Ennoshira, royal purple please!
Send me a color and a ship and I’ll write you a ficlet that feels like that color.
Chikaracould tell Shirabu had had a long day, because the first thing he didwhen he came home was pull off his suit and pull on his shitty oldcutoffs and a t shirt covered in paint stains. Chikara left him aloneas he set up his painting supplies, knowing how much he needed spaceon days like this. That is, until Shirabu came padding into theliving room with a scowl on his face.
“Chikara,”he said formally. Chikara closed his book and looked up expectantly.Shirabu seemed nervous about something, an unusual look on him.
“Whatis it?” Chikara asked softly. Shirabu bit his lip, then seemed toget mad at his own nervousness.
“Iwant to paint you,” he blurted.
“Oh,”Chikara said, blinking. “Okay. How do you want me to pose?”Shirabu shook his head.
“No,I meant I want to paint you.I bought some body-safe paints and I wanted to use them on you.”Chikara blinked at him. Then he smiled.
“Iwould love to,” he said. He stood and pulled off his shirt,ignoring the urge to smirk at Shirabu’s appreciative glance at hisbody. His pants followed and he folded both neatly and left them onthe couch, following Shirabu into his office in nothing but hisboxers. He lay down where Shirabu gestured for him, across a tarpspread across the carpet. Shirabu positioned him on his stomach andthen settled in across his thighs.
“Thismay be a little cold,” he said as he dipped a brush in a pot ofpaint. Chikara nodded and settled in, resting his head on his arms.
Itwas strangely intimate. Chikara couldn’tsee what Shirabu was painting, but he could feel the concentrationShirabu was putting into the image. Each dip of paint felt like a newlayer of love that Shirabu was inscribing onto his body. Over hisshoulders, Shirabu whispered his adoration, and down his spine to hiswaistband. Around the edges of his ribs and up the length of hisarms. To the nape of his neck and the small of his back. Shirabucreated his masterpiece out of Chikara, and Chikara couldn’t feelmore honored to be his canvas.
WhenShirabu was done, he didn’tlet Chikara see the picture he took, just hustled him into theshower. He joined him a moment later, taking a cloth and spongingaway the paint from all the places Chikara couldn’t reach. Then hesimply held Chikara by the waist, leaning his forehead betweenChikara’s shoulder blades.
“Thankyou,” he whispered. Chikara rested a hand on top of Shirabu’s.
“You’rewelcome,” he said, though he meant so much more. Shirabu squeezedhis waist to let him know he got the message.
