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kinkfestTitle: meet in her aspect and her eyes.
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
allira_dream
Rating: R.
Warnings: None.
Word count: 390.
Summary: It had been her who had wanted to paint Mireille, and Mireille had said yes.
A/N: Noir, Kirika/Mirielle: painting the other who is naked - "You should keep painting, too." "OK..."
meet in her aspect and her eyes.
“Like this?” Mireille asks, laid down over the bed, over her side. She rests her head on her hand and smiles slowly, much more enthralling than the Giocconda.
Kirika shakes her head no because that’s not it. Her canvas remains white like snow, like Mireille’s skin, even as Mireille sighs and flops down, a soft pout to her mouth.
“Why don’t you tell me how I should be?”
“I don’t know that,” Kirika answers. She shifts on her chair, puts the charcoal down. “I’m not sure how you should be… I’ve never done it like this.”
“Well, you’ve never had a human model before, right?” Mireille sits again, not minding at all that she’s naked, that Kirika’s eyes can follow the hollow between her breastbones, or the way her waist curves and becomes her hips. “That’s important.”
“You were the one who told me to keep painting…” but it had been her who had wanted to paint Mireille in answer and Mireille had said yes. Perhaps if she wore her clothes again. Perhaps if her skin wasn’t already a perfect mix of blues and reds and pale hues of pink and peach and gold.
Mireille sighs again and shakes her head, standing up. She walks towards her vanity and picks up some bobby pins, twisting her hair into a knot that leaves her neck so naked and so vulnerable. Kirika is vaguely aware how easily it would be to twist and break her neck. It takes her a few seconds to realize that even like this, Mireille is not nervous.
She trusts her enough to keep her guard down. She might not even realize it.
Kirika’s hands tremble a bit and she holds unto the chair, looks down for a moment until she can breathe again. In the lapse of five deep breaths, Mireille has walked back towards the bed again, and she’s sitting down, a knee raised up so that she can paint her fingernails and her breast presses against her thigh. The hair between her legs is a dark gold and a few strands of her hair curl down over her neck and shoulders, like sunlight or gold.
Carefully, unsure of how to be able to show this vulnerability and trust and life, she picks up a charcoal and lets it draw through the line of Mireille’s eyes.
Author/Artist:
allira_dreamRating: R.
Warnings: None.
Word count: 390.
Summary: It had been her who had wanted to paint Mireille, and Mireille had said yes.
A/N: Noir, Kirika/Mirielle: painting the other who is naked - "You should keep painting, too." "OK..."
meet in her aspect and her eyes.
“Like this?” Mireille asks, laid down over the bed, over her side. She rests her head on her hand and smiles slowly, much more enthralling than the Giocconda.
Kirika shakes her head no because that’s not it. Her canvas remains white like snow, like Mireille’s skin, even as Mireille sighs and flops down, a soft pout to her mouth.
“Why don’t you tell me how I should be?”
“I don’t know that,” Kirika answers. She shifts on her chair, puts the charcoal down. “I’m not sure how you should be… I’ve never done it like this.”
“Well, you’ve never had a human model before, right?” Mireille sits again, not minding at all that she’s naked, that Kirika’s eyes can follow the hollow between her breastbones, or the way her waist curves and becomes her hips. “That’s important.”
“You were the one who told me to keep painting…” but it had been her who had wanted to paint Mireille in answer and Mireille had said yes. Perhaps if she wore her clothes again. Perhaps if her skin wasn’t already a perfect mix of blues and reds and pale hues of pink and peach and gold.
Mireille sighs again and shakes her head, standing up. She walks towards her vanity and picks up some bobby pins, twisting her hair into a knot that leaves her neck so naked and so vulnerable. Kirika is vaguely aware how easily it would be to twist and break her neck. It takes her a few seconds to realize that even like this, Mireille is not nervous.
She trusts her enough to keep her guard down. She might not even realize it.
Kirika’s hands tremble a bit and she holds unto the chair, looks down for a moment until she can breathe again. In the lapse of five deep breaths, Mireille has walked back towards the bed again, and she’s sitting down, a knee raised up so that she can paint her fingernails and her breast presses against her thigh. The hair between her legs is a dark gold and a few strands of her hair curl down over her neck and shoulders, like sunlight or gold.
Carefully, unsure of how to be able to show this vulnerability and trust and life, she picks up a charcoal and lets it draw through the line of Mireille’s eyes.
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