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Today Luca talked about anatomy, the brain, the eyes and practically any tiny body part he could think of. It would've be fascinating if he knew what half of the words he spewed meant. Sometimes the others around him seem so much better, the way they carry themselves is confident, the words they write and speak show the difference in education. He feels like a child, always having to ask others what something means, most times he just gives up and walks away unsatisfied and confused.
The day has been going horribly, he had been left to bleed out by his teammates, not only that but Wick seemed to have gotten into his closet and stole one of his only items he brought to the manor. A rusty locket from his mother, by the time he was even able to get it back, it was broken. And now... he is trapped by short painter pinning him to the wall with one arm.
"Something wrong grave keeper? You look even more miserable than usual."
Andrew had thought he would get some peace and quiet by going into an abandoned room, however this seemed to bother a certain painter who is working on a portrait of sorts. His eyesight couldn't focus on the blurry figure of the painting, but it must be beautiful, everything Edgar does is beautiful.
"Well I suppose-" Andrew starts mumbling an answer but then is interrupted.
"Actually never mind don't tell me, I could care less." Despite just being told not to talk, Edgar doesn't let him leave. The painter's eyes bore holes into his own, it's so intense that Andrew quickly breaks eye contact. At that Edgar scoffs. "Look at me."
"Huh...?" Andrew glances up, Edgar's eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. Almost as if analyzing Andrew, he grabs the grave keeper's chin and tilts his head this way then that. At the sudden contact, Andrew jumps. Why is he looking at him like this? Edgar seems satisfied with his inspection and clicks his tongue, Andrew can't help but think how attractive the others cracked lips look.
"I see now... stay there, if you move I will kick you." Deciding it is best to listen, Andrew doesn't dare even move his head. Not that he is scared of the smaller mans kicks, just his overbearing presence makes it hard to say no. Edgar grabs his easel, moving it towards Andrew than quickly adding a few strokes. Andrew isn't able to contain his curiosity, is Edgar... painting him?
"W-what are you doing? Surely you must not be... painting me?"
"And if I am? Jesus grave keeper you must be dumber than you act, use your useless brain and do some critical thinking for once." Edgar doesn't stop painting when he speaks. Constant scathing remarks, nobody likes him and he seems to like it that way.
Wincing at the harsh words, Andrew says quietly. "There must be someone better..." Someone less of a waste of his talents.
"Is there? Are you telling me that I am mistaken for painting you? That you get to decide who and who is not worthy for my art?" Getting up from his spot, he walks towards Andrew, "I am bored of painting, enlighten me Andrew. How should I be spending my own precious time?"
The painter may have been almost a foot shorter than Andrew, but by the way Andrew starts to lean back when he gets close you would think he isn't. "I-I just thought... I may not be nice e-enough to look at..."
"And who are you to decide what I paint. Leaving you eat to bleed this match was a not a bad idea after all. Look at how pathetic you are...a pathetic death for a pathetic man" Andrew blinks, Edgar was there? He must've told the others not to do anything... Andrew's fist shake. His mind stops thinking self depreciating thoughts long enough for him to feel something other than his usual crushing misery. Edgar looks down at Andrew's shaking hands and laughs. "Are you shaking? Perhaps this means-"
Suddenly Edgar is grabbed by the collar and pushed to the wall with a painful thunk. Now with their positions flipped, Andrew looks down on Edgar with rage in his eyes. All Andrew can think about is how horribly beautiful Edgar looks when his hair is roughed up and his thin lips parted in surprise. "Y-you shut up, what do you know? Someone who has had everything handed to you... I bet you get a kick out of seeing someone like me suffer, that's what you all think!"
The painter doesn't say anything for once, just staring at the seething grave keeper with a sort of fascination. This doesn't help Andrew wanting to throw his shovel into those intricate arteries and muscles Luca told him about awhile ago. Andrew doesn't let up, he expects the painter to yell back or maybe even hit him, but instead he sees the harsh icy eyes soften by a fraction. His grip slackens on Edgar and he lets him fall back to his feet. "That took awhile... has anyone else seen that side of you?"
During the time Edgar speaks, he has slid his hands over Andrew's chest. It confuses Andrew, the touch doesn't seem angry at all. His fingers slide over the thick fabric, making Andrew shiver a little. Feeling the warm pinpricks of the painter's hands through his inverness coat makes his head spin. "What...? This side of me?"
"Yes, your anger, does it feel nice to let it out?" The hand slides from his iris on his chest to the scar on his cheek, Andrew's eyes widen, wasn't he just chewing Andrew out? The sudden shift in attitudes makes Andrew doubt what is even happening in front of him—Edgar Valden — the manors hard ass, stroking his cheek with his thumb. He treats Andrew as is he didn't just push him against the wall, like how his mother would when he was very little.
"I don't know... hurting people is not my intention." Is all Andrew says, his anger is gone now, replaced by confusion and a warm, twisting feeling in his stomach. "Really? I think people deserve to be hurt, especially those who hurt you first... I am sure there are those who hurt you, I may even be one of those people." His hand slides into his pale locks, combing through them without a care of who Andrew is.
"Y-you are different..." Andrew's face starts to warm up, both of Edgar's hands either roam his chest or slide through his hair, it's overwhelming. He hasn't had such attention since a child, and now one of the people who constantly get on his nerves is doing it without a problem. The painter's head tilts, it reminds Andrew of a puppy. "I am? How generous for you to forgive me Kreiss..."
Now Edgar grabs his hand, not saying anything as he leads him to a room, probably his own. Andrew's face is so warm anyone could see it passing by. They both slide into the room and Andrew sits on the plush bed. "W-what are we doing here..."
"Wanna try something grave keeper? Only if you want of course..."
"And what would that be...?"
---
Andrew stares at the lean frame before him, his legs look soft and squishy, his stomach bare for him to look at. "Have you done it before?"
"No, never." He is still in his usual attire, only his shoes are left behind on the floor as they both sit on Edgar's bed, more than enough room for the both of them. The painter sits in his lap, only his undergarments are left on, yet he is so shameless sitting on top of the grave keeper.
"Want me to lead you through it?" Edgar asks, his eyes still cold as ever. "I wouldn't want to see a mess like you do this by yourself, it would ruin the mood."
"I suppose... but where do I start?" For some reason his heart is beating faster than when he is in a match—Edgar's plush thighs straddling his hips, how his ponytail is undone and his curls are left to flow freely, it's all very attractive. The dizzying feeling that had started is only growing as they continue. They haven't done much but just knowing that this is really happening is enough to make Andrew tremble.
"We can start by removing this dirty coat." Edgar undoes the buttons and slips it off, already Andrew feels so exposed without it on, and he isn't even naked yet! The smaller of the two looks up to see if he can keep going, he gets the confirmation and slowly Andrew is the same as Edgar. His arms are wrapped around himself and he looks at the sheets intensely.
"You have so many scars, I have tried thinking what you would look like, suppose my imagination can only do you so much justice." With those words Andrew's head snaps up. "You think of me naked?!"
Edgar laughs, he covers his mouth and stifles his chuckles. "Many, many of times. A body of a broken man is more appealing than any model." He crawls towards Andrew and once again pets his hair, he catches on quickly on how Andrew's eyebrows relax and his jaw unclenches when he plays with the dry strands.*
The words that come from Edgar confuse Andrew. "Appealing? You have bad tastes, do creepy monsters even count as appealing?" Andrew's hands rest at his side, the temptation to explore the body in front of him is there. However, he is scared what those monstrous hands will do to someone like Edgar. While Edgar's attitude is harsh, the bare body in front of him makes Andrew feel like by just touching him he will break into pieces.*
"Creepy monsters huh? Did you forget who you are talking to?" The grip on his hair tightens slightly. "The world is a messy place, and I intend to be on top, which makes me the worse of them all... to me you are just a sad, sad man... but yet... I find my thoughts never leaving this infuriating man." Edgar looks at him right in the eye, the gaze is so intense, yet Andrew does not look away this time.
"W-what do you mean-" Andrew says only for Edgar to snap back, "Shut up I am getting to that." Only now a faint trace of a blush graces his cheeks. "Every painting I do... all the books I fill with graphite, I see this tall figure. White hair, red eyes—he looks absolutely horrible, like he has seen the world at its worst. And yet... he is one of the most beautiful things I have set my eyes on..."