#two ciders deep and thought ''you know what? fuck it. snippet because i love them and i love this universe still''

[landinrris]

It's not a Miami companion fic, but it is a drabble/snippet from a third part to this series that sees me returning to early 1910s painter Carlos, only now Carlos and Lando are living their domestic life in Madrid. So while I continually chip away at this, please enjoy a bit of Lando modeling for Carlos, and specifically modeling this pose ✌️

Carlos hums into Lando’s neck, the evidence of his smile pressed to Lando’s skin. Yeah, much better than Manchester. “So you will let me draw you today?”

“I’ll always let you draw me, you know that.”

“Yes, but you will let me pose you today maybe? I have an idea for this new work and want to get some specific ideas for the figures in the background. Angels, I’m thinking.” Lando might be able to listen to the way Carlos says angels for the rest of his life.

“Yeah? Always happy to help. What idea have you been thinking about?”

So Carlos tells him about a strong central figure. He tells Lando about the idea about the interference from heavenly creatures and how the central figure perseveres despite everything. All while Lando goes back to scrubbing their cups and sets them on the small drying rack next to the sink.

Hearing about Carlos’ ideas never fails to leave Lando in awe of how his mind is always working. It’s always reeling with possibilities and composition and color. He thinks in terms of proportions and the flow of people’s bodies.

Even without seeing a draft in front of him, Lando can picture the idea in his mind painted with the care of Carlos’ impressionistic style. The detail of his portraiture evident even in the broader expanse of a larger scene. He paints like Lando could reach out and feel the fabric himself— like he could lend a hand to the paintings’ subjects and have them step into the room with him. 

To know that Lando has a hand in any of that creation feels like an honor. Especially when Carlos leads him to their small chaise and slowly strips him of the clothes he had managed to put on following leaving their room. The kisses Carlos presses into his collarbone and chest do absolutely nothing for Lando’s resolve, but this is par for the course as well. 

Carlos says he does it because it always brings a pretty blush to Lando’s skin that makes it that much easier to not have to imagine. Lando’s half inclined to believe him when his kisses never lead to any kind of payoff, but that doesn’t mean they don’t drive Lando a little bit insane. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t sigh and slide a hand into Carlos’ hair as Carlos peels his trousers down his legs.

But Carlos pulls away before Lando can get him where he wants and begins manuevering Lando into his desired position. He folds one of Lando’s legs up and drapes the other one so it’s hanging off the chaise. He does the same to Lando’s hands, bringing them to rest above his head and practically crossing at the wrist. The touch he gives Lando’s chin to tilt back so he’s staring at his hands feels vulnerable in a way he’s not completely used to. Not while Carlos is still dressed at least. 

“If you wanted to draw me looking like we’re in the middle of having sex, you could’ve just told me,” Lando chides.

Carlos tsks. “Ay, Lando behave.”

“What, like you are?”

He gets up almost in response and walks into the other room. Lando only moves his head enough to see the hallway after a handful of seconds. Naturally, Carlos catches him when he returns with the sheet from the spare bedroom. “You have forgotten how to not move.”

Lando returns his head to as close to what he’s pretty sure it was before as he can, though he’s unable to keep the smile off his face. “Is that to protect my modesty?”

“No, you are an angel, remember? Keep up.”

“Angels wear loin cloths?” He looks down his body to see Carlos accordion-folding the fabric into a longer strip before kneeling between Lando’s legs and draping it gently over him. The sight is admittedly too much, so Lando redirects his gaze over to the wall and takes in steadying lungfuls of air. Judging by the amused hum from Carlos, it’s not quite enough.

“Trust the process. They certainly do not wear wrinkled trousers and a slept-in undershirt.”

“Touché,” Lando concedes before taking a steadying breath again.

When Carlos’ hands leave him seemingly for good, Lando mourns the loss. Carlos isn’t in his sightline where Lando judges he sets himself up in one of the chairs across the room. Lando can hear the scratch of his pencil against paper— quick, sure strokes alternating with quieter and seemingly exploratory ones. 

Even though he can’t see him, Lando can imagine the look of concentration on Carlos’ face, the way his eyebrows crease in the middle, the way he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth as he tries to get the particular curve of something right. Lando wonders if maybe it’s one of his muscles this time that makes Carlos sigh petulantly as he rubs the art gum over his lines. Maybe it’s the jut of his jaw tipped towards the ceiling that Carlos can’t get the perspective just right on.

What certainly doesn’t help quell Lando’s excitement is the way he imagines Carlos staring at the draped fabric around his lower stomach and hips. Does it turn Carlos on just a bit to draw the arch in Lando’s back— to shade the fabric that the empty space creates on the chaise? Carlos is staring at him, and Lando’s relegated to being a good model lying in wait until Carlos decides they’re done for the afternoon.

It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes.

Carlos hums from his perch, and Lando swears his skin burns.

#two ciders deep and thought ''you know what? fuck it. snippet because i love them and i love this universe still'' #my perpetual bed time story universe #carlando #birdsong au core #writing tag #husbands™