. The assassin's lithe fingers found the ends of the leather strips that held the pants closed and pulled them slowly, ever so slowly.

"Don't," Leonardo said suddenly, putting his hands over Ezio's. He remembered the raid, the panic on everyone's faces when the guards streamed into the building. The Medici boy had sworn to have him released as soon as possible, but Leonardo had spent weeks in a filthy jail cell, terrified of the fate that awaited him should he be tried. All because of the misgivings of a young man's past. He closed his eyes and mastered his breath, hanging his head. "We can't."

"Is the great Leonardo da Vinci about to turn down the offer of the century?" Ezio teased.

Raising a brow, Leonardo turned his face away. Something about that statement disarmed him, blew his uncertainties away like so many grains of sand. "That's rather cocksure—hmph!" His eyes widened when Ezio took his chin in a thumb and finger, lifted his face, and kissed him. It was unexpected, almost insulting, that Ezio hadn't so much as asked permission. Leonardo considered pulling away, but found himself lost in the warmth of Ezio's mouth. He held his hands out to his sides, unsure what to do with them, fearful that if he touched the assassin he would vanish into the shadows.

Slowly, Leonardo yielded to the kiss, to Ezio's wandering hand, to the heat of his lust. He shrugged off his doublet and tossed it aside, breaking the kiss so he could unlace the front of his shirt.

"Here, or upstairs?" Ezio asked breathily.

Leonardo glanced around his studio at the mess of papers and models that littered the tables, benches and—God Almighty, even the windowsills? He'd have to clean that up before... His eyes widened when he noticed the open window and he hurried across the room, reaching out to close the shutters. Of course, he knocked down several sketchbooks and thick tomes in the process, but he kicked them to the side absentmindedly.

Looking to the door, the artist grimaced and walked over, throwing the deadbolt. If anyone had walked past the window, they could have easily seen his and Ezio's shared kiss, could have seen the heresy for what it was and would surely report it to the guard like any God-fearing citizen. Would his head be on a pike by the morning? Or had they been lucky and escaped notice?

"Let's move the cow aside," Ezio said, seemingly oblivious to Leonardo's fears. He took the cow's rope bridal and led her to the side of the room, tying the lead loosely around one of the wooden support beams. "Come along, mucca," he said in a sing-song voice. He gave her one more scratch on her neck and then grinned at Leonardo. In that grin, Leonardo saw everything he had admired in the young man when first they met. The boyish charm, the wildness of youth, the mischief buried under layers of good breeding and proper lessons. It was an endearing grin, one of a maturing young man who knew it would get him what he wanted. Yet he didn't see Ezio as a child anymore. The assassin wasn't older than twenty-five, but already he had the haggard look of a man twice his age. Ezio thought he masked the effects of his line of work beneath his good looks and charming disposition, but that grin only served to emphasize that which he would hide.

Leonardo walked to Ezio, removing his shirt as he went. He was a modest man, but nudity was not something he was unaccustomed to. Many of his models had stood in this very room bare to the noontime sun. He tried not to think of them now, preferring to watch the young Auditore strip off his weapons and lay them on the table beside him.

"So many blades," Leonardo said mischievously, "one would think you'd hardly be a stranger to the odd sword fight."

Ezio's brows shot up and he barked a laugh, sudden and genuine. "A jest! From you, Leonardo?"

"I am full of surprises," the artist replied, smiling.

"Surprise me again and find a clean spot on the floor," Ezio chuckled.

Of all things, that flustered him. He hated how quickly his studio cluttered when he worked, but with an assistant who never seemed to be around to do his job, what was one to do?

Working quickly, Leonardo cleared the paper and debris from the floor, piling most of it on the table and a stuffed chair in the corner of the room. When he straightened from the chore, he turned to see the assassin standing fully naked in the midday sun. He wasn't abnormally tall, but neither was he short. Most of his height came from his lean, muscled legs, and there didn't seem to be a shred of unnecessary fat on the young man. He had a runner's body with the definition of someone who dedicated their life to the demands of leaping across rooftops and climbing to impossible heights like the lunatic he was.

Most interesting, though, were the scars that littered the assassin's tanned skin. He wore them well, no puckering, no excess scar tissue. The blades must have been truly fine to have left such thin ghosts. The thickest scar, about a finger's breadth at its widest, tapered from just below Ezio's left pectoral to a few inches above his navel.

Leonardo glanced up at Ezio's face, taking in the apprehension in the young man's gaze. How many women had seen him nude, as he was, in full light? How many had he allowed to see the results of his work, the burdens he carried like a second armor beneath the hides and steels?

"They're beautiful," Leonardo said softly, stepping close enough to trail his fingers down the thickest scar. "A portrait I would be proud to paint."

"They may be pretty now," Ezio said, grinning brashly, "but they hurt more than they had any right to."

Allowing his gaze to travel over the assassin's honed body, Leonardo moved his hands to his sides. "Then show me what is really taught in the Brotherhood," he said wryly, "so that I may protect myself."

Ezio stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed Leonardo, holding his face gently in calloused hands. This was what Leonardo had wanted for so long, what he had fantasized about more than once, what he had thought he could never have. So why did it feel wrong? Why did he feel like he was breaking a rule that should have been left alone? Every frantic breath, every feather-light touch, it all felt wrong, like a dream that had escaped the confines of his mind.

"Take me," Leonardo breathed against the younger man's cheek. He kissed the corner of Ezio's mouth and pulled away to look into those hazel eyes. They were intelligent, sharp, endless. And something else...embarrassed? Frowning, Leonardo asked, "What's wrong?"

Ezio looked down at the floor, seeming troubled. His hands rested on Leonardo's sides, absently feeling for muscles that weren't there. Although fit, Leonardo was not particularly muscular. He wondered if that mattered to the assassin. "I have never had um...sex...with a man before," Ezio admitted, keeping his voice low.

Not quite believing what he was hearing, Leonardo cocked his head to the side. Grown though he may be, in some things, he supposed, all men retained their innocence. "You...of all the men I know, you, are embarrassed by sex?" he asked. Then he laughed. "Come, Ezio. I will show you."

They knelt together on the floor, trading light kisses and caressing each other gently. Their breath came faster and heavier as their lust grew until they could stand it no longer. Leonardo fetched a vial of olive oil, poured a small amount into his palm, and reached out, taking Ezio into his hand. They kissed as he stroked, running his thin fingers up and down Ezio's length. When he broke the kiss, he noted the glazed look in the assassin's eyes and filed it away in his memory. This was a weakness an enemy could easily exploit. He would have to decide later what to do with that information.

Turning around, Leonardo backed up, gesturing for Ezio to come close. The other followed instructions, moving his arms around Leonardo's front.

"Not that close," the artist whispered. He reached back and took hold of Ezio again, guiding the man to his entrance. "Gently at first."

Ezio's hands explored Leonardo's body as if trying to memorize every peak and valley, every smooth surface he could find. He nibbled Leonardo's neck, biting a little harder when the artist gasped half in pain, half in pleasure. They knelt there together, ignoring the pains in their knees from the unforgiving hardwood floor, and they had their pleasure. Leonardo arched into Ezio's thrusts, moaning quietly under his breath, moving his hips in time when Ezio faltered.

"Almost," Leonardo whispered.

Studious concentration bowed to heated desperation as Ezio thrust, burying his face in Leonardo's shoulder. He reached around to take the artist in his hand and stroked, bringing Leonardo over his edge with a small, surprised cry. His eyes closed and he went to kiss the other's shoulder, but felt the rush of pleasure too late. He bit down on Leonardo's neck, hard enough to draw another cry from the man, this one less pleased.

"You're an animal!" Leonardo panted, pushing himself up. He stumbled when he tried to stand and sat hard on the floor. He looked over at Ezio, unsure whether to laugh or chastise the boy. Ezio's cheeks were ruddy, his brow beaded with sweat. The look in his eye was purely predator, and it stirred something deep inside of Leonardo, something that longed for the power that look promised, that longed to be ordered and forced and broken.

"Again," Ezio croaked, crawling toward the artist.

"Again? Are you not satisfied?" Leonardo asked, looking down at Ezio's lap where the man still stood at attention.

"Not in the least," he said, crushing his lips to Leonardo's in a rough kiss. Admittedly, Leonardo wasn't opposed to more attention, but he realized this wasn't just Ezio being kind to him. He had forgotten the ferocity of a young man's appetite. He was in for quite a night.

Leonardo pulled back to suggest they move to the bedroom when Ezio yelped and jerked away, landing on his backside. He spat a curse and reached for a sword that was no longer on his hip.

The cow stood before Leonardo, her head high, the whites of her eyes rimming her irises. The lead hung from her bridle, proof that Ezio hadn't tied her as securely as he might have thought. She sniffed the air then turned around, walking back to the small pile of hay in the corner of the studio.

"It bit me!" Ezio exclaimed, turning his leg to examine the two neat rows of red marks on his olive skin. He looked over at Leonardo, gesturing helplessly to the cow. "She bit me!"

Leonardo smirked and said, "I suppose you know how it feels now!"

Ezio blushed, drawing a snicker from the artist, and stood. "Get rid of it," he growled, retreating to another room to dress. Leonardo's laughter followed him.