For a long, blissful moment, he was floating in a cold, dark abyss he sank into. Time and earthly matters were left on the shore. All that he was still waiting for, all that kept his consciousness from slipping away, was the sight of the gates of Hell opening under him, the smell of sulfur and decay filling his nosetrills, touch of the eternal flame on his soul. He was unforgiven, he has know it for a long time. He has made peace with it. There was no hope left in him. Waiting in the dark was all that he had left. And it was quite comfortable.
That was until he realised he's no longer in the river.
He felt the spasms of his chest and the burning in his throat more than he did the actual coughing. The water was leaving his body, forming a puddle in the sand next to his face, but the abyss was reluctant to unclench its vice grip just yet. A familiar voice, distant like an echo, said something that resebled his name. Someone's hands gathered wet hair from his face and briefly covered his cheek. He was so cold he barely felt the touch.
He must have sinned greatly, he thought, for God to send him all the way to the ninth circle, the deepest and darkest pit of Hell where he will never feel warmth again, and let him think he was being rescued. He thought he was ready for his punishment. But the image of eternity spent like this, under the ice, feeling the hand of another soul on his cheek but never being able to hold it back, suddenly filled his entire being with so much dread that he wanted to scream.
It's alright. You'll be alright, Girolamo.
And tranquility pulled him into the claws of the abyss again.
Riario awoke, startled. Taking a breath felt like filling his lungs with glass. His wrists stung when he gripped the blanket wounded tight around his body. He saw a ceiling of an unfamiliar house, and felt he was naked under the sheets.
"Shh." He whipped his head around and saw Leonardo crouched at the side of the bed, with a wet rag in one hand. "You're safe. We're in Vinci. You're feverish, but I'm treating it."
Riario struggled to understand the words, but the tone of artista's voice calmed him down. He slowly settled on his back again and let Leonardo wipe his forehead. He occupied himself with trying to breathe slower and taking in the surroundings. Leonardo's home - because where else might they be - appeared uninhabited, except for clear signs of moved furniture and a franctic search for supplies.
He heard the splashing of water in a bowl when Leonardo cleaned the rag, then his quiet footsteps to the other end of the living area. Daylight poured through a large window and reached one of Girolamo's bandaged hands. He set dust particles flying around in the air when he carefully removed the cloth to reveal a swollen, carefully stitched blade wound.
He stared at the ceiling again.
He heard Leonardo stop in his tracks. He looked at the artist's form, and curiously, saw a small smile forming on his face. Then Leonardo met his gaze.
"Figured you'd be asking that before the how", he said, approaching Girolamo slowly. He crouched near the bed again, and gripped the side, not quite touching Girolamo's forearm, but close to it. He didn't break eye contact. He was taking in all the sadness, remorse, helpless anger and pain that Girolamo had to offer for his help. Why did the artist save him? Why did he want to prolong Girolamo's suffering? Why didn't he just let it all end?
"The answer is that I don't know."
Riario would yell at him if he had enough strength. But artista looked at him still, and it appeared that he was searching for something in Riario, something that could surely never be found. And then Leonardo's face lit up, the way it did during some great discovery.
"I just knew that the world of the living isn't done with you yet. And I need all the allies I can get, for what's to come."
"You don't get to decide when someone's time comes to an end", Riario carefully spits every word, anger growing in his chest serving as his source of strength.
"No, but I don't believe God has called you to his home like this either." In an instant, Leonardo's eyes turned into steel. "I am not letting Him take you yet, Girolamo. Not when I have some say in it."
Riario didn't realise he was crying until he choked on the wetness in his throat. He turned away from the artist, ashamed. Tried and failed multiple times to steady his breath.
"We're not... allies... anymore", he choked out. "You... you said it yourself."
He felt Leonardo's fingers gripping his forearm.
"And I regret it deeply."
"Why?" Entirely against his will, Riario's yell turned into a broken wail. "I'm nothing! To you... and to this world."
"Everything we went through will never mean nothing to me." There was such strength to these words. Like artista actually cared. "Your confession. Your story. Your sacrifices. They all have meaning. You have to stop letting other people take it from you."
Riario shook his arm free from artista's touch and curled into himself. He couldn't understand what Leonardo was saying. He didn't want to understand. He was sure it was somehow a blasphemy anyway. He just wanted to stop feeling all these unnecessary emotions. He wanted to return to the abyss once more.
He felt Leonardo's presence behind him for a while longer, until the artist sighed quietly.
"I'm sorry. You should rest", he said. After he got up, he hovered over Riario for a bit, then added "Please tell me if your wrists start bleeding again. Or if you get hungry. I put water on the shelf near you, it should be within reach." He clearly wanted to say something else, but thought it wise not to. "I'll be close by".
Riario has never knew shame greater than what he felt in that moment.
Shame. It was shame. Not anything else. Nothing even remotely resembling hope.
Leonardo was indeed staying close by. Too close, in fact. Girolamo didn't even need to ask for water before the cup was refilled. Considering his miserable state, and the fact that he refused to answer the artist's questions, it was probably justified. Still, Girolamo was far from comfortable with it.
Every couple of days, Leo's mongrel friend came to Vinci with news from occupied Florence, and to beg Leonardo to join the fight. Each time Leonardo refused, and Zoroaster was never let behind the threshold.
He had a lot of time to think during those days. About God. About the idea of Heaven and Hell that suddenly felt way less real after being touched by Death. He kept going back to the overwhelming fear that took him over when he thought Hell took him.
He was sure he has done everything that he could in order to prepare himself for the afterlife. Amusingly enough, not meeting the standards of Christian death did not add to the pile of sins he repented for every night, but made him question. Surely, no man capable of remorse could meet death without fear of ending up in Hell. Why should it be considered a sin when he already accounted for every other atrocity he has committed? Wasn't it unfair to add yet another demand that simply could not be met?
When he deemed that unanswered, he came back to dwell on what Leonardo said to him. That he didn't believe it was God's will which tried to took Girolamo's soul, but human. That his life had meaning beyond whom he worshipped and trusted. That it should have meaning to Girolamo himself.
And it was a blasphemy. It gave human thought too much power. It gave his life a purpose beyond being God's servant. It was unforgivable. And yet, during long nights when the fever kept him awake, he found himself going over every major event in his life and thinking what could be different now if he chose to defy God's teachings.
The scraping of wood against wood pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked at Leonardo, who was dragging a big table that was moved earlier into the kitchen area and pulling it back to the middle of the room.
"Thought we might eat normally today", he said, setting the table in place with a grunt. "I think your wrists have healed enough."
What he meant by normally was that they quickly found out Riario's wrist injuries were making it impossible for him to hold a spoon properly. After initial protests that included Riario swearing upon Holy Mary that he would rather starve to death, the ritual of their shared meals begun, with Leo feeding Riario while trying not to look him in the eyes too much. The artist's reassurances that it was just a temporary solution, not a word about it will get past his lips, and that Riario shouldn't be ashamed of needing help have never made it less than the most humiliating experience in his entire life. Which is why he found it really concerning just how reluctant he was to nod.
Leonardo set the table and sat across from Girolamo, finally keeping his distance. He grabbed the cutlery first, took a bite of pastry and gestured for Riario to do the same. Girolamo reluctantly tried to grip a knife, then when he forced his hand to stop shaking, he cut himself a bite as well and guided it to his mouth.
He caught Leonardo's gaze when the artist smiled at him warmly. Leonardo instantly looked away, and swallowed his bite. "Sorry. No staring."
Girolamo bit his tongue before he protested. He couldn't even voice what he thought about Leonardo's care properly. Artista never let him feel like he wanted something in return, and his attention to details in Girolamo's behavior, although a bit excessive, effectively killed his sense of loneliness. It felt dangerously like acceptance. He couldn't even begin the thought of what that smile - that proud little happy smile - did to his insides.
"You sent Zoroaster away again", he said instead. Leonardo raised his brows.
"He's not my mongrel friend anymore?" he scoffed. "My medicine must work too well."
"I'm not so uncultured as to not remember a name", Riario remarked. "Besides", he added more humbly, "it appears that he helped you with transporting me to Vinci. I owe him my life as well, at least partially."
Girolamo took pride in every moment he made Leonardo da Vinci shut up and question what he had to say next, so he indulged himself with a private smile in the silence that followed his statement.
"You don't owe us anything, Girolamo." When he looked up, he saw a familiar concern in artista's eyes. Like Riario was in pain again, or rejecting his kind words. Because they were always so annoyingly kind. Too kind for a monster like him.
"Contrary to what Zoroaster might say", Riario joked a little. But it wasn't a joke, was it? He hated having debts to settle, but here he was, sitting at the table at his saviour's house, eating the meat Leonardo provided even though he was a vegetarian, and keeping him from running off to save a thousand lives worth much more than Riario's. "You should go with him, next time he comes. Your obligation to me has ended a long time ago."
"No." When he looked up, Leonardo's face expressed that same concern again, but with a hint of determination. "Your body might be healthy, but we haven't even begun healing your mind."
"I know how much Florence means to you", Riario insisted, although he still kept his tone delicate. "And I'm sure it will not be free without your help. I've seen how your genius flourishes under pressure."
"There it is again." Leonardo leaned forward, forcing Girolamo to look him in the eye. "You're deflecting. Ever since you woke up, you won't tell me why you've tried to... take your own life."
Girolamo went quiet. He didn't understand why artista needed to hear it from his lips. The things he said, it sounded like he knew it all already. Like he could read minds as easily as Latin.
"As much as I am grateful to you--"
"Cut the bullshit, Girolamo!" Leonardo slammed an open hand to the table, then winced like he instantly regretted it. Riario didn't even flinch, but in that moment he realised that Leonardo has stopped calling him count. "I will never be able to help you if you keep making it difficult."
"And who's being difficult, exactly?", Riario snapped in return. "Once we got to the shore, we were supposed to get back to our lives. On opposite sides."
Leonardo looked heavenwards before he said, "I thought that was what you were suggesting by letting me know you'll hand yourself over to Sixtus! That you were still a man of faith who would rather die than call himself a friend of a heathen artist!" He paused to hide a distressed smile behind his hand, but thought it futile a second later. "So I released you from your obligation to me." He laughed bitterly. "And I immediately realised my mistake."
The way Leonardo looked at him made Girolamo's breath catch. It was like his own longing was staring back at him. He stuttered. "You couldn't have known that I--"
"But I should've. I should've asked you to stay with-- to go with us." Leonardo reached for the hand Girolamo put on the table, but the other flinched and hid it away. He almost instantly regretted it, because the flash of hurt in artista's eyes was unbearable. "I should've given you another choice." Leonardo kept his hand outstretched on the wooden surface, like an offering. "Would you have considered it?"
What did it mean, to go with us? To form a partnership with the artist? He indeed thought this road forever closed, and Leonardo's words on the ship only cemented it. But now that he was given the option, he wavered. If he had gone with them, it would surely mean abandoning the Church. But wouldn't it have been better than the bitter loneliness of the marble walls?
He had an atrocious, unforgivable little feeling that with artista by his side, he could learn to live with his sins.
Those were the daydreams he punished himself with.
He looked up again and there it was, the concern in Leonardo's posture that Girolamo has been interpreting so wrong these past few days. He thought it to be pity, just the artist showing mercy to a lost soul. But now he remembered. Zita used to give him the same look.
Riario's mouth opened, but somehow, no sound came out. Artista knew so much about him already. He had a great skill in dragging out the parts unknown even to Riario himself. Information was the greatest weapon. Riario used it repeatedly to kill and manipulate. How could it help him to reveal more?
When he still wouldn't make a sound, Leonardo suddenly stood up, circled the table and, to Riario's utmost surprise, went to his knees.
"Girolamo", he said while reaching for Riario's bandaged wrist. This time Riario allowed it to happen. "What I'm trying to say is that I saw you in the New World. And because of that, I can no longer ignore you." Such plea in those brown eyes. Such affection, so strange when directed at a monster like Riario. "So I need to hear your story. All of it. Only then I can be sure that you won't try anything..." Artista's thumb brushed the stitched wound so delicately that Riario had to supress a shiver. "...reckless again."
It felt like gutting himself alive, but he turned his hand in Leonardo's grasp, so that he could return the touch, and pulled his whole being into saying:
Girolamo didn't hear His voice anymore.
It happened in the New World. When they burried Zita on that dry hill, he felt her blood still staining his hands. He needed her here, amongst the living, and he had to kill her in the name of some brutal, meaningless ritual. It made all the deaths he had caused flash before his eyes. They were supposed to aid Sait Peter's successor, his father. They were supposed to be meaningful.
He was sure God abandoned him in that exact moment. He drifted from praying then, and when he came back, it felt hollow, like listening to an echo of the past.
And in the midst of it, he saw Leonardo so clearly. Still brilliant, still so desperate not only to survive, but to get his answers. Burning like fire in the hearth; it was so easy to lose himself in the light and warmth. So he threw away his life to aid Leonardo's cause. He even revealed his darkest secret. It seemed like a good idea at the time, since he was almost already dead.
It marvelled him still, how attentively Leonardo had listened to his confession, how compassionate were his contributions. He has revealed that he had killed his mother, and it somehow still couldn't convince Leonardo that Girolamo Riario was a monster of a man.
Much of the same happened yesterday, when Riario told him all about his father's deceit and the true pope's rejection. Leonardo just listened, even during the long moments of silence, and as he did, fear gradually left Girolamo, replaced with a strange gratitude. He never realised how good it felt to be listened to. Maybe not understood, but it was visible that Leonardo at least tried to make sense of it.
The only time he did interrupt the story has left Riario shaken to the core.
Well, he can't still resent you for something that happened so long ago and wasn't your fault. Can he?
It was that simple for Leonardo da Vinci. Time goes by, wounds heal. What matters is the person right in front of you.
Was it really so wrong that he thought it so wise?
His thoughts were interrupted by Leonardo stumbling into the living area with buckets full of fresh water. He still wouldn't let him help with the well, arguing that it could damage Riario's wrists. They were talking about his wounds so freely now, like it was some battle injury.
Leonardo didn't say anything, but Riario heard him missing a step when he set the buckets on the floor, then carefully approached the side of the bed where Riario kneeled, elbows on the sheets, hands clasped in praying gesture.
Riario opened one eye to look at artista sideways. "Care to join?"
Leonardo appeared flustered. "I've never seen the appeal. I don't know how."
Riario smiled at that. "Try it."
Leonardo wavered for a moment. Then he surprised Girolamo once again by kneeling next to him and mirroring his posture.
"You're not a monk, so it doesn't have to be preceeded by any incatations", Girolamo said when Leonardo closed his eyes. "Just try to thank Him, or ask Him for whatever you want."
"Is that really how it works?" Leonardo teased.
"No", Girolamo answered honestly, "I'm making an exception for a stubborn heathen that you know you are."
"Since I'm far from a monk." Riario felt the smile splitting Leonardo's face.
"Be quiet and try to focus."
They stayed like that for maybe two or three breaths. Not that Girolamo was counting. Then artista sighed and spread his elbows so that he could make a pillow out of his arms, and rested his head on it.
"Your patience is admirable, but it's a skill I do not posess", he said, his voice muffled by the sheets. "I didn't realise you could still hear Him."
Girolamo took a deep breath and thought about deflecting. Then he met artista's gaze.
"I don't." It felt better to tell the truth. Certainly more amusing to see the shock on Leonardo's face. "Satisfied?"
"You mean now or like..." Leonardo shifted and rested his cheek on his hand. "...never?"
Girolamo laughed, but it was short and bitter. "Ever since the New World. I guess you could say that I'm having..." He abandoned the futile attempt of praying and rested his hands on the sheets. "Some doubts."
Leonardo just looked at him, searching. Girolamo found that he no longer minded the scrutiny. "Do you want Him back in your life?"
It was such an odd question to consider. Like God was some ex-lover.
"It is not me who should decide that", he answered carefully.
"Then who?", Leonardo countered. "You know I respect your faith, I really do. But you also know my opinions on it. If God gave you free will, you should be able to rebel when He won't answer. To take action over that part of you that isn't defined by Him. Otherwise it's just..." His gaze drifted to Girolamo's wrists. "Otherwise you're left alone to slip into darkness."
"Why do you care so much?", Girolamo asked before he even realised his throat was working. But it was a good question, because it scared him how dangerously close he was from believing a heathen. "You're ignoring your duty to your friends, your city. All to help me get on my feet again. I need an answer, or I won't be able to trust that you don't have any ulterior motive in telling me all this."
Leonardo looked away. "I told you I don't know."
"I don't believe it", Girolamo leaned into his space. "There isn't a disaster in this world that you couldn't make sense of."
They stared at each other in silence. Girolamo has leaned in too close and he could feel artista's breath on his mouth. But he couldn't back away, not now.
"I suppose that's fair." Leonardo breathed in, eyes darting left and right. Girolamo has never seen him like this. Withholding.
"At first I was fascinated by how much you scared me."
A dumbfounded what pushed on Girolamo's tongue, but he forced it down by swallowing.
"You... You appeared in my nightmares as a sign of something terrible." Leonardo clearly had a hard time spelling this utter nonsense out, which must've meant that it was somehow true. "I didn't know why my mind chose you as a symbol. But it's clearing out now." He started to stand up, and Riario wanted to stop him, but his knees needed some relief as well, so he just did the same. Leonardo stayed where he stood, anyway. Riario aborted the gesture of grasping for his sleeve.
"What is?" Girolamo asked, trying to be attentive. Was this what Leonardo had endured when he listened to him yesterday?
"I think... that you're my antithesis." Leonardo huffed when he looked at Girolamo's barely hidden bafflement. "I am trying to explain what is going on in my head in understandable terms. Do you know how hard that is?"
"I can only imagine." Entirely against his will, Girolamo smiled, which made artista roll his eyes.
"You wanted your answer, and it isn't easy, so just listen." He took a deep breath. "Remember our talk in the valley? You said that knowledge had value to you, and I didn't believe it at first. Now, after all we've been through in the New World, I do." Something warm settled in his eyes while he spoke, and it simultaneously made Girolamo feel settled and even more frightened. "Because I saw wonder in your eyes while were there. The same wonder for the intricacies of the vault, the same anticipation for what's to come that I held."
He wanted to gouge Leonardo's eyes out to make him stop looking at him like that. Like the wonder was still visible under the surface. It was unbearable.
Girolamo didn't look up. His hands turned into fists at his sides.
"There. You have your answer." He didn't try to break the space between them and Girolamo was greatful for it. "Now can you please believe that I only want to help you?"
Girolamo had to take several breaths before he answered. "I will try."
"Right." He refused to look at him, but from the corner of his vision he could see Leonardo's posture deflating. "I'll... go ahead and wash." It was a lousy excuse, but Girolamo did need his space.
The distance was also a reassurance that Leonardo won't hear his racing heart.
"You're awake? I need to show you something."
Riario didn't bother with dressing up, and just followed artista upstairs, barefoot. It's been two weeks since he stayed in Vinci, and there were days when he was so out of it that Leonardo helped him bathe; he was way past the prudent phase.
Upon entering Leonardo's old room, he almost tripped on a palette. There were plans and sketches everywhere on the floor, gathered around a big map of Florence.
"Those are battle plans", Girolamo said, amazed against his better judgement. "And this", he pointed at the southern gate, where a strange-looking crossbow was drawn, "is the hellish device you used to draw me away from Florence."
"I've already built several smaller ones", Leonardo stood next to him, beaming. "Zo will get them, and distribute the weapons to the people hiding in the streets. Nico is already inside", he smiled sheepishly at Girolamo's accusing stare, "he insisted on joining the resistance. So he will get the word out that we plan to draw Federico's troops out by shooting at the citadel. Everyone in the castle will have to find a place to hide by then. Once the chaos ensues, I'll just have to find Federico and kill him."
"You're joining the fight." Girolamo tried to only let pride into his voice, but he failed miserably. Artista finally decided that his patient didn't need any more help. This meant an end to whatever was forming between them. Girolamo knew it was inevitable, and he felt ashamed that it managed to last for this long.
He let a tiny voice in his head - of the Riario that was treated poorly all his life and just wanted to love and be loved back - grow too large. This moment, when he and artista parted ways again, had to be his next punishment.
"Girolamo." Leonardo shifted to stand before him. "You're not seriously thinking that I'm leaving you here, are you?"
"You're obviously coming with me, I still have concerns about your crisis of faith." Leonardo's brow furrowed like Girolamo was being delusional somehow. "I can't tell you to stay out of fight because we need all hands on board, but try not to force it and stick close to me, right? I don't think your wounds will re-open but we will stabilize them with leather. Hey." Girolamo felt artista's fingers brushing his cheek, then lifting his chin. "You're not going back to Sixtus, we both know how bad that would be for you. So it's only logical that you're on our side now. Whether you like it or not."
"The side of knowledge?" Riario mused through a shaky breath.
"Call it what you want." Leonardo smiled crookedly. Then his face fell a bit. "But before you can join, I need to... make sure."
Girolamo furrowed his brows in confusion. "I am no longer wishing to depart the world of the living, if that's what you're asking."
"That's good, that's very good." Artista took a step closer. "It's something... related to that. In some way."
It didn't make any sense, until it did, because Leonardo moved closer that they had ever been, leaned in with intent, and before Girolamo thought better of it, he cupped arista's face in one hand and breached the rest of the space between them.
He was sure his heart stopped beating.
Leonardo circled his waist and kissed back.
The scratch of his beard wasn't at all unpleasant, as were his hands sliding under Riario's loose shirt, then up and down his spine, making him shiver. Leonardo guided him against the wall, held him there, then broke the kiss.
"Sorry", he breathed, smiling so wide that it must've hurt, "I'm not used to stepping in where I might not be wanted. But I take that as a yes?"
"You're infuriating", Girolamo managed before he kissed Leonardo again, pulling at his hair to keep him in place, surprised at his own hunger.
"Is your religious crisis okay with this?" Leonardo leaned away again, which almost made Girolamo whine. He tried to pull the artist towards himself, but Leonardo catched his hands and pinned them to the wall at the level of their heads. "I'm serious, Girolamo, I'm not dealing with you having a breakdown later."
Riario had to close his eyes and take several deep breaths. Christ. How could he let a mere human make him so insane.
"Should I stop?" Leonardo's voice went softer. "I won't do anything you wouldn't want. So tell me what you want."
"Move against the wall, then." The look he gave Leonardo must've been as piercing as he intended it to be, because he was immediately released and they switched positions.
Still keeping himself close, Girolamo brushed his thumb against the hair above artista's throat and felt it rise - something he didn't knew he wanted to feel so badly until he has experienced it - then slid his hand all the way downwards while he fell to his knees.
"I've decided to let you replace my faith for a while", he interrupted whatever Leonardo wanted to say, and made him gasp by pulling at his belt. "Is that enough to reassure you?"
"I-- No?" Leonardo stopped his hands from moving by holding them. He leaned forward, concerned, always so worried for Girolamo, always so infatuated and thinking it invisible to a Christian. He let out a short, uncertain laugh. "What does that even mean?"
Girolamo just smiles, because he knew exactly what he meant by that, it was just hard to express in words and he thought the irony amusing.
He was choosing a side. By going to fight for Florence, he was throwing his life away for Leonardo's cause. He has let him know all the parts of himself, and was about to unravel even more. Leonardo's guidance made him question everything he thought to be absolute. If this wasn't religion, then Riario must've really forgotten the definition.
And why wouldn't he throw it all away again? Maybe it was foolish to do so for one man, but that man was Leonardo da Vinci. It wasn't like he had something to lose. On the contrary. He has never felt more complete.
He turned his hands in Leonardo's and looked him in the eyes, trying to express all that he was feeling in just that. There were no words - and he feared there never will be - to describe something so enormous, so life-changing, but so very beautiful that mended his heart in all the right places.
"You weren't as subtle as you'd like to think." He pulled at Leonardo's hands until they let go of his, and started to undo his breeches. Leonardo's breath catched in his chest, and Girolamo immediately wanted to make it happen a hundred times more. Around him, Girolamo allowed himself to want. "Kissing my wrists when you thought I was sleeping while you were changing the bandage." Was that a blush he was seeing? "Always holding my hands for support while I took your medicine, and keeping them there for a moment too long. The way you tried so hard to save my honor while you fed me, and couldn't stop staring."
"You told me you didn't like it!" Leonardo laughed breathily, then put a hand on his mouth to muffle a grunt when Girolamo finally got rid of all the unnecessary pieces of cloth. "Bastard."
Riario took a breath, still a bit disbelieving about the whole situation. He looked up and met his artist's eyes. Found his devotion mirrored. That was all he needed to proceed.
"I want to return the worship now." Leonardo's etire body shook with a shiver when Riario breathed the words over his length. He closed his eyes, and immediately felt a hand gripping his shoulder. He wrapped his hand around artista's fingers. "Leonardo. Please."
To his shock, he was gripped under his shoulders and made to stand up. He winced, as he started to get sensitive as well.
"Alright." Leonardo kissed him softly, then pulled him close, while the most mischievous of smiles slowly spread on his face. "But I'm not your God." He guided Riario's hands downwards and grunted with pleasure when Girolamo took the hint. "We're in this together. Which means I lead, because you're inexperienced and would probably bite me if I let you blow me off."
Girolamo huffed, feeling the blush that was inevitably spreading on his face. "Perhaps you can go back to your subtle phase?"
"You asked for it." Artista bumped his head against the wall, arching towards Girolamo's hand. "First of the New Ten Commandments is as follo-- Oh, God. There."
Wonderful thing, this new way of shutting his artist up.
Girolamo will show him what true worship meant.
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