(fic) AC2- Light and Shade Ezio/Leonardo PG

[squirrellysemantics]

What?  Not NC-17?  I must be ill. 

Title: Light and shade
Fandom AC2  Owned by Ubisoft, not by me, etc, etc.
Pairing: Ezio/Leonardo
Rating PG
Summary: A response to an odd blog post discussing Ezio's character from the feminist perspective.  When I read it I feel that the author either didn't actually play the game or had a severe case of silica vaginosis when they did.

Ezio not 'sexualized in a visual manner' and a brutish man-child? I think not.

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Morning sun spilled across linen sheets, giving rise to a pattern of shadows.  Leonardo sat at his desk as he sipped his tea, appreciating the play of light that warmed the tanned body that he had so reluctantly left sprawled across his bed.   It was fascinating to watch the slow rise and fall of chest of the young assassino still wrapped in slumber.  

Ezio was not an early riser by any means, sleeping in for hours when given the chance.  It was understandable since it was an indulgence the younger man could ill afford under other circumstances.  This bothered the artist not at all; giving him time to better appreciate the gift he was being given, since he knew with each meeting that their time together would be fleeting.

The lines along muscled back were a work of art; symmetrical and perfectly in proportion.  Strong arm and sculpted shoulder cradled a pillow as if it were the most precious thing in the world.  If one could ignore the network of marks and scars that his duties had indelibly written across his skin, one could suppose that he was an idle son, sleeping his days away.

A sketch took form under his hand as he wondered what would have become of this other Ezio- the Ezio that could have been.   Would he still have been the brother to take up their father’s vestments or remained blissfully ignorant of it all as he had been until that fateful day?  No one would ever know but Leonardo knew there was no way that Ezio would have remained ordinary.

Though their first meeting had been brief, the young man had been polite and respectful which was more than Leonardo could say of other sons of nobility.  Most men of that age and status had little call to treat artists as anything but a servant.  There also had been a hint of ambition beyond that of becoming a mere banker, his mother’s presence forcing him to speak with the caution. It had been refreshing to see that spark when others lived their lives content to ride their father’s coattails. 

Leonardo’s fingers turned red as his chalk tried to capture on canvas the full beauty of the man before him.   He frowned at his work, realizing it would take him a lifetime to capture the complexity just underneath the surface.  The strength tempered with good humor.  Perseverance in the face of sacrifice.   Tragedy did not create those things in the man; it simply brought them to the fore.

What happiness the divine snatched with one hand was given with the other.  He was grateful for that at least, knowing full well that a noble’s son would hardly be permitted to share the bed of a mere artist.

A wordless rumble of disapproval came from deep in Ezio’s chest as he stirred, hands searching the bed alongside him to find it empty.  “Leonardo.”   That deliciously rough voice was made even rougher, thick and heavy with sleep.  With spikes of bed mussed hair sticking out at every angle, Ezio collapsed into his pillow with a smile once he spotted his target. “It is early yet, amore.  Come back to bed.”

Leonardo needed no more incentive to set aside his chalk and canvas.



 

Comments

[alexb49.livejournal.com]

I'm just amazed that the blog dresses itself up in serious analysis yet can't get basic facts correct. There are enough things in life to get outraged over without having to manufacture more out.

Thanks for the comments!