Blue body paint Luigi…
word count: 1.6k
"Now, what the— How the fuck—"
Luigi twists and turns, his back facing the mirror as he tries to coat the last unpainted stretch of his skin in blue. He groans loudly in the living room, contorting his body in an attempt to get the brush to the middle of his back.
"Fuck," he mutters, struggling.
You roll backward in your desk chair, out of your room and into the common area.
"You good?" you ask, startling him.
"Shit—"
"Oh— Sorry, I thought you knew I was here."
Luigi exhales, catching his breath. "I thought you were already at the rally with Cassy. You're good."
"No, I stayed back to study. Sorry, Lu."
"You're good, you're good." He cracks a light smile.
Luigi is your roommate, along with two others. Your best friend, Cassy, is Luigi's best friend's sister. Before Penn, you and Cassy were dead set on rooming together. Her brother, Sam, mentioned he was looking into an apartment-style dorm with his best friend, Luigi, and now the four of you rent it together. Cassy and Sam are siblings, you and Luigi are their best friends. You and Luigi are friends and roommates to each other, but nothing more.
"You need help, though? I just heard you huffing and puffing."
Luigi chuckles, rolling his eyes. "Huffing and puffing, damn." He hesitates. "To be honest, yeah. This paint..." His words trail off into a sigh, admitting defeat.
"School spirit, am I right?" you say sarcastically, getting up and walking over.
Luigi laughs. "Yeah, yeah."
"Everything good?" you ask, noticing his short, semi-awkward answers.
"..Yeah, it's just all this twisting and turning..." He gestures to his lower back. "Y'know, spondy."
"Right, right." You sigh before holding out a hand. "Brush?"
He hands it over, and you step onto the towel he laid out. "You're such a nerd."
"For cleaning precautions? Do you want to scrape blue paint out of tile grout?"
You laugh. "Absolutely not."
"Exactly."
You shake your head, about to start painting, but then you pause. Up close, his back is broader than you realized, his physique stronger.
"Everything alright?" Luigi asks, noticing.
"Yeah... yeah," you chuckle awkwardly, brushing it off. Of course you've always known Luigi was attractive—anyone with eyes does—but you've always shrugged it off. No point in stirring up drama between roommates or complicating things with your best friends. Besides, you're all swamped with school 90% of the time anyway.
"Wait, wait. Before I get my hands dirty, do you want Advil for your spondy?" you ask.
Luigi chuckles.
"What?" you ask. "Did I say it wrong? Not cool enough for the medical slang?"
"No, no. It was just cute, the way you said it. I've never heard you say it before." He moves on quickly. "Uhh, yeah, actually. Thanks. I would get it, but—" He gestures to his feet.
"You fucking painted the bottom of your feet?" you ask.
"Well, no... but close enough. I'm scared to leave my towel island."
You giggle, shaking your head as you search through the medicine cabinet. "Holy shit, didn't know you're a druggie, Luigi."
He laughs. "Yeah, my back is a real addict."
"If any of these go missing, I definitely didn't sell them for noodle money."
"Honestly, a couple of those pills could probably get you about forty packs of instant noodles."
"I want the good stuff, y'know, Huang's Noodle House?" You close your eyes dramatically at the thought of your favourite spot.
"I didn't know you like Huang's." Luigi sounds genuinely interested. "We should go."
"Yeah, and Cassy and Sam—"
"Ehh, Sam doesn't really like noodles."
"Oh. Then Cassy... I'm not sure if she does, actually."
Luigi hums in thought. "We could just go, then." His voice is casual, but something about it lingers.
You pause, fingers wrapped around the Advil bottle. Then, shaking it lightly, you ask, "Is that an invitation?"
Luigi glances over his shoulder, smirking. "Only if you wanna go. Otherwise, you heard nothing."
You let out a small laugh, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at the idea of going to Huang's alone with him. This is just food. Just noodles. Just roommates grabbing a bite.
"Why not?.." you say, tossing the bottle toward him. He catches it in one hand, shakes two pills out, and dry swallows them. "...If you're paying." you add. Luigi huffs a laugh. "Wow. First, you steal my drugs, now my money?"
"Roommate tax." You tap the paintbrush against your palm. "Alright, turn."
He shifts carefully, and you notice how aware he is of his movements. Cassy told you about his back, and while he never complains much, you've caught him stretching, adjusting his posture, rolling his shoulders when he thinks no one's looking.
Your eyes flicker down his back as you dip the brush into the blue paint. His broad shoulders. The way his muscles shift under his skin. The sharp, clean lines of his shoulder blades.
This is fine. Totally normal. Just painting your roommate blue.
You start with broad strokes, trying to be quick but even.
"How the hell did you do this last year?"
"Badly."
You laugh. "Why do you even do this?"
"Sam and I started first year, a few frat guys joined in, and now it's tradition. Plus, we always get free drinks."
"Ah, so it's a scam."
He grins. "A hundred percent."
You keep painting, working your way down his spine. His skin is warm under the paintbrush, and you have to focus hard to keep your strokes even.
"You're really dedicated to school spirit for someone who called our mascot 'a corporate sellout' last week."
Luigi laughs. "I stand by that. He's got three sponsorships, that's insane."
You shake your head. "Alright, turn a little, I gotta get this side." You tap his ribs lightly, and he follows your instruction. The movement draws your eyes to his jaw—strong, slightly stubbled.
You swallow.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
"So," he says lightly, "what were you studying?"
"Just some readings. Hard to focus."
"Yeah?" He smirks. "Because I'm here, or because you're thinking about noodles?"
You press the brush into his shoulder a little harder.
"Ow." He winces dramatically. "Abuse."
You snort. "You're literally covered in paint and complaining about a brushstroke?"
"Look, I'm delicate."
"You're insufferable."
He laughs, and you try to ignore the way your stomach flips again. You sigh, pulling back. "This brush is too small."
Luigi smirks. "You calling me fat?"
Your eyes widen. "What? No, you're just—" You pause. "Big."
Luigi blinks. "What?"
"Like... broad."
His smirk deepens. "You think I'm broad?"
You roll your eyes. "Objectively."
He chuckles, stretching slightly. "Use your hands. Might be easier."
Your hands?
You stare at his back for a second like it's suddenly an entirely different thing.
This is fine. Totally normal. Just painting your friend blue. With your hands.
Right.
"Okay," you say, a little too quickly, setting the brush down. You press your palms into the cool paint, spreading it across his back in slow, deliberate strokes. The texture is strange—thick, slightly tacky as it glides over his skin—but what gets you more is the warmth beneath it. His muscles shift slightly under your touch, solid and strong, and you have to focus hard to keep your movements steady. You let your hands glide from his upper back to his lower, fingers spreading the paint in slow strokes.
Luigi exhales, deep and slow. "You're being so gentle." His voice is teasing, but there's something else underneath it—something softer.
"I don't want to hurt you," you murmur. "Your back—"
"You're not hurting me." A pause. Then, with a slight turn of his head, he grins. "It's actually really nice."
You swallow, pressing your fingers into the dips of his shoulder blades, blending the paint with smooth, even pressure. The moment stretches, quieter now, filled only by the soft sound of your hands working over his skin. His breathing is steady, slow, like he's letting himself relax into it.
You clear your throat, "Well, I'm almost done. Just gotta make sure it's even."
Luigi hums in response, tilting his head slightly like he's considering something. "You're really good at this."
You scoff. "What, painting?"
He smirks. "Ever considered a career in body painting?"
You roll your eyes. "Didn't you know? That's why I'm at Penn."
His chuckle is low and warm, and you can't help but smile as you take a step back, running your eyes over your work. The blue paint covers his back smoothly, deep and even, accentuating the defined lines of his shoulders and spine.
"What do you think?" you ask.
Luigi twists slightly to check his reflection in the nearby mirror. "Damn," he smirks, flexing his arms just a little. "I look clean."
You roll your eyes but laugh. "Alright, you need help with anything else?"
He catches your gaze in the mirror, his smirk softening just slightly. "Nah, you've done enough. Seriously—thanks."
You wave a hand dismissively, suddenly feeling warm. "Yeah, yeah. Go win the school spirit award and drink cheap beer, or whatever."
Luigi snorts, then—before you can react—reaches over and swipes a blue-painted finger across your cheek.
"Hey—!" You gasp, stepping back as he grins mischievously.
"Oops," he says, absolutely not sounding sorry.
You narrow your eyes, pointing a warning finger at him. "You're dead."
Luigi just winks, stepping carefully off his towel island. "Catch me after the rally, then."
And with that, he grabs his shoes, flashes you one last playful grin, and heads out the door—leaving you standing there, heart pounding, with a blue streak on your face and a whole lot of thoughts you probably shouldn't be having.
part 2?😇😇
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