When Ferran sat up, Nikolai let his grip loosen, hand leaving its resting place against his arm. A small frown of displeasure creased his brow and tugged the corners of his lips down, straightening the curve of his previous smile into a flat line. Nikolai opened his mouth, making a quiet noise of protest and sending one simple thought. Hey. Disappointment and mild annoyance underscored that one word, but even more than that a sense of loss.
And then there he was, close, closer than Nikolai had realized. Another smile replaced the frown before the painter could stop it. He mirrored Ferran’s unconscious movement, leaning forward, as he studied the line of his jaw. It would be a simple thing to lean farther in and press a trail of kisses there, up to his ear, and- He started, his friend’s spoken words helping him stop his train of thought.
Following Ferran’s example, he cleared his throat and hoped for the best when he spoke aloud next. “I do my best work when it’s raining.” His eyes darted to the paint covering the other man’s arm. The sight of it was nothing short of breath-taking for him at the moment, his art curling and growing across Ferran’s skin, and he suddenly wondered just what the design said about him. Art was always revealing. What this revealed about him he didn’t know. Mouth parted, Nikolai reached out and touched the tight coil of vines binding Ferran’s wrist.