It’s very common to draw a figure, and know that something looks… wrong, but not be able to tell *what*. Having a juicy set of “ideal” proportions can help you course-correct when your instincts lead you astray. Beginners can use ready-made sets of rules, but as you become more attuned to exactly how you want your figures to look, it can be helpful to generate your own.
Step 1: Learn a few existing canons of proportion. Try using them to measure real people, to measure art you like, and to measure your own art. See what happens if you take one of your own drawings, and adjust it to match the system you’re studying. See what rules make sense, and are easy to use, and which rules are confusing, or hard to see.
Proko has a couple great videos on different systems of proportion; here’s one system I think is particularly effective (but lots and lots of people use Loomis’ system and other skull-to-chin systems to great effect):
Step 2: Gather a number of references of figures whose proportions you like. If you want realism, you should use photos. If you want to make superhero comics, find panels that especially speak to you, instead. Ditto anime, Egyptian sculpture, whatever. If you’d like to draw people who are fat, or exceptionally tall, or very muscular, be sure to add them to the mix. We’re trying to capture your artistic ideals, not anyone else’s. You’re looking for two kids of figures: first, neutral figures, standing up straight, facing forward or directly to the side, with arms out of the way. These figures make it easy to see the proportions. Second, you’re looking for dynamic poses. These figures will help you test if your canon is useful.
Step 3: Start looking for shapes and distances that are easy to identify. Classic examples are the distance from top of the head to the chin, from the base of the hand to the elbow, the width of the hips. However, it can be extremely helpful to take a page from Robert Beverly Hale’s book, and use volumes instead of lines when you measure. Use the cube that contains various parts of the body – like Hale uses the cranial mass. You could also use a clenched fist, or the volume of the hips.
Step 4: Start looking for relationships. Move your chosen measures around each of your neutral reference figures, looking for structural points in the figure that are simple, whole-number ratios of your measurement. When you think you’ve found a good match (“the width of the rib cage is the length of the forearm”), start testing it out on the dynamic poses. Still seems reasonable? Great! Be sure to make note of when the measurement is a little too big, or a little too small, and see what effect that has on the way the figure looks.
A canon is just a big collection of these rules. So make it as simple or as complex as you feel comfortable with! Feel free to get creative with your comparisons, too. IIRC, Polyklietos mentions that if you draw a square with each side being the length of the hand, the diagonal of that square is the length of the forearm (from pit of elbow to base of palm). Any relationship that’s easy to see and to measure is fair game – find what works for you. Mine existing canons for good rules, but test them. Don’t blindly believe anything – there are plenty that won’t quite suit your tastes. Pay specific. attention to areas you struggle with the most! I tend to draw people’s hands much too small – so I keep a number of rules around that I can use to verify when I’ve done it right.
Step 5: Draw it out. This is the fun part, because you get to play at being Da Vinci. Draw a good, clean, neutral figure, and note out all the relationships you discovered. If you can, find geometric, visual ways to show the relationship off (like the stacked squares in the video above, or like the Vitruvian Man’s circle-in-a-square). That will make it easier to remember.
It will probably take you several tries to draw out a figure that *you* think looks right *and* that has measurements that are easy to remember – so don’t fall too much in love with your first attempt. In the worst case, you’ll spend a few hours studying the figure, improving your instincts. In the best case, artists of the future will busy themselves trying to learn the secrets of YOUR system of proportion.
If you do this exercise, post your results! Knowledge shared is knowledge multiplied!
(the anon who has a fear of shirtless jin) HIS BODY PROPORTIONS MAN ISTG BROAD ASS SHOULDERS, SKINNY ASS WAIST WTF/// ALSO REMEMBER THE TIME JUNGKOOK ZOOMED IN ON HIS DICK AT ISAC WELL WE NEED HIM TO BE ALL FBI AND SHIT AND ALSO TAKE A UPDATED PICTURE OF HIS FRONT, BUT BE ALL STEALTHY Y'KNOW HIS FUTURE GF IS LUCKY MAN LIKE I WILL SERIOUSLY PRAY FOR HER
Because only Norway can throw out quick insults in the way that he can, and only Denmark can turn it into flirting.
“He’s as ineffectual at teaching as he is at keeping his
eyebrows at normal human proportions.” The mutter from the man slouched beside
him made Søren bark out a laugh, earning him a glare from the bumbling man at
the front. He covered his mouth with a palm and shrugged apologetically, and
earned a smirk from the culprit of his laughter.
“So, um, as I was saying- yes- there is a field trip organised for the students
where they will, uh-“ The blond man shuffled through his notes at his podium,
frowning down at them, and Søren inclined his head to his neighbour as
discreetly as he could manage.
“He’s English, isn’t he? Maybe that explains why he’s such a tight arse with
giving kids so much work. No offence meant to English people, of course, but
still. Who’d think six-year-olds would be impressed by Shakespeare?” The Dane
glanced over at him for the first time, and was pleasantly surprised at how
well he wore that unimpressed, unbothered look. The man met his gaze, and the
corner of his lips turned up.
“Idiots, clearly. My little brother wants to read the Icelandic family sagas but seeing as how he can
barely read past the first chapter of Harry
Potter, I don’t expect him to read anything quite so advanced. Mr Kirkland,
however…” His lip curled in a derisive sneer as his eyes settled upon the
teacher before them, and Søren abandoned any pretence of listening to the
lecture to instead focus on the vision before him.
“The Icelandic family sagas, huh? Smart kid you’ve got there. Which one is he?”
His companion straightened, leaning in further towards Søren and dropping his
voice to a dreamy murmur. “Emil. The little one, with the white hair and
glasses. Before you ask, yes, he has albinism. We buy sun cream in bulk.” Søren
let out a soft noise of disbelief, and earned a questioning frown in response.
“No way! I’m Peter’s uncle- his dad couldn’t make it tonight, so the asshole
lumbered me with this instead.” The stranger sat up in his chair, eyes suddenly
more focused on Søren, who pressed on. “I’ve met Emil before, when I’ve been
over at Berwald’s and he’s there with Peter after school- he’s a funny little
kid.” He realised the implications his words may have after he’d already
spoken, but was interrupted from apologising by a soft laugh.
“He is. Too serious and earnest for his age- not to mention him being as grumpy
as an old man- but he’s sweet and sensitive, and I love him to the bones.”
There was pride in his words, and Søren was mesmerised at the sudden emotion in
the man’s eyes. He shook his head suddenly as if waking himself from a
daydream, and offered Søren a slender, calloused hand. “Sigve Nilsen. You don’t
look much like Berwald.”
Søren shook his hand in earnest, and wondered if Sigve, too, had held on a
moment too long just as he had. “Nah, I’m the good looking one. Søren Andersen.
Nice to meetcha.”
They were interrupted when a man further down the road
leaned forwards with a glare and a finger to his lips, followed by a swift
zipping motion over his downturned lips. His performance earned raised eyebrows
from the two before the brunette woman beside him slapped his arm and pulled
him back, throwing them a dazzling smile in apology. Sigve turned to face him
once more, his dour expression a contrast to Søren’s confusion at the entirely
“Roderich Edelstein,” Sigve whispered to him, distaste for the man clear in his
tone. “Passionate believer in the
educational stance of Mr Kirkland, no matter how ridiculous it may be. At least
his wife has more sense than he does.” He rolled his eyes and Søren seized his
chance, shifting closer to him with a proposition in mind.
“Hey, why don’t we get out of here? It’s not like we’ll be missing much- unless
you’re enthralled by his droning.” Sigve raised his eyebrows, a smile playing
around his lips as he shook his head, and Søren pressed on. “I’ll buy you a
drink. That’s me hoping that you’re single and
willing to listen to me for an hour or two.”
Sigve regarded him coolly with those pensive cobalt eyes,
and Søren’s heart lurched as his companion mulled over his decision. After what
felt like an age he shrugged carelessly, grabbing his coat and standing in one
“An hour or two? I’ll give you a little longer than that, if
you’re more interesting than that dolt.”
As a grinning Søren took the hand Sigve graciously offered
and let him lead him out of the assembly hall, said dolt let them leave without
argument. Søren had to admit he was disappointed at the resigned silence, in
the hopes that if he did speak out
against them, he could’ve been entertained at whatever biting response Sigve
would conjure up.
“Considering you asked me if I’m single, I’m assuming you
are too.” Sigve was the first to bring his proposition up, eyes focused on the
ice he tilted back and forth in his glass of whisky. Søren found himself
propping his chin in the palm of his hand and gazing at the man opposite him,
unable to tear his eyes away from the beauty before him. As if aware of his
stare, Sigve met his eyes with a question. “Danish?”
“And proud. Copenhagen born and bred. Christianhavn to be exact, but I’m not
fussy.” He couldn’t help his grin, and Sigve rolled his eyes.
“Of course you are. Lillehammer. Before you ask, yes, I’m a recreational
skier.” Søren closed his mouth, and Sigve snorted with mirth. “You’re predictable,
if nothing else.”
“Nothing else? You wound me, Sigve.” The Dane clutched a hand to his chest, and
Sigve’s smile grew. “You could’ve added handsome and charming to that, but you
left that to me instead. I’m insulted!”
Possibly as a response to this, Sigve signalled to the bartender for another
drink. “I’d have to be a great deal drunker to admit to that.”
“Oh, admit? So you agree that I’m handsome and charming?” That remark made
Sigve’s smile grow, even if he shook his head in wonderment at Søren’s cockiness
and downed his next drink in one.
“So, is it just you and the little guy?” His ego satiated
for now, Søren switched the subject. It was an assumption, that Sigve was at
the meeting in lieu of a parent just as he had been, but whatever question gave
him more answers to the enigma of Sigve.
The other man nodded, staring ahead as he took a drink, then
set the glass down with a sigh. “Yes. Just the two of us- our parents died a
few years ago, so I’ve pretty much raised him. Thank the gods he’s adaptable,
even if some of the kids in their class are little shits because of his
albinism.” Sigve turned to face him, a smile playing around his lips. “Peter’s
not, though. He’s been a good friend to Emil, and a good kid- just loud.”
Søren shrugged casually. “Probably from me. His heart’s in
the right place, and I guess that’s from me as well.” He grinned at the
Norwegian, fingers tracing the rim of the beer bottle. “Next one. Occupation?”
“Editor. Mostly fantasy novels, some historical ones.” Sigve
stretched, tousling his hair back from his face. “You?”
“Financial advisor. I’m paid to tell people how to spend their money. It’s a
beautiful irony, isn’t it?”
“That people would trust you to tell them what to do with their money? I’d say
so.” Søren opened his mouth to protest the injustice, but Sigve cut over him
with a smoothness he could only dream of. “Age?”
“Twenty-seven,” he answered, huffing at Sigve’s interruption and leaning back
on his stool to appraise him again. “You’re… twenty-five. Aries?”
“Close. Taurus, if you believe in all that shit.” Sigve glanced over to him,
and his mouth fell open in disbelief. “You do.
What are you, a teenage girl?”
Søren held his hands up in defence, shrugging along the way. “That’s a
stereotype. So what if I’m bored and read horoscopes? I gotta know if a
friendship will be tested, or sudden luck is coming my way in work. Plus, if my
star sign is compatible with any cute strangers I might meet.” He grinned at
him, and though Sigve shook his head in distaste at his admission, he couldn’t
quite hide his own small smile. Søren couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, and
settled his chin in his palm once more, studying Sigve as he took another
The sloping planes of Sigve’s face, from his high cheekbones
to pointed chin, had Søren enthralled: how could he be expected to ignore the
astounding looks of the man before him? It was all he could do to stop himself
from reaching out and running his fingers through Sigve’s hair, to see if those
platinum waves were as soft as they looked.
“So.” Sigve’s sudden voice jerked him from his reverie, and
he tapped his long fingers against his glass, suddenly coy. “You never answered
me when I made the assumption that you’re single.”
There was a silky quality to his words, and perhaps it was just the dim lights
of the bar that gave his eyes that mischievous glint, but Søren was transfixed
at his boldness. Matters weren’t helped when Sigve leaned forwards, their faces
only inches apart as his fingers brushed over Søren’s hand.
“It would be a shame if you weren’t,” Sigve breathed, his
breath warm and intoxicating against Søren’s cheek, “since I’m considering
asking you to spend the night with me.”
The bustling noise of the bar and its occupants were forgotten as Søren met
Sigve’s gaze, fighting the urge to swallow and let his incredulity show. The
Norwegian’s lips were poised in that now-familiar smirk and he allowed Søren to
cup his face in one large hand, leaning into his touch without breaking their
steely gaze. Søren could only sigh, and leaned in to brush his nose against
Sigve’s own, tantalisingly close to giving him what he wanted.
“Your place or mine?” he murmured, and Sigve’s face broke into a shockingly
lovely grin. His hand covered the one Søren had placed against his cheek and he
threaded their fingers together, slipping from his barstool to tug Søren out of
the bar and into the frigid night.
He kissed him first in the back of the taxi, reaching out to
thread his hands through Søren’s unruly hair and tug him down to him. Sigve’s
lips were cold and chapped but really, how could he complain in the beauty of
this moment? Søren only deepened their kiss, their tongues brushing together
amidst Sigve’s wanton moans, and fervently hoped the driver was exceeding the
They only broke their frantic kissing when they finally
reached Sigve’s home, but Søren’s lips were on his neck as the Norwegian
fumbled with his keys, hands gripping his hips and pulling him back against
him. He chuckled when Sigve lost his patience and elbowed him away, finally
slotting his key in place and twisting it. The door swung open with a creak and
Sigve turned to face him, his swollen lips a lovely shady of crimson and his
eyes hazy with lust.
“Upstairs and first door to the left,” he ordered, pulling
Søren inside and fiddling with the locks. The Dane left him to it and bounded
up the stairs, giddy with delight at what was to come as his fingers went to
work unbuttoning his shirt.
Sigve’s bedroom was nondescript in the darkness, a double
bed cutting the room in half while a dressing table loomed in the corner. He
paid little heed to them, instead throwing himself back on the bed as the
springs groaned in protest, kicking his shoes off as he went. It was only when
Sigve appeared at the door, raising his eyebrows in admiration at Søren’s bare
chest, that realisation hit the Dane.
“Hey- Emil’s not here, is he?” The whereabouts of Sigve’s brother suddenly came
to mind, only for his question to be met with a derisive snort.
“In this empty house, where I’m bringing a stranger home? Absolutely not,
idiot. He’s at my aunt’s for the night.” Sigve shook his head in wonderment at
his question but Søren shrugged off his judgement with a grin, opening his arms
out to him.
“Just checking. Didn’t want to freak him out with all the noises that’ll be
coming out of this room tonight, you know? Now come over here, will you?”
The Norwegian man rolled his eyes but paced over to him, as if he were a cat
stalking his prey. Sigve pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion as
he went, and Søren barely had time to admire the ripple of his muscles before
Sigve was straddling him, hands frantically scrabbling at his belt as he kissed
him with passion Søren had never experienced until that blinding moment.
He awoke to aching muscles and a warm weight at his side,
another body joining him in a chorus of soft breaths in this unfamiliar bed.
Søren had barely opened his eyes, running a hand over his face with a groan,
before a low voice cut through his muddled thoughts.
“Did you stay to be a gentleman, or did I just wake up
Sigve’s voice was murmur as he raised his head to face
Søren, running a hand through his hair. The soft waves of last night were
curlier now, though by no means less attractive- though Søren’s eyes were drawn
to the dark marks cascading down Sigve’s neck and collarbone, the blooming
burgundy stains a sign of his own enthusiasm at Sigve being laid bare and
inviting before him. The Norwegian’s eyes followed his, and snorted when they
reached the source of Søren’s distraction.
“You’re a passionate one, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question as much as a blunt
statement from the man now rubbing at his bruised neck, but Søren suddenly
grinned, full of gusto at the events of the previous night.
“Could you complain? Probably- no, definitely
not. Passionate, a very giving
lover, and definitely gentlemanly enough to stay and wake up with you.” Sigve
arched an eyebrow, and Søren’s smugness only grew. “Bet you’re glad you
accepted that drink. I know I am.”
The weak morning sunlight illuminated Sigve’s hair like a
halo, and his smile was a thousand times gentler than anything Søren could’ve
dreamt of. He raised a hand and pushed the Dane’s hair back from his forehead,
then slid his fingers down to cup his chin and tilt it up towards him.
“Emil won’t be back until this afternoon, so I suppose you
could stay a while longer.” Sigve paused and studied Søren’s face, expression
unreadable. He drew an abstract, distracted pattern into Søren’s cheek, before
tracing his lips with a fingertip. “If you want to, that is.”
“Hmm…” Søren stretched like a cat, the motion a temporary
reprieve to the stiffness of his back. He let the silence extend as he
pretended to deliberate, holding back a grin until the first signs of
irritation appeared on Sigve’s features and he could tease him no longer. “Go
on, then. I’ll make you breakfast, for the hospitality you showed me last
night. And if it lets me admire your gorgeous face a little longer, how can I
His cheerful remark earned him a snort, and then a kiss- first just a brush of
Sigve’s lips over his. and then a proper kiss,
their mouths moving together in perfect synchronisation. Søren tangled his
hands in Sigve’s hair and pulled him down, intent on keeping him there forever:
and if he couldn’t have that, now, in this moment, was good enough for him.
They dressed and made it downstairs, eventually. When Sigve
made a beeline for the coffee machine as soon as they reached the kitchen,
Søren couldn’t help but laugh, earning him a dirty look from the so typically Norwegian man. Still, his judgement
clearly hadn’t caused Sigve to feel any long-term resentment, as a mug was set
before him as Sigve slid into the opposite seat.
“Milk and sugar are on the sideboard, if you don’t know how
coffee should be drank,” he commented airily and, for fear of judgement, Søren
settled for the Americano Sigve had gifted him. Raising the mug to his lips, he
flashed Sigve a quick grin, who merely stared at him blankly. “How are you so
bright? It’s the morning.”
“My behaviour isn’t weird just because you’re
not a morning person,” he informed him loftily, and Sigve scowled at him. A
pleasant silence stretched out between them and Søren found himself staring out
the kitchen window, suddenly entranced by the way the weak morning light
illuminated the spider’s webs crisscrossing the panes of glass.
“Last night was fun,” he said suddenly, turning to Sigve
with another grin. Sigve stared at him, and he elaborated. “Not just, y’know,
the sex, which was pretty amazing, I gotta say. I mean just talking to you, and
hanging out, and making fun of that dumbass. I enjoyed it.”
Sigve set his coffee down, resting his chin upon his palm
and watching Søren. He wondered briefly if he’d said something wrong, or Sigve was
merely mulling over his own thoughts on the matter. Silence reigned, until Sigve
pushed his chair back with a squeal, moving around the table to perch on Søren’s
The warm weight of Sigve in his lap was a major distraction
from his cooling coffee, and he abandoned it on the table to snake his arms
around the Norwegian’s waist, pulling him close and allowing Sigve to lean down
and capture his mouth in a deep kiss once more. When they broke away for air, Søren
pulled back just enough to press his forehead to Sigve’s, closing his eyes and
feeling Sigve’s cold hands entangle themselves in his hair.
“Are you happy?” Sigve’s whispered question was abrupt, and
Søren opened his eyes to meet Sigve’s own, so close that he could see the
indigo in them. “Because I am. Don’t ask me why, or to elaborate, I just… am.”
“With me?” His voice was just as low, but he wondered if
Sigve could hear the hope and not just the surprise of his own query. If he
could, he didn’t show it; he only nodded, and Søren wondered if it was
embarrassment that made him hug Søren’s head to his chest, or if it was a way
to hide his flushed face. He was a man who seemed hard to read, or hesitant to
express his true feelings on this matter, whatever they may be.
Søren didn’t care- he only tightened his arm around Sigve’s
waist, suddenly grinning, and got a light slap against the back of his head for
“Let me breathe, idiot. I can’t with you trying to crush me.”
Søren did as he was told but instead of more complaints, Sigve delivered a
kiss, feather-light, to the bridge of his nose. The previous subject appeared
to have been dropped, but right now, nothing more needed to be said.
Their heads snapped around at the sound of the key turning
in the front door, and Sigve slid from his lap as it swung open, a child
striding in and swinging a backpack from one hand.
“Sigve, Aunt Anna said to tell you- “
Emil froze in the doorway, dropping his backpack at his feet as he stared at
the two. Evidently, he was as shocked at Søren’s presence as the Dane himself
felt- and Sigve, the pale skin of his face and chest now flushed scarlet, cut
through the tension by striding to his brother and sweeping him up into a hug.
“Why are you home so early, Little One? Did you miss me too
much?” Sigve kissed the crown of his head and Emil allowed him, allowing Sigve
to take his silence as agreement. It didn’t shift the frown from his face,
though, but Sigve appeared to ignore this. “I had to listen to your teacher
last night. You were right- he is an idiot.” The ghost of a smile played on
Emil’s lips at that remark, but vanished when his eyes focused on Søren.
“What’s up, little man?” he asked breezily, grinning at him.
Emil regarded Søren suspiciously, squinting at him and staying silently rooted
to the spot. Sigve glanced down at him, and made an irritated noise in the back
of his throat.
“Why are you not wearing your glasses? You know you can’t see without them,
Little One.” Emil glanced up at him beseechingly, but Sigve’s expression
remained stern. “Go on. Are they in your bag?”
The boy heaved a sigh, and Søren watched Sigve’s eyes narrow. Nonetheless, Emil
reluctantly reached into his backpack and pulled out said glasses, slipping
them onto his face with a disgruntled expression. Sigve nodded in satisfaction,
before turning to a sheepish Søren.
“You know Søren, don’t you, Emil? Peter’s uncle?”
“Yeah.” Tilting his head to one side, Emil’s moody
expression remained. “Why are you here?”
The bluntness of his question had Søren taken aback, and he
glanced over to meet Sigve’s neutral expression, eyes trained on him as if
daring him to say what they’d been up to. For fear of incurring his wrath and
scarring Emil for life, Søren went with an easy lie.
“Just hanging out with your brother. Complaining about Mr Kirkland, mostly.
You’re definitely onto something about him being an idiot, Emil. Tell me- are
those really his eyebrows?” Finally,
he’d cracked it- at the mention of the monstrosities Mr Kirkland passed off as
facial hair, Emil smiled.
“I dunno. They’re funny when he talks.” The boy paused and
ran his gaze over Søren’s face, settling on his own eyebrows. “Yours are kinda
big too- and why are they black, if you have blond hair?”
His innocent statement had Sigve sniggering, fingers pressed
over his mouth at Søren’s injured expression. Emil
seemed to realise the bluntness of his words and blushed a deep crimson, a
startling contrast to his snowy hair, but Søren was grinning before the child
could stammer out any attempt at an apology.
“Don’t ask me: they just
appeared like this. You never know, kid, you could wake up one morning with
eyebrows like mine.” Emil raised an eyebrow in a way scarily reminiscent of the
brother standing behind him, and Søren shrugged off his scepticism. “Maybe not.
“I hope not,” might’ve been Emil’s
mumble, but he changed the subject before either of them could question it. “Are
you making breakfast? I smell coffee.”
“And that’s not for you,” Sigve cut
in smoothly, resting a hand on his brother’s head. “Not for a few years,
anyway.” The Norwegian very pointedly ignore Søren’s incredulous look, and
instead met his brother’s gaze. “Why, would you like something?”
“Maybe. Depends what it is. I’ve already had breakfast.” His tone implied he
wouldn’t turn down another meal, and Emil turned to look at Søren. “Are you
going to stay?”
It wasn’t a question of impatience, merely curiosity, and Søren swallowed.
Sigve was staring at him with an unreadably expression and when neither of them
answered, Emil addressed to his brother.
“Sigve? Is Søren having breakfast with us?” There was a pregnant pause before Sigve
answered him, voice low and cautious.
“If you’d like him to.”
Emil nodded, suddenly
bashful, and Søren felt his heart lurch at the gesture. He swallowed again, but
found he didn’t have to work to put the smile on his face.
“I guess that settles it,”
he said lightly, and was rewarded with a tentative smile from Emil, once which
he responded to in full.
Sigve’s hand made its way
from Emil’s head to his shoulder, pressing down lightly. “Go upstairs and put
your things away, Little One. You can set the table when you come down.” Emil
obliged, scampering past Søren and out of the room. Neither of them spoke until
the child’s thundering footsteps had disappeared, presumably to his own room.
They were silent, until Søren
faced him with raised eyebrows and an unimpressed look. Sigve frowned at him,
and the Dane heaved a great sigh.
“Making him set the table?
I’d call that slave labour, making a poor kid do that.”
“Quiet, you. Why raise a
child if you don’t use them to do chores you don’t want to do?” Søren couldn’t
help his laugh, and Sigve’s face softened. “I think he likes you.”
“Can’t see why he wouldn’t. I have that effect on people. You know, I don’t
think one-night stands usually last this long- not that I’m complaining,” he
added quickly at Sigve’s arched eyebrows. “I’m not complaining, just remarking.
It’s nice, right now, hanging out with you two.”
“I suppose you’re right. I didn’t expect you to see Emil today,
but I suppose that can’t be helped.” Sigve lapsed into silence, and sighed. “So,
“What do you mean?” Søren’s eyebrows drew together
in a frown, and Sigve gave another light sigh before he spoke again.
“I mean, what happens now we’ve done this? You stay
with us for breakfast, maybe a while longer, but then…?” He made his way over
to Søren who rose from his chair, a few inches on Sigve in height. Sigve was
staring at him, awaiting an answer, quiet and solemn and questioning.
“I don’t know.” For all his confidence and cheer,
Søren found himself at a genuine loss. After a moment’s pause he let one hand
rest, as gentle as can be, against Sigve’s neck and raised his eyes to meet the
Norwegian’s questioning gaze. “I’d like to be like this. Just being around
you, enjoying each other’s company like we are now. If something happens, it
happens, but for now-” He broke off, and waited for the response.
Sigve frowned, his lips slightly parted- but, just as Søren’s
worry began to grow, he nodded approvingly with the briefest of smiles. As Søren
stroked the soft skin of his neck, Sigve moved his hand to the other’s face,
thumb stroking over the rough stubble and sharp jaw. “I like now. I can live
Imagine jacking Simon off on the way to Alexandria.
You’re always the one who drives Simon when the Saviors go out to do business. It’s just an unwritten rule, partly because he really fucking likes you, if he’s being honest with himself, and partly because things alone in a truck with you for hours can get…interesting.
To say you’re confident in your sexuality would be an understatement. It’s not that you’re promiscuous or that you put yourself out there, not that it would be shameful if you did, it’s just more like you don’t care who knows what you do with any man of your choosing. And Simon sure was happy to be your recent man of choice.
"So, doll, how far out are we do you think?“ Simon questioned, knowing the answer already but trying to strike up a conversation with you after more than a few moments of silence.
"About 15 minutes, give or take.” You answered and then cast a sly look over to a grinning Simon in the passenger seat, remembering your last mini romp with him on a trip like this.
"Why?“ You asked coyly, only halfway paying attention to the road ahead. Simon bit his lip as he slid down slightly in his chair and shrugged.
"I don’t know, it’s getting pretty boring in here, I thought maybe we could make it less boring."
You looked over at him again and he was giving you the most straightforward bedroom eyes you’d seen. You laughed lightly whilst a tentative heat revved up within you.
"You did?” You said playfully to which Simon once again smiled.
“I did.” He confirmed and you cocked a mischievous eyebrow, meting his eyes and holding them while you spoke.
“Alright, then whip your dick out."
Simon’s grin grew impossibly wide when he heard that. He loved your blunt nature and how you were never shy about anything, it was one of the many reasons why he favored you above any other Savior.
Simon obliged your demand quickly and you heard the clinking of his belt coming undone, followed by the quick rake of his zipper going down it’s track. When you glanced back over at him, he was already stroking his cock slowly, his arm muscles flexing with the movement. Calling Simon anything less than well endowed would be akin to a crime. He was a well proportioned man in both height and stature, and his cock was no different.
Eying him eagerly, you gnawed at your lip and moved a hand to take the place of Simon’s.
Wrapping your hand around his girthy shaft, you took up a slow pace at first, keeping your eyes on the road. You relished in the feeling of warmth radiating from him and took time to feel every vein and curve of his dick until he came as close to begging you as he ever had.
"Y/N, come on now. Stop playin’ around.” He gritted through his teeth much to your pleasure. You loved having this much control over such a powerful man. You didn’t deny him though, and picked up your pace until your hand on his throbbing length was nearly a blur.
"Goddamn!“ Simon swore, giving the arm rests of the passenger seat an iron grip.
"You’re gonna make me fucking come already, sweetheart."
You tore your eyes away from the road again only giving it a few passing glances as you watched Simon come undone. He moaned and cursed a few more times until, with a choked growl and a twitch of his hips, he came into your slowing hand. You stroked him a few more times, milking his orgasm until he sighed and you released him. When he was composed enough, Simon swiped up a rag from the floorboard and wiped himself off with it before handing it to you.
You cleaned off your hand just as you came to your last turn and started down the back road to Alexandria. Neither of you said anything for a good minute and the silence of the truck cab was punctuated only by Simon’s gradually steadying breathing. When the walls of Alexandria came into view, you heard the clank of Simon buckling his belt back into place.
"Time to do business, doll.” He said when you got parked and then looked over to you, his eyes grateful and surprisingly soft..
“On the way back, I’m driving. It’s your turn for a change."
With that, Simon hopped out of the truck and you watched as he adjusted his pants while walking. You followed him not long after, catching up and ignoring the knowing glances of your fellow Saviors. In fact, you ignored almost everything for the duration of the meeting and spent your entire time at Alexandria anticipating the events to come on the ride back home.