Nikolai fought a losing battle against the grin that crept across his face at the term “brilliant.” His face remained down-turned as he sifted through his painting equipment. I do, hm? I hope I’m providing enough entertainment for you. Amusement filled his thoughts. He tapped his fist against his chin while he considered his options. Reaching a decision, he grabbed a medium-sized brush and dipped it in paint, a rich brown hue. His new plan unfolded in his mind quickly. Hand above the other man, he unfurled his fist, nails just barely scraping against the other’s skin, and splayed his fingers, pressing his palm firmly at the small of his back. For a moment, he studied the image of his hand resting so comfortably against Ferran, memorizing the scene, the contrast and shape. Reluctantly, he removed his hand, but allowed himself the pleasure of dragging his index finger across the width of Ferran’s back.
Then he set to work. He swept the brush in long strokes, followed by smaller more precise ones, and returned to his palette a few times for other shades of brown. A picture materialized within only a few minutes. A tree now nestled in the curve of his friend’s back, one whose lines hinted at the contours of Nikolai’s hand, with five main branches reaching up a few inches. No leaves dressed the bare branches.
Just the beginning, he shared, projecting the image of his artwork while he leaned to the left with the intention of washing out the brush he held.