It was St. Valentine's Day, and he was painting Jude, and he felt weird about it. It was easier if he lost himself in the brushstrokes instead; the shape of Jude's body where he would fill in the details later. His pulse was going far too fast for this. Usually Kieran was more relaxed when he was painting, but that was impossible when he was painting the angle of Jude's neck, leaving space to fill in the shape of Jude's hair hanging down. He was so fucked.
"I can talk," Kieran said after he swallowed, eyes flicking up to Jude's positioning on his couch, the book in his hand. He grabbed a thicker paintbrush and dipped it in the deep gray so that he could start to map out the positioning of Jude's limbs and body. The rough details of his clothes would come later, assuming Kieran's heart didn't seize in his chest and kill him before then.
"Is that Jules Verne?" he asked, focusing on the book before adding another thick line of paint to approximate the edge of Jude's collar. Painting the angle of his legs was going to make Kieran's head feel like static electricity. This had been a terrible idea; he should have gone from memory if he was going to do this, especially because now Jude was going to know Kieran painted him. Goddamnit.
"I can talk," Kieran said after he swallowed, eyes flicking up to Jude's positioning on his couch, the book in his hand. He grabbed a thicker paintbrush and dipped it in the deep gray so that he could start to map out the positioning of Jude's limbs and body. The rough details of his clothes would come later, assuming Kieran's heart didn't seize in his chest and kill him before then.
"Is that Jules Verne?" he asked, focusing on the book before adding another thick line of paint to approximate the edge of Jude's collar. Painting the angle of his legs was going to make Kieran's head feel like static electricity. This had been a terrible idea; he should have gone from memory if he was going to do this, especially because now Jude was going to know Kieran painted him. Goddamnit.