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“Must I go bound while you go free
Must I love a man who doesn't love me
Must I be born with so little art
As to love a man who'll break my Heart”
― Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince
…
Zo found himself grinning as he took the stairs two at a time up to his and Leo’s apartment. He had been planning this night for months, saving his money from every card game he played and every sale he made just so he could surprise Leo for once in his life. He had known the other man since they were both fifteen and in all the years since he had never been able to truly surprise the artist, but he had him this time. He had thoroughly embarrassed himself in three stores with Vanessa and Nico by his side (giving blushing commentaries), and sacrificed his money he usually saved for smokes, all so he could make his dumb husband forget about Florence and the Medici’s for a couple of hours.
He could feel himself shaking slightly with anticipation, and he let out a small breathy laugh as he pulled his keys from his pocket. He and Leo had never been tame in the bedroom (or any other room they fucked in for that matter) but this was different, this was new. If it were anyone else he would have felt stupid or scared, would never have considered doing something like this, make himself so vulnerable in front of someone he didn’t trust with his life.
He trusted Leo with everything else though, so he wasn’t afraid. Massively turned on and slightly giddy with anticipation? Fuck yes.
He let out a breath and muttered ‘Here goes’ before reaching forward to unlock the door-
-only to have the door open before he could.
Only for Lucrezia Donati to open the door.
Zo felt his stomach drop to the floor. Everything he had been feeling just seconds before slipped away as he locked eyes with the startled ones of the most desirable woman in Italy. She was dressed to the nines like she had just come from a photoshoot or a catwalk, blue movie star dress and sapphire earrings unsuccessfully hidden under a designer cut coat. But her clothes and hair were rumpled enough to betray what she and Leo had been doing. Doing in Zo’s bed.
She opened her mouth as if she were going to speak, spin something that would get her out of there without the risk of Zo betraying her to the Paparazzi, but then her eyes caught on the gold band on his left hand and she stopped. Her face turned sad and it just made Zo’s stomach knot together tighter.
“I’m sorry.”
She said it in a soft breath before she swept past him and out of sight.
He didn’t turn his head to follow her movements, didn’t throw her a look or a come on like he would if she were anywhere else. If she weren’t leaving his home. His fucking home.
Zo stood frozen on the threshold of his own fucking flat, where he lived with his own fucking husband, as his heart broke.
He and Leo had one rule; Fuck them somewhere else and always come back (to me). Meaning that whenever they were with someone they were ‘with’ them somewhere else, somewhere that wasn’t the home they shared, that wasn’t Zo’s god damn sacred space. It was the one rule they had in their marriage. And Leo broke it.
Something hot and burning rose in Zo’s throat and made him gag. This couldn’t be real. It- Leo would never betray his trust like this. Not the Leo he knew.
But Leo was different now wasn’t he? Zo’s hands twisted in the front of his own shirt as his mind raced. Ever since the Medici family had started employing Leo he had been different, ever since he first lay eye on Lucrezia and spent his every waking hour in his work shop designing weapons he had been someone else. Zo had thought that he was still the same Leonardo da Vinci, just that he was going through one of his periods of obsession and it would pass sooner or later.
But in the past when Leo had gotten obsessed with or inspired by someone he had never broken the rule before. He took them so his workshop down stairs, or the barking dog down the street or anywhere of a hundred places.
But none of those others were Lucrezia.
Zo’s bones felt too heavy in his skin and he let out a shuddering, horrible, sigh. He didn’t want to go in there. Into his home. Didn’t want to see the used condoms, the scattered clothing, the rumpled bed- his bed- or his rumpled husband as he stumbled round the flat half naked. Everyone always said that Zo was tough, but he knew that seeing all of that would break him.
He was just about to turn away, walk back out of the building and nick some smokes from Verrocchio and find somewhere to hide when Leo stumbled into the entrance way. He was just as rumpled as Zo had pictured, bear chested and wearing only his favourite sleep pants and a patchwork dressing gown Vanessa had made him.
Leo scratched at his belly and grinned at Zo, stumbling up to him and smacking a kiss on his husband’s cheek. He hoped his aching heart didn’t show on his face.
“’lo, Zo,” he said with a chuckle, looking warm and fuzzy.
Normally Zo would kiss him back, rub his hands up and down his bare back and guide him back to the bed for sleepy soft sex. But not today.
He smelled like Lucrezia’s perfume.
Anger suddenly pooled in Zo’s belly. He didn’t know who it was directed at, Lucrezia, Leo or himself, but it was burning and acidic and stronger than anything he felt in his life.
He grunted, not wanting to lash out at his best friend, and pushed past him into the flat. Leo frowned at him, still dopy, and trailed after him with a hummed: “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” It came out as emotionless as he could manage.
“You seem…” Leo fluttered his hands around in lieu of an actual word, “…something must be wrong.”
He didn’t want to do this now. If he did this now he would say things he didn’t mean and probably cry too, he could feel it prickling behind his eyes. Zo hadn’t cried since he was a boy and he wasn’t about to let Leonardo fucking da Vinci break his streak.
Leo continued to follow him as he moved around the flat (which was just as messy as Zo had dreaded, even his fucking bed), raptly telling him about the breakthrough he had made with his force-field generator until he noticed that Zo was stuffing things. Zo saw Leo’s face fall out of the corner of his eye and cursed his heart for clenching at the sight.
“You’re leaving?”
Zo nodded, still not meeting the other man’s eyes.
“Where are you going?” Leo asked, voice small and soft like he let it be when they were alone, and his face was pinched like he was struggling with a maths problem.
Zo paused. That was a good question.
“I’ve got some business,” he snapped the zip of the bag closed and grabbed his best jacket from the bed head (which he tried and failed not to look at), “in Genoa.”
He didn’t have business there until two days from now, but that didn’t matter right now.
Leo frowned.
Honest to god frowned. He really had no idea did he? It just made Zo angrier.
“You’re lying.”
Zo bit his lip to keep from snapping.
“I’m not.” He lied.
“You are,” Leo came round in front of him, stepping in close to get a better look at him, face showing that he was genuinely lost, “I always know when you are lying to me. Not that you really ever do, you know better-”
“Leo-”
“What’s going on Zoroaster?”
He said it softly, like he was speaking to a flighty lover and Zo had to physically bite his tongue to keep the venom in.
Because it smelled like jasmine and sex in his own fucking home and Leo’s wedding band was on the floor by the bed. And Leo didn’t care.
Zo turned away and started walking for the door.
Leo called after him, followed him and grabbed him before he could leave, face stricken and eyes darting across his face as he tried to decipher him. He was always trying to unlock people, undo them like they were tangles or puzzles.
“Zo!” the artist exclaimed, hands twisting in the other man’s shirt to make him stay, “I don-I don’t understand! What happened? Why won’t you look at me?”
Zo let out a shuddering breath. He had a bleeding heart, he was born with it. So he threw Leo a bone.
He leant in and kissed the other man, pretending not to hate the taste of lipstick that still lingered there as he untangled Leo’s hands from his shirt.
“I’ll see you Thursday, yeah?”
And he turned and left, shutting the door behind him so Leo wouldn’t see the traitorous tear that slipped down his cheek.
…
It takes a little over two hours to get from Florence to Genoa, so when Zo got there the sun was yet to come up. He had taken his bike instead of Verrocchio’s car (which the arts master never used and left the keys in for his students/friends/others to use), so his face and hands were numb from the cold. He didn’t want to stop driving, just wanted to keep going down the coast and not stop for days.
He used to do that whenever he stole a bike or car, just drive until it gave out. But now he couldn’t afford to run. He had people who needed him back in Florence.
People who had been texting him nonstop the whole ride to Genoa. Reason A) why he didn’t want to stop.
Reason B) being that he didn’t want to see if any of the messages were from Leo (he didn’t know what would be worse; if had texted him or he hadn’t).
Reason C) was a bird had shat on his leather jacket and he didn’t want to deal with it.
But he still stopped at the first open café he saw. He left his jacket with the bike and amused the old couple in the café by practically humping their radiator.
“You should by the old girl dinner first, Romeo.” The old man called out with a cackle.
“I’ll marry her if she wants,” He called back with a grin, “Long as she keeps me warm at night.”
The old woman giggled behind her hand. When she bought over his coffee she also had a plate of spiced toast, on the house.
“Grazie, amore mio.”
She slapped his arm lightly and giggled as she left.
It was only after he had ingested bready courage that he unlocked his phone to face the day.
He had seventeen texts.
Seventeen.
He should storm off to Genoa more often if it makes him this popular.
Three are from Vanessa from two hours after he was meant to meet with Leo, and were all variations of;
How did it go???? did it not go well? Plz text back! do you need me to come pUNCH LEO IN THE FACE?
Zo grinned down at his phone. He could imagine her now, storming into Leo’s work shop, red hair wild around her and face turned down in that kicked puppy frown she thought was intimidating.
Vanessa would march into battle for any of them, she was just that kind of person.
He sent her back; had a fight. See you Thursday, darling. Two minutes later he got a reply which was just a message full of sad emoticons.
The rest of the messages were from Nico.
Not one from Leo.
Nico, 4;00; we are testing the jet pack again today, are you up yet??
Nico, 4;06; maestro’s in his studio. Did he sleep at all last night?
Nico, 4;10; are you coming down.
Nico, 4;30; call me.
Nico; 4;32; seriously zo.
Nico; 4;40; leo is acting weird where are you? Did you guy’s have another fight?
(Then four whole messages were just emoticons. He assumes Verrocchio was there for those. That old man may be adverse to technology but he loved emoticons with no ironical passion.)
Nico, 5;00; we’re going to see Lorenzo? Meet us there????
Nico, 5;30; please call me zo. Leos in a bit of a state.
(That text was accompanied by a picture of the artist, standing in the middle of his workshop, shirtless, and with his hands threaded through his own hair as his eyes stared sightlessly downward. He always looked like that when he had too many ideas in his head. It would pass. Usually it would pass by Zo taking him to bed and fucking his mind quiet. His stomach clenched and he deleted the picture.)
Nico; 5;50; leos fiddling with that key again. Come get breakfast with me?
Nico; 6;00; please zo im worried. please.
Zo sighed and gave in, his fingers moving to dial Nico’s number.
“I can’t leave you alone for two minutes,” He chuckles into the phone.
“Zo!” Nico exclaims, smile evident in his voice, “Where have you been?! So much has happened this morning-”
“I’m in Genoa.”
The line goes silent. All Zo can hear is the clattering sounds that usually fill Verrocchio’s work shop.
“Genoa?”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you in Genoa?” he asks sounding small, like he is trying to hide the conversation from whoever else is in the work shop. Probably Botticelli, snot nosed punk.
Zo sighs.
“I’ve got business here, you know how it is. I’ll be back Thursday.”
“Thursday?”
“Yeah, Nico. Three days and I’ll be back, so don’t-”
“Did Leo do something?”
It’s Zo’s turn to go quiet.
“Why would you say that?”
“He’s-” Nico sighs, “He’s been acting weird. Jumpy and- and fiddly. And he keeps talking to himself and snaps at me when I ask if he’s talking to me, and he even glared at Verrocchio before-”
“Sounds like a pretty standard Monday to me, Nico.”
“-and he keeps going quiet and staring at the door like he’s waiting for someone.”
Zo closes his eyes and has to restrain himself from pinching the bridge of his nose.
“He’s probably waiting for that creepy physic guy to show up again and tell him more about his mystic destiny.”
Nico sighs and sounds frustrated. Nico doesn’t usually get frustrated. It’s one of the things Zo envies about him and Vanessa both, how they can live in such close proximity with Leo ‘difficult-mother-fucker’ da Vinci and not scream at him every other day.
“Zo,” he groans and then lets out a squeak as a crash sounds behind him, “Jesus Christ- oh my god, he’s testing the rockets inside. What the hell happ- happened overnight to make you two such idiots!”
Zo let out an unenthusiastic chuckle.
“Nico, you-“
“Don’t ‘Nico’ me, Zo!” he snapped, noise continuing to get more out of hand behind him, “I have to go see the freaking Medici’s with him in half an hour. He’s showing them a jet pack. A Jet Pack, Zo! Can you imagine the hell he is going to cause? I deserve to know why I am being subjected to-”
“Just!” Zo snapped, and he felt like shit when the lady at the table next to him jumped. He sent her an apologetic smile and she nodded back.
“Give me a minute.”
“Zo-”
He pulled the phone away from his ear, pressing it against his shoulder as he charmed his way through paying the bill. Once outside he pressed himself against the brick wall between buildings where he had parked his bike and put the phone back against his ear.
“Lucrezia fucking Donati happened, okay!” Zo hissed into the phone, hand dragging down over his face.
“What?” Nico asked, all fire gone from his voice so he sounded as young as he was, “But- you knew he was seeing her right?”
“Yeah,” Zo sneered, “I didn’t know he was seeing her in my own fucking bed though.”
Nico was silent for a long moment before letting out a very small, “Oh.”
In an instant Zo felt all his anger drain from his body, leaving him tired. Tired and really craving a smoke.
“I’m going to kill him,” Nico said after a long while, “I- I just am.”
Zo snorted.
“You don’t need to defend my honour, Love,” he chuckled with false bravado.
“But he- that’s like-” he could practically hear Nico making hand gestures, “-He knows how you feel and he still … I have to tell Nessie.”
“No! Under no circumstances tell Vanessa!”
“Why not?”
“Because she will castrate Leo in the fucking Piazza! I may be angry with the jerk but I still have use for that part of him.”
“Gross. But I see your point.”
“Yeah.”
“…what did you say when you found out though? Because I think it really rattled Leo, so he’s probably sorry-”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“What.”
Zo sighed and rolled his eyes, “I packed a bag and left.”
“Wow.”
“Nico-“
“Just- you are an idiot, Zoroaster.”
“Don’t full name me, Niccolo,” he threw back without any true anger, “I thought it would be better than staying there and screaming at him for three hours.”
“Did you consider that maybe he needed screaming at?”
“Don’t lawyer me, rich boy.”
“And don’t you-...” Nico huffed, “Just promise me you are going to actually talk to him when you get back. And not bottle it up and make things worse.”
“Of course,” Zo said with a roll of his eyes, “Oh wise Nico, patron saint of relationships-“
“Shut up,” Nico laughed out, “Just-”
“Yeah I get it. Don’t cock it up.”
A shout came from behind Nico, followed by the distant ramblings of Zo’s idiot husband, and Zo couldn’t keep his chuckle in.
“Go show those stuffed shirts your best rocket man impression, rich boy.”
“You know I’m going to be glaring at him all the way through.”
“Yeah. But that’s your most adorable face so-”
“Shut up.”
Zo hung up with a smile on his face.
The kid had a point. He had to talk to Leo, had to sort this whole shit-fest out and move on, despite his gut instinct to keep it to himself. He had to talk to Leo, but not today.
…
Under the influence of Cosimo de’ Medici, Florence had legalized same sex marriage with much the same fanfare as the Medici’s did everything; a celebratory wild carnival and an answering disapproving press conference from Vatican City.
It had been revolutionary, a city going against the rest of the country, especially a largely Catholic country like Italy. But Cosimo had refused to back down, had been calm and collected in the face of the worlds media and a threatened excommunication from The Vatican, always replying that his Florence “-was a place of freedom for all peoples, a modern city with modern equalities.” And of course all attempts to dethrone the Magician had failed, as he had never held any kind of office. The most powerful man in Florence was a private citizen, beyond the influence and threats of the Holy Seat.
The laws stayed, and over the next passing years more laws came in allowing equal representation for Trans people and marriages, and eventually equal adoption rights. Florence lead the world into a new age under a Medici banner.
Leo and Zo got married when they were both twenty. Leo was the one that proposed, and he had to do it twice. The first time was when they were drunk and Zo had replied with a ‘Fuck you’. The second time was after some of the best sex of either of their lives, and Zo had replied with a ‘Fuck you’, but he listened to Leo’s reasons this time.
They had been friends for five years, had been fucking around for close to four, and their lives revolved around each other concentrically. Leo had lead with the tax benefits and exemptions that would come from being married, and had finally convinced Zo when he reminded him of how being married would mean he wouldn’t have to wait for Leo to be released from Hospital to yell at him next time he miscalculated the power of his energy field generator.
They weren’t in love, but they loved each other if that made sense. As Zo had been falling asleep after the aforementioned proposal he had almost missed Leo’s whispered confession; “I know we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. Why not spend it with rings on?”
They got married on a Friday morning at the Magistrates office, with a pissed off Peiro da Vinci, Verrocchio and half the art community of Florence as their witnesses. This was long before Vanessa or Nico were around, so it was up to Verrocchio’s students to throw the flower petals and cheer like idiots when they kissed. It was nice. If Zo was being completely honest he would say it was perfect, and way more than he ever thought he would get.
(The wedding rings they had now were a one year anniversary gift from Zo. Simple gold bands, but on the inside they had engravings of the date they met. It was cheesy but Leo had teared up a little, Zo would swear to his grave.)
But ever since they first got married and moved in together they had that one rule. They both slept around, with men and women and other people, but they never did it at home. Home was a strange concept to them, both coming from broken families and Zo coming from being semi-homeless most his life, and neither of them particularly wanted to share. It was their home, their space, and they always came back to it.
The fact that Leo had broken that rule after five years… Zo couldn’t believe it. He knew it had happened, had seen the evidence, but it felt distant and unreal to him.
It made him angry.
And worse than that; it fucking terrified him.
Because Leo gets bored with people. Zo sleeps around for harmless fun and pleasure, but Leo becomes inspired by people, wraps them up in his terrifyingly beautiful world for a short while, and moves on. Zo had seen it, had dealt with the aftermath and scolded Leo for being too carless with other people’s hearts.
And now it was happening to him.
He could think of no other reason why Leo would betray his trust like he had.
And if he was right-
He couldn’t be.
He-
Zo wasn’t one of Leo’s lovers, he was his best friend. He couldn’t just drop him like last season’s colours. They had been friends for too long for that to happen. So unless something had seriously changed-
Zo’s mind caught on Lucrezia. Caught on the memory of how Leo had looked at her that day at the markets, on how her face and eyes had filled the artist’s sketch book for days after. How she had looked at him as she left his flat. He felt his heart stop and he sat up in his cheap, itchy, motel bed.
“Fuck,” he spoke aloud to the pitch black room, “He’s in love with her.”
He needed to go home.
…
He arrived home on Thursday morning to a celebration. Verrocchio’s studio was practically rocking with the revelry and he when he walked in he was greeted with a chorus of his name like he was a supporting character in a sitcom.
Zo grins as he is swept up in the arms of a very excited Vanessa and a sloshed looking Nico. Leo stands on a table in the middle of the room, grinning bashfully as people frolic around his feet.
Apparently in his time away his dramatic husband had perfected his non-lethal crowd repulsion device and shown his allegiance to the Medici family in what sounded like a dramatic display at Rome’s expense.
Leo finally catches sight of Zo and his whole face lights up.
“Zo!” he exclaimed, jumping of the table to wrap him up in his arms with a shout.
“I leave for five minutes,” He says, with his own answering grin, “and you manage to piss off the fucking Pope.”
Leo laughs, throwing back his head before laying a sloppy kiss on the side of Zo’s face.
Zo leans back to look Leo in the eye, hands resting on the other man’s hips as his cup Zo’s face.
“Should I leave you alone with your destructive tendencies more often, or keep you on a leash?”
Leo laughs and presses his face against Zo’s cheek, so he can whisper darkly, “Promises. Promises.”
…
They didn’t stumble back to their apartment until the sun was setting, still grinning and hanging off of each other as they fell through the door.
“-you should have seen Riario’s face,” Leo laughed into the side of Zo’s neck, “He looked like a startled cat.”
Zo laughed and they both stumbled around towing of their shoes by the front door.
“He deserved much worse than being thrown through the air a couple meters, after what he did to Nico.”
Leo hummed and when Zo looked up the other man was smirking at him, his dark eyes dragging slowly up Zo’s body.
“What?”
Leo shook his head and pushed off from against the wall to stand so close to him that their noses brushed.
“Why did you leave, Zo?” Leo asked as he hooked his fingers into his husband’s belt loops.
His eyes looked dark and he didn’t know if it was from desire or anger or if he was trying to untangle him again. Everything in Zo was screaming at him to grin and lie, to placate Leo and move on, and to trick himself into believing that he was overreacting. He could do it, just hold his tongue and keep everything inside just like he used to, until he started believing his own lies.
But he was tired, and tipsy and warm. He wanted to fall into bed with Leo and wake up together tomorrow morning with a smile on his face as he laughed at Leo’s stupid morning hair (and possibly morning sex). And he couldn’t do all that if he was busy bricking up the doors Leo had built in his walls.
“Lucrezia.”
Leo’s brow furrowed.
“Lucrezia?”
“You bought her back here, Leo.”
“What, I-” the frown disappeared as realization dawned on his face, “Oh. Zo-”
“You fucked her in my bed.” He was glad it came out softly, almost as a breath. If he had of said it just days ago it would have come out as a snarl and he would have regretted it.
Leo’s face fell, his hands tightening around Zo’s belt loops as guilt overtook his body, starting in his shoulders.
“I- I didn’t even think,” Zo scoffed and Leo shook his head, “She showed up here and I just … I didn’t even realise.”
Lucrezia Donati, able to stop frantic genius’ artists minds at ten paces or less. The idea that Leo was so caught up in her made something in his chest tighten, which only made him feel guilty. He had no ownership of Leo’s heart or mind. He had no right to-… to whatever that burning feeling is. He didn’t want to think about it.
Leo’s hands came up and cradled Zo’s jaw, bringing him out of his own thoughts instantly.
“I am so sorry, my friend.”
Zo’s own hands rose to wrap around his husbands forearms, skin to skin just to feel the connected zing he always felt.
“It can’t happen again, Leo,” he breathed out, hating himself for being weak in front of Leo but knowing he needed too if he wanted to get back to where they were before all this had happened, “It can’t. You know what this place-“
“I know,” Leo cut in, swearing it like an oath as he leant forwards to kiss Zo’s cheek, his eyes determined before they disappeared from view, “I promise.”
You promised last time too.
“-I don’t care who they are. I will never break your trust again, Zo.” he felt the artist smile against his cheek, “My Zo.”
He chuckled and felt Leo shiver against him.
“I believe you, you utter idiot.”
“You can’t say that to me,” Leo said with mock indignation, “I am the smartest man in Italy.”
“Oh, just Italy today is it?”
“I was being modest.”
“Since when?”
Leo bit his check softly and Zo had to laugh at him.
“How drunk are you right now?”
Leo hummed and leant back. He looked Zo up and down again and gave him his best Billie Piper grin.
“Not too drunk to not make it up to you.”
Zo was about to ask what he meant, the sentence too complicated for his mind to work through. But then Leo was slipping to his knees while his hands undid the clasp of Zo’s jeans.
“Fuck, Leo.”
“Later, I’m busy.”
Zo laughed, eyes closing as his head fell back against the wall and his body shivered in a mix of relief and anticipation.
Leo wasn’t bored with him, not yet. Everything else, all other yet to be addressed fears slipped away, and he let himself get lost in Leonardo da Vinci. As he always would.
…
They barely get time to settle back to normal before Leo was arrested. In one of the most highly publicized events of the 21st century Leonardo da Vinci was arrested at a Medici charity ball, on charges of rape.
Every channel was broadcasting the news instantly, paparazzi swarmed outside Verrocchio’s studio and their building just as quickly. Zo and Vanessa had been in the street when they had arrived, and it had taken a good few thrown elbows to get them inside. He was expecting a very large bill for some very large broken cameras.
Leo was taken away pending his hearing and was denied contact with anyone save his father, and only because he was acting as his legal representative. Not even Zo was allowed to see or speak to him, his own husband. All of Leo’s friends were in a kind of limbo, stuck waiting. Zo had felt sick, considering the last thing had said too Leo had been out of anger.
(“Nico? You are taking Nico over me, your own husband.”
“I already rsvp’d with him as my plus one-”
“Oh yeah, that’s the reason. It’s not because I’d stand out, what with my brown skin and lack of employee name tag!”
“Maybe if you had of been here when I got the invitation I would have taken you and helped you upset their social order- now will you please help me with this?”
“Leonardo da Vinci can tie his own fucking bow tie?”
“Zo-”
“Don’t ‘Zo’ me, Leo! I am being shunted here-“
“I can’t have you with me tonight, Zo!”
“Fuck off, Leo!”
“Zo!”)
And when Zo finally did get to see Leo it was terrifying. He was shaking and speaking nonsense, visibly traumatized and angry. And it only got worse when the trial began.
The trial itself was a joke, an obvious political move to anyone who actually knew Leo. But everyone else, all the people who only knew him from the news and trashy tabloids, were eating it up with gusto. It was sickening, that the whole country was revelling in a fucking rape trial, in Leo visibly falling apart.
Zo had been through a lot in his life, had suffered more than his share, but seeing someone he loved suffering so badly, being dragged through the mud, it broke his heart. And also it pissed him right the fuck off.
Which wasn’t the best mindset to be in when he took the stand.
He had to pay a fine to the court for his behaviour, but it was worth it to see a flash of clarity in Leo’s eyes along with his manic grin.
It was hell and a half for all of them. But in the end Leo is Leo, and the trail fell apart with his usual flourishes. Information was ‘anonymously’ leaked revealing the plot behind the trial and the corruption of the officials involved, along with several witness statements that cleared Leo’s name. The Pazzi lawyer involved in the trial pleads ignorance on national television and Leo plays forgiveness on the same.
All in all Zo is shocked by how well Leo seems when he is released, when he gives them all bone crushing hugs and smiles his way through hordes of paparazzi to shout them all a drink, he seems his old self. Tired and residually angry, but himself.
(“Truly, I am lucky to have you, Zo.”)
It’s when Zo is woken in the middle of the night by a swearing Leo that he realizes he was wrong.
He lets out a questioning ‘hmmm’ as he raises his head and casts a bleary eye around the flat. He had fallen asleep after he had gotten pleasantly buzzed at the Barking Dog, and had come home disappointed that Leo hadn’t come along for some ‘sexy times’ (as Nico had drunkenly slurred). But seeing Leo now, muttering to himself in the living room (well it’s a studio apartment so whatever) and pawing at loose sheets of paper he realises sexy times had never been on the table. He looks too thin and his face too drawn, and his fingers look bruised as he flicks them. Sleep is what he needs not sex.
Of course Zo is still buzzed and heavy with sleep so what comes out of his mouth is; “You shaved that stupid beard.”
Leo’s head snaps up and his fingers stop flicking for a moment.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Was.”
“Ah.”
Zo chuckles sleepily and rolls on his side as his eyes focus properly on his husband. He breathes in and the smell of Jasmine and honey fills his nose.
“I thought you would come back here with me,” he says, stretching languidly on the bed, “But I see you got Lucrezia’s help with washing your arse instead.”
Leo nods, eyes back on the pages in front of him, not really listening to Zo; “Yes, sorry.”
“Not what I was getting at, Leo.”
He gives no reply but for a flicking of his fingers. Zo sighs in exasperation and pushes himself up from the bed to amble over to his husband.
Leo’s eyes flick to him and a smile flickers over his face for a fraction of a second, no doubt taking in that fact that Zo is only wearing boxers and a mess of Vanessa’s ribbons in his hair. They probably look like quite a pair together.
“How much did you have to drink?” Leo asks absently.
“Not enough for a hang over, but enough to let Vanessa give me a makeover.”
The artist huffs a laugh but keeps shuffling the papers, a mix of legal looking documents and seedy screen captures of legal looking documents. From the look in Leo’s eye, the dark determined look, he isn’t going to willingly get the sleep that he needs. Good thing Zo is good at getting Leo to do things that are good for him, with just a little bit of charm.
He sets himself down on the couch beside his husband and lays his head on his husbands shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“Plotting. All of this happened because I got to close to the truth,” Leo hums, “Too loud. Too obvious.”
“..So?”
“So, there is obviously a larger conspiracy going on here, and not just from Rome and the Vatican, but here in Florence.”
He whips up a piece of paper to show Zo, a seedy screen capture of a statement.
“This is what damned me, Zo,” Leo continues in a reverent whisper, “This statement was fabricated to condemn me.”
“Aren’t those things usually kept idunno, confidential?”
“You know me,” He says with a dark smirk, “But I have analysed this and from the cadence of the words and the structure I have determined that it was written by a woman, a woman who knows my studio well enough to plant evidence, and to infuse actual details amongst the lies. I-” he lets out a chocked off laugh, “I am so close to the truth, Zoroaster.”
“Can the truth wait till the morning?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Leo turns, dislodging his head from its perch, and focusing all of his dark intensity on Zo.
“How can you say that?” he asks in a betrayed whisper that quickly rose into a shout, “These- these people tried to destroy my life, have succeeded in many ways! From now on people are going to doubt me, in the backs of their minds they will call me a rapist, no matter what or who clears my name! I am damned, Zo!”
“Leo, I know th-” Leo cuts off his own rising voice, rising from the couch to stand over Zo.
“Hundreds of rape cases, actual rape cases, get dismissed every year. This mockery of justice has invalidated hundreds of people’s pain, and that needs to be answered! I have been betrayed, the whole country has been betrayed by this! They deserve the truth, and I deserve-”
“Revenge?”
“Yes!”
Zo rises with a sigh, willing himself to keep his head. He rises, cups Leo’s face and looks him in the eye, showing him just how worried he has been since this whole fuck fest began.
“Fine, I agree,” he says softly, watching the other man’s face flicker and chest heave, “If revenge is what you need then fine, I will be right there when you bring the fuckers down. Hell, I’ll film it for you if you want.”
Leo frowns, “I don’t understand.”
Zo laughs without humour.
“You need to rest, Leo. Sleep, food and more sleep,” he tries to smile, but he is afraid it comes out defeated, “Revenge will still be there in the morning I promise. Just … come to bed. Please just come to bed.”
Leo looks at him for a long moment, really looks at him like he hasn’t done in a long time. His whole body stills and for a heartbeat Zo things all he has done is make him angrier.
“Please, Leonardo. Come to bed.”
The artist seems to fold in one himself before his eyes, sighs and slumps as if he had not realized he was tired until Zo had voiced it.
“Okay,” he says softly, “Okay.”
Zo sighs, his own weariness catching up in him and settling in his shoulders. He lays a kiss upon his husbands head and leads him over to their lovely blanket swaddled California king bed (new, courtesy of Medici money). Leo’s head drops on to Zo’s shoulder as he lets the broader man undress him.
The artist trails his lips up his best friend’s neck before he says softly, “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. I saw what they said about you in the papers.”
(A particular paper had led something of a smear campaign against Zo, calling attention to his criminal past and name change as a way of further damning Leo. It had made Vanessa see red, and it took three pink donuts and a milkshake to convince her off launching a full scale frontal assault style protest against the paper.)
Zo cups the back of his head and kisses his cheek before answering with his practiced line; “Worse things have happened to me.”
“They shouldn’t,” Leo answers as Zo pulls him under the covers, whole body being taken over by quilts and pillows, “You don’t deserve bad things, Zo. You’re perfect.”
Zo chuckles, laying himself under the covers and pulling Leo in to rest his head against his chest.
“Sleep deprived you has the hots for me.”
The artist giggles into his chest and half-heartedly slaps his arm.
“Shut up, it’s a proven fact. And I’m-”
“The smartest bastard in all of the world, I know.”
Leo laughs again and lays a kiss on Zo’s skin. They lay their together a moment, until their bodies relax and their eyes begin to droop as sleep calls for them.
“G’night, Zoroaster.”
Zo lays a kiss on the other man’s head, feeling the artists hands curl against his stomach as sleep pulls him deeper.
“G’night, Love. We’ll sharpen he pitchforks in the morning.”
(When he wakes up in the morning, just for a moment before he realises it is too early, he hears the sound of charcoal on paper. When he wakes up for real Zo misses the page full of sketches of his face on the bedside table)
…
The year that follows is one of the hardest of Zo’s life. He is hurt and watches his family get hurt again and again, all the while feeling like he is on the sidelines, unable to keep up.
They find the second half of the key and that seems to kick everything off. They return from Rome and almost instantly the city falls apart with the Pazzi families hit against the Medici, under the Duomo on Easter Sunday no less. Dozens are struck dead in the gunplay, and the image of Vanessa holding Giuliano as he bleeds out on the church floor quickly becomes infamous. Lorenzo barely escaped with his life, and years were scraped off of Zo’s life when he heard how Leo had gone up against so many men and dodged endless bullets to save the Medici head.
And while all that is happening he and Nico and Lucrezia (not as innocent and true as anyone had thought) were on a high jacked plane with Count fucking Riario. Well, were on the plane up until the time when Zo and Lucrezia were thrown out of the plane with only a single parachute between them. It’s only thanks to Lucrezia’s quick thinking that they even survived. Nico wasn’t so lucky, Riario had decided to take him with him. Nico, all golden curls and Harry Potter shirts Nico was trapped with the Sword of the Vatican.
The political and illegal hunt for the Pazzi’s and their allies is bloody as bloody as the Easter attack, bodies falling all over Florence. But of course nothing can be traced back to the Medici’s.
The Vatican takes advantage of the massacre and calls it an act of god against the usurious and glutinous Medici family and calls for reform in Florence. Lorenzo refuses, and the city is excommunicated overnight.
He and Leo are put on the no fly list to stop them from going after Riario and Nico in Peru. They are forced to seek help from Zo’s old business partner Vespucci, who he doesn’t trust as far as he can throw. But he is a pilot and the only one they can get on their side.
They have to stop off in several places along the way, all part of Vespucci’s creative flying to get them around air spaces sympathetic to the Popes orders. Leo barely sleeps and Zo feels himself getting angrier and angrier every day. He and Leo are constantly at each other’s throats when he isn’t begging Leo to go to bed-
(“Please go to sleep, Leo! Please, please, go to sleep!”)
-and he more than once he threatens to leave. He soon becomes desensitized (but not really) to Leo’s heartbroken eyes, as he is usually the cause of them.
They get to South America and find Nico and get swept up in a freaking Indiana Jones movie. They find Nico and Riario and Zita without much trouble, but are almost instantly set upon by a group of Native Peruvians who demand Leo’s help in opening the vault to get to the book of leaves. They have to go through some messed up trials, that almost get Zita killed, and then Leo may or may not have legally married the leader of the Children of the Sun, Ima. And then when they finally get through the fucked up temple of doom they get detained by the Children of the Sun, have to escape from said group, rescue a freaky clockwork head from the temple (which Zo had qualms about until Leo explains it’s not stealing because his Mother made it or something), and then jump off a cliff with homemade parachutes to get away from the semiautomatic weapons.
They escape with their lives, no book of leaves, a freaky talking mechanical head, and an even freakier temporary truce with Riario of all people.
Florence is in the middle of some kind of feudal war when they return. And it all ends with Verrocchio and Leo getting shot by a Medici and barely escaping with their lives, Vanessa giving birth to another Medici. Barely a breath after that Italy and Turkey have a falling out that could lead to military action, which Leo gets caught up in and brings him face to face with his mother.
They barely escape with their lives. And they do escape with the book of leaves.
Now, back in Florence where they are meant to be, things seem dull by comparison. The Medici’s are a strong as ever. Vanessa is learning how to balance motherhood, grieving, and a life. Nico has begun writing, between working with Leo and Verrocchio. Riario and Zita switched sides, abandoned The Vatican, and now live across the street. And Leo has devoted almost all his time to decoding the Book of Leaves (which was written in code, in a dead language no one knew, and backwards).
And Zo … Well Zo has been thinking. The last few months have been hell and a half, and almost the entire time he felt helpless, and that really opens a guy’s eyes to his own life.
Which is why he is here now, walking into Verrocchio’s workshop, with divorce papers clutched in his hand.
Leo had moved temporarily into Verrocchio’s workshop while his own across the street was being repaired from the shootout. When he walks in he feels that slight feeling of home sickness he had been carrying since they returned from South America dissipates. Verrocchio is in his wheel chair and covered in bandages, but he is still ordering his apprentices around with the passion he always did.
Vanessa is posing with her baby for Botticelli while Nico reads some of his own writing out to her for her advice. It’s bright and warm and-
And he is going to miss it.
“Zo!” Vanessa calls out to him, looking ethereal in the studio light, her son playing with the ribbons in her hair, “Come hold your god son while I still have hair left to tug.”
The baby from her with a grin, ignoring Botticelli’s protests about fading light, and kisses the woman he considers a little sister on the check.
“Are you technically aloud to give you kid a gang of godfathers?”
Vanessa swats his arm and laughs.
“He is my son, Zoroaster. Plus, he has a gang of godmothers too.”
“Militant feminist god mothers!” Nico calls cheerily from his perch on the painting rig.
“They’re the best kind, Nico,” Zo says, and lets out a high pitched giggle when the baby in his arms starts haply munching on his ACDC tank top.
Verrocchio rolls over to him, dressed in bandages and a beret and his face bright until his eyes fall on the envelope in Zo’s non baby filled hand.
“What trouble are you in know, my boy,” The master artist ‘tsks’ at him, “Surely I do not need to air out my suit again this year?”
“Nah, this is for Leo,” he says with false cheer.
“Not something that will get him in trouble, I hope?”
“Just something he needs to look at.”
Verrocchio gives him a skeptical look but is ultimately distracted by a paint covered apprentice and waves him to the back of the workshop where Leo had set up a station. Leo isn’t there himself, Zo had planned on it, and he had waited until a time when Leo was in a meeting with Lorenzo before quitting work early to do this. He didn’t have enough spine to do it face to face.
He pauses before laying the paper down on the small table, casting his eyes over the various still in progress projects Leo had bought over instead of putting into storage. He catches sight of something hung up in the corner and his breath catches in his throat.
It’s a painting of him. A portrait of him on a background rich lights and darks, dressed in the wreath and baggy linen shirt he had worn to the Medici festival all those months ago. A photo is tacked to the side showing him and Leo with their arms around each other shoulders while they look up at the sky, luminescent under the festival fireworks. It’s beautiful and touching and nothing he had ever expected.
“He painted it in a night.”
Zo jumps at Nico’s voice and turns his head to look at the younger man (as much as he was able with tiny baby fists clutching his beard).
“He did?”
Nico nods and grins at him, “Stayed up for hours muttering how he couldn’t get your eyes right. I think he meant it as an anniversary present, nosy.”
Their anniversary is next month. Zo’s heart clenches and Nico frowns at him.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” he replies, and his voice too thick with emotion for Nico to believe him, “Just- … I’m just surprised he would do something like this.”
Nico laughs in his throat, “Why? You’re all he can draw some days. All he wants to draw sometimes.”
He wishes Nico would shut up. His stomach clenches into knots in his stomach as he turns away from the other man. It only makes what he is about to do more hard, makes him doubt himself every other heartbeat.
It doesn’t change his reasoning, but it makes things harder.
Baby Giuliano makes a fussy noise at him and spits out Zo’s shirt to wiggle in his arms. He reminds Zo of his father in that moment and it makes him grin at Nico.
“I think the prince wants his Mum.”
Nico nods solemnly, he takes his baby duty very seriously, and takes the baby in his own arms to carry him to Vanessa. Before he turns away he casts one last concerned look at Zo.
“You sure you’re alright?”
Zo scoffs, “I’m always alright, Mate. Take care of Giuliano, won’t you?”
Nico gives him a strange look, like he is trying to decipher him as Leo dose, but turns away to feed the baby.
Zo watches him go and wonders if he will get to see either of them again. He loves them, the people of this studio, are his family. But they were Leo’s family first. This may be the last time he will ever get to see them, depending on how events unfold.
With that thought heavy in his mind Zo pins the envelope up on the wall next to his portrait and turns away.
On his way out he kisses Vanessa on the cheek, ruffles Nico’s hair, and makes fun of Verrocchio’s beret like he usually does, and makes no indication that he is going home to pack his bags before Leo gets home.
It’s easier this way. But it still feels like heartbreak.
…
Unfortunately both Leonardo and Lorenzo are pretty unpredictable, so of course their meeting ends early. So of course Leo storms in when he is in the middle of packing his underpants.
“What is this?!” The obviously irate artist demands as he slams through the door.
Zo straightens with a sigh and tries to make his face look impassive as he turns to face his husband. His soon to be ex-husband. Something hot burns at the back of his throat at the thought.
Leo stands below him on the steps of the sunken living room, his long hair windswept and eyes wild as he looks up at him, papers clutched in a fist at his side.
“What is this, Zo?” he asks again quieter, voice sounding betrayed and confused, “I don’t- tell me what’s happening.”
Zo takes a breath and tells himself it doesn’t shudder.
“It’s kind of self-explanatory, Leo,” he says calmly, “They’re divorce papers.”
Leo’s mouth opens and shuts as he tries to construct words, his hands coming up to thread in his hair.
“Why- what did I do,” the artist asks in a whisper, “What did I do wrong?”
“It’s not that Leo,” they had both done wrong by each other on occasion, but that’s not why this is happening, “It’s just better this way.”
“Better!” Leo snaps, hands jumping forward like he wants to touch him but the stop suddenly and pulls back, “In what universe is this better! How could I ever be better without you, Zoroaster! I did not matter before I had you!”
Zo closes his eyes for a moment, feeling Leo’s words in his chest, and praying that when he opens his eyes again they won’t sting so much. When he dose though the stinging is replaced by tears.
“You-” Leo continues, tears filling his own eyes, “You- how long have you wanted this? You had to go out of your way to get the papers-”
“Your father sends them to me on every major holiday,” He says with a bitter laugh, “Those ones are the ones I got on your birthday.”
Leo doesn’t laugh, his face just twists with rage.
“This is funny to you?”
“No, Leo,” he replies, feeling frustration well up in his chest, “Nothing about this is funny. Well, the fact that we stayed together this long is-“
“Don’t,” Leo snaps, “Don’t.”
Zo bites his lip. He really didn’t want this confrontation to happen. He and Leo are good at yelling at each other when it’s about anything else, can talk for ages about anything, but now he feels tongue tied and tired. He feels so tired.
“We have been married for five years, Zo,” Leo continues, stepping up to stand level with him, the full brunt of his dark eyes on him now, “Five years- and we were happy.”
“We were.” He agrees because the years with Leo have been the happiest he has ever had, despite the trials.
“Then- Is it because I’m famous now, is that’s what’s changed? Or is this because of what happened in Peru- because of Ima?” he looks so lost, scrambling for an understanding of what’s happening, “I never meant to hurt you, I-”
“I know, Leo,” Zo admits, “I know you did it to find your mother. That’s not why I-”
“Is it because of Lucrezia?”
His heart clenches for a second. He hates himself for hating the soft way that Leo says her name.
“In a way I guess, but not how you think.”
Leo growls, anger bleeding into his face and shoulders. Zo feels anger bleeding into his own body, taking over from the apathy he had been forcing.
The artist twists his hands in the front of Zo’s shirt, pulling them together so they are chest to chest.
“What has changed, hmm?” Leo sneers at him, face twisting in sadness, “What has made you hate me so?”
“I don’t hate you-” he hisses back, his anger getting the better of him.
“Did I spend too many nights in other people’s beds? Did I not fuck you well enough? Huh? What has changed to make you want-“
“I’m in love with you fucking idiot!” Zo yells back, “I broke the rules okay! Despite everything we have been through, the hell you dragged me through, I love you! And that’s the problem.”
He breaks away from Leo, stepping back and rubbing his hands through his hair. He has never felt so exposed in front of anyone in his life. But then, he has never said those words to anyone in his life up until now. Not like this.
Leo has frozen. Whole body motionless as he stares at Zo, his expression shocked. Zo feels panic well up in his stomach as the seconds tick past without Leo responding. Everything in him is screaming for him to run and hide and protect himself from whatever Leo is going to say.
Eventually after a long pause Leo movies, mouth taking a moment to form words properly as he holds up the papers.
“You want to divorce me,” he says slowly like every word confuses him, “because you are in love with me.”
Zo huffs out a breath.
“Don’t make fun of me, Leo.”
“I’m not!” the artist replies, all anger gone from him now, “I just don’t understand how this is a problem.”
“How isn’t it?!” Zo demands, still frustrated, still hurt, “You don’t do love, Leo. You said it yourself before we got married that it wasn’t something you wanted. The only person you have come close to loving is Lucrezia, and-“
“You,” Leo cuts in softly, face shocked again, “You truly think that I don’t love you?”
Zo feels his bones turn to water, all his anger dissipating as he looks into Leo’s large and earnest eyes.
“You don’t. Not the way I love you.”
Leo sighs and shakes his head disbelievingly at the other man.
“My heart and mind may wander, but how could you doubt that you are my very soul, Zoroaster?” the artist says reverently, “I always come back to you, I am incomplete without you, I want no one but you as my home. How could you doubt that I love you?”
Zo can’t breathe.
Leo steps towards him and cups his head in his hands, pulling him close so that their foreheads press together.
“But you said-”
“I said a lot before,” Leo whispers back as his fingers slowly and soothing rub as his throat, “And maybe I don’t love you the same as you love me. But I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Zo. No one else.”
Zo’s hands come up and lay themselves on Leo’s hips, grounding him as his head swims. He had convinced himself that this was the end of them, that Leo would let him go one he knew the truth, that he would want no part in Zo’s bleeding heart.
“You wont get bored with me?”
Leo sighs out a laugh.
“Couldn’t if I tried.”
Zo groans, “You wrecked the moment with Elton John, you sap.”
Leo just laughs louder and tips Zo’s head down so he can blow a raspberry on his forehead. Zo wraps his arms around the other man’s waist and pulls him completely against his front, ducking down to suck a mark on the artist’s neck in retaliation. Leo squirms in his hold, jovially begging for mercy as they dissolve further into laughter.
Their laughter fades after a minute and they are left clutching each other close, with grins spread across their faces and divorce papers pressed between them.
“Don’t leave,” Leo says eventually, brushing his lips across Zo’s own, “Take anything you want from me. Just don’t leave.”
Zo smiles softly at the other man and nods, “Ditto.”
(They burn the papers in the sink and text the photo to Peiro later. They also don’t leave the apartment for five days as they make up for the trauma of what happened between the sheets. Vanessa leaves a gift basket of food outside their door with a not that says ‘glad you idiots didn’t break up’ because Vanessa knows everything, and on the morning of the sixth day Nico comes around to see if they are still alive.)
…
“You know the day I caught Lucrezia sneaking out of here?”
“Please, Zo, no more guilt, I have a second wedding to plan here.”
(Nico is doing the brunt of the planning, Leo is just dramatic.)
“Shut up. I was saying that I actually had a surprise for you that night.”
That snaps Leo’s head up from the pillows. His eyes trail up and down Zo where he is standing in the doorway to the bathroom.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, I never got to give it to you,” Zo continues, mock dejection in his voice, “Don’t suppose you’d want it now, would you.”
Leo snaps up to kneel on the bed, showing off his shirtless chest and his duck covered sleep pants.
“That depends on what it is?” He says, though his eyes and breathing show he is not so calm.
Zo saunters forwards, thumbs skimming under the elastic of his track pants as he smirks at his husband.
“I should really make you beg.”
“You’re not that cruel.”
Zo chuckles and trails his tongue across his lip because he knows what it does to the other man.
“Ask nicely.”
“Zo-”
“Ask nicely, or I won’t do it.”
Leo swallows audibly and gives Zo the biggest puppy dog eyes he can manage.
“Please,” he asks softly, “may I have my present?”
Zo grins and with a practiced fluid motion drops his pants to reveal-
“Ohmygod,” Leo breathes out in a rush as his eyes drop down and his cheeks flush, “Oh my god, Zo, I-”
His hands reach out and his tentatively trails his hands across the silk stockings on his legs, trailing up words to skirt across the ribbons and then the lace panties they are connected too. Zo moans as the artist’s hands skim across between his thighs and it makes Leo moan in return. The whole ensemble is black and fits like a glove. And seeing the other man’s reaction to it only makes Zo want to wear it every day.
Leo shakes his head and manages to tear his gaze away to look Zo in the eye.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Zo leans forward to capture his husband’s mouth in a long slow kiss that leaves them both gasping when they pull away.
“How about we leave the talking for later, hmm?” he cards his hands through his hair and it makes the artist groan.
“Fuck me,” He says in a shuddering breath.
“That’s the idea.”
Leo pulls him down onto the bed with a growl, eyes bright with mischief, and he knows that Leo is the smartest man in all of Florence, but Zo is defiantly the luckiest.
(Riario texts them from across the street to stop fucking so loudly, so Leo sends back a picture of the damage they have done to the pantie set. Riario replies with a picture of a bible.)