KuroDai bodypainter AU? with that sentence ""The paint’s supposed to go where?” ~
Gooseflesh is rising on his skin in increments, slowly from the soft skin under his wrist, up to his arms, his shoulders, to the back of his neck.
He’s not sure how exactly he ended up sitting on top of a stool in the middle of a small studio with nondescript walls, but an old worn couch pushed against it that was stained (or was it an artistic endeavor) with colorful bursts of orange and yellow and a stark red, with nothing but a tiny square hand towel over the whole of his manhood.
Daichi watches the other man with observant eyes - he’s dressed so comfortably in a loose tank under a black apron that was tied around his neck, and his jeans are riding a little too dangerously low on his hips, and if it weren’t for the apron, he thinks it wouldn’t have held up on its own.
It’s quiet. But his ears can pick up the sound of water being stirred in jars, and paintbrushes tinkling on the rim of the glass bottles, and he stops. He’s humming.
A cheery hum is all he gets in return for an answer.
He gulps, and he thinks it resonates in the otherwise silent room, afraid for a moment that the art student could sense his nervousness, hear him swallow down his insecurities.
“T-the paint’s supposed… to go where, again?” he asks, and he shifts on his spot because the hard wood pressing against his bare butt is beginning to make it numb.
Kuroo continues humming, diligently mixing colors and filling up the jars. “Everywhere,” he finally says, and Daichi nods his head, because he understood the first time Kuroo came to him after Philosophy class one day, asking him if he could use him as a subject for one of his major projects in class.
He remembers shrugging why not, because of course he was willing to help out a friend for the grade, and Kuroo was nothing but a good friend to him, if a little antagonizing at times, but a friend nevertheless.
“Right. Everywhere,” he repeats.
And he gets it. He does. By everywhere, Kuroo had meant every inch of his skin, no spot uncovered. And he had agreed.
By this time, he wasn’t supposed to be having second thoughts anymore. What else could he have done, could still do, when he was all but bare to the world, sitting in the middle of Kuroo’s studio, and fighting the most painful hard on?
Sit still like a good model, he supposed.
He wanted to blame the cold for it, really. Or maybe even the fact that he’s never been this naked in anyone else’s presence other than his mother’s when he was five. Or maybe because he had such a huge crush on his friend, that he absolutely didn’t want found out at any cost, and yet here he was.
“You can still say no, you know, Sawamura,” Kuroo interjects, breaking Daichi’s train of thought. “If you wanted to, I mean. I don’t want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
Oh, he’s uncomfortable. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to do it, because he did. “I’m fine, Kuroo. I said yes the first time. I don’t plan on turning back on my words.”
When Kuroo finally turns to face him, there’s only a small smile on his face, and Daichi can’t help the shiver he was holding back.
“Good. I appreciate that. Now, can you drop the towel?”