(no subject)
Paradisa, unknown.
Ezio's heart is pounding in his chest, and for a few moments, his body is on some sort of instinctive auto-pilot. Even with her already under him, his mind feels ten steps behind, fixated on the ramifications of doing this. He's already got one hand under her skirt, moving steadily up her thigh. How did they even get to this point?
A small part of him feels –– even knows –– that this is a mistake, but the rest of him is telling him that he should trust his instincts, even if his instincts don't always appeal to reason. Why should he hold back? They're close for reasons other than Ezio's inevitable battle with her father. He likes her, as a woman, even if she is a Borgia. She's beautiful, she's clever, she's a pleasure to be with...
"Messere Auditore," she says, evidently holding back a giggle, and her smile briefly turns into an "o" of surprise as his hand finds the juncture between her legs. They're so close he can smell the vanilla in her hair. "Do you mean to make love to me?"
It's a funny question to ask him when he's already got his hands in a place only her husband's should be, and he hesitates. Lucrezia looks at him, smiling with her eyes half-lidded, and she doesn't move to stop him, either. With a look like that, what else could he do? It's the only push he needs.
"Yes," he replies, before capturing her in a kiss.
For a few moments, he manages to push the Borgia from his mind, to focus on the task at hand. But when he has her spread out under him, her knees up and against his sides, her arms around his neck, he starts considering it all again. He watches her for a moment, writhing against him, his thumb circling her clit, and he considers the ugly truth: he has Borgia's daughter completely at his mercy, and she doesn't even know what he could do with that. How badly he could hurt her. How he could destroy her family.
He pauses in his ministrations.
The nagging, more selfish part of him wants to call this a moment of passion between two consenting individuals, completely outside of politics, but he knows that's naïve. If this were away from politics, he wouldn't even be considering it, and he's not sure if she'd be here under him if she knew the truth about him, or his intentions. It'd be one thing if this were just a fling, but he knows they'll see each other again. They have a friendship at stake.
He pauses for a moment, breaking off a kiss to just stare at her. Lucrezia blinks, stilling, and then she asks, breathlessly, "Ezio?"
"Yes?" he replies, distantly.
"Is everything alright?"
Guilt strikes him, mercilessly: suddenly, he knows his motivations aren't so distinct, or so divorced from each other. Every part of him suddenly dreads the idea of sleeping with her, and Lucrezia certainly notices his hesitance to continue. He just stares at her, feeling a little lost, and her hands cup his face.
"Don't worry," she says, breathily. "I won't tell."
He almost wants to ask who she won't tell, but he bites it back. God, that's what she's concerned about? That's all she knows to be concerned about? He replies, quietly, "Sorry, Lucrezia. I had a thought."
"It can wait," she implores him, tilting her chin up to reach for him. The tip of her nose brushes his, and he feels ashamed that he even has the urge to meet her halfway.
Could it wait?
No.
Ezio turns his face away and climbs off of her, withdrawing his hand. He grabs his pants off the floor and sits on the edge of the bed to put them on, resolutely not looking at her, even when she sits up to stare. He feels his face burning with shame already. Is there any excuse to take out his revenge mission on his enemy's daughter? He could kill a thousand Borgia soldiers and not feel a shred of doubt, but to directly manipulate a young woman caught in something she didn't even understand... that takes cruelty, and he is not cruel. He can't sleep with her if he can't even sort out his own motivations, and he certainly can't violate her trust, or withhold the truth to sleep with her. That he is sure of.
He's not supposed to be a monster.
"Ezio?" she asks, "Where are you going?"
"I cannot do this," Ezio replies, and he feels her hand on his shoulder, the shift of the mattress as she crawls towards him, and the press of her body against his back.
"Why not?" she asks. She sounds hurt, and he doesn't blame her for even a second. Then, more offended: "You've acted as though you've wanted me since we met."
"Of course I want you, but it's complicated," he replies, pointedly. His pants are inside out and he's fumbling to get them sorted out, and it's not working.
"Stop," she says, grabbing the pants from his hands and tossing them aside. He turns to look at her, and her expression is a strange combination of hurt and adamance. Ezio isn't sure what to say, but she continues, pointedly, "You're nervous, aren't you?"
"Lucrezia," he replies, hoping it sounds as firm as he wants it to. He moves to retrieve his pants but she grabs onto his wrist, and he can't look away.
"Tell me why," she urges. "Tell me why you'd do all this –– go to all this trouble, with roses and fine wine, and teasing and flirting –– if you are too afraid to bed with me."
"I can't explain," he says, feeling a little helpless, so he looks away. He wonders what level of Hell waits for him now. "Please, I will understand if you hate me or never want to speak again, but do not ask me to explain."
"This is about my father, then," she replies.
The look on her face makes him feel like the biggest scum on the Earth, and she doesn't even know the half of why. Ezio's mouth hangs open for a second, and then he closes it firmly and pulls his arm from her grip. He's supposed to be an Auditore, courage and all.
She stays silent, sitting on the edge of the bed, and she pauses to pull down her shift so that it properly covers her. When she looks at him again, she wears her own level of defiance, serene but with its own kind of contempt. "You may leave," she says.
"I'm truly sorry, Lucrezia," he says, picking up his pants and pulling them on. He pulls the tie on his pants closed and tucks in his shirt.
When he heads to the door and opens it, he doesn't dare look back. She doesn't say anything.
When he closes the door behind him, he pretends to not hear her. She dissolves into tears.
Stephanie is going to kill him.
Ezio's heart is pounding in his chest, and for a few moments, his body is on some sort of instinctive auto-pilot. Even with her already under him, his mind feels ten steps behind, fixated on the ramifications of doing this. He's already got one hand under her skirt, moving steadily up her thigh. How did they even get to this point?
A small part of him feels –– even knows –– that this is a mistake, but the rest of him is telling him that he should trust his instincts, even if his instincts don't always appeal to reason. Why should he hold back? They're close for reasons other than Ezio's inevitable battle with her father. He likes her, as a woman, even if she is a Borgia. She's beautiful, she's clever, she's a pleasure to be with...
"Messere Auditore," she says, evidently holding back a giggle, and her smile briefly turns into an "o" of surprise as his hand finds the juncture between her legs. They're so close he can smell the vanilla in her hair. "Do you mean to make love to me?"
It's a funny question to ask him when he's already got his hands in a place only her husband's should be, and he hesitates. Lucrezia looks at him, smiling with her eyes half-lidded, and she doesn't move to stop him, either. With a look like that, what else could he do? It's the only push he needs.
"Yes," he replies, before capturing her in a kiss.
For a few moments, he manages to push the Borgia from his mind, to focus on the task at hand. But when he has her spread out under him, her knees up and against his sides, her arms around his neck, he starts considering it all again. He watches her for a moment, writhing against him, his thumb circling her clit, and he considers the ugly truth: he has Borgia's daughter completely at his mercy, and she doesn't even know what he could do with that. How badly he could hurt her. How he could destroy her family.
He pauses in his ministrations.
The nagging, more selfish part of him wants to call this a moment of passion between two consenting individuals, completely outside of politics, but he knows that's naïve. If this were away from politics, he wouldn't even be considering it, and he's not sure if she'd be here under him if she knew the truth about him, or his intentions. It'd be one thing if this were just a fling, but he knows they'll see each other again. They have a friendship at stake.
He pauses for a moment, breaking off a kiss to just stare at her. Lucrezia blinks, stilling, and then she asks, breathlessly, "Ezio?"
"Yes?" he replies, distantly.
"Is everything alright?"
Guilt strikes him, mercilessly: suddenly, he knows his motivations aren't so distinct, or so divorced from each other. Every part of him suddenly dreads the idea of sleeping with her, and Lucrezia certainly notices his hesitance to continue. He just stares at her, feeling a little lost, and her hands cup his face.
"Don't worry," she says, breathily. "I won't tell."
He almost wants to ask who she won't tell, but he bites it back. God, that's what she's concerned about? That's all she knows to be concerned about? He replies, quietly, "Sorry, Lucrezia. I had a thought."
"It can wait," she implores him, tilting her chin up to reach for him. The tip of her nose brushes his, and he feels ashamed that he even has the urge to meet her halfway.
Could it wait?
No.
Ezio turns his face away and climbs off of her, withdrawing his hand. He grabs his pants off the floor and sits on the edge of the bed to put them on, resolutely not looking at her, even when she sits up to stare. He feels his face burning with shame already. Is there any excuse to take out his revenge mission on his enemy's daughter? He could kill a thousand Borgia soldiers and not feel a shred of doubt, but to directly manipulate a young woman caught in something she didn't even understand... that takes cruelty, and he is not cruel. He can't sleep with her if he can't even sort out his own motivations, and he certainly can't violate her trust, or withhold the truth to sleep with her. That he is sure of.
He's not supposed to be a monster.
"Ezio?" she asks, "Where are you going?"
"I cannot do this," Ezio replies, and he feels her hand on his shoulder, the shift of the mattress as she crawls towards him, and the press of her body against his back.
"Why not?" she asks. She sounds hurt, and he doesn't blame her for even a second. Then, more offended: "You've acted as though you've wanted me since we met."
"Of course I want you, but it's complicated," he replies, pointedly. His pants are inside out and he's fumbling to get them sorted out, and it's not working.
"Stop," she says, grabbing the pants from his hands and tossing them aside. He turns to look at her, and her expression is a strange combination of hurt and adamance. Ezio isn't sure what to say, but she continues, pointedly, "You're nervous, aren't you?"
"Lucrezia," he replies, hoping it sounds as firm as he wants it to. He moves to retrieve his pants but she grabs onto his wrist, and he can't look away.
"Tell me why," she urges. "Tell me why you'd do all this –– go to all this trouble, with roses and fine wine, and teasing and flirting –– if you are too afraid to bed with me."
"I can't explain," he says, feeling a little helpless, so he looks away. He wonders what level of Hell waits for him now. "Please, I will understand if you hate me or never want to speak again, but do not ask me to explain."
"This is about my father, then," she replies.
The look on her face makes him feel like the biggest scum on the Earth, and she doesn't even know the half of why. Ezio's mouth hangs open for a second, and then he closes it firmly and pulls his arm from her grip. He's supposed to be an Auditore, courage and all.
She stays silent, sitting on the edge of the bed, and she pauses to pull down her shift so that it properly covers her. When she looks at him again, she wears her own level of defiance, serene but with its own kind of contempt. "You may leave," she says.
"I'm truly sorry, Lucrezia," he says, picking up his pants and pulling them on. He pulls the tie on his pants closed and tucks in his shirt.
When he heads to the door and opens it, he doesn't dare look back. She doesn't say anything.
When he closes the door behind him, he pretends to not hear her. She dissolves into tears.
Stephanie is going to kill him.