Synopsis: Even with his insatiable hunger to be the best, University doesn't get any easier for Yakumo. Inspiration comes and goes in ever fleeting moments as he uses his paints to drown out the buzzing in his head. It isn't until he runs into you does he find what seems like endless inspiration. A Goddess with beauty unrivaled. And it helps that you find his arrogance endearing and motivating for your own works, agreeing to use one another as a temporary muse. But as each rendezvous becomes more and more frequent it leaves the two artist pondering over the meaning of temporary.
Warnings: Smut, 18+, don't get oil paints on your skin and hair.
"You've been staring at that canvas forever." You comment, standing behind the shirtless man who crouches in front of the largest canvas you've ever seen. Red flecks of oil paint long since dried on his bare chest, cheek, and his ugly pair of Crocs. Paint, mind you, that shouldn't be on skin long. The strong pungent smell clotting the air and his down cast head reminds you of other great artists. Of the turbulent lives they lead and some to the point they'd swallow globs of their yellow paints in hopes of finding happiness. You were lucky this one wasn't nearly as downtrodden, hardly ever if you were being honest.
You watch the outstretched wings on his back twitch with each flex of his muscles. The large owl on his back offering no wisdom to him.
"I know." He sighs out, looking at the large washed over canvas.
"You've painted over it like three times..."
"I know." He grunts standing up, patting himself down for his smokes. When he comes up empty he sighs even louder, head hung as he looks up to the sky, his earrings dancing from the motion.
"You got any..." He turns to face you and can't help the smile that blooms on his face. Lips pulled back over his canines as he looks at your crossed arms and the plastic convenience store bag in your manicured nails.
"Aw how'd you know I haven't eaten yet?" He chuckles and then his stomach growls, especially telling on him now.
"Because you always forget to eat when you get like this." You drop the bag of cigarettes, instaramen, and the can of beer at his feet before turning on your heel. He laughs loudly, bending over to move the bag behind his supplies.
"Don't be like that." He can't help his smile at your pout as he pulls you against his bare chest, the sleeves of his overalls tied around his waist. He kisses your neck gingerly before his sharp teeth graze over your pulse point.
"Hey." You hiss but make no move to free yourself from his strong arms. He takes that as invitation, kissing up your throat and then your jaw before he turns your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes.
His favorite work of art to date.
"Come on, you know you help clear my head." He kisses you then, letting his tongue slide over yours as you mewl when his large hand palms your breast, "It's so loud in there lately..."
It had been like this hadn't it? Almost like a transaction between the two of you, since the two of you met in your first year of university. Now a year later nothing had changed aside from the frequency of how often the two of you showed up at the others place. One always bearing a gift, a pack of smokes, a candy bar, some sort of sustenance for a starving artist to survive on. Bragging, arguing really, over who's art is better.
You say nothing back, just bring your hand up and twist your fingers in his black hair, staring into his twilight eyes before you push his face towards you. He kisses you again, this time with more urgency. More hunger, with desperation of silencing the long string of thoughts in his mind. Of feeling that damn marble smooth skin beneath his callous hands as he drowns in the feelings and sounds of a Goddess.
He flips you around, startling you, causing your hand to reach out for anything before it lands in an array of colored oils before you reach behind you to stabilize yourself. Although you don't need to with how strongly his gripping onto you. As if you could turn back into seafoam between his fingers and he would lose you to the churning seas of Poseidon. His hands make quick work of his overalls as they fall to his ankles, before reaching under your sun dress to hastily move your underwear to the side. Normally he would take the time to worship your pretty cunt properly. To lick and stroke the glistening folds until you squirmed under his strong hands and soaked whatever surface was beneath you. Sheets and couch cushions be damned.
But today you can tell he needs you, needs to be buried deeply within you until he couldn't think. Until all his thoughts were consumed by you. He looks at you for a moment before he spits between the two of you onto his aching cock. Giving it a quick pump just to coat himself in something before he lines it up to your tight entrance. Bullying his way into you, swirling your throbbing clit to distract you from the pain. He gently thrusts into you until the bite of your nails on his back lightens and the painful throb ebbs into a delicious pleasure.
Setting a brutal pace, angling his cock just right to watch your eyes roll into the back of your head as he fucks into you with vigor, thick fingers still swirling over your clit.
Despite his obnoxious attitude, in the bedroom he's a gentleman, firmly believing that it should always be ladies first. He watches your face of the tell tale signs of your orgasm, of your mouth parting into such a pretty O, in how your eyes flutter and your nails scratch along the inky feathers of the owl on his back. The coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter as your lay your head back, crying out his name.
"Yakumooooo ♡" The way you feel wrapped around his thick length drives him mad. Huffing in your ear as he presses sloppy kisses to your throat.
"That's it, pretty girl. Let it all out." He grunts, holding back his release as he wills another one from you with the speed of his fingers and thrusts. Pleasure washes over you again as your cunt grabs onto him harder just to flutter around him once more. He groans in your ear before pulling back to stare into your eyes as he fucks you through another and another. Before your hands fall away from his shoulders.
He moves his hand from your soaking cunt to one of your hands. Bringing it up beside your head as he laces his fingers with yours, squeezing your fingers as his breath comes out in rasps. He's close, so fucking close. You knit your eyebrows as you feel his cock twitch inside you, leaning to press your forehead against his own sweaty one.
"Cum for me." You whisper feather soft and your wish is his command. He unravels, painting your walls in hot shades of white, slipping in those stupid crocs as his hand slides up from yours onto the canvas behind him. Deep twilight eyes stare into yours as he sighs softly, as if every loud buzzing thought had died in his head, leaving nothing behind but a wash of peaceful calm.
Fucking you felt the same as painting.
Although lately he would argue that the former was easier.
He gives a soft smile, moving his hand from yours to pat your hair and when it comes back with swatches of yellows, reds and oranges his smile fades.
"Shi-shit." He gently pulls you towards him, reaching down with the hand not covered in paint to pull up his overall jump suit. Making quick work of tucking his spent cock away before tying the thick fabric around his waist. He reaches for a clean rag before he gently tries to remove the oils from your hair.
"Sorry Venus." The pet name he uses when he's particularly in trouble. You suck your teeth before gently pushing him away.
"It's fine. It happens to me all the time." You dab as much of the paint as you can out before he pulls you by your hip to his. His other hand cocked on his muscular waist as he looks over the giant canvas.
"We make great art." He whispers in your ear with a tease before he nibbles at the shell. Your eyes study the piece, the obvious shape of your palm in warm rich sunset colors, of his and yours up further before you realize that the wash of the canvas hadn't yet dried before he pressed you to it in his reckless thirst.
How there is an outline of a crescent of your ass and part of your thigh, both shoulders and even the outline of hair and the thin straps of your dress.
"Damn it. This was a new dress!" You hiss, foolishly looking over your shoulder to see the oils had bled into the yellow fabric.
"Don't worry. No one will know it was you." He kisses your cheek, "As long as I walk you home after dark."
He laughs then and you give him a feral snarl as you take wet paint from your hair and press it onto his cheeks.
"Yea well. If you get a good mark just know you owe it all to me!"
Art in Banner, The Birth of Venus
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