Ouroboros / Blue and Yellow

'and it's all in how you mix the two
and it starts just where the light exists
it's a feeling that you cannot miss
and it burns a hole through everyone that feels it

should've said something but I've said it enough
by the way my words were faded
rather waste some time with you
should've done something but I've done it enough
by the way your hands were shaking
rather waste some time with you'

"I've killed a lot of good men."

The confession hung heavy in the muddling ink of the hazy night enshrouding the room. Blue eyes darkened by desire and curiosity slipped open lazily, regarding the speaker.

"The men that I am after: the traitors, the evil, the corrupt… They are the ones that must die." The brunette shifted upon the firm mattress, clearing his throat as soft lips met his burnished skin. "But in order to do so I am forced to kill good men, innocent men, who are just doing their jobs. Today I deprived a wife of her husband, a child of their father, parents of their son…" His dark eyes slipped shut as he whispered breathlessly, "Cristina would be ashamed of me."

"Do you insist on living forever in the shadow of that woman?" Leonardo raked blunt nails down the assassin's chest to stifle the protest that rose in his throat, the artist himself feeling that selfish spike of jealous anger in his stomach at the mention of Ezio's ex-lover. He spoke against the assassin's thick neck, steering the conversation away from that woman, murmuring softly against hardened muscles. "They work for the immoral; doesn't corruption spread, like a disease down the ranks?"

Ezio swallowed hard at the feeling of warm lips against his skin, the sensation of his shudder passing into Leonardo's body as he tried to formulate a response. His eyelids fluttered.

"If we believe evil spreads by association, then we're all damned. And I am the most unclean of all…" Those teeth started nipping at his neck, sharp to counteract the bluntness of the nails that still tormented his skin. "It's all about the motive."

The smaller man's eyelashes fluttered against the assassin's skin, the beat of the blood in his veins increased beneath his skin at the artist's tender ministrations.

"The Templar's motive isn't entirely evil." He murmured, his mouth still occupied with the soft crawl over hot flesh, breath ghosting over a hardened nipple. "Unity…"

"At the cost of enslaving everybody else." Ezio's scrambled thoughts aligned enough to form a reply, his mind fighting the mute cries of his body, silently begging for release at the artist's skilled hands.

"Exactly. Ezio…" At the sound of his name his eyelids fluttered open, brown eyes meeting blue. He loved the way the artist said his name, the sound of his voice calming and captivating beyond measure. He drew back from assaulting the assassin's neck, strong fingers brushing away strands of brown hair from his sweat drenched forehead. "You may be driven by revenge, but that revenge stems from love. The Templars, the Borgia, they are so mechanical; they only want to spread hate. But you…" Those fingers alighted on his lips and he shuddered, losing himself in the feel of his lover. "Everything you do is out of love, the purest motive. And you… you know the pain of loss more profoundly than anyone."

"Are you saying that excuses my actions?" His throat was dry, words catching in his throat. The room seemed to grow warmer and brighter around them, everything fading away but the sensations of the artist. The touch of his soft hands upon the assassin's rough face; his scent, the rich mixture of paint and perfume; the heady sound of his voice, as soft and sensuous as the silks that he wore; the feel of his warm breath and beating heart, so fragile, so easily extinguished; his blues and his yellows.

His slender fingers moved along the curve of Ezio's cheekbones until they cupped his face, holding him gently, like a wounded animal. Their eyes locked, their breathing matched and even.

"I'm saying that, God forgive me Ezio, but if you're damned then I don't want to be pure."

Ezio trembled beneath the tender touch, his voice soft and pleading as he stared deep into the artist's eyes. He gently shook his head the best he could in Leonardo's gentle grip.

"How can I bring myself to defile you?"

"I don't care," Leonardo grasped his calloused hands and pressed them to his body. "As long as you do."

The smaller man's skin was surprisingly soft beneath the assassin's calloused hands, the feeling so familiar to him now that it no longer surprised him. Everything about the artist was delicate and courteous, a polar opposite of the course boorishness of his lover. Leonardo's small hands returned to fist in the brown locks at the base of his neck.

"You think me a better man than I am, Leonardo" His voice was edged with a soft kind of sadness, an ache, something missing deep inside of him that could never been filled. But the smile that crept upon Ezio's face was gentle as his arms wrapped around the lithe body of the elder, rough hands running up and down his smooth back to massage the tired muscles, pushing and prodding the knots from his body. The blonde purred softly in his embrace as he brought his face to meet Ezio's, their lips almost touching, breath mingling in the hazy warmth of the bedroom.

"Doesn't everyone feel that way about their amore?"

Ezio's hands dipped lower, strong fingers moulded from years of climbing grasping the taut flesh of da Vinci's rear, massaging the sensitive skin until the meek artist who was usually always so reserved was gasping and moaning wantonly against his lover. Their lips crushed together, mouths opening to clash teeth as the assassin half gasped, half hissed into Leonardo's mouth.

"Il mio amore."

Leonardo's reply was lost as one thick finger suddenly pressed inside of him, words escaping in a gasp of the assassin's name as he adjusted to the welcome and all too familiar intrusion. Ezio bit down of the delicate skin of his neck as a means of distraction as he added a second, the mingling sensations of pleasure and pain drawing soft noises from the smaller man as he arched his chest against the well-defined muscles of Ezio's own.

"D-don't tease me so. Ho bisogno di te." Leonardo moaned breathlessly in a way that went straight to the assassin's groin as those fingers moved ever so slowly inside of him, spreading him open and working in a third, revelling in the noises it drew from his lover.

"Patience." Ezio murmured, the sensual tones in his voice marking his accent with lust and making Leonardo shudder with anticipation. He rolled his hips against Ezio's fingers, his frantic noises making the both of them even more worked up. The emotions that played across the artist's pale face amazed the younger man, even as he guided himself into him and watched his face contort in pain and pleasure as he entered, every movement, every emotion was somehow graceful, beautiful, as it dripped from the artist's body. He bit down hard on his lip as he felt his most sensitive organ enveloped in Leonardo's tight heat and exhaled heavily upon his lover's skin as the elder begged him to move. He did so achingly slowly as always, fear of hurting the delicate man wrestling with the possessive, animalistic urge to pound into him as hard as he could, to mark his body as belonging to him, to make the stoic man moan and cry and come screaming his name.

"Ezio!" The artist was close to begging now as he fisted his hands in brown hair, pulling Ezio's face down to meet his, moaning frustrated against hot skin at the slow pace the assassin was taking. "Cazzo me duro! I need it, I need you."

At the sound of his lover pleading he could not hold back even if he had wanted to, pulling out and snapping his hips hard, feeling Leonardo's body tighten in pleasure, like a coil wound too hard. He let his eyes slip shut as he lost himself in the feeling of his body, moaning words that were lost in the fire.

"Cazzo!" Leonardo cried, arching his body to meet the thrusts as Ezio hit against his prostrate. "Harder!"

"Puttana." Ezio growled against his ear as he thrust deeper, knowing that Leonardo loved the callous treatment. Their moans and cries mingled into the one sound as he set a hard, fast pace, moving inside of the artist, losing himself in his warmth and the softness of his skin as he moved the two of them fast towards their end.


In the cold bed of the warehouse Desmond awoke, his pulse racing, his skin on fire.

He could still feel Leonardo's lips against Ezio's, could still taste paint and sweat on his tongue. The sensation of being immersed in the artist's tight heat was as vivid as though he actually still was, and he didn't even need to look down to know that once again the bleeding memories of his all too vivid dreams had left him with a raging hard on.

"Fuck' sake Ezio." He cursed the assassin in the dark, damning himself for awakening before the climax of the memory. But glancing up he saw the harsh light radiating from the computer and heard the soft 'click clack' of the keyboard keys working furiously away beneath tired fingers. He smiled.


Moving almost silently from the bed, shedding the remnants of his pyjamas as he did so, he moved to place his hands upon the historian's shoulders, digging his fingers into the tender spots where he knew he would be carrying the most weight after his long day. Shaun bit back a moan as, despite himself, he relaxed into the touch. Desmond's thumb began to work out a sore spot on his neck, and he practically purred as he rolled his hips against Shaun's back, making him acutely aware of his current predicament. The historian sighed theatrically as he swivelled round in his seat to face the assassin, showing only slight surprise at his current state of underdress and arousal.

"Don't tell me… Leonardo and Ezio were at it again?" Feigning annoyance, he cocked his head at the preening young man standing before him.


"Did he ever do anything but screw around?" He raised an eyebrow and allowed a smirk to break the façade of irritation. "Not that I would ever complain but I do have a lot of work to do."

"Later." Desmond took his hand and anxiously encouraged him over to the bed; divesting him of most of his clothing in the time it took them to cover the short distance. "Ti voglio ora."

"I don't speak Italian." Shaun retorted as he was pushed down upon the bed, Desmond's mouth already hard at work upon his skin. "Twat." He hissed in arousal as thick lips and sharp teeth flicked over his skin, raking the exposed bud of his nipple, working his way across his chest and up his bruised neck.

"Shut up." Desmond growled as he moved to capture the historians lips, pulling him into a deep, messy kiss, exploring his hot mouth with his tongue, shutting him up save for the soft, burning noises that escaped as his body was tormented with pleasure, both men suddenly desperate for release.

Centuries and thousands of miles apart yet connected by blood across time and space, two pairs of lovers carried out their frantic dance. The assassin and his love, the never ending cycle repeated through history, their ouroboros.

A/N: My first LeoxEzio fic. They are too cute. And I couldn't resist some ShaunxDes. YAY. Hope you guys liked it, reviews would be lovely.
Trivia: Corey May (the lead writer of Assassin's Creed) stated that the one thing he greatly regretted not showing in-game was Ezio being with Leonardo when he died. D'aww :'3 warm fuzzies all round.


(Rough) Italian – English translations:

"Amore" – "Love"

"Il mio amore" – "My love"

"Ho bisogno di te" – "I need you"

"Cazzo me duro!" – "Fuck me hard"

"Cazzo" – "Fuck"

"Puttana" – "Whore"

"Ti voglio ora" – "I want you now"