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the worst thing I've ever written.
Roma, 1502
Ezio is going down on a recruit when there's a hurried knock at the door. For the moment, he ignores it, preferring to keep his attention on the beautiful young woman squirming under his touch, but it doesn't go away even after a few minutes. In fact, whoever is knocking begins calling his name with urgency, loud enough to drown out his lover's noises of pleasure. It's Stephanie. He knows it's Stephanie. It's always Stephanie, at times like this.
With a last quick kiss, Ezio pulls away to stand and cross the room to the door. Given that it's long after sunset and there are only a few candles burning in the room, he almost trips over his own shirts on the way over.
With a scowl, he opens the door. In the dimness of the hall, there is Stephanie, looking alarmed.
"What's wrong with you? I was knocking forever!" she says, and then she launches immediately into her real news: "The Borgia have closed off the bridges off Tiber Island. Machiavelli says they may be planning an attack within the hour."
"Rally the Brotherhood's defenses in case, and send someone through the tunnels to the mainland to round up anyone on the prowl tonight," Ezio informs her, "I will be down in a moment."
Stephanie nods and goes, and Ezio closes the door. His eyes move to the woman on his bed. She's still trying to catch her breath, but bless her, she's sitting up and adjusting her tunic and reaching for her trousers.
"Good, you overheard," he says.
"The Borgia have terrible timing," she replies, breathlessly, and Ezio moves to grab her in a quick kiss. He's already got his shirt in one hand, but his free hand reaches to stroke her once, middle finger sliding over her clit. She breathes in, sharply, her arm tightening around the back of his neck for a moment.
"We will finish this later," he informs her, and then pulls away from her. He yanks his shirt on, and then fetches his doublet.
Both fall quiet to dress. She finishes first, letting herself out of the bedroom swiftly and heading straight down to the armory, and Ezio finishes dressing in silence, waiting for the tell-tale sound of Borgia cannons.
By time he's ready, downstairs and rallying the Brotherhood, doling out orders and establishing their plan of attack, the Borgia cannons have begun.
--
Ezio doesn't see much battle that night. For the most part, he finds himself on the roof of the Headquarters, overseeing the defense and ensuring that the civilians on Tiber Island are not caught in the crossfire, but he does descend a few times to dispatch some tricky assaults himself. A few times, when he makes eye-contact with his novices, they give him a surprised look. Some of them laugh. Ezio means to ask numerous times, but there just isn't the time, with cannon fire and soldiers distracting them.
Truth be told, he just ends up feeling a little offended all night. He's forty-two; an old man by most standards, for sure, but he's hardly lost his vigor or his sturdiness for combat. His idiot novices shouldn't be surprised when he joins them in battle -- he's still good for more than giving directions.
"Are you okay?" Stephanie asks him, when they catch up to each other sometime close to dawn, when the sky is glowing and the pigeons are starting to take their first morning flights.
"Hmm?" Ezio says, a little grouchily.
"You're bleeding," she says. "Did you split your lips or something?"
His grouchiness turns to puzzlement.
"I haven't been cut tonight."
Stephanie approaches him and reaches for his chin. He lets her, and she examines his face for a second. Ezio lets her, but then it clicks.
"Oh," he says, "when you knocked, I was…"
The realization dawns on Steph's face before Ezio can finish that thought. She withdraws her hand like it was burned, with a yelp that suggests just the same.
"What the heck!!" she exclaims, and then shoves him. "Ew! I have to wash my hands! You, go wash your face!"
Ezio just laughs.
He's got a recruit to find.
Ezio is going down on a recruit when there's a hurried knock at the door. For the moment, he ignores it, preferring to keep his attention on the beautiful young woman squirming under his touch, but it doesn't go away even after a few minutes. In fact, whoever is knocking begins calling his name with urgency, loud enough to drown out his lover's noises of pleasure. It's Stephanie. He knows it's Stephanie. It's always Stephanie, at times like this.
With a last quick kiss, Ezio pulls away to stand and cross the room to the door. Given that it's long after sunset and there are only a few candles burning in the room, he almost trips over his own shirts on the way over.
With a scowl, he opens the door. In the dimness of the hall, there is Stephanie, looking alarmed.
"What's wrong with you? I was knocking forever!" she says, and then she launches immediately into her real news: "The Borgia have closed off the bridges off Tiber Island. Machiavelli says they may be planning an attack within the hour."
"Rally the Brotherhood's defenses in case, and send someone through the tunnels to the mainland to round up anyone on the prowl tonight," Ezio informs her, "I will be down in a moment."
Stephanie nods and goes, and Ezio closes the door. His eyes move to the woman on his bed. She's still trying to catch her breath, but bless her, she's sitting up and adjusting her tunic and reaching for her trousers.
"Good, you overheard," he says.
"The Borgia have terrible timing," she replies, breathlessly, and Ezio moves to grab her in a quick kiss. He's already got his shirt in one hand, but his free hand reaches to stroke her once, middle finger sliding over her clit. She breathes in, sharply, her arm tightening around the back of his neck for a moment.
"We will finish this later," he informs her, and then pulls away from her. He yanks his shirt on, and then fetches his doublet.
Both fall quiet to dress. She finishes first, letting herself out of the bedroom swiftly and heading straight down to the armory, and Ezio finishes dressing in silence, waiting for the tell-tale sound of Borgia cannons.
By time he's ready, downstairs and rallying the Brotherhood, doling out orders and establishing their plan of attack, the Borgia cannons have begun.
--
Ezio doesn't see much battle that night. For the most part, he finds himself on the roof of the Headquarters, overseeing the defense and ensuring that the civilians on Tiber Island are not caught in the crossfire, but he does descend a few times to dispatch some tricky assaults himself. A few times, when he makes eye-contact with his novices, they give him a surprised look. Some of them laugh. Ezio means to ask numerous times, but there just isn't the time, with cannon fire and soldiers distracting them.
Truth be told, he just ends up feeling a little offended all night. He's forty-two; an old man by most standards, for sure, but he's hardly lost his vigor or his sturdiness for combat. His idiot novices shouldn't be surprised when he joins them in battle -- he's still good for more than giving directions.
"Are you okay?" Stephanie asks him, when they catch up to each other sometime close to dawn, when the sky is glowing and the pigeons are starting to take their first morning flights.
"Hmm?" Ezio says, a little grouchily.
"You're bleeding," she says. "Did you split your lips or something?"
His grouchiness turns to puzzlement.
"I haven't been cut tonight."
Stephanie approaches him and reaches for his chin. He lets her, and she examines his face for a second. Ezio lets her, but then it clicks.
"Oh," he says, "when you knocked, I was…"
The realization dawns on Steph's face before Ezio can finish that thought. She withdraws her hand like it was burned, with a yelp that suggests just the same.
"What the heck!!" she exclaims, and then shoves him. "Ew! I have to wash my hands! You, go wash your face!"
Ezio just laughs.
He's got a recruit to find.