Ezio's scratches from the skirmishes smart sharply as he all but fell against Leonardo's door. He did not knock so much as nearly put his fist through the wood, needing to touch, to feel someone he knew was not cold and lifeless and gone forever, but a friend, a lover, a solid and earthly reassurance.
He did not take in the paleness of Leonardo's face, the eyes that were wet and bloodshot. He'd barely opened the door a crack before Ezio had thrown him against a wall, slammed the door behind them and nearly crushed him in a kiss, arms hugging him so tightly Leonardo whimpered for pain and breath, hands clenching in Ezio's robes.
"Ezio…Ezio, wait…"
Ezio loosened his bone-crushing grip, only to press his hands open palmed to his lover's back, nuzzling into the curve between his neck and shoulder. "Need you," he whispered, breath hot and insistent against the flesh of Leonardo's throat. "Please, I…" He kissed him again, but found his lover's attention turned somewhere behind him, eyes wide and frightened.
"No, we need to…you need...."
"What?"
Leonardo's gaze flickered to and from him, and Ezio turned. Two figures were standing by the artist's desk, light flickering gently from an open window across their faces…two dreadfully familiar faces.
"No…"
"Wait, love, I can explain, just listen-"
"Why won't you specters leave me be?" Ezio whispered, his voice choked in his throat. The soft click of a blade and Leonardo looked down to see the gleam of silver at his wrist, eyes still fixed on the two figures.
"Wait, no-"
"They won't leave me Leonardo. Not when I'm dreaming."
The figure resembling his brother glanced at their father, but Giovanni had his eyes fixed stern and hard on Ezio.
"Put the blade away," he said.
"Do not speak to me," Ezio breathed.
"Listen to me, son. Put the blade down like a man and speak to me."
"I said do not speak to me," Ezio hissed, and the bitter hatred in his tone seemed to rend the air with a metallic bloody tang, that of all the people whose lives had fallen to the lone assassin who'd so reluctantly taken up his father's work. "Do not speak to me in my father's voice…I know you are some vision, some…madness in my head."
"Not madness," Giovanni murmured, putting up his hands in reassurance. "Please, my son…"
"You cannot be my father," Ezio hissed, but his hand was unsteady as Giovanni drew closer. "My father would be far beyond the years you appear…and…and my brother…" He looked to Frederico, who stood quiet and alert by the wall. "My brother would look older than me."
A sort of half smile flashed across Frederico's mouth, but the flash of silver and Giovanni's abrupt halt erased it from his face. "Brother…don't."
Giovanni did not flinch when his son brought his blade edge to his throat, did not despair at the fierce distrusting gleam in his eyes, the ragged breath, the sweat he saw on his son's upper lip, the fear and desperation and grief and blood-trained adrenaline that raged in a maelstrom in the brown irises. He had the look of a wounded animal cornered past help, teeth bared in an albeit futile attempt of defense.
Re: E Ritorno [2/?]
Ezio's scratches from the skirmishes smart sharply as he all but fell against Leonardo's door. He did not knock so much as nearly put his fist through the wood, needing to touch, to feel someone he knew was not cold and lifeless and gone forever, but a friend, a lover, a solid and earthly reassurance.
He did not take in the paleness of Leonardo's face, the eyes that were wet and bloodshot. He'd barely opened the door a crack before Ezio had thrown him against a wall, slammed the door behind them and nearly crushed him in a kiss, arms hugging him so tightly Leonardo whimpered for pain and breath, hands clenching in Ezio's robes.
"Ezio…Ezio, wait…"
Ezio loosened his bone-crushing grip, only to press his hands open palmed to his lover's back, nuzzling into the curve between his neck and shoulder. "Need you," he whispered, breath hot and insistent against the flesh of Leonardo's throat. "Please, I…" He kissed him again, but found his lover's attention turned somewhere behind him, eyes wide and frightened.
"No, we need to…you need...."
"What?"
Leonardo's gaze flickered to and from him, and Ezio turned. Two figures were standing by the artist's desk, light flickering gently from an open window across their faces…two dreadfully familiar faces.
"No…"
"Wait, love, I can explain, just listen-"
"Why won't you specters leave me be?" Ezio whispered, his voice choked in his throat. The soft click of a blade and Leonardo looked down to see the gleam of silver at his wrist, eyes still fixed on the two figures.
"Wait, no-"
"They won't leave me Leonardo. Not when I'm dreaming."
The figure resembling his brother glanced at their father, but Giovanni had his eyes fixed stern and hard on Ezio.
"Put the blade away," he said.
"Do not speak to me," Ezio breathed.
"Listen to me, son. Put the blade down like a man and speak to me."
"I said do not speak to me," Ezio hissed, and the bitter hatred in his tone seemed to rend the air with a metallic bloody tang, that of all the people whose lives had fallen to the lone assassin who'd so reluctantly taken up his father's work. "Do not speak to me in my father's voice…I know you are some vision, some…madness in my head."
"Not madness," Giovanni murmured, putting up his hands in reassurance. "Please, my son…"
"You cannot be my father," Ezio hissed, but his hand was unsteady as Giovanni drew closer. "My father would be far beyond the years you appear…and…and my brother…" He looked to Frederico, who stood quiet and alert by the wall. "My brother would look older than me."
A sort of half smile flashed across Frederico's mouth, but the flash of silver and Giovanni's abrupt halt erased it from his face. "Brother…don't."
Giovanni did not flinch when his son brought his blade edge to his throat, did not despair at the fierce distrusting gleam in his eyes, the ragged breath, the sweat he saw on his son's upper lip, the fear and desperation and grief and blood-trained adrenaline that raged in a maelstrom in the brown irises. He had the look of a wounded animal cornered past help, teeth bared in an albeit futile attempt of defense.