Hurriedly placing his art supplies on the grass and arranging them so they would not topple, Leonardo walked swiftly to the wall of the training ring.
“Ezio, if you could spar with one of the other boys I will patch Nando’s injury and return him to you shortly,” the artist said, making a worried noise when he saw the blood.
Leonardo moved to enter the training ring, but was stopped by Nando’s cry before he could.
“I’m not allowed to let you help me!” Nando quickly said, waving his arms defensively.
There was a pause; the air suddenly tasting stale and heavy.
“Not… allowed…?” Leonardo murmured. With slow and deliberate movements, the artist looked to Ezio with questioning eyes.
It took all of Ezio’s years as an assassin not to flinch like a beaten pup when those blue eyes focused on him.
After a long moment, Leonardo shook his head and turned back to the young assassino.
“Don’t be silly, of course I will bandage your injuries! You’re bleeding and I will not leave you this way, no matter what words you say. Sit down and let me fetch my bandages.”
“Mam -- I mean, Maestro Da Vinci –”
“Sit. I will return uno momento.”
“But I-I –”
“Sit, Nando.”
“Leonardo,” Ezio began, “I have told the boys that they cannot –”
“Ezio.” The tone was sharp and flat – a clear warning.
Ezio found his lips shutting the moment blue eyes and a freckled face turned to stare at him again. Their gazes held until the heat in those blue eyes made Ezio eventually look away in defeat.
Nodding to himself, Leonardo turned back to Nando with a smile. “Now then, sit. I will return.”
The boy did as ordered, looking at the Master Assassin and his Mamma curiously before hurriedly looking away again. Behind them, Dasten audibly whispered, “Did Maestro Ezio just lose a fight with Mamma Leo?”
The blond artist returned a few minutes later and Rinaldo took the load of supplies from his arms, laying them out on the bench atop which Nando was sitting. Leonardo immediately went to work, swiping at the blood and doing his best to clean the boy up.
Leonardo murmured to himself as he worked, his voice low yet soothing. It took a few long minutes, yet no-one spoke a word or dared interrupt him from his mothering actions.
“A cloth to clean the blood… disinfectant to protect it from infection… salve to prevent scarring … and…”
Then, unexpected by all, Leonardo in and kissed the boy’s tanned chest right above the injury.
“And a kiss to make everything better,” the blond man proclaimed. The young apprentice flushed pink from his ears down to his exposed chest.
Nando shyly tucked a stray piece of hair out of his eyes and muttered an awed (albeit embarrassed) “Grazie.” Yet as he spoke, he felt an uncomfortable heat prickle at his back, and he turned over his shoulders only to freeze in place.
Three sets of hardened eyes, the eyes of assassins who had killed many men, starred pointedly at the boy. The jealousy coming off his comrades was so tangible that Nando quickly swallowed a lump in his throat and turned to face the front, ignoring the glares he was receiving.
At the same time, Leonardo felt heat prickle up his spine, and only when he realized it wasn’t going away did he glance over his own shoulder. His heart stuttered and his whole body flushed upon seeing Ezio’s golden eyes pinned on him.
Those eyes, so bright and rare, seem to stare into Leonardo’s very core. The assassin’s chest was rising and falling with each inhale, tanned skin stretching across broad muscles. His chest was glittering with sweat, making the dark chocolate of his hair stick to his shoulders and the nape of a strong neck.
Leonardo found the artistic, logical part of his mind supplying that (A) He had not drawn Ezio without a shirt since the assassin had been just over the age of 20 and (B) For a man now twice that age, Ezio’s build was the epitome of masculinity – all thick muscle and chest hair and broad shoulders. He would be a wondrous subject for Leonardo’s sketches.
Yet a rapidly increasing part of Leonardo’s brain could only supply:
Re: FILL! Mamma, Mommy, Leonardo ~ Part 9
“Ezio, if you could spar with one of the other boys I will patch Nando’s injury and return him to you shortly,” the artist said, making a worried noise when he saw the blood.
Leonardo moved to enter the training ring, but was stopped by Nando’s cry before he could.
“I’m not allowed to let you help me!” Nando quickly said, waving his arms defensively.
There was a pause; the air suddenly tasting stale and heavy.
“Not… allowed…?” Leonardo murmured. With slow and deliberate movements, the artist looked to Ezio with questioning eyes.
It took all of Ezio’s years as an assassin not to flinch like a beaten pup when those blue eyes focused on him.
After a long moment, Leonardo shook his head and turned back to the young assassino.
“Don’t be silly, of course I will bandage your injuries! You’re bleeding and I will not leave you this way, no matter what words you say. Sit down and let me fetch my bandages.”
“Mam -- I mean, Maestro Da Vinci –”
“Sit. I will return uno momento.”
“But I-I –”
“Sit, Nando.”
“Leonardo,” Ezio began, “I have told the boys that they cannot –”
“Ezio.” The tone was sharp and flat – a clear warning.
Ezio found his lips shutting the moment blue eyes and a freckled face turned to stare at him again. Their gazes held until the heat in those blue eyes made Ezio eventually look away in defeat.
Nodding to himself, Leonardo turned back to Nando with a smile. “Now then, sit. I will return.”
The boy did as ordered, looking at the Master Assassin and his Mamma curiously before hurriedly looking away again. Behind them, Dasten audibly whispered, “Did Maestro Ezio just lose a fight with Mamma Leo?”
The blond artist returned a few minutes later and Rinaldo took the load of supplies from his arms, laying them out on the bench atop which Nando was sitting. Leonardo immediately went to work, swiping at the blood and doing his best to clean the boy up.
Leonardo murmured to himself as he worked, his voice low yet soothing. It took a few long minutes, yet no-one spoke a word or dared interrupt him from his mothering actions.
“A cloth to clean the blood… disinfectant to protect it from infection… salve to prevent scarring … and…”
Then, unexpected by all, Leonardo in and kissed the boy’s tanned chest right above the injury.
“And a kiss to make everything better,” the blond man proclaimed. The young apprentice flushed pink from his ears down to his exposed chest.
Nando shyly tucked a stray piece of hair out of his eyes and muttered an awed (albeit embarrassed) “Grazie.” Yet as he spoke, he felt an uncomfortable heat prickle at his back, and he turned over his shoulders only to freeze in place.
Three sets of hardened eyes, the eyes of assassins who had killed many men, starred pointedly at the boy. The jealousy coming off his comrades was so tangible that Nando quickly swallowed a lump in his throat and turned to face the front, ignoring the glares he was receiving.
At the same time, Leonardo felt heat prickle up his spine, and only when he realized it wasn’t going away did he glance over his own shoulder. His heart stuttered and his whole body flushed upon seeing Ezio’s golden eyes pinned on him.
Those eyes, so bright and rare, seem to stare into Leonardo’s very core. The assassin’s chest was rising and falling with each inhale, tanned skin stretching across broad muscles. His chest was glittering with sweat, making the dark chocolate of his hair stick to his shoulders and the nape of a strong neck.
Leonardo found the artistic, logical part of his mind supplying that (A) He had not drawn Ezio without a shirt since the assassin had been just over the age of 20 and (B) For a man now twice that age, Ezio’s build was the epitome of masculinity – all thick muscle and chest hair and broad shoulders. He would be a wondrous subject for Leonardo’s sketches.
Yet a rapidly increasing part of Leonardo’s brain could only supply:
… Oh Mio Dios… magnifico…
...