In A Word
folder
Yu-Gi-Oh › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,301
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Yu-Gi-Oh › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,301
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Appreciating Art
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read this story, and to those of you who encouraged me with your reviews! I truly appreciate the kindness you show to me. I realize now that I didn’t make myself clear about these drabbles, so I’ll rectify that here. Each entry will have its own story, be its own idea. The chapters are to stand independent of each other. Sorry to those who thought and wanted this to be a continuation of the first chapter. I just don’t want to start another chaptered story until my other two are finished.
With that being said, I hope you enjoy the next installment! I’ll try to answer any potential questions at the end of each entry.
- Ocean
--- --- --- --- --- ---
All drabbles dedicated to Hime no Ichigo. ^_^
echt (ekht) [German] adjective: authentic; typical.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
Appreciating Art
Title of the painting: My Lover’s Will.
The colors – imaginary, violent, swarming together in caressing waves of passion that invented tones of red, ochre, and green that had never before been seen. The strokes – indiscernible, indescribable, captivatingly new - kept eyes focused and the mind involved in an epic quest of discovery. The overall impression left the gallery patrons warmer than when they’d arrived, lips minimally parted and pupils dilated in excitement. Ask them why, and they wouldn’t be able to tell you.
They had come to see the artist’s work with the hope of catching a glimpse of the genius that was exhibited in each piece of art. But this painting captivated them, made them forget the other displays: the sterling sculptures of nature, the powder gradation sketches of ancient worlds, one piece of glasswork that was cobalt blue and obtuse. And still these couldn’t compete with the expanse of white canvas that stretched the width of a full-sized mattress and the length of two men.
“Breath taking.”
“Ingenious.”
“Beautiful interpretation.”
“Where’s the artist?”
They didn’t see him, leaning against a side wall, sipping white wine, memorizing them with worldly cinnamon eyes glowing in secretive mirth. Olive skin was exposed only occasionally; on elongated fingers curved around a glass, on wrists peaking out from too-long sleeves of a business jacket, on a lean neck wrapped in inky hair that reflected the fluorescent glare like a mirror. He was so deliciously plain that he easily melted into the edges of vision and out of the minds of the art aficionados.
He could hear the inquiries about the painting. He could not keep the smirk off his face.
“What was the inspiration?”
- His lover eyed him curiously with expectation in his every breath, blue irises rimmed in mulberry lowering in an intimate caress across his chest. His willingness, his eagerness to participate sent the artist’s mind soaring with possibilities and he knew that this artwork would be unlike any other… -
“What medium did he use?”
- … as he reached for the brush, soft as fingers of spun flower petals, dipping it in the first can of paint, an entrancing gold that sung of wealth, prosperity and summer. He kept his haunting gaze glued to his lover’s eyes until his craft pulled it down to the sheet spread on the concrete floor, where he proceeded to saturate the echt thousand-thread count Egyptian cotton with the pattern seen in his mind’s eye. He heard his lover laugh as the smaller man picked up one of the paint cans, sniffing it before dipping his finger in and tasting. “Is this…” -
“Chocolate? I’ve never smelled chocolate from a painting before.”
“He never ceases to surprise us with his ingenuity.”
- but this wasn’t play, it was work; no matter how tempting it was to forgo the weeks of preparation and the years of training to indulge in the naked muse that stood before him, waiting to be adorned in rainbows of body paint and chocolate, eager to be manipulated, positioned, rolled and caressed against the waiting sheet… -
“Think he’ll sell it?”
The artist grinned into his wine. No. No, he’d never sell his favorite painting for it was already owned by its motivation. The game was not to sell his artwork. Rather, his goal was far more simplistic, far simpler, and far more colorful than that.
His lover emerged from the crowd and lounged on the wall beside him, glancing at the painting. “I guess it turned out alright,” he said.
The artist closed his eyes in satisfaction.
- End
--- --- --- --- --- ---
A/N: To clarify, Atemu is the artist, Yuugi is his lover. Atemu’s goal is simply to impress Yuugi with his work. He succeeds. ^_^
With that being said, I hope you enjoy the next installment! I’ll try to answer any potential questions at the end of each entry.
- Ocean
--- --- --- --- --- ---
All drabbles dedicated to Hime no Ichigo. ^_^
echt (ekht) [German] adjective: authentic; typical.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
Appreciating Art
Title of the painting: My Lover’s Will.
The colors – imaginary, violent, swarming together in caressing waves of passion that invented tones of red, ochre, and green that had never before been seen. The strokes – indiscernible, indescribable, captivatingly new - kept eyes focused and the mind involved in an epic quest of discovery. The overall impression left the gallery patrons warmer than when they’d arrived, lips minimally parted and pupils dilated in excitement. Ask them why, and they wouldn’t be able to tell you.
They had come to see the artist’s work with the hope of catching a glimpse of the genius that was exhibited in each piece of art. But this painting captivated them, made them forget the other displays: the sterling sculptures of nature, the powder gradation sketches of ancient worlds, one piece of glasswork that was cobalt blue and obtuse. And still these couldn’t compete with the expanse of white canvas that stretched the width of a full-sized mattress and the length of two men.
“Breath taking.”
“Ingenious.”
“Beautiful interpretation.”
“Where’s the artist?”
They didn’t see him, leaning against a side wall, sipping white wine, memorizing them with worldly cinnamon eyes glowing in secretive mirth. Olive skin was exposed only occasionally; on elongated fingers curved around a glass, on wrists peaking out from too-long sleeves of a business jacket, on a lean neck wrapped in inky hair that reflected the fluorescent glare like a mirror. He was so deliciously plain that he easily melted into the edges of vision and out of the minds of the art aficionados.
He could hear the inquiries about the painting. He could not keep the smirk off his face.
“What was the inspiration?”
- His lover eyed him curiously with expectation in his every breath, blue irises rimmed in mulberry lowering in an intimate caress across his chest. His willingness, his eagerness to participate sent the artist’s mind soaring with possibilities and he knew that this artwork would be unlike any other… -
“What medium did he use?”
- … as he reached for the brush, soft as fingers of spun flower petals, dipping it in the first can of paint, an entrancing gold that sung of wealth, prosperity and summer. He kept his haunting gaze glued to his lover’s eyes until his craft pulled it down to the sheet spread on the concrete floor, where he proceeded to saturate the echt thousand-thread count Egyptian cotton with the pattern seen in his mind’s eye. He heard his lover laugh as the smaller man picked up one of the paint cans, sniffing it before dipping his finger in and tasting. “Is this…” -
“Chocolate? I’ve never smelled chocolate from a painting before.”
“He never ceases to surprise us with his ingenuity.”
- but this wasn’t play, it was work; no matter how tempting it was to forgo the weeks of preparation and the years of training to indulge in the naked muse that stood before him, waiting to be adorned in rainbows of body paint and chocolate, eager to be manipulated, positioned, rolled and caressed against the waiting sheet… -
“Think he’ll sell it?”
The artist grinned into his wine. No. No, he’d never sell his favorite painting for it was already owned by its motivation. The game was not to sell his artwork. Rather, his goal was far more simplistic, far simpler, and far more colorful than that.
His lover emerged from the crowd and lounged on the wall beside him, glancing at the painting. “I guess it turned out alright,” he said.
The artist closed his eyes in satisfaction.
- End
--- --- --- --- --- ---
A/N: To clarify, Atemu is the artist, Yuugi is his lover. Atemu’s goal is simply to impress Yuugi with his work. He succeeds. ^_^