Work Text:
“Can I move yet?” Kenji whined. “It’s been ten minutes and my ass hurts.”
Even without looking up, he felt the glare in his lover’s words. “No.”
You were sitting cross-legged on his couch, blowing eraser shavings off the sketchbook in your lap. Peeking over your legs, you see your boyfriend sitting on the hardwood floor, loosely hugging his knees. Ignoring his annoyingly endearing pout, you silently studied the curvature of muscle in his arms and when you felt confident, you penciled its shape over the freshly erased area of paper.
Kenji watched the way you furrowed your brows as you drew, deep in concentration in order to get all the details just right. He noticed the way you’d squint when studying the details on his person, trying to understand how to translate it better onto paper. His favorite, however, was when your eyes inadvertently met his and your focus faltered. You’d meekly attempt to restrain a bashful smile and tell him, “Stop it, you’re distracting me.”
For what seemed like forever to the pro baseball player, five minutes later he broke the silence yet again. “Baaabe,” he drawled.
“Not yet, superstar.”
You heard him huff impatiently from behind the sketchbook, knowing he was itching to stretch his legs out. Mentally cursing to yourself, you whine that he’s not used to waiting. Your voice was soft, a gentle plead escaped in a grumble.
“Just five more minutes, please?”
“Fine, but only because I love you.”
.
.
.
Holding your sketchbook at arms length, you gave your piece one last look for any inaccuracies before nodding satisfactorily. The sound of a calculated, perforated tear from your sketchbook made Kenji sigh of relief and slump slightly. You’d think for a 40 meter tall superhero that countered Kaiju, he’d be able to stay still for at least a little while.
“Come here, Kenji,” you beckoned him over by patting the cushion next to you. “I’m finally done, you big baby.”
He let out a throaty groan as he got up and stretched. Watching his shirt lift as he reached towards the ceiling, your cheeks stung at the sight of skin you’ve kissed before. Happily making his way to you, Kenji sat himself close and threw an arm over your shoulders. “Let me see it, my artist.”
You sheepishly handed him the still life drawing of himself and he took it into his calloused fingers. The contact was warm, gentle, and fleeting. His tender touch was not alien to you, but your heart picked up every time anyways.
“My god, baby,” Kenji whispered, gaping in admiration. “You’re so damn good at this.”
He hummed appreciatively at the way you penciled out the folds in his shirt and the way his jet black hair unfurled to grace his face. A sense of pride washed over you when you gauged for a reaction and saw the ends of his mouth curl into a grin.
Kenji loved how you unconsciously captured his fervent gaze and he laughed to himself. Knowing you, you were probably too caught up in detailing the crinkles by his eyes to notice the glittering hearts in them. A soft chuckle slipped past his lips and kissed your pride again.
He loved watching you take the ardent effort to study him with your eyes and reiterate it through your hands to paper.
Kenji just loved you.
.
.
.
And finally
for a brief, shining moment
He's lived the lifetime of a muse in the sliver of twenty minutes, finally understanding the worth of the creeping ache from sitting too long.
You figured he endured it because it did things to his ego, but it was so much more than that. He wholeheartedly relished in it.
After gently placing your drawing down next to him, Kenji diverted his gaze to you and brushed a few stray hairs from your face. “I get it now,” he murmured softly against the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss.
“If this is what it means to be loved by you, my god—I’ll wait endlessly on my ass.”
Kenji never complained about modeling for you ever again and even asked you to draw him the next day.