Painting A Picture With Your Smile
Pairing: Blaise/Dean
Rating: PG-13 for hawt implied boysex
Words: 355
Notes: Written again for Dionne, back when I still wrote hawt boysex. *pouts* I must write more boysex again.
Brushstrokes of pale blue across his collarbone.
“Would it be okay if I-?”
“Yeah. Yes. I mean, if you want.”
Paint-spattered, slightly trembling fingers slowly unbutton Blaise’s shirt, one fluid gesture sweeping the garment away from his chest and off his pale shoulders. Dean gazes up at him through shuttered lashes, smiling softly. “The most beautiful canvas I’ve ever seen.”
A smear of vivid crimson along his chest.
Dean’s lips stop at that sensitive spot below Blaise’s ear, where the line of his jaw meets the smooth curve of his neck. His kisses are gentle, curious, his hands playing across the Slytherin’s body as though he is tuning an exquisite instrument.
“I’ve wanted this for so long…” he breathes.
Blaise wants to pull back, so he can look Dean in the eye, but his deliciously spinning mind revokes the idea outright. He settles for pressing his fingertips into the muscles of Dean’s back. “Why did you wait then?” he asks.
Another soft breath against Blaise’s neck. “I couldn’t find the right colours to match your soul.”
Intricate lines of forest green crisscrossing up his legs.
Boxer shorts follow trousers to pool on the floor at Blaise’s feet and now his flesh is coated in a fine sweat. He manages a shuddery gasp as he clutches onto Dean’s shoulder. “God, you’re so amazing.”
Dean does not say anything. His head is pressed to Blaise’s chest, listening to the racing beat of his heart, the smooth in-out of his every breath.
Throwing his head back, Blaise sighs. “What did I do to deserve this?”
For a moment, he doesn’t think Dean is going to answer, but then, barely a whisper: “You smiled at me.”
And a single ebony handprint, wrapped around an organ that is still throbbing slightly as Blaise stands naked in front of his mirror in the Slytherin boys’ dorm. He examines the colours gracing his body with a small smile. This, he decides, is by far the best painting Dean has ever done.
Rating: PG-13 for hawt implied boysex
Words: 355
Notes: Written again for Dionne, back when I still wrote hawt boysex. *pouts* I must write more boysex again.
Brushstrokes of pale blue across his collarbone.
“Would it be okay if I-?”
“Yeah. Yes. I mean, if you want.”
Paint-spattered, slightly trembling fingers slowly unbutton Blaise’s shirt, one fluid gesture sweeping the garment away from his chest and off his pale shoulders. Dean gazes up at him through shuttered lashes, smiling softly. “The most beautiful canvas I’ve ever seen.”
A smear of vivid crimson along his chest.
Dean’s lips stop at that sensitive spot below Blaise’s ear, where the line of his jaw meets the smooth curve of his neck. His kisses are gentle, curious, his hands playing across the Slytherin’s body as though he is tuning an exquisite instrument.
“I’ve wanted this for so long…” he breathes.
Blaise wants to pull back, so he can look Dean in the eye, but his deliciously spinning mind revokes the idea outright. He settles for pressing his fingertips into the muscles of Dean’s back. “Why did you wait then?” he asks.
Another soft breath against Blaise’s neck. “I couldn’t find the right colours to match your soul.”
Intricate lines of forest green crisscrossing up his legs.
Boxer shorts follow trousers to pool on the floor at Blaise’s feet and now his flesh is coated in a fine sweat. He manages a shuddery gasp as he clutches onto Dean’s shoulder. “God, you’re so amazing.”
Dean does not say anything. His head is pressed to Blaise’s chest, listening to the racing beat of his heart, the smooth in-out of his every breath.
Throwing his head back, Blaise sighs. “What did I do to deserve this?”
For a moment, he doesn’t think Dean is going to answer, but then, barely a whisper: “You smiled at me.”
And a single ebony handprint, wrapped around an organ that is still throbbing slightly as Blaise stands naked in front of his mirror in the Slytherin boys’ dorm. He examines the colours gracing his body with a small smile. This, he decides, is by far the best painting Dean has ever done.