Watching the painter painting [open]

”Shit.” The swearword left the lips of the young baron with a disgruntled clack of his tongue, quickly taking the tip of his brush off of the canvas in front of him before he'd ruin it any further. He took a step back, the tip of his brush resting against his chin as he assessed the damage of the accidental smudge. Squinting his eyes for a moment. His new model, a young woman-blonde of course-layed nude, but covered by a silk sheet, across one of the couches in the middle of his atelier. Her wondering eyes lowered toward the exposed skin of Frederick's upper body. A curious glimmer in them for the tattoo's scattered on his skin. Somewhat unusual for a man of his status. He didn't notice her watching him, but even if he did, he wouldn't care. She could stare all she wanted, but for once, he wouldn't take advantage of it. Not today. Not now that he finally met his muse again, making the creative juices flow in abundance. Though his model was a rather pretty creature, it wasn't her face on the canvas. It wasn't her blue eyes looking back at him, but a pair of very distinctive emerald green eyes.

The girl on the couch started to talk to him, something about his tattoos, her voice harsh and thick with a lowerring accent. Quite unfitting for her beauty. Luckily, he hadn't hired her for that, so he ignored her. He was too occupied with trying to figure out what his next artistic step would be. The summer sun broke through the clouds, shining through the open doors of his balcony onto the canvas, dancing light and shadow on it. And suddenly he saw it. The imagine and new idea took shape in his mind with this new perspective. The corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly, before he continued with a serious expression on the artwork. His gaze, clear and broody, shifting from the painting to the model every so often. The flick of the wrist, twisting down to the hips, so the lovers begin with a kiss. Curving and sweeping, rising and reaching. Infusing deep and complex feelings into every stroke of his brush. Engulfed by his work, he didn't notice the soft pitter-patter of raindrops on the stone of the balcony. Or the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance. Or the knock on and opening of the door  across the room by his butler, who just welcomed an unexpected guest into Frederick's townhouse. Leading this guest up the stairs to present them to his master. A guest who certainly wasn't supposed to see what the baron was working on...
   


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