However, truth runs thicker than blood, Altair wishes to say, his back pressed against the stone of the castle, the other's eyes on him, much like a hawk, the sudden confrontation in the lengthy while pillaging his chest. Carnal factors bleed through his fingertips, his tongue heavy from perplexity and anger at how the other had seemed so unaffected while he had been subject to mental dilapidation. What cruel sorcery had this been?
"You must look at me."
Since when had he resembled a lost child?
"I have tried all that I know—every last script, every last stance. I have lost myself, created a fool who has no shame, whatsoever. I have lost my lips, my eyes, my ears, my hands." Intensity magnifies as Ezio lifted fingers that held the slightest of quivers up to the curve of his cheek, as if he dared to touch a god in all the sins of the flesh. "Merda, say my name." He caves. "Do not do this—I am naught but a desperate man."
Why?
"You play me for a fool."
"I am the fool."
Weakness, was that it? Altair seems not to take heed of the foreign sensation as an equally heated forehead rests against his own, that this touch was one he had been craving for countless nights, as much as the quirk of those lips. He relents as soon as he takes the next breath.
And as his mouth molds over another, Altair realizes that he had always been an impatient man—one indubitably resurfaced, uncovered after all those years of loss and denial.
Zero.
"You are mine."
Altair does not ask—he had never needed to, in all those days when he had first seen him. Thus, he calls his name, not the middle, nor the last, but simply his name, and Ezio smiles at the light stroke along his neck.
"Ezio."
There is no need for explanation.
"You are mine," Altair reciprocates.
From the first to the last that had clearly been undefined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: Wow; I know it isn't exactly what OP had in mind, but there was this new writing tactic our class experimented with, and I felt compelled to use it (oh, lord). And also, this is based on the numeric cycle; you start from one and go all the way to zero, repeating it over and over, with the numbers standing for certain things (like good luck, money, or some crap like that).
Carpe (3/3) of [1/1]
"Why now?"
"Altair."
"Why is that you do this now?"
"I say only the truth."
However, truth runs thicker than blood, Altair wishes to say, his back pressed against the stone of the castle, the other's eyes on him, much like a hawk, the sudden confrontation in the lengthy while pillaging his chest. Carnal factors bleed through his fingertips, his tongue heavy from perplexity and anger at how the other had seemed so unaffected while he had been subject to mental dilapidation. What cruel sorcery had this been?
"You must look at me."
Since when had he resembled a lost child?
"I have tried all that I know—every last script, every last stance. I have lost myself, created a fool who has no shame, whatsoever. I have lost my lips, my eyes, my ears, my hands." Intensity magnifies as Ezio lifted fingers that held the slightest of quivers up to the curve of his cheek, as if he dared to touch a god in all the sins of the flesh. "Merda, say my name." He caves. "Do not do this—I am naught but a desperate man."
Why?
"You play me for a fool."
"I am the fool."
Weakness, was that it? Altair seems not to take heed of the foreign sensation as an equally heated forehead rests against his own, that this touch was one he had been craving for countless nights, as much as the quirk of those lips. He relents as soon as he takes the next breath.
And as his mouth molds over another, Altair realizes that he had always been an impatient man—one indubitably resurfaced, uncovered after all those years of loss and denial.
Zero.
"You are mine."
Altair does not ask—he had never needed to, in all those days when he had first seen him. Thus, he calls his name, not the middle, nor the last, but simply his name, and Ezio smiles at the light stroke along his neck.
"Ezio."
There is no need for explanation.
"You are mine," Altair reciprocates.
From the first to the last that had clearly been undefined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Wow; I know it isn't exactly what OP had in mind, but there was this new writing tactic our class experimented with, and I felt compelled to use it (oh, lord). And also, this is based on the numeric cycle; you start from one and go all the way to zero, repeating it over and over, with the numbers standing for certain things (like good luck, money, or some crap like that).