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This isn’t your first time visiting Artful’s apartment.
Far from the first, actually – but most of your previous visits were unfortunately brief. You hadn’t quite stayed for long, not out of being unwelcome, but out of circumstances. Work, tasks awaiting at your own home, sudden change of plans. You’d part with a chaste kiss and a hug at the door each time, but tonight was going to be different.
Tonight, Saturday evening, nothing could disturb you two. No plans, no business calls, nothing to get in your way. You were going to spend the night with your boyfriend, and both of you were willing to do whatever to make that happen.
His apartment was… homey. For such a celebrity, it wasn’t of much surprise that it was clean and pristine, but not to the point where it was slicked back and artificial, as though an influencer’s. No, despite how much he tried to clean up before your visits, you could always see the blankets askew on the couch where he no doubt fell asleep, occasionally unorganized shelves, posters and planners scattered around his room. It was cute, honestly, seeing how he went through the effort of keeping it cleaner for you only for his natural messiness to shine through regardless.
Right now, listening to Artful talk about his past performances, especially his favourite ones— both of you on his bed, with you leaning against his side as you inspect the room— you can’t help but notice that the performances he spoke so fondly of were ones with you in them, more often than any actual grand enterprises. It makes you smile, and he knew. Oh, he definitely knew.
Artful moves to stretch, the action making you impulsively move to give him some space, only to feel his arm snake down your shoulder and to hold your hip, pressing you up against him tighter than before. You can basically feel the smile radiating off him as you snuggle closer, your own arm moving to hug him from behind. He stills his talk for a moment, so you turn to look at him, only for him to instinctively turn, too.
By the heavens, you’re beautiful, even without the makeup. You understood the fact that he had to put some on for his performances– if anything, you agree that it adds onto the charm– but it was a whole different story seeing him so natural, so relaxed, and so up-close. His face lights up even more than usual, smile curving upwards and chest puffing out, as you register that your thoughts tumbled out into words.
“Truly?” In theory, it was meant to be a rhetorical question, but the hopeful raise of his voice at the end turned it into a genuine one. He wriggles his shoulders a bit, lowering his gaze with a cheeky grin. “Whatever makes you say that?”
“....your smile, for one.” You raise a hand to cradle his cheek, thumb caressing bare skin. Surprisingly soft. What on Earth did he use to make it so soft?
“Your hair,” your hand moves to instead tread through what little hair he had. It was a gorgeous black colour, as rich as the night sky, as dark as a raven's feather. Via going through old photos you found out he went completely bald for the sake of his production, since it’d get in the way during tricks… First of all, you were glad you convinced him to grow it out, it really was gorgeous. Second of all, you still have a few photos of him bald as potential blackmail, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Your…. Everything, actually. You’re beautiful.”
“Mon chér…” Artful breathed, finally raising his gaze to yours with a lovestruck, nearly goofy grin on his face – one that swiftly morphed into surprise, much to your bewilderment.
“Oh– dear, you’ve got a little, er..” He raises a thumb, wiping at your cheek, similarly how you did moments ago but with a bit more force to it. Seemingly unsatisfied, he goes to lick the pad of his finger, only for you to move backwards before he can try to wipe you again.
“Is something on my face?” Your own hand flies to your face, patting the area where his was moments ago. Artful nods and visibly deflates when you move to get up. “I’ll go wash it off then,” you shrug, slipping off his bed and out of Artful’s comfortable embrace. The lack of warmth immediately hits you both, but you persist, only pausing when at the door to his room.
“Second room to the left!” He calls out before you can even get your question out. You can’t help but smile again. Always so quick, so thoughtful. With a quick thanks and I’ll be right back, you disappear out the doorway, missing how Artful sinks into his bed sorrowfully.
You found the bathroom quickly, seeing that Artful was right. Your face was stained a bit with whatever you had for lunch. Whoops. Had you been walking around all day like that? =
You splash your face with water, blindly reaching for a towel, and make sure everything’s off. You hesitate before you can leave however, curiosity getting the better of you — what products did he use to be so soft? You reckon it’d be smarter to ask, but with how many times he’s invited you to make yourself at home, looking around wouldn’t really be considered snooping, would it?
The cupboards held only some soap and shower products, so nothing much to note. Although it begged the question as to where everything else was hidden, seeing as he only had one visible cabinet. So, you hook your fingers behind his mirror, noting the hinges off to the side. And in a blink of an eye, you’re faced with more make-up products that you’ve seen in your life that weren't in a store.
You can faintly hear Artful calling out your name from the bedroom, footsteps slowly approaching, receiving no answer as you just… process what’s in front of you. Not only did his mirror open up into a small cabinet in itself, but there were shelves upon shelves of just beauty products. You couldn’t even confidently guess what half of these were — you’re not exactly an expert in make-up, but this was ridiculous.
You feel two hands snake around your waist with a chuckle from behind, your own hands immediately going to cover his. Artful was here again, evidently searching for you, following your gaze to his array of face paints. Turning your head to question him only results in him shushing you with a chaste kiss.
“I didn’t know you had so much… makeup.”
“Makeup? Non, non, these are cosmetics! Merely aid to help me during performances!” Artful sounded hurt, exaggeratedly so, doing nothing to hide the playfulness in his tone. He reaches out behind you to grasp at one of the bottles, turning it around in front of you to show a label you were certain you couldn’t pronounce. Definitely looked like some kind of concealer though. Probably. Maybe.
“Chérie, do you really not know what this is?” Was he trying to stifle his laughter? You insistently grab at the bottle in his grasp, ignoring his shaking shoulders as heat no doubt rises up your neck.
“Of course I do! This is uh, hm,” Your attitude quickly falters as you spin the bottle around in your hand, realizing whatever you had was not, in fact, concealer, and you most certainly could not cheat your way out of this because the label was entirely in French. Artful snickers even louder behind you, squeezing you as means to keep himself quiet, burying yourself further into the crook of your neck.
“...concealer.”
“Foundation.”
“Close enough!”
“Not close at all.” With a final chuckle he plucks the product from your grip, turning you both around so that he’s facing you, one hand on your waist still. Despite the heartfelt smile on his face there was a clear underlining of mischief that you couldn’t help but squint at.
“What’s that look for?”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Artful’s smirk only expands as he places the foundation on the sink, coaxing you by the shoulders to sit down on the closed toilet. Hesitantly, you oblige, all the while staring him down, trying to read through what he’s thinking about. Yet he persists, giving away absolutely nothing, instead turning to face the sink and the abnormal heap of cosmetic items he has.
“How about…” He draws his words out, moving around, grabbing things left and right, and yet completely blocking it out of sight with his back. Oh, he was absolutely plotting, and he wasn’t letting you see any of it. Bastard.
“...I do your makeup for once? After all, I am quite masterful in the craft, you’ve seen my work before.” He finally turns around, various brushes in one hand, and small bottles in another. Most of them are in shades to match his skin tone, but some are purely white as well, clearly face paint rather than makeup. You blink. There’s a hopeful smile on his face, kneeling down in front of you, hands resting on your knees as he looks up at you.