[A/N: the good thing about these random similar prompts… is I’m too slow the tag prompts sometimes… this continues Secret Pastimes, since the theme seems to be pretty popular.]
I.
“Leonardo, buon giorno.”
“Ezio! So good to see you,” Leonardo smiled warmly, a paintbrush in his right hand and some sort of warped twist of wood and steel in the other. “How can I help you?”
“I came by to visit.”
“Oh.” Leonardo said vaguely, his eyes instantly faraway again now that it had been ascertained that no intriguing ancient scrolls were at hand. “I suppose… there should be a spare chair about here somewhere. Please, have a seat. I am almost finished with this project.”
Ezio stifled a sign, allowing one of Leonardo’s increasingly harried assistants to lead him to the least cluttered chair in the workshop as the Maestro returned to the strange box-like contraption that he was building on one of his work desks. Fluted steel lengths were attached like stubby wings to its sheer sides, some sort of iron boiler set within, and try as Ezio might he could not quite discern its purpose, even as it seemed to fully occupy Leonardo’s attention – at least for the moment.
Ezio never realized how busy Leonardo really was until he had another incentive to drop by the artist’s workshop that didn’t involve ancient scrolls. On the best of days Leonardo seemed stressed, flitting from one project to another, beset constantly by fresh ideas and distractions.
Shuttling from patron appointments to commissions to schematics, often Ezio either found the workshop with its Maestro absent, or was hastily installed in a corner with stale cake and wine while Leonardo directed assistants, sketched, painted, or constructed fancies out of metal and carved wood. It had been nearly a month since the… incident in Teodora’s ‘chapel’, and Ezio was growing restive. He had never stayed so long in a place outside of Monteriggioni on anything but business before, and he was bored: the reason for which he lingered in Venice was far too busy to pay him any sort of attention.
Ezio’s usual reaction to being constantly ignored by any current object of his affections was to heed the adage about absence and hearts growing fonder; besides, it had always been easy to find solace in other, more available such objects. Leonardo, however, was irritatingly different. The incident at Teodora’s had been an eye-opener – he had not been speaking lightly when Ezio had observed that Leonardo had ruined him for others.
Sullenly nursing the glass of passable wine that one of Leonardo’s assistants had handed to him, Ezio watched an oblivious Leonardo tinker with the contraption, wander away to consult a set of notes, and then sidle over to an absolutely unrelated easel to continue work on his sketches. Usually it was a pleasure to watch him work, but mere watching had been all that Ezio had been allowed since Teodora’s. Attempts to engage Leonardo in more intimate fare had been consistently rebuffed.
Draining the glass of wine buffered his confidence, and Ezio placed the empty glass on the nearest work desk, walking silently up to Leonardo’s side. He waited for a lull in the workshop’s activity before slipping a palm down over Leonardo’s spine, drifting down his back.
Leonardo flinched, pencil skewing a long line over the mouth of a sketched figure of a reclining woman. “Ezio!”
“Take a break, Leonardo,” Ezio instructed, inserting as much invitation and promise as he could into his lowered tone. “For me?”
“I am far behind on all my schedules,” Leonardo carefully pulled away from Ezio’s palm. “And this workshop is hardly private. Friends and patrons come by all the time.” The artist’s paranoia was old and ingrained, it seemed.
“We can move to a better location then,” Ezio said persuasively. “Teodora’s, perhaps. Please?”
Leonardo blinked at him slowly, his long, dexterous fingers absently twirling the pencil between them, and then he smiled, indulgent. “Ezio, are you feeling ignored?”
“A little attention would not go amiss.” The irony was not lost on either of them, judging by Leonardo’s widening smile. Usually, Ezio was the one who dictated the steps of any one of his engagements.
Further Pastimes [1/?]
I.
“Leonardo, buon giorno.”
“Ezio! So good to see you,” Leonardo smiled warmly, a paintbrush in his right hand and some sort of warped twist of wood and steel in the other. “How can I help you?”
“I came by to visit.”
“Oh.” Leonardo said vaguely, his eyes instantly faraway again now that it had been ascertained that no intriguing ancient scrolls were at hand. “I suppose… there should be a spare chair about here somewhere. Please, have a seat. I am almost finished with this project.”
Ezio stifled a sign, allowing one of Leonardo’s increasingly harried assistants to lead him to the least cluttered chair in the workshop as the Maestro returned to the strange box-like contraption that he was building on one of his work desks. Fluted steel lengths were attached like stubby wings to its sheer sides, some sort of iron boiler set within, and try as Ezio might he could not quite discern its purpose, even as it seemed to fully occupy Leonardo’s attention – at least for the moment.
Ezio never realized how busy Leonardo really was until he had another incentive to drop by the artist’s workshop that didn’t involve ancient scrolls. On the best of days Leonardo seemed stressed, flitting from one project to another, beset constantly by fresh ideas and distractions.
Shuttling from patron appointments to commissions to schematics, often Ezio either found the workshop with its Maestro absent, or was hastily installed in a corner with stale cake and wine while Leonardo directed assistants, sketched, painted, or constructed fancies out of metal and carved wood. It had been nearly a month since the… incident in Teodora’s ‘chapel’, and Ezio was growing restive. He had never stayed so long in a place outside of Monteriggioni on anything but business before, and he was bored: the reason for which he lingered in Venice was far too busy to pay him any sort of attention.
Ezio’s usual reaction to being constantly ignored by any current object of his affections was to heed the adage about absence and hearts growing fonder; besides, it had always been easy to find solace in other, more available such objects. Leonardo, however, was irritatingly different. The incident at Teodora’s had been an eye-opener – he had not been speaking lightly when Ezio had observed that Leonardo had ruined him for others.
Sullenly nursing the glass of passable wine that one of Leonardo’s assistants had handed to him, Ezio watched an oblivious Leonardo tinker with the contraption, wander away to consult a set of notes, and then sidle over to an absolutely unrelated easel to continue work on his sketches. Usually it was a pleasure to watch him work, but mere watching had been all that Ezio had been allowed since Teodora’s. Attempts to engage Leonardo in more intimate fare had been consistently rebuffed.
Draining the glass of wine buffered his confidence, and Ezio placed the empty glass on the nearest work desk, walking silently up to Leonardo’s side. He waited for a lull in the workshop’s activity before slipping a palm down over Leonardo’s spine, drifting down his back.
Leonardo flinched, pencil skewing a long line over the mouth of a sketched figure of a reclining woman. “Ezio!”
“Take a break, Leonardo,” Ezio instructed, inserting as much invitation and promise as he could into his lowered tone. “For me?”
“I am far behind on all my schedules,” Leonardo carefully pulled away from Ezio’s palm. “And this workshop is hardly private. Friends and patrons come by all the time.” The artist’s paranoia was old and ingrained, it seemed.
“We can move to a better location then,” Ezio said persuasively. “Teodora’s, perhaps. Please?”
Leonardo blinked at him slowly, his long, dexterous fingers absently twirling the pencil between them, and then he smiled, indulgent. “Ezio, are you feeling ignored?”
“A little attention would not go amiss.” The irony was not lost on either of them, judging by Leonardo’s widening smile. Usually, Ezio was the one who dictated the steps of any one of his engagements.