Work Text:
As if the summer heat were a weapon of mass destruction, the usually constant cannibal attacks had almost completely stopped on that island, and although you had no idea why, you were truly grateful. For months neither you nor Kelvin had a couple of days of peace, so seeing themselves in more than a week of absolute tranquility was something you really needed, almost spiritually. Letting down your guard, just a little, could be felt even in your muscles.
On that warm morning you sat on the long wooden bench against the wall of the cabin you had built with enough effort and inventiveness, looking around in the shade. You used to keep watch like that, half alert for any danger, half drawing. Because your skills to make maps, trace routes and make portraits based on eyewitness accounts were not the only thing you knew how to do, your ability to draw was more a consequence of a hobby than a job.
You used to carry your generous sketchbook with you everywhere, quite big, quite thick, just in case. Although now it served to distract you and keep track of the wild plants you shouldn't eat, so now there were a few pages of drawings made with charred wood.
And while you were drawing the beautiful landscape in front of you, you noticed a certain adventure companion walking with his typical graceful gait and sitting next to you, in the shade, sighing, somewhat tired. He had been washing some of his clothes in the river, but the morning sun was pretty unforgiving. Although you weren't wearing your vests or jacket, the military shirt, while basic, was also black and quite thick, so it was easy for you to start cooking alive in the sun.
You glanced at him, watching as he leaned against the wall, half sprawled on the seat, enjoying the shade and the breeze. You ignored him a bit and continued drawing, since keeping company like this was quite normal. His eyes fixed on you and he slightly spied on what you were doing, very curious, since he always saw you do that almost in secret. He moved a little closer, his eyes passing over your shoulder, interested, looking more carefully, but he saw how you closed the notebook and looked at him with the face of "What do you need?"
He quickly took out his small notepad from his pocket and wrote "Let me see while you draw, I'm curious", his eyes full of intrigue.
You refused with excess impetus, your cheeks somewhat flushed, partly due to the heat. You didn't like being seen drawing, it was your moment of privacy, what you captured was only for you.
You saw him write and put his note pad basically on his forehead, as if the “Pleaseeee” was a sign, while Kelvin made the most irresistible abandoned puppy face a guy his age could do. You hated that, his eyes seemed stolen from the cutest of puppies in the universe.
You rolled your eyes, and you brought your open notebook closer to him, so that he could see what you were drawing. Kelvin smiled, clapping his hands, glad to have convinced you, looking at a copy of the landscape in front of them, which, while simple at the moment, was also quite impressive. He stared at the strokes for a moment, before giving you a couple of effusive thumbs up. You saw him start to turn the page, which made you jump, uncomfortable, closing the notebook to him and taking it out, shaking your head a dozen times. And although he kept insisting, you kept refusing. Which was worse, he was overly curious and now he had a need to see what else was there.
His golden opportunity came the next day. Midday was too warm to do anything but stay indoors, and since there wasn't much to do inside the cabin, you opted to take a little nap. He was inside too, sitting up, bored, and as soon as he saw you were asleep, his eyes drifted to your belongings half-piled on top of your backpack, dangerously close to him.
He saw the notebook basically on top of everything, and knew that it was his only chance, so he took it more carefully than he had ever had on the island until then, his eyes half riveted on you. If he had always been this silent, he would have been able to touch the buttocks of the cannibals without being discovered. He sat up better, turning the pages as if they were going to biodegrade at any moment, looking, reviewing the drawings, his eyes flicking to you every second. It tasted like mischief and he loved it.
There he saw everything, the pages excessively loaded with drawings, as if you wanted to take advantage of each blank space. He saw some landscapes, very detailed drawings of toxic plants, painting styles of cannibals, some maps where you located water, food and caves, plans of those same caves, scribbles, animals, and drawings of him. Quite a few and, unlike the other drawings, overly detailed. There was one of him sleeping, some portraits, him smiling, one with an ax in his hand, sitting, fishing. One of the drawings was of him, full body, from behind, without clothes, but it was as if you had tried to guess his musculature by removing his clothes, not seeing him directly.
Kelvin tried not to laugh, understanding why you didn't want him to see that. And that also made him think with what kind of eyes you were looking at him. Was it just artistic? Or was there something else? He carefully put the notebook where it was and stood still, looking at you, thinking.
His machiavellian plan went into effect the next day, another afternoon of pleasant warmth and the absence of enemies. You had sat down on the bench again, trying to finish drawing the landscape that you had started a few days ago, when you noticed Kelvin's walking approaching from one side. You looked at him, your face flushing red, your heart skipping a couple of beats, seeing him shirtless, standing next to you, his stupidly sexy torso exposed. He smiled, bringing his notebook closer to you, where you read a "Draw me, I want to pose for you."
You stood still, processing that, processing everything. You saw him lean against the wall, posing, like he was modeling underwear, focusing on ripping off a few muscles.
You swallowed saliva, sweating and slowly looked for a blank sheet to start drawing him, nervous, feeling his gaze fixed on you, while your eyes focused on how his body looked, light and shadow following its curves, the soft marks of its muscles, arms, his pants a little lower and looser than usual, leaving his hips slightly visible. It burned your cheeks, your hands and the rest of your body, while you tried to draw him as well as possible.
You looked at him again, seeing him still, and you saw his pants, which were too loose, being moved by gravity until they went down by themselves to his ankles. Your eyes saw the pants on the floor, his complete lack of underwear and his mischievous expression, suggestively moving his eyebrows.
Now you had to decide whether to finish the drawing now or after taking that man as yours.