He groans into my mouth, and I use that moment to push back, trying to take control again. But Han is stronger than he looks, and for once, he's not letting me win.
"Frustrated?" he murmurs between kisses, smirking against my lips.
I bite at his jaw...
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"Hold still, will you? It'll take longer if you keep moving."
I narrow my eyes at Jisung as he shifts again, his body fidgeting like he physically cannot stay still for more than three seconds.
"Hyung, how long is this going to take? Sitting completely still isn't exactly my forte," he whines, wiggling his shoulders, then his fingers, then his goddamn toes, as if those minor movements somehow won't affect the entire painting.
I exhale slowly, deliberately, trying to maintain my patience. He's already changed positions five times. If he keeps this up, I'm going to paint a completely different person by the time we're done.
"Longer if you keep squirming around like that, Ji," I say, dipping my brush into the swirl of paint on my palette.
Jisung grumbles something under his breath that I'm fairly certain is an insult, but I ignore him, instead focusing on the way the deep reds and warm golds mix together on my brush.
When I glance up at him again, I have to suppress the amused smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.
He looks ridiculous.
Yet somehow, he also looks fucking stunning.
He's dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxers, his toned legs sprawled out lazily, and a long piece of silk draped over his hips, strategically covering the fact that he's even wearing underwear at all. It's a deep, rich burgundy, the kind that catches the dim light of my studio just right, making the fabric gleam against his warm skin.
To anyone else, it would look elegant. Classic. A Renaissance-inspired pose of effortless beauty.
To me?
It looks like the universe handed me a personal challenge—one I am definitely enjoying way more than I should.
I clear my throat, dragging my focus back to my canvas, forcing my mind to think about art and shadows and depth rather than the way the silk clings to the curve of his waist.
"You know," Jisung suddenly says, his voice breaking the silence, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you just wanted an excuse to see me half-naked."
I pause mid-stroke, my brush hovering just above the canvas.
Slowly, deliberately, I lift my gaze to meet his, arching a brow.
"If that were true," I say, voice calm, measured, "I would've asked you to pose completely naked."
Jisung chokes.
I watch as he splutters, his face twisting between shock and amusement, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to formulate a response.
