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4 hours and 27 minutes. That’s how late you were already.
You could practically hear his sharp remarks, see his pouting face in the back of your mind.
You couldn't help but hesitate before ringing the bell on Rafayel’s gate.
He'd give you one hell of a cold shoulder. But still, you rang.
Then you rang again. And again
— Nothing.
With a deep sigh, you pulled out your phone. Nothing in your inbox as well — your last message as an answer to him flooding your phone had been read and then deliberately ignored.
"Am on a mission -
can’t make it on time.
Will come by as soon as I can", followed by an apologetic emoji was the only thing you had typed out in a hurry, before taking care of another Wanderer attack. Of course you had run home to shower before heading straight to his studio home, but under no circumstances were you going to rub that in his face.
With yet another sigh, you reached to the spot where Rafayel had placed a key once. Having hidden this rather outdated way of opening doors under a simple flower pot only for you, in case of an emergency.
Well, this seemed good enough a reason to use it.
Closing the door behind you, you walked straight into the from sunlight brightly lit hall. Expecting to see him on his ladder working or even his hunched frame in a corner with a drawing pad in his lap, it had your eyebrows narrowed when you couldn’t find him in his usual spots.
Out of habit you glanced at your hunter's watch; no fluctuations, no sign of Wanderers.
Eyes gliding back up, you noticed an easel set up in the studio center. As usual the floor around his working area was scattered with giant sheets of thick paper, smeared sketches etched into its rough surfaces. Crumpled up paper of assumably more sketches on every empty spot on the wooden floor.
Carefully, your every step was placed on a somewhat-free space as you made your way to the clean, white canvas. A not-yet dried up palette was on display on the wooden chair in front of it.
Your eyes lingered on an expensive real hair brush, which had carelessly been dropped to the floor still covered in unused crimson paint.
Rafayel often lived up to the messy artist cliché, yet this seemed a bit too reckless of an action, even for him.
Immediately you pulled out your phone taking a picture of the scene, followed by sending it to him.
"<Image sent>
I am at your place...
Have you been kidnapped or smth?"
Only a second later, a faint 'ding' echoed through the house, having your head turn to the open bathroom door at the hall's far end. Making your way out of the chaos and through the living area, you glanced out the giant glass front with a stunning view on Linkon City's Whitesand Bay. The sun had just started to reflect orange in the calm ocean water.
As if painted by Rafayel himself, white strokes of clouds hung over the sun as it set on the horizon, a pinkish tint to them. This could have easily been a tacky postcard.
As you approached the bathroom, soft sounds of splashing interrupted your thoughts. It had to be him, yet your hand gently rested on the weapon strapped to your belt. It was a reflex, really.
You peeked into the big bathroom, where the extravagant bathtub took all of your attention.
He had most definitely noticed you standing in the doorframe, yet all he did was to stare at his phone with cool disregard. Drops of water ran down his forearm, dripping from his elbow onto the grey tiles. Even around the tub pencils and a drawing pads, tubes and paintbrushes were scattered like confetti.
"You're late," Rafayel's voice broke the silence, as he placed his phone screen-down on a small stool beside the tub.
This was exactly what you had expected. Let the dramatics begin.
"Stating the obvious to make me feel bad?" you answered, but beside a smile there was only relief in your voice to see him well, or rather — to see him at all.
His face turned away as he hugged his knees in the tub, his chin propped up on them as he stared out of the big open bathroom window.
Over the past couple of months, it hadn’t been hard to get used to his drama-queen persona. Rafayel, despite trying really hard not to be, was now an open book to you.
An open book that read like a fantasy novel, yet some of the words in this book were always purposefully scribbled out by himself — wanting to keep you from being able to look through him. Wanting to keep you from discovering what was hidden between the lines.
It had not taken you long to decipher parts of those as well. And what you found only made your heart bound to the subtext.
And so every harsh word coming out of his mouth translated itself to their actual meaning within your mind.
"You made me wait again,”
[I was worried, I was lonely], he mumbled as his frown remained. He was obviously sulking, but there was always more behind his behavior than childish antics and selfish moods.
Not knowing just how 'revealing' his current situation was, you didn't dare to step closer.
"You could've at least opened the door for me. I am sorry, you know exactly I am never doing it on purpose," you spoke calmly as you leaned against the frame, your arms crossed casually. A smile tugging on the corner of your mouth from just how typical this was for him. "This time I even left you a message, just how we had agreed."
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye for a split second, before drawing his gaze back to the sea outside. Rafayel knew damn well you were right, so all that you got in return was a muffled 'Hmpf'.
Another minute of silence passed before you cleared your throat, "I am here now aren't I? Isn't that the important part?"
His body shifted, sounds of water stirring in the tub as he let go of his knees and leaned back, closing his eyes. He sighed overly dramatic, dragging it out for effect. Then finally he'd look at you.
"For all I know, someone could've taken your phone and pretend to be you to trick me," he said with a circling hand movement, his finger then landing on you almost accusingly.
Of course it was obvious that Rafayel’s reactions were comedically blown out of proportion, but they also were a result of many issues coming together. He’d always say how he hated to wait, and he had admitted before how he didn’t like when he was in the dark about what was going on.
Yet never would he admit out loud in straight words how much worry gnawed on him whenever you wouldn’t be there on time. Worry about you never returning, leaving him alone and discarded. And worried for your wellbeing as a whole.
Painful memories nagging in the back of his head.
"I could not even paint anything, that's how much waiting for you annoyed me."
To a stranger's ears, those words would mean nothing more than an eccentric artist's bratty ways. You were good at seeing past them. But the true heaviness of what was going on within him, you were not entirely able to grasp.
He'd say he didn’t like to wait, when really anxiety just left him numb. If only you had seen how frantic his sketching got, to a point where it was nothing but mindless squiggles on expensive paper.
The Lemurian could not stand the thought of being left behind by the one person he cared about. It was as simple as that. And yet there was not one single thing simple about it.
Another huff escaped him when you didn't answer him. You knew how to deal with him by now, and answering would only spur on whatever he was hung up on in these moments.
So you simply didn't.
More silence, in which the energy in the room seemed to shift slightly.
"....Why are you so far away? You can come closer, you know." This time, his voice sounded a lot less harsh.
Your eyebrow raised, but you indeed stepped closer as it was obvious he couldn't be entirely naked, when he was this confidently telling you to approach him.
Oh how wrong you were.
It only took one quick look to the water for you to turn around again, standing still in your tracks.
"Rafayel, you're unbelievable...", you groaned with an eye roll as you couldn't hide having seen a tad too much.
A soft chuckle coming from behind you, accompanied by more splashing made you shake your head in disbelief. Yet the smile on your lips was evidence enough how it didn’t bother you at all. He probably knew that. And if he didn’t, he wouldn’t need to…yet.
While you stood with your back to him he had gotten up, wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping out of the bathtub. Careful not to twist his ankle by slipping on paintbrushes again.
He was still denying 'til this day that this had ever happened in the first place.
You quickly changed the subject back to what mattered with a lighthearted playfulness, "So, can you forgive me 'Oh great Rafayel'?"
The answer came a couple of seconds later, when his chin came to rest on your left shoulder. Droplets of water from his hair making their way onto your shirt. His big eyes found yours as you turned your head to the side just enough to meet his gaze. He had a soft smile on his lips, yet his words had a sweet edge to them.
"You're forgiven...once you help me get back the inspiration you made me waste."
"And how would I do that?" your voice dropped lower, a bit more breathy from the sudden contact, but your smile didn't falter.
It had not been the first time the two of you were in this kind of situation. So close, so much tension between the two of you. Always a single touch too many, always one word leaving your pulse in a frenzy.
He was so close. So very close that should you dare to, you could've just left the impression of your lips on his right this very moment. It almost was as if the both of you had this unspoken bet of who would cave first.
Even when none of you had ever laid their feelings open for the other with words -- they were so painfully obvious.
But you had held that back until now, and this simple move would not make you give in just yet. Instead, your right hand reached to your shoulder, where you found his cheeks and squished them. Now he just looked like the blowfish plushie you had won at the arcade together, making your grin wider.
A pout grazed those now puffed up lips and with one motion, he pushed your hand aside. Although, he did not back away. Not before he could make a remark, that would entirely change the trajectory of the evening.
"Tease me again, and I might just have to put a dash of color on those cheeks of yours," he said in half a playful whisper, as an arm wrapped around your waist to give it a light squeeze. Then he finally pulled himself away, starting to get dressed.
For the moment, his words had crept into your brain and left a fog that put you into a short-lived daze.
Today would be the day, you had decided that very second.
When you faced him again, he had just thrown on his usual white shirt, which he did not even bother to button up right away. The black boxer briefs branded with a high fashion logo on its waistband, left little to the imagination.
Given his teasing only shortly before, plus evidently flashing you in the tub, he turned surprisingly red when he saw your stare. It seemed like he was only confident in those kind of moments, when he was the one initiating them.
"Hey, did I say you could watch me get dressed?" he asked rhetorically while searching for his dress pants like a sudden whirlwind.
With a small smirk and head shake you left him to himself, walking out into the studio hall again and sitting yourself down on the big couch by the window front as you waited.
It was not a long wait until he followed, brushing his still wet hair back into its usual form with his fingers. He looked decent again, the sound of his bare feet on the wooden floor as he approached you.
"I was not joking. I've lost four hours of inspiration. Ready to make that up?"
"Well, and you didn't really answer me when I asked how. How would I help you with inspiration, huh?" you responded nonchalantly while leaning back on the couch. Judging by the expression on his face, he was not even sure himself. Tapping his index finger on his chin, he tried to come up with a plausible idea on the spot.
You stared up at him with a head tilt. Yes, today was the day, the decision was final.
The day where you would not leave the words unspoken, not leave your feelings to be guessed and not keep your body to yourself.
The idea of you finally putting your feelings on display had already flourished in your brain, determination nearly making you giddy.
But you needed a right moment, a frame in which he wouldn't play down your words and his own feelings as a teasing game.
Before he could speak up, you interrupted his brainstorming, "Can I see what you've done today?", you ask as your eyes once again lingered on the chaos of sketches and the empty canvas. By now the sun's setting light dipped the entire studio into a golden glow.
His gaze followed yours and he shook his head, sitting down next to you.
"I told you, my inspiration left me when you wouldn't show up. I didn't know what feelings I wanted to bring to the canvas and my hands...they just wouldn't do what I wanted them to."
"Ohhh...am I your muse, then?" you joked with a short laugh, yet it was something you were actually interested in to know. After all, him complaining about his inspiration fleeting when you weren't around was a recurring phenomenon. He turned to look outside, where the sun was almost disappearing behind the waves. And in thought, he answered.
"My muse is all around me. The sea, the wind, the forests, light, shadow....but even all that is pretentious. I paint what inspires me, even if my painting's motive isn't always the actual cause for inspiration."
Your eyebrows furrowed again, as his words did not make much sense to you yet. He continued as his eyes held the same golden glow while he fixated on the sun.
"What I mean is: I could paint the sea even when my inspiration came from looking at the stars. I could paint the stars, having looked around a forest and-..." his voice turned soft, with a hint of surprise in it, "...-I could paint the entire world, having looked at you."
Your mouth fell open. Before you could even react properly, he looked back at you, poking the space between your brows where it'd wrinkle. The last sentence coming out of his own mouth seemed to be a new revelation even to him. His feelings for you were as blatantly obvious as your own, but this was the first time he had actually caught himself speaking them out without hesitation. At least a fraction of them.
"Hmmm...You make me want to capture the world. Maybe that does make you my muse. Maybe even more than that."
You swallowed hard — you had waited for a window to reveal your own feelings, and this was it. You just wished you could've had a bit more preparation time for your words. How was he always one step ahead of you, even when he did not intent to?
But your own mouth betrayed you, as nothing wanted to come out. Rafayel's hand was inching towards your own, his pinky interlocking with yours. You stared down to your connected hands and it dawned on you that maybe it didn't need any more big words. He had already won with his rendition of inspiration and your influence on him...maybe it was time you kept the words on the tip of your tongue, and just gave them to him without sounding them out.
So when your hand grabbed his shirt, it was just as much a reflex as your Hunter instincts making you reach for your weapon.
You pulled him down to your face, enough to make your noses touch. Your eyes only searching for the clear sign that this was what he wanted as well. The initial shock in his eyes from the sudden move faded, and he whispered out a word you had never expected to hear from him with this much softness.
"...Please."
Your lips brushed against his ever so slightly. His breath was shaking audibly as he inhaled, waiting. Hoping for that moment in which both of you equally caved, no feelings of contest anymore.
When the two of you started kissing, the sensation was sweet and raw. Feelings coming over your lips like words in a ramble, but no sound to carry them. Rafayel did not need to hear them, to return them in an unheard poem. That first kiss lasted long enough for the golden light to fade. When your lips separated, both of you could still not find anything to say, so the second kiss followed suit.
Still raw, but the sweetness turned into something different. The sun was now beyond the horizon and this time, a blue tint surrounded you. The tension was rising as the cool shades compressed the atmosphere around you. It felt heavier, harder to breath almost.
The hand holding your pinky moved, intertwining his fingers with yours properly. His upper body pushed forward against you.
Rafayel could feel it too. Your tongue tasted different, as if the cold colors had put a spell on both of you and dragged you behind the horizon as well, following the sun's example.
Your hand loosened the grip on his shirt, instead it searched for the side of his neck, where your fingertips left a tingling trail of warmth on his skin. His pulse hammered against them as they grazed along his artery and his whole body shivered for a brief second.
It took one more stroke of you fingers against his skin and he drew in a sharp breath, grabbing your hand off his neck and kissing your palm.
"That's a sensitive spot. Dangerous even," he warned breathlessly. You snapped out of your trance like state and smiled, which turned into a chuckle. His lips curled up as well, as both of you suddenly fell into a shared moment of pure happiness. Even when this new kind of tension was still lingering.
Rafayel wore a dreamy expression on his face as he warmly smiled down at you. Slowly, he kissed your palm again.
"Sunflower, Merigold, Royal Yellow dominating, with a dash of Canary. Blent with Dark Coral, Burnt Umber and Medium Vermillion, only to be accompanied with the undertone of Reseda Green and Celadon," he mumbled with his eyes closed as he inhaled your scent.
"What...?" his sudden ramble had you chuckle again, this time in confusion. His eyes opened and he looked at your lips through his lashes as he simultaneously rubbed his cheek to your palm.
"Those were the colors of the sea and the sky when we kissed for the first time," he hummed contently. And then he looked back at the sea through the window once more, continuing to list color's names like a mantra that he wanted to burn into his mind.
Taking in the blue hues of the remaining light surrounding you, and the colors of the horizon and water in the face of the approaching night.
"...Aegean, Baby Blue, Cherry Blossom and Baby Pink...Blue Sapphire, Cerulean, Turkish Blue and that remaining hint of Coral..."
Your own voice was a mere whisper as you asked, even though you knew the answer.
"And those are...?"
"The colors of the second one," he answered and closed his eyes again while your thumb caressed his cheek. You just adored his perfect features as he had his eyes closed while enjoying your gentle touch to its fullest.
Many questions needed to be answered soon, once the dust had settled onto the situation and you would need clearance on how the both of you would go on. But for now, this could wait. It was clear enough that this was no teasing, not just a flirt. Not some ruse to get you to blush and play around.
His passion about the colors of the sea for these moments had proven that. This was enough to get your mind to wander to different places.
After gathering your thoughts on this precious moment and his brilliant mind, you had a fantasy in yours which made your cheeks redden without him noticing.
"Would you hate me terribly, if I started painting now? My inspiration has never been more sparked," he interrupted the thought-train that had your face heat up. Before you could answer, his voice dropped to a soft whisper, "I can't waste it, when the cause is this special."
His words danced along your skin, as he kissed the inside of your wrist.
"I just want to capture this as long as it's the present, before it fades into the past. I want to be able to relive this very moment by only looking at the colors on the canvas, even when the memory's vividness is paling."
His way around words was unmatched once again. But his voice was back to normal, and he slowly let go of your hand. The artist seemed genuinely afraid you'd say 'yes', even if it was absolutely irrational. You shook your head aggressively, followed by an encouraging smile.
Rafayel's eyes had a twinkle in them as he got up.
Oh no, this was perfect. Maybe, just maybe your fantasy didn't have to stay one. Speaking it aloud would turn it into an idea, and the idea could turn into reality — if he decided to agree.
Something tickled the back of your skull as you recalled the small, soft plea of his for you to kiss him. Though it was more of a consenting gesture to signal you to do so, the thought of him having your name on his lips in soft desperation...
"That is...wonderful. Actually, I think I want to participate."
This sentence immediately had Rafayel's ears perked and curiosity peaked.
"You want to paint too?" his eyes were wide in surprise as he looked down on you, though his question was no mocking disbelief. He looked genuinely excited.
As much as you'd love a painting date, it had to be saved for another time.
"No. I just want you to paint what you feel."
The man was the king of ambiguity, but of course this he did not catch. Given your wording, it was no wonder though that he did not get what you were really implying. Rafayel laughed softly, as he walked to the nearest light switch. "Isn't that what I always do? How is that making up for lost inspiration? Where is that participation in the painting process on your part?"
The studio's ceiling light turned on, and you had to blink a few times to adjust. It wasn't bright though, and certainly not enough to paint properly. You had a grin on your face, and he seemed to just interpret that as dodging the question. Instead of elaborating right away, you'd let him talk himself into the realization.
Rafayel stepped around the clutter of sketches on the floor, pushing them aside with his foot to make some space around the easel. Now you got up too, slowly walking into his direction.
With one hand on his hip, his usual sassy stance, he sighed as he stood before the white canvas and chair. The brush's bristles were crusted with a thick layer of color, the paint on the palette fully dried too. For his big works he’d usually go with oil paints, as even after days you still could revise mistakes. For smaller canvases like this, he’d go with high quality acrylics. Downside to that was how quickly they dried on his utensils.
He picked the brush from the floor, inspecting it in the dim light.
"Ugh well, this brush is a goner," he muttered, then smiled back at you over his shoulder as he saw you approach.
You just followed his movements with your eyes, waiting for him to ask again.
Something was taking over you, as pictures of what could follow flashed before your inner eye. Hoping you could turn his teasing habits around on him. Hoping he would give you the satisfaction of being flustered over losing the upper hand again.
Hoping he would let you guide this painting to an artistic high.
"So, what did you mean by wanting to participate, if you don't want to paint? I bet the painting would turn out even better, if the both of us put our feelings into it. I'd love for you to sign the finished piece in the end, and-..."
He was rambling again but stopped talking abruptly, once your arms wrapped around him from behind.
"I want you to paint what you feel...-", your voice was muffled slightly as your face was buried in his back, "-...Or more so, I want you to paint while you feel."
To highlight your words, your left hand made its way under his button-up shirt, grazing his toned V-line with your fingertips ever so slightly.
You had no idea where this sudden confidence came from, but you had never felt so much longing for someone in every possible way.
He inhaled sharply as he felt your fingers trail along his skin. He was not facing you, but his unusual silence and the fact that his neck was bright red gave you all the information you needed.
"What...do you mean?" he asked and sounded entirely hypnotized by your words. This time, he was the one who knew the answer. But he needed to hear it from you, that absolute tempting offer. Having it sounded out for him so he could truly grasp what he was in for, should he let you 'participate'.
Your hand ran up to his chest first, then slowly began to glide down again, until you reached the dress pants' waistband. Your thumb running along its inside slowly, all the way to the side of his hip.
And to round up the whole motion, tugging suggestively.
"What I mean is that I want you to paint while I make you feel...that way you do not only have the first kiss captured."
The studio was silent, only the very faint sound of the sea gave away that time had not stopped. That, and the sound of Rafayel's breathing that had begun to quicken once you had finished speaking. The little hairs on his neck stood up with how much electricity shot through his body at every little thing you did and said.
Before he answered to your notion, he had to take a deep breath. His voice had dropped, he sounded calmer, more collected. But the slight shakiness in his tone gave him away.
"If you do this, then do it right."
With those words, he turned around out of your embrace to face you. His eyes staring down to you heavy lidded as he unbuttoned his shirt himself. The smirk on your lips could not be held in as you watched his slim fingers push the buttons through their holes, revealing his muscular frame to you for the second time today. When he was done, he let it slip off his shoulders and onto the floor. Not once did his eyes leave yours, not even when he took your wrist to guide your hand over his abs.
It was funny, really. He stood before you like the tall, bratty man he always was. But in this moment, he was completely under your spell. Even when this action had a dominant appearance to it, that appearance was deceiving. He might as well could have been on his knees right now, they were already weak for you either way.
The second he made you touch him again, he was the one having to hold in shaky breaths and flinches.
You took in every little detail of his chest. Those sharp collarbones, the little mole beneath one of them. That flawless skin, which now was covered in goosebumps as your hands explored every inch.
You let them wander down his ribs and torso once more, until you started to gently scratch along his skin with the very tips of your nails.
That was when you heard the first hint of a moan from his throat.
Rafayel covered his mouth with the back of his hand, as he was failing entirely to hide his flustered state.
He had to look away, not able to take this idle mix of absolute arousal and the abiding need to create. A mix he had not felt in his entire existence as an artist.
You smiled up at him, your hand going to his cheek cupping it in the most loving way possible. For a moment he just nuzzled into your touch before calming his breathing again.
"Let me prepare the paints then. I probably won't have a free minute in between, when those hands are all over me."
He was absolutely right.
You watched as he stepped away to get a new palette, pulling out tubes from the metal utility cart that held his paints and get a brand new brush from a color-stained, wooden brush holder. He then moved a spotlight on wheels to where the easel was standing and turned off the ceiling lights. The light was colder, more neutral for a good color result. Evidently a lot less romantic -- but even though the spotlight was on the painting, you couldn't wait to be the true focus of the scene.
With precision he started to mix and apply what he needed. Of course you would not let him have a moment of peace even before the approaching storm. Quietly, you stepped behind him to caress his bare back and place gentle kisses between his shoulder blades. More goosebumps formed on his skin, he tried to ignore it as best as he could as his concentration was on the colors in front of him.
After a few minutes Rafayel was finally done as he rolled the cart near the chair.
He sat down on it eyeing the canvas, then his eyes were fully on you.
"So, how do you want me?" His voice was playful, yet gentle. Even though his demeanor was back to a pokerface slyness, he was sitting rather stiffly.
It was so very tempting to put him into his place.
Your own thoughts surprised you a bit but honestly -- there was no need to hold back. No need to let them stay just thoughts.
Without words you'd gently push his knees apart with your own, making space to stand between his legs. With your index and middle finger, you pushed up his chin and held it in place as you stared down at him. He looked needy, desperate even. Like a puppy begging to be fed.
And oh, you would feed him good.
Your voice was smooth and seductive as the following instruction hit Rafayel like a brick to the face, a pleasant brick to say the least:
"I want you to keep painting...no matter what I do. "
Rafayel nodded as he inhaled sharply.
"As you wish."
He took one of his brushes out of the wooden holder, a wide one, wetting it in a cup of water that stood beside it at all times. He then dipped it into a rich blue -- he had to glaze the canvas before starting properly. To his luck he had primed it already that noon. He drew his eyes back to yours, brush in hand, waiting for you step away from in front of him.
Only then did you add the most crucial part, leaning down to his ear, "The painting is finished, once you are too. It is entirely up to you how far you'll get."
The way his eyes stared up at you, pupils dilating, was enough to drive you further in your doing. Slowly you took off your shirt, peeling yourself out of the uniform. With your upper body bare, he couldn't tear away his eyes for a second. A soft noise escaped his throat, one of utter adoration and pure need.
How was he supposed to care about painting, when the true masterpiece stood in front of him?
You reached out to hold onto his wrist this time, the one with the brush. You tilted your head back slightly and placed it at your chin. Slowly guiding him to trace along your throat, and from there all the way to your belly button. The thinned paint dripped, leaving light blue, watery streaks down your delicate skin. He watched every drop find their way running down in uneven paths, pooling at the waistband of your pants before getting absorbed into the fabric.
He had no words that'd describe how beautiful the view was, so it left him speechless instead.
A small smirk grazed your lips, this was exactly what you had hoped to achieve. But you'd not stop here, no, you'd work towards that moment when he would be a whimpering mess.
Instead of having him not find his words, you'd make him not being able to say them at all instead; even if he had them to spare.
All while he was going to create the piece of a lifetime.
You let go of him, stepped out of his way so he could finally begin to glaze the canvas instead of you. He swallowed to wet his dry throat as he took a second to process what he was in for and then finally started to glaze the canvas.
All the while you positioned yourself behind the chair, running your fingertips along his shoulders and the back of his neck as you watched. For a while you did nothing else than that, caressing his back and arms, shoulders and neck. His skin turned so sensitive from that alone, but he enjoyed every second of your loving touch.
The heat of your own skin made sure to quickly dry the watery streaks of paint on your skin. It felt funny.
He cleaned the brush and put it aside, waiting for the glaze to dry enough to keep going. You took this pause as an invitation to lean down and pepper the side of his neck with soft kisses. Rafayel tilted his head to the other to give you more access. His eyes closed with a content smile.
"If you keep going like this, I'll fall asleep from how this feels," he hummed.
You chuckled softly, the tickle of your breath making him shiver once more.
"Are you saying you're bored?"
"I am saying you're heaven." he mumbled.
In response, your teeth pulled on his tender skin.
Rafayel groaned softly after his breath drew in sharply from the nip on his flesh.
His neck really was so very sensitive.
“Humans truly are greedy. Exploiting other species with their cruel games. Taking a weak spot and turning it against them.”
That was his way of complaining to you. But not about the delicious pain blooming on his skin, or the fact you were having your way with him — but about the fact how he wanted more. Now. Desperately.
“Keep painting, little Lemurian,” you whispered against his skin again before nibbling on another spot. There was already a dark red mark forming on his delicate neck from the first time.
Another groan was a reward for your ears.
You could feel his body move slightly as he dipped another brush in paint. The glaze being mostly dry, he slowly placed guiding strokes on the canvas to mark his dimensions.
Covering his neck in more lovebites, your hands slowly traced his shoulders. You had seen before how ticklish he was, how his skin reacted to even the smallest sensations. More goosebumps formed beneath your fingertips, and you wandered down with your hands from behind him.
Your thumbs rub over his nipples and his entire body jerked, making him pull away from the canvas only for a moment. A higher pitched whimper blessing your ears.
My my, this was tempting.
He bravely continued to paint without hesitation, even when your index finger and thumb continued to gently squeeze and twist them, he pushed through the pleasure and kept going. He’d make his lip bleed if he bit down on it any harder than right now to gain back some control.
One glance down over his shoulder was enough to see how his hard cock was straining against his dress pants. Maybe it was time to set it free and finally get a proper look at it. After all, you had only caught the preview before.
You walked around the chair again. His big, purplish eyes following your movement for a second before darting back to the canvas. You kneeled in front of him positioning yourself between his legs, as your focus was kept on his crotch.
Rafayel was way too aware of what was about to happen when your fingers undid the button and zipper. He was trying so hard not to look down. If he did, he wouldn't be able to draw his gaze away again. He just knew it. So all he could do was staying transfixed on his work and brace himself.
When you pulled the waistband of his briefs over his dick, it sprung free almost violently. The tip of it was glistening in the strong light. With your index finger, you'd rub over it to spread the trickle of pre-cum.
Another jolt made its way through his body, making him shift in the chair slightly. His breathing was louder from only that small gesture alone.
You looked up at him as he still bit his lip and stared a hole into his canvas. He could feel your stare clearly, but he was stubborn on keeping his cool for a little while longer.
Your hand began to wrap around him and pump slowly. And even though his dick was such a pretty view as it was twitching and pulsing under your hand, the struggle on his face was prettier.
For a solid three minutes, you just stroked him with a teasing sloppiness. That's when his bratty self resurfaced, as he cleaned his brush to dip it into another color.
"Are you just going to tease me forever? You're making me wait again," he said as he looked down to you for the first time since you had gotten on your knees. His eyes already glassy from the restraint he was putting himself through. It took everything within him to not just grab your hair and push himself past your lips.
He knew he was not in control here, yet he was just way too competitive to accept his position without trying to rebel at least a little.
"Keep your mouth running like this and my tongue will not touch you at all," you warned in an overly sweet voice. He swallowed his words right that moment, because the thought of not having your warm mouth taking him in was more unbearable than not speaking his frustration aloud.
When you saw his adam's apple bop with a hard gulp, you were actually surprised how well he was biting back his natural instinct to push further.
So as a treat, your tongue slipped out of your mouth and left a wet trail all the way from the root of his shaft up to his glans.
Immediately a moan cut through the thick air of arousal surrounding the both of you. His brush was resting on the canvas, unmoving.
You smirked and immediately did it again, even slower. Another soft sound from his throat. His eyes finally found yours again as he looked utterly and helplessly needy.
His voice only a mutter. He looked like he was about to drool on himself. “Please…more.”
More? Alright, you’d give him more. A whole lot of 'more'. With one hand still holding his shaft by the bottom, your lips would now slip over his red tip and take him in halfway. He was not small. Far from it actually. He had a very respectable length on him, so it was no wonder there was no way you’d be able to fit him whole like some sword-swallower.
His free hand immediately shot to the back of your head, holding onto your hair. This was something he couldn’t hold back. His hand kept your head in place as his own dropped back slightly, his mouth agape and eyes closed to remain in this momentary bliss. He just wanted to preserve that feeling of him buried in your throat for just a second longer before you’d take over again.
You exhaled through your nose. He had earned this, alright. But to not keep him in that one moment too long, your tongue slid over his frenulum. That sweet little spot where his tip was connected to his length and if stimulated long enough, was absolutely able to send him over the edge alone.
Another loud groan rumbled through his throat. Your other hand had to push down on his hips, keeping them in place on the chair, as they were starting to buckle and grind against your lips involuntarily.
This was manageable. One problem though: he was not painting. Luckily, it was as if he had heard your thoughts and his eyes snapped open, trying to regain focus. His ears were so red from the intense feeling and the sliver of embarrassment that rushed through him. He had made a blotch of paint where he hadn’t wanted to, and quickly worked on fixing it. It was still so early on into the painting, it didn’t matter yet anyway.
„Sorry…“ he exclaimed in a small voice.
Your mouth pulled away and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you shook your head.
You had never heard him so apologetic and compliant before.
„Just keep going. You’re doing so good.“
The praise rolled off your tongue with ease.
It earned a flustered chuckle from him.
„Likewise,“ he responded softly, the hand still on your head playing with your hair lovingly.
You continued sucking him, keeping him on the edge of the chair as he kept painting with a trembling hand and shaky breathing.
He had to roll his neck a few times to make his tense muscles relax and regain enough composure. But your rhythm fastened every passing minute, your tongue tracing dangerous patterns on his throbbing glans.
It was hard to keep his body still while you were touching and licking all the sensitive areas on him. He felt like jumping out of his seat, but he also didn’t want to be disruptive to his art and kept the brush in a tight grip as he placed each brushstroke with care.
He’d try to deny it if you’d ask him if he was close.
If there’s one thing he’d pride himself with, it’d be his insane competitiveness.
In truth, he was just a sore loser and could not accept defeat easily.
Not in Kitty Cards, not in arcades against vicious claw machines….and sure as hell not when he was ready to bust on the tip of your tongue after just a few minutes.
You didn’t want him to of course, you had planned so much in your head already that it would be a straight up shame to let him off the hook so easily. The painting was nowhere near being done as well, no way would you give him release.
You wouldn’t have to worry though, he wouldn’t let you either.
You were aware that he was having trouble to stay away from the sweet edge right now, but when your head bopped up and down some more only to stop and let your teeth scrape over the tip ever so gently, he gasped loudly.
His hips buckled backwards trying to escape the sensation of your mouth and hand, while his palm pushed your forehead back a little.
„N-No…Stop, just for a minute. I can’t…“ he stuttered as he tried to calm his body down. The muscles in his pelvis visibly tensing and twitching, making his member move on his own.
You were about to edge him and now he was doing it himself.
The heat between your legs grew. It had been there the whole time of course, but right now it reached new temperatures that could easily melt anything put in between your thighs.
You gently caressed the side of his leg in calming circles, waiting for him to be ready for you to continue your heavenly torture.
He calmed enough and nodded wordlessly, then placed more paint on the canvas.
It had started to take form. The horizon separated from the water that was flowing over into the beach still undefined. It was already obvious though, that this was not just going to be a perfect rendition of the outside view. He’d bring his own twist into it more clearly very soon.
About half an hour went by of you licking and sucking his aching cock, edging him over and over again for his own benefit. He did not leave this uncommented. He’d moan and gasp every time. Whining about the absolute unfairness.
He loved to complain when there was nothing to complain about.
Giving and watching him receive pleasure was satisfying on its own. But while you did this, your feelings got more overwhelming with every stroke, kiss or lick you placed.
Rafayel had already filled your heart to the brim, ready to overflow. It was time he’d be filling the rest of you as well.
The base layers of the painting were done. This was the perfect opportunity to make him lose his mind and slap the pleasure over them like an approaching hurricane.
With that thought, you pulled down his pants and underwear entirely that had been coverings his legs still. He worked with you and quickly kicked them off to the side and out of the way.
You got up from your knees and stood between him and the easel once more. He had just cleaned his brushes, his body glazed in sweat from the dozens of times he had been near an orgasm. You cupped his face, his heavy lidded eyes gazing up at you and a warm smile spread on his lips. One arm slipped around your waist, holding you as well.
His expression was so pure, so clean and filled with love that your chest tightened with heartache. You leaned down and kissed him, the taste of him still lingering on your slightly swollen lips. Rafayel reciprocated, the movement of his lips almost innocent in comparison to the whole situation.
When you parted, he still just couldn’t stop smiling.
„Still want to continue?“ you asked, wanting him to clearly speak out if he had any changes of mind.
„I’m far beyond want. I need you. I feel like a fish deprived of the sea — I need to feel you moving around me like the currents.“
This was probably the most romantic beg in history.
Your pulse had quickened so much from his words. Satisfying him with your mouth had already left your whole body ready for more, the emotions within you in a turmoil even when you looked rather controlled during it all.
This whole situation was wild.
But the pure, singled out thought of sex with this man that you had fallen so deeply for…unmatched excitement.
„Then you’ll have me whole,“ you whispered and stepped back from him a little to slowly undo your own pants. Your heart was slamming against your ribcage as you revealed the rest of your body to him. It was only fair to do this so openly with all his attention solely on you, he was the one entirely naked on a chair after all.
He stared down ever single inch of your body as if in disbelief over the beauty he was taking in. He stared as if he was trying to burn the sight of you like this into his retinas.
His mouth tried to form words that would describe in his poetic tongue how stunning your naked body was to him. But it was just that; stunningly beautiful. Leaving him wordless for now.
So he did express himself in a way that was more eloquent than words to him. Rafayel dipped his brush into a pale yellow and put it to your skin.
The cold paint felt soothing somehow, and you looked down on his hand as he placed multiple squiggly short streaks on your belly and alongside your waist. Then he dipped it into a rich, fiery, pinkish red and blended it in the same motion. His final touches were lines of green to connect it all. You looked down on yourself and your eyes nearly watered when you saw the sentiments on your skin — Gloriosa Superba.
“Flame lilies…?”
He nodded as he put the brush aside, and leaned back to take in the sight.
“They fit you just right, don’t you think?” he replied, his voice soft and buttery. In truth they fit him a lot more, but maybe that was the idea.
“Though, your beauty outshines even the prettiest of flowers.”
If it was possible, the heat between your legs pooled even more. You smile down at him with indescribable attraction to both his words as well as his glimmering eyes.
You’d give this man anything if you could. For now all he seemed to require though was his body deep inside of yours. He tried to hide how much his dick was aching, adjusted himself on the chair and waiting impatiently for any sign from your side. You really had him at your mercy. Though his hand couldn’t help but trace along your leg and wander upwards towards your heat.
Your own breathing picked up when his middle finger explored the edge of your folds, wandering up in a tickling line until it hovered right above the sweetest of spots. Your hand cupped his cheek again, the other holding onto his shoulder as you stood there, knees weak already. He’d do the same game as you now, watching your face almost expecting as his finger pressed down and circled the swollen nub beneath.
It made your breath hitch, and when his finger pushed inside of you it entirely stopped. He slowly pumped it in and out in fluid motions, his slender finger stroking the one spot inside of you with so much precision, it was a wonder you didn’t just come undone in his palm on an instant.
You gasped and moaned with your eyes squeezed shut and your legs trembling.
He was supposed to paint though. But this was too deliciously good to break it. He slipped another finger inside of you as your legs spread a bit standing up. Your arousal was so intense, you could feel it trickle down your thigh.
He was so unusually quiet, but the sight of you taking in his fingers and melting away was too much for him.
There was no comment to be made, he just tried to hold back from spontaneously combusting from the amount of need he felt.
Eventually you did have to stop him though even when it was hell.
“We have a painting to finish,” you whispered with trembling breath.
He did pick up the brush again, although only after licking over the fingers glistening with your juices, groaning when tasting you.
You turned to get one last look at the painting before it would be covered in the proof of your connection. He was already on placing fine lines in the sky where a sun was starting to disappear behind the horizon.
Your tongue delivered a few more licks to his cock as you crouched in front of him to prepare him.
You then turned around and placed yourself on his lap, aligning your entrance with his member and letting yourself slide down as you sat. Rafayel, who had tried his best to look past you and continue to paint, immediately moaned loudly. The brush in his hand trembled, and eventually he was entirely unable to keep hold of it. The brush dropped to the ground, and immediately his arms wrapped around your waist, smearing the painted flowers on your body.
His forehead pressed against your back and his breath rolled over your spine in quick intervals.
“You-…” he whimpered, squeezing your body tight to his. Pushing deeper into you.
The feeling was sensational when his length dug into you until it felt like he was way past your cervix. If Rafayel ever decided to take you in another position where he could reach even deeper, you’d be screaming his name for sure.
Both of you had to adjust to the feeling of each other for a good minute.
He let out a long, dragged exhale and kissed along your back with quivering lips, while you leaned forward to pick up the brush next to your feet.
“Rafayel…”
“Yeah yeah, I hear you,” he groaned and took back the brush from you.
He continued, his free hand resting on your waist. With your eyes on the canvas watching his precise work despite the circumstances, you felt even more determined to make his perfectionism fade.
Hands finding hold on his knees, you steadied yourself.
You started leisurely but that quickly turned into mercilessly riding his lap, lifting your ass enough only to smack your abdomen down again.
At this point there was no shame in anything anymore. Your moans echoed through the studio together with the slapping of skin against skin, ricocheting of the walls and filling his ears from every side.
He was so vocal, it drove you crazy. His whimpers mixed into the plethora of sounds and mangled your sanity. His hand had a hard time to not be affected by the harsh bouncing of you on his dick. He’d take longer to place paint, he’d get sloppy with the placement. It added to the painting’s existing delicate strokes in such a contrasting yet highlighting way.
Canary, Sunflower, Burnt Umber; cleansing the brush.
He dug his nails into your hips as he tried to subtly tell you to slow down or else those deadly hip rolls would quickly kill any chance of not spilling straight inside you. He swallowed his moans and spoke with a raspy voice.
“Maybe you should concentrate on coming undone yourself. More than once would be fine by me. Before you ruin my chance of capturing that fire burning between your legs.”
That self restrained change of submission, to a grumbled insistence of your own pleasure before his, made the built up tension in your abdomen tighten…and nearly unravel by itself just like that.
He still needed you to rock him like the currents, but he couldn’t take the harshness of pleasure clashing over his head and endangering him to drown in it.
You slowed down and edged him away from that close call. Resulting in your own high to fall out of immediate reach. With his eyes on the painting still, he kissed along your shoulder.
“Do me a favor and get up,” he urged. How had he flipped the dynamic just like that? Guess the both of you just needed to switch back and forth with your attitudes.
He’d be begging you with his eyes to make him come soon enough, maybe this was what was needed right now for true artistry to unfold.
You slowly let him slip out of you, hissing at the sensation and him leaving you empty.
He let out a similar sound and squeezed the bottom of his shaft as if trying to stop the floodgates from opening.
He calmed himself again and patted his left knee.
“Please, take this as a stand in. I don’t care about how wet you’ll get it. I’m quite fond of that, as you might know.”
A small smirk curled up the corners of his lips.
Rafayel wanted you to make yourself climax on his leg, and though the suggestion made your face redder than it already was, you’d be happy to do so.
You sat again, and slowly started grinding against his thigh.
Your clit was pulsating already, and the friction against his skin added to it to a tenfold.
He rolled his shoulder. Keeping his painting arm up like this always was a sore, but nothing compared to the tension in his abdomen. Both of you were in this own little world you shared.
You were grinding yourself raw and close. Just as your climax was approaching again his arm snaked around you. Fingers rubbing you with heavy circles until with a sobbing moan your first orgasm exploded out of you.
Rafayel’s multitasking ability was remarkable.
Your thighs squeezed his leg between them and your whole body recoiled as those circles kept going on your clit.
Dark Coral and Medium Vermillion, as deep and passionate as your orgasm, found their way to the canvas. Brush cleanse.
He kept kissing along your shoulder from time to time as his dick twitched against your lower back, leaking from its tip a bit. Your orgasm had him riled up more than ever.
“Again…” he whispered. But that too, sounded more like a plea than a command.
Now who was the greedy one?
His left hand drew little patterns on your back as you slowly started to grind again. His skin already slicked with your essence, your next orgasm rolled around smoothly.
He listened to your moans and gasps like he would to a symphony of a great classical composer.
It was time for him to be resorting to whimpers again, you decided as your second orgasm subsided.
The Lemurian had put his brush away for now as the layers and shapes he had crafted carefully, needed to dry fully before he’d go on. Perfect timing.
You took in what he had created while you had kept releasing on him.
It already was breathtaking.
You peeled yourself off his leg and as expected a creamy, wet spot stayed behind. You saw his eyes dart there, and the way he was in awe had you smiling.
He subconsciously licked his lips. Maybe after this, you would let him eat you out on the couch until those lips were wetted.
You grabbed his jaw and made his eyes meet yours a bit more firmly than before.
“You called me ‘Master’ once, remember that?” you reminded him of the time when it was first revealed to you he was in fact a Lemurian. On ‘Ebb Day’, when the tide is at its lowest and the Lemurians at their weakest, you had to witness it first hand.
He had been miserable, but his desire for you back then was so intense. You would’ve never taken advantage of that state, he trusted you so deeply even when he was so vulnerable. It hadn’t even crossed your mind to actually give in to his antics back then.
But the way he had turned your teasing around on you and actually called you Master without hesitation… it had stained your mind.
His ears and cheeks immediately heated up again at the mention and his familiar, flustered and snarky self was revived. He averted his pretty eyes with a sulky frown.
“I never called you such a thing, not to my recollection,” he lied. Okay then, you’d play that game.
“What a pity. Then I think I have to make you remember.”
Your eyes bore into his face. He knew exactly what you wanted from him.
His eyes found yours as you still held his chin without the sulky expression wavering.
“Enlighten me,” he whispered raspily.
He wanted to be a brat. He was very good at it too.
For a final time you sat back down on his lap, but this time facing him. One hand wrapped around the back of his neck, playing with his hair. The other around his dick between the two of you. You let it rub against your slick folds, teasing it, glazing it with yourself as you had with his leg.
He gasped audibly.
“You’re cruel.”
You grinned.
“And you’re what I told you that day too: Mine.”
That had done it. Flipped the switch in more than one sense.
Back to submission at the second you claimed him.
“You’re right. I do remember now, Master.”
Immediate shivers raged over your back.
“Good little pet,” you referenced, and pushed his shaft down so it could enter you at that angle.
He let out a grunt and his hands wrapped around you to squeeze your ass and thrust up and into you immediately. The praise you were giving him was like sugar for his soul, and he ate it up like dessert.
You moaned, but that didn’t stop you from whispering into his ear and nibbling on it right after.
“By the way, who allowed you to stop painting?”
Another groan, another thrust. But he listened. Reluctantly he pulled the easel a bit closer with his foot and took the brush in his hand.
He wanted to finish the painting, but he also just wanted to finish.
“You always were the death of me.”
He phrased that very curiously, but there was no care left in you to dig deeper on that right now.
The artist dipped his brush in color and kept painting, biting the inside of his cheek. Your teeth pulled on his neck, leaving marks around the same area where he already had some from earlier. Your lips kept teasing him with a mix of sloppy kisses and soft nibbles and he was again, way more affected than he’d ever admit.
Cherry Blossom, a dash of coral, a blend of Sapphire and Turkish blue — no interest in cleansing the brush. Just continued strokes. Just. Continue.
And again you circled your hips around his dick. This time you would not edge him, you rode him with the purpose to make him lose his mind to a climax.
Your body was enduring a lot more during hunting; literally pulling off intense stunts in order to keep Wanderers at bay.
But a little over an hour and a half of sex with the man you loved and you already felt sore. You pushed through it. It was the most pleasurable form of burning inside your muscles and you had never imagined to actually ever like that feeling.
Aegan, Cerulean, losing focus. Back to Baby Pink. No, Baby Blue. Too good. Too much.
Blend.
He moved with you. His strokes not at all precise anymore, this far into it he couldn’t care less. It was you that was taking over his senses. To a point where his hand was just moving in muscle memory and the idea of the finished piece in the back of his mind.
All his true focus was on how your insides felt, how your body moved, how your skin glistened and stuck to his from the sweat on the both of you.
And how much he loved you more as you overstimulated his every nerve ending.
He was so vocal again. His whimpers grew loud, desperate.
Now that you were facing him, his member curved and rubbed against your G-spot just perfectly. Clit rubbing against his pelvis, swollen and numbed from all the pleasure, you hung by a threat. You'd bite through 1000 orgasms if it meant to get him there.
It would only be one more though.
Rafayel’s stamina was impressive. And oh how much he wished to just come, just let it happen and let the tidal wave wash him away.
But beside being stubborn, he was also a perfectionist. It was fine with him to toss precision aside, it created a nice contrast. But leaving a piece like this — an opportunity like this — unfinished? Not in a million years.
Since you wouldn’t let him work on it after, he needed to make this final.
So he held it back. Tried so hard in fact, that the inside of his cheek was bitten open from how hard he had chewed it through whimpers and moans. The friction of your walls against his by now overly sensitive cock made him go insane. He had stopped moving himself and let you handle it as long as he was still painting. Rafayel’s gaze frequently switched between the canvas and your facial expressions. They were so damn beautiful.
You were so damn beautiful.
Aegean, just a tad more of that. More cold colors. Mix, blend, repeat.
He was just about to place a streak when his eyes widened. He could feel your walls tighten, your face scrunching up and an almost frustratedly grunted moan ran over your lips. Another orgasm rolled around for you and it was nearly infectious.
Dangerous.
Brush cleanse. Color accents. So close.
Brush cleanse.
Three times. Three times he had made you fall over the edge when he had not once allowed himself to.
It was your own fault, you had challenged him with the rules of this creative process. But you didn’t think he’d actually hold on this long. A little frustration was natural.
“Hhnn…you’re so pretty when you-...” he groaned before being interrupted by you placing your hand over his mouth. You hadn’t even slowed down after your climax. He exhaled through his nose and muffled sounds of protest pushed through.
Now you had enough; you needed to see him release. The look of panic on his face when your walls had tightened around him was the key.
You clenched your pelvic floor and the moan that pushed out of him through your fingers was music to your ears. Your other hand was all over him, scratching his skin softly, rubbing his nipples, squeezing his waist. The sweat on his forehead started to pearl down the side of his face. He clutched the brush so hard, his fingers turned white.
White. White. Just white. Just highlights.
He said something muffled though your hand. You didn’t take it away, but when he took your wrist and ripped it off himself you were all ears. His hand almost seemed to want to push you off when his fingers dug into your waist.
“I’m-…I can’t… inside you.” He was breathing so heavily, that it only came out in bits, but you understood clearly what he was concerned about.
You had thought about it during this, and you were prepared enough to let it happen. You wanted him to.
Eyes glistening, you nodded. Your reassuring smile more mischievous than it was supposed to look.
“You can. I want you to.”
Rafayel was all mush now. His hand let go of your waist and wrapped around you to claw into your back. The arm that held out the brush stood unmoving on the canvas…until it slipped down and left a thick white stroke right from the painting’s center down to the bottom.
It was the rough, accidental and uncalculated finale this piece deserved.
Then he dropped the brush entirely, this time to stay. He burried his head in the nape of your neck and dragged out, shaky whimpers send vibrations alongst your skin.
The thrusts that he delivered upward into you to match and fasten your pace were vigorous and rough. As a result the chair beneath you started to creak in an unhealthy way.
Both of you lost your senses as finally everything happened in unison. Your bodies moved together as if drifting with the currents — violent currents, to be fair.
Rafayels legs beneath you trembled and he held onto you so tight, sobbing moans and whimpers building up to what was about to happen.
You wouldn’t allow him to hide his face when he came. Gently yet assertively your hand pulled on his soft hair until his head fell back and his half lidded eyes stared up to yours. Saliva glazed his lips, his face red and hot.
His whole body jerked — just like that, he emptied all the built up tension. Heavily panting and almost ashamed, but you held his head in place as he spilled inside of you while your moans synced and calmed together. The tidal wave had swept him away, and now the storm could subside.
You rewarded him with a deep kiss that cushioned, wrapped and sealed all of the lust and emotion like a present to the both of you. The aftermath of his orgasm still rippled through him before finally fading out.
Your lips part. He took a breath and…
“I love you.”
The three words slapped you in the face like a brick to the jaw.
He said them. He actually, truly said them.
No veil over his words and tease in his tone.
His anxious puppy eyes waited for anything to come over your lips.
Of course he just had to say the most meaningful words of your entire life while he was still inches deep, molten and welded to you.
“I… love you too, Rafayel. Of course I do,” you answered in a hushed voice. Immediately a smile as warm as the rising sun had him beaming with happiness. He just needed to pepper your entire face with kisses right now.
“I knew you did,” he whispered with his returning sass and the both of you giggled when your only response was a snip to his forehead.
“Of course you did.”
The both of you took a couple of moments longer to entirely calm, exchange sweet words and kisses. Letting all of what happened sink in. You separated and the warm mix of you and him ran down your thighs, actually making you awkwardly clench them together so it wouldn’t all leak on his wooden floor.
The man was quick and elegant as always when he took your hand and led you to the bathroom, although his knees were pudding no different to yours.
There, he carefully cleaned you with a towel as he kneeled in front of you. A kiss above your private parts later he got up again and wrapped another towel around you then one around himself.
“We can properly wash ourselves later. There is a painting you still need to approve of.”
That’s just what you went to do.
You had seen the whole process as it happened, but to actually see it as a finished product was breathtakingly surreal.
Whitesand Bay was portrayed in a way you could’ve never imagined. A perfect blend of all the hues of the two first kisses you had shared, both warm and cold. The viewer was standing on the sparkling sand looking into the distance. Sun setting on the horizon just like when you had kissed in its golden light.
But instead of a calm sea, there was a wave about to roll onto the shore. Big enough for the sun to shine through it from behind but not threatening. The water glistened in hues so tastefully colorful, it couldn’t happen like that in real life.
It was what was within that wave though, that held the important details.
Flame lilies blossomed all throughout it, like a direct tribute to you hidden in the paint. Subtle and blent into the wave to make it not obvious at first glance. Their fiery shapes were woven with the water and some even found their way onto the sand like the flow creeping onto land.
This painting was not perfect. At least not in technique or precision like all his others works were for obvious reasons. But his eye for colors, how the worked together without making it seem too bright was remarkable in every situation.
What broke the flawless guiding of the viewer’s gaze was that white streak that started at the wave’s foam down to the canvas’ edge.
“Is that when you…?” you ask as you pointed at it with curious eyes.
Rafayel’s cheeks reddened a bit but he smiled near to proudly.
“Oh, yeah. Definitely not a choice I would’ve made under normal circumstances, but I think it’s perfect. Well…almost.”
His finger tapped his chin while he turned on his heels to rummage through the cart with his utensils.
“Hey, we said no editing after!” you exclaimed pouting as you looked over his shoulder.
“Just one little thing. It will pull it all together — let me create in peace just once, you tyrant!” he teased chuckling. Apparently he had found what he was looking for when he pulled out a small vial.
“What’s that?”
How ever so often he avoided to answer directly. “Let it surprise you.”
“Do you always have to pull the ‘mysterious artist’ card?”
“Yes,” he answered dryly with a shrug, “Come oooon, you know you love it.”
Nudging your side and kissing your cheek eventually won you over and you gave in with a sigh. “All right, but don’t remove the white!”
“Never. We'll embrace it. Hold out your hand," he directed in a soft tone. Confused you did as told. The small cork plopped when he pulled it out of the vial. Slowly he emptied it in your palm — a fine golden powder.
“I always asked myself what I’d end up using it for.”
He placed himself behind you and hugged you with one arm around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. Such a familiar feeling.
The other hand cupped over the powder in yours. You could feel a little tingle that felt like pure energy seeping into your fingertips.
He was using his Evol? But…why?
A whisper tickled your ear, “When I take my hand away, blow!”
You didn’t even have time to ask about it. His hand lifted and with all the might left in your lungs, you blew without question.
Bright red flames emerged from your palm, bursting from your hand and scattering in the form of little luminous fish directly onto the canvas. The gold powder got carried with them like the crackling sparks of a campfire.
The little fish danced around the edges of the painted shapes and colors and puffed away to nothing once they had found a place to stay.
The fire of Rafayel’s Evol was not hot in your hand nor did it radiate any heat at all. Yet the gold particles still burned themselves into the acrylics.
Where there was color, only a slight golden shimmer grazed the surface swimming with the water, barely noticeable. But on the white streak; incoherent golden shapes, flowy and soft. Now it looked like a wanted abstract twist.
Now no pretentious art critic would question the placement if it were to be hung up in a gallery.
Even before the last flame faded, there were tears running down your cheeks.
“I love you so much,” you sniffled while he kissed the top of your head soothingly.
“You won’t believe me, but I love you more.”
Eventually you made it to his bed after taking a proper shower together; scrubbing off the paint from your skin entirely, turned out to be pretty unsuccessful.
You had not felt this exhausted in a long time as in that very moment you slipped under the silky sheets with him.
Your eyes fought to stay open after you had snuggled up to him, head well placed on his chest. He caressed your back, holding you tight.
Even when you exchanged words you already started to drift off.
"As long as I have you, I’ll never run out of inspiration. And…I was wrong before. The colors on the canvas may fade, but this memory...it will stay and only die once I do."
You had heard him, but couldn’t muster up the strength to form a response.
Rafayel nuzzled his nose to your hair and took in your scent.
He smiled to himself when he thought of the painting on the easel that now held both your names on its bottom right corner.
His eyes closed, and he could see the wave shimmer with everything he felt for you.
“Good night, my muse.”