Ezio was half concealed in the corner, shadows flowing over him in a way that should not be possible and had always fascinated Leonardo. Only his face was truly visible, and there was anguish on there to match the feeling tearing up Leonardo’s chest.
Good, he thought viciously, and tried desperately to pretend that his eyes weren’t burning.
“I have wronged you,” Ezio said, low and heartfelt. “I know that now and knew that then. I have wronged you, and nothing I can do or say will change that.”
“Then I ask again, what is there to explain, Ezio?”
“I want to make sure you know the truth of the situation,” Ezio said. “I did not play you for a fool. I lay with Rosa once and once only, and it was a mistake. I left her as soon as I sobered and I have not seen her since. If I had known how to say it—” Ezio swallowed. “If I had known how to say it, I would have told you. But I did not, and then there was work to be done, so I played the fool and the coward and said nothing. But I swear to you, Leonardo,” he continued, stepping forward into the light, “I swear to you, it was never done on purpose. It was a mistake, an accident caused by too much drink and too little sense, and I regret it more than anything else I have ever done.”
The hell of it was that Leonardo believed him.
He knew Ezio – had known him since he was a young man, since they were both young men. Leonardo had seen him and his lowest and his highest, his weakest and his best and everything in between. Even now, he trusted Ezio not to lie to him – not to tell a direct falsehood to his face.
But it seemed that lies of omission were something separate.
“How am I to trust you?” Leonardo asked him, eyes locked with Ezio’s. “How can I ever trust you again, after what you have done?”
Ezio swallowed and kept his gaze. “I don’t know.”
It was Leonardo who looked away. “Then this is ended.”
“Leonardo, please—” Ezio started, lunging forward to grab his hand. Leonardo stepped sharply backwards and shook him off.
“I don’t mean our friendship.” There was a lump in his throat and it hurt to swallow. Leonardo did anyway, trying to keep the burning in his eyes from spilling onto his cheeks. “I ... you are my oldest friend, and you have never betrayed my friendship, as I hope I have never betrayed yours. Your company is ... dear to me.” He looked up at his former lover. “But, Ezio, how can I ever let you back into my bed when I do not know if you have been in another’s?”
Ezio took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders like a man walking to the noose. “I understand,” he said quietly. “It is your decision to make, and I cannot argue against it.” He looked away. “Much as I want to.”
It helped. God help him, it helped, a little, to know that Ezio still wanted him. It made Leonardo want to take it back, want to throw all rational thought to the wind and throw himself into Ezio’s arms, to kiss him and touch him and feel Ezio moving inside him again. He would probably never stop wanting the man, Leonardo realised. A small, petty part of him wanted Ezio to never stop wanting him, either.
Casual Womaniser 3/4-ish
Good, he thought viciously, and tried desperately to pretend that his eyes weren’t burning.
“I have wronged you,” Ezio said, low and heartfelt. “I know that now and knew that then. I have wronged you, and nothing I can do or say will change that.”
“Then I ask again, what is there to explain, Ezio?”
“I want to make sure you know the truth of the situation,” Ezio said. “I did not play you for a fool. I lay with Rosa once and once only, and it was a mistake. I left her as soon as I sobered and I have not seen her since. If I had known how to say it—” Ezio swallowed. “If I had known how to say it, I would have told you. But I did not, and then there was work to be done, so I played the fool and the coward and said nothing. But I swear to you, Leonardo,” he continued, stepping forward into the light, “I swear to you, it was never done on purpose. It was a mistake, an accident caused by too much drink and too little sense, and I regret it more than anything else I have ever done.”
The hell of it was that Leonardo believed him.
He knew Ezio – had known him since he was a young man, since they were both young men. Leonardo had seen him and his lowest and his highest, his weakest and his best and everything in between. Even now, he trusted Ezio not to lie to him – not to tell a direct falsehood to his face.
But it seemed that lies of omission were something separate.
“How am I to trust you?” Leonardo asked him, eyes locked with Ezio’s. “How can I ever trust you again, after what you have done?”
Ezio swallowed and kept his gaze. “I don’t know.”
It was Leonardo who looked away. “Then this is ended.”
“Leonardo, please—” Ezio started, lunging forward to grab his hand. Leonardo stepped sharply backwards and shook him off.
“I don’t mean our friendship.” There was a lump in his throat and it hurt to swallow. Leonardo did anyway, trying to keep the burning in his eyes from spilling onto his cheeks. “I ... you are my oldest friend, and you have never betrayed my friendship, as I hope I have never betrayed yours. Your company is ... dear to me.” He looked up at his former lover. “But, Ezio, how can I ever let you back into my bed when I do not know if you have been in another’s?”
Ezio took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders like a man walking to the noose. “I understand,” he said quietly. “It is your decision to make, and I cannot argue against it.” He looked away. “Much as I want to.”
It helped. God help him, it helped, a little, to know that Ezio still wanted him. It made Leonardo want to take it back, want to throw all rational thought to the wind and throw himself into Ezio’s arms, to kiss him and touch him and feel Ezio moving inside him again. He would probably never stop wanting the man, Leonardo realised. A small, petty part of him wanted Ezio to never stop wanting him, either.