"Che cazzo?"

Staring sharply at the fine parchment in his hands, Ezio brought his eyes closer to the elaborate outrage and knit his brows in surprise and confusion. He literally scanned the familiar image to the point of scientific analysis before letting out another bemused oath, turning the sheaf this way and that under an array of candles and the early morning sun: not without putting his keen sense of sight into play. The different assortment of bold lines and slim cross-hatchings cast a sense of reality over the simple sheet of paper—with illumination, the detailed artwork looked considerably genuine and could be mistaken for being plastered onto the surface, rather than being sealed in with another careful coating of black ink. Largely sketched and perfected, the intricate figure dominated its host with a streak of brazenness and finesse that would put a physiologist and any other world-renowned artist to shame. This, the amazed Italian swore, was the most meticulous 'study' Leonardo had ever illustrated, from the needle-thin curves of the top to the careful roundness of the end—nothing would ever come close to it.

"Porca puttana!" the overwhelmed brunet huskily rasped. "It really is my genitali!"

And indeed, it truly was: Perhaps it was the way his length would slightly rest to the left when relaxed, or the small vein that ran from the center of the right side to the head, but Ezio Auditore de Firenze, who was gifted with a very impressive scepter from his lineage, could recognize those nether regions from anywhere—especially his royal jewels. Raking his gaze over the picture in an intense fashion, he took in the proud curve of his crown, the thickness of his member, and the comfortable condition of his sack, each area gingerly penciled in and preserved with a nice finish of high gloss. It was as if he was actually staring at his groin, except it was magnified at least four times and was conserved vigilantly in a flattened cell, instead of lying casually in his drawers.

Suddenly, he was interrupted from his deep examination by the sound of light footsteps that could only belong to the man who laboriously replicated his genitalia; deciding to act upon the strong mischief that infiltrated his being, he nonchalantly leaned against the sturdy oak table and leaned back to settle one elbow on the wood, his right hand clutching onto the source of hilarity whilst he attempted to maintain a façade of stoicism. His ears warmed up to the airy sound of birdcalls Leonardo was practicing, and as the other man drew nearer to his location, Ezio found it quite difficult to maintain his indifferent shell, for a potent pull of chuckles threatened to spill from his throat.

"Ezio? Ezio, is that you?"

Don't laugh: Do not laugh.

"Ezio? Ezi—Oh, Ezio!" The enlightened artist beamed at his laid-back friend in a manner that made the sun dim in comparison; unknowingly, the sight coerced the struggling male to swallow a hitch of air. "I was just—"

And Leo paled.

Somewhere outside, a pigeon cooed.

The amused assassin broke the silence when he decided his poor companion was losing more blood from his face than he should. "Ah, amico mio, you … um, draw very well."

The painter was squeaking in a tone that would've made mice proud. "E-Ezio! I can ex-ex-explain!"

A massive grin hidden underneath the last shred of his control, the devious youth coughed slightly as a diversion and once more treated his orbs to the naughty treasure; meanwhile, the flustered cosmopolitan was gesticulating nervously as his cheeks grew redder and redder. "Th-That's just … model! Uh, Gian was going … and then I … and then he … yesterday, at the beach with his friends! I went, and he wanted me to … oh … oh … I-I said—"

"Don't even try to weasel your way out of this, maestro," he smoothly interrupted, the left corner of his mouth subtly upturned in minute impishness. "You know who the goods belong to."

"N-No, it w-was someone else … just for m-m-my anato-anatomy, and-and he said that it was … it was … I … um … oh … so I-I can stud—"

"See this?" Ezio turned the long parchment around, more than a bit smug when Leonardo looked as if he was an overly ripe tomato, and cocked an aristocratic eyebrow as his words flowed in ambrosia. "This scar near my pene—it was caused by one of my favorite ladies threatening to castrate me for infidelity."

Leo's lips formed a sloppy 'o'.

"And this," he coolly continued, "display of coglione matches exactly with my own: Why, there's even the crescent-shaped birthmark near the bottom of them." Just to tease the shorter man, he winked playfully and gestured a calloused hand toward said region. "And, of course, the proportions are superbly fitted to match mine."

Figurative steam was coming from pink-tinged ears.

"There's also …"

The embarrassing onslaught went on and on, coercing the art connoisseur to crawl on the nonexistent border between consciousness and dark denial: With every word he spoke, pointing out the myriad of traits that proved his thesis, the shameless rake could feel the panic as much as he could tell when Claudia was hiding a desperate lover in her bedroom closet. Whoever stated that Leonardo da Vinci was oblivious to intimacy during his work must've been sorely mistaken: because how could he support his well-believed title when he was diminutively swooning and gaping, like a flabbergasted monk presented with a seductive whore? Though his sketches of one's body were many, even in the provocative southern parts, he must've not put too much mind on it; but that thought would contradict his current expression, frozen as a spotted doe, and it left much to be debated.

Finally, with a grand flourish of a sly smile, he finished his speech. "Now, would you be so kind as to explain to me why you drew my crotch?"

"I-I-I don't … just … no, I didn't … for you … see … w-we—b-because … erm …. someone else's … n-not … "

What a fail.

"You must've taken quite an interest in my genitals—I see that many features were installed in the making: in particular, my testicular zone and the ridges on my penis." He mockingly tapped a dexterous digit along the middle of his member and lazily snaked it to rest at the base. "Merda, Leonardo—you even remembered that I have a sensitive vein on the right side; I sincerely applaud your attention."

"Wh-Wha—I … I-I-I-I … we—plea—I … I-I-I ju-just … oh … m-m—I …. " Much to the dirty-blonde's horror and dismay, there wasn't even an open escape for his nonsensical ramblings; blood must have been oozing out of every orifice by now, judging by the increasing diabolical confidence his partner was waved around. "Th-there … and … y-yesterday we—"

"Don't worry, don't worry; no need to feel abashed here," the joking scoundrel languidly replied. "I understand your need to invent an excuse to indulge your voyeurism; you see, if you really wanted, I could've just shown it to you earlier, and we wouldn't be in this position, no?"

Leonardo never looked so much alive, until now.

And Ezio sealed the deal with a shit-eating grin.

"But just sate my curiosity: How did you get a perfect view, in the first place?"