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"Wait, wait!" He backs away from the slightly threatening brandishing of his best friend's paintbrush until his back hits the wall of the cramped studio room, though the action only prompts the blond to advance another step. "The paint's supposed to go where?"
If the pitch of his voice has gone a little higher than usual, neither of them are commenting on it, but Daryun is not going to be thankful about that particular fact because he hasn't sunk that low. Yet.
Narsus, nonchalantly combing the loose strands of his hair that has escaped from the messily tied-up bun on his head to the side, breathes out a long-suffering sigh. "You heard me, Daryun. And remember, you made a promise back when I was trying to help you study for that midterm for your Persian history class that if you passed with a score higher than 90..."
"...I'll owe you a favour. Yes Narsus, I do happen to remember, though I'm regretting that decision very much now."
"Then I don't see a problem here," Narsus ignores the dark-haired man's last statement and takes another step, determined to reach out for the hem of his friend's t-shirt.
Daryun snatches out a hand to grasp at the artist's slender wrist just in time, and Narsus looks up at him with furrowed brows, his pout not unlike a five-year-old being denied of his favourite candies for frivolous reasons that will only make sense for a child, only those pouting lips are much, much more sensual when combined with the soft, violet haze of his eyes and the teasing flick of his tongue wetting his lower lip and goddamnit, is the bastard playing him?
His eyes are asking silently, "What is it now?" as if Daryun is being unreasonable when Narsus was the one who stomped into their shared apartment half an hour ago with manic energy exuding from his usually calm demeanour, demanding Daryun to let him use his body as a model for an end-of-term project.
While Daryun is used to being subjected to such erratic antics almost on a daily basis (being requested by the art maniac to pose in weird positions while the man frantically drags his pencil across his sketchpad doesn't even faze him anymore), he wasn't expecting that "using his body" literally means putting paint on his skin and using his body as an actual canvas.
When he learns of the details, Daryun had clearly and insistently rejected him, though from the decade-long friendship the two have shared, Daryun should have known that the word "no" is meaningless when it comes to Narsus' art projects.
As Narsus drifts closer, his chest purposefully pressing against Daryun's and curious gaze maintaining contact with his friend's golden eyes that are flitting restlessly, a slow, almost predatory smile begins to form on his lips.
It's one of the most horrifying expressions this man is capable of making; Daryun, of course, knows this more than anyone else.
“Daryun…” He leans in a little closer, his voice a degree softer as he drags the wooden tip of his brush down the length of Daryun’s neck. The tremors are slight, but Narsus can tell. “Could it be that you’re actually embarrassed?”
“Well, I mean–”
Narsus isn’t wrong, and that’s precisely why Daryun refuses to meet his eyes, fingers gathering into shivering fists by his side. Who wouldn’t be embarrassed having to bare their skin for someone to paint on and then having it photographed and displayed for everyone to see and critique?
“You are!” Narsus sounds utterly delighted at the prospect, paintbrush clattering onto the ground when he gets shoved back, but laughter still manages to come bubbling out despite Daryun’s glare as he pushes away from the wall in a weak attempt to get away from the art student with a wide, knowing grin.
“You try getting naked and painted on, and then we can talk,” Daryun huffs as he stalks toward the only couch in the small room.
“I’ve been a figure model for a few drawing classes,” Narsus points out without a hint of hesitation.
“Shit. You’re right. You know no shame.” Daryun flops down, eyes squeezed closed, and the couch creaks under his weight, but he hears the determined footsteps of a man who certainly doesn’t know the right time to relinquish when it smacks him hard in the face.
“I don’t understand you sometimes.”
Daryun feels the dip of the cushion adjacent to him, his friend’s leg carelessly knocking against his.
“It’s not like your face will be shown, so you don’t need to worry about being recognized at school. I just need the upper half of your body – I mean,” he pauses – and he always does this whenever he wants to create a dramatic flair so Daryun just rolls his eyes and remains quiet to let him finish – before he glances Daryun’s way with a bright, innocent smile that makes the dark-haired man even more wary than before. “Unless you want me to paint on the other parts as well; I honestly wouldn’t mind.”
“You’re hopeless,” Daryun complains half-heartedly, but the hard edge of his frown slackens just a little.
“And that’s why I need you.”