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Fingertips on his body bring bumps to the surface. Hardly anything to get excited about, practically medicinal. Yet, his body shivers and his lungs push a jet stream of air out of his nostrils.There’s a tut and wetness runs across his abdomen, a quick lick of paint followed by the cool steel of a palette knife.“Not the right shade,” Shouta says, eyes fixating on the spot, fingers smearing an imperfect blend. “Too much yellow. You’re true porcelain.”Katsuki swallows, eyes following the stuttered gait across the floor, how he mixes the paint with a careful sort of tortuous precision, like he’s doing it just to punish Katsuki.That’s not necessarily the case, this is not Shouta Aizawa, his boyfriend, this is Shouta Aizawa, the artist.“You mixed a perfect shade last week,” Katsuki says, knowing in part that there’s no reaching him when he’s like this.Shouta shakes his head, hair flowing over his shoulders. “Too green.”Katsuki swallows through the dryness in his throat—he hasn’t had water in a while. In fact, he hasn’t had much of anything besides the focused stare of Shouta all evening.“You haven’t given me water.” Katsuki moves against the restraints caught around his wrists, which are tied high and tight to bolts on the ceiling. “And my wrists are starting to ache.”“I’m almost done,” Shouta says, distantly, like he’s more bug in his ear than lover. He even waves his hand at him.Snorting, Katsuki drops his head between his shoulders, letting his neck rest. The idea of being Shouta’s model was nice at first. Hours cooped up in the warehouse together, getting to watch Shouta work in his stained coveralls and messy hair, seeing his art come to life in real time.Great idea.The execution of that idea? Not so great.Hanging from the ceiling clothed only in the ropes Shouta tied around his body isn’t exactly how he thought he might be spending his evenings.“Why did this collection have to be rigging? What is so great about tying me up like this?” Katsuki complains, as if he hadn’t been bubbling with excitement at all of Shouta’s attention on him.“You, specifically, look amazing in ropes. Your body likes them, can’t you see it?” Shouta says as he makes his way across the room again. This time, his fingers trace the ropes pressing into his arms. “Look at the way they color your skin. These pinks and reds hardly occur in nature.”Directed by the touch on his arms, he looks, but the only thing he can see is his own skin glistening in cold sweat. “I don’t think I see what you see.”“You will,” Shouta says, fingering underneath the rope, slowly, the first loving touch Katsuki’s received all night. “On the canvas, you will see it. I can’t teach you to look with an artist’s eye.”“You’ve taught me a lot of other things.” To love. To kiss. To fuck.Those glazed over eyes focus in on his, and Katsuki takes a moment to appreciate how he’s managed to get paint on everything, including his face. Splattered across his cheekbones in white and blue, he looks like a galaxy come to life.“I suppose I can try, but…” Shouta shakes his head, digging around in his pockets. “The first step is not to see with your eyes…” he trails off as he produces a paint-splattered linen cloth.“See without seeing?” Katsuki asks, incredulous. He’s super into the whole tortured artist thing, but some things…“Yes, precisely,” Shouta answers.Katsuki gets one last look at Shouta before darkness overtakes his vision. Oddly, he looks sober, glass clearing from his irises just enough that Katsuki swears he sees a glint in the charcoal.“Your issue,” Shouta starts, closing in on Katsuki’s ear, “is you take things too literally. You focus on the present condition instead of the potential.”“And you focus too much on chasing after clouds,” Katsuki snarks.“God forbid you ever look up to enjoy them,” Shouta snipes back.“No time, too busy chasing after you so you don’t d—” Katsuki cuts off with a startled gasp as the full breadth of those artistic fingers press up against his clit. Warm and soft, they barely move a tick, but it’s enough for Katsuki to cut each one of his words into small pieces and eat them like the dinner he never had.“You feel the potential of the movement here?” Shouta asks, pressing in harder, barely pleasurable, hardly anything approaching the way he instantly wants. “They could stay in one place or they could move. And what happens when they move, do you know?”There’s a wrapped up kind of arrogance in the words, like he might’ve said it with his nose held in the air. Except a bit of arrogance is deserved, Shouta has the talent to back it up.Still, Katsuki’s not gonna let him have anything for free, so he carefully regurgitates his attitude, irons out the spit-soaked kinks. “What’s you being a pervert have to do with being able to ‘see without seeing’?”“Maybe you’d find out if you stopped focusing on the literal interpretation,” Shouta says, keeping his fingers there as Katsuki’s clit sparks to life, suddenly interested in something that was entirely unsexy five minutes ago.“When you touch me there, Shouta, I usually cum. Is that what you wanted, perv?”“No, describe to me what happens to your body when they move. What do you experience, not just the end.”Katsuki groans as his fingers start a slow motion in tight little circles. Pleasure is instantaneous, just like any other time Shouta has touched him. And Katsuki doesn’t know how to tell Shouta that the moment he starts touching him anywhere his brain short circuits and the only thing he can focus on is the end.“Feels like… like I don’t know. It feels like sparks,” he breathes out, wriggling as best as he can against the tight restraints.“Do better,” Shouta says evenly. His fingers continue to dance in a tight waltz and Katsuki continues to flounder for words he most definitely does not have.“Like getting into hot water. First there’s a—uh, a, y’know rush, feels like pins and needles to your toes and then it settles,” he gets out, minimally embarrassed by his own lack of eloquence. He’s not the self-conscious type, but stuttering in the middle of an explanation to someone who can put poems into paint makes him want to melt.“Good, that’s good,” Shouta comments, half-enthused. He increases everything two-fold, matching the verbal praise with an added layer of pressure, with quicker, looping circles. Like wide infinities.“And then,” Katsuki continues, breathing so hard now that the ropes press his skin on every exhale. “Then it’s, well, you get used to it, but it’s a steady build, the sparks are less spaced out, and it’s more one c-continuous note of fire.”As he recounts the feeling, he experiences it. The sparks fade from his toes, directing themselves into an even mass at his core. He pulsates, and he knows Shouta feels it, can tell that the slight subsequent uptick in speed is because he’s just felt Katsuki’s clit throb.Shouta clears his throat, apparently doubling down on the lesson. “Maybe you can be taught.”“You already know I can,” Katsuki says. “Like I said, you taught me a lot of things. You were the first person who made me feel the sparks.”“Don’t get romantic on me,” Aizawa says, and it sounds pained, like Katsuki’s made things hard.Katsuki keeps the smirk out of his voice as best as he can. He knows exactly what’s hard and he also knows that trying to get Shouta to be bodily selfish when he’s been in his mind is a chore and a half. He can picture what his eyes must look like—warring between the pleasure he wants to feel and the desire to replicate that pleasure on a canvas.“Right, that’s your job,” Katsuki answers, managing a pathetic grind of his hips. “Tying up your young lover in a warehouse and painting him for hours on end.”“If that’s what you find romantic, it sounds like I’ve succeeded,” Shouta murmurs.His fingers stop their pursuit to slip back, straight into the silky wetness dripping from Katsuki’s hole. Shouta startles, like he didn’t expect to feel Katsuki’s arousal against his skin, as if he hadn’t just played with his clit to make a point.“Maybe not romantic…” he corrects himself.A laugh, drawn from Katsuki’s belly, echoes throughout the warehouse. “It’s romantic enough. I like watching you work, seeing your focus.”His vision is black, but Katsuki can almost see the moment matter breaks the tight hold of Shouta’s mind. The snap is nearly audible, even if the way Shouta moves isn’t.Katsuki doesn’t hear him until Shouta’s got his mouth wrapped around his nipple, and then it’s only in a muffled hum, only felt in vibrations across his chest. It takes everything in him not to struggle against the ropes, not to tug his skin red and burnt.Then Shouta goes and presses those fingers inside, two at a time, as if he knew Katsuki would be open, and the ropes create a hissing burn from how hard he contorts.But this isn’t a battle that Katsuki wants to lose, and he makes no other concessions as he forces his knee up and over Shouta’s hip, urging those fingers a half-inch further.“I need to work on my tying if you’re able to move that leg,” Shouta says against his skin.“Don’t quit your day job,” Katsuki pants as Shouta traverses his wetness, mouthing, but not marking, every inch of him he can reach between the ropes.“Couldn’t, then I wouldn’t get to see you like this,” Shouta agrees. His voice is full of the kind of raw desire and attention that Katsuki’s been after all night, and the fact that he can’t see it on his face makes him burn where he hangs.“Let me see you.”He feels Shouta’s hair brush against his skin, feels the way his fingers start to split in two inside him, targeting every inch of his insides. He’s shaking his head and Katsuki hates that. He wants to dig his hands into his hair to still the motion, to make him nod.“Untie my hands.”Another shake.Katsuki groans.Forgets why he’s upset when those fingers find the spot inside him that makes his spine bow, makes Shouta have to wrap an arm around his waist to steady him when his toes curl off the ground.“You’re so beautiful,” Shouta says hoarsely, digging his lips into Katsuki’s neck, laving his tongue across his skin in a quiet kind of worship that makes Katsuki ache.“Fuck me.” He clenches around Shouta’s fingers, makes him feel every sopping inch of what he’s missing, writes him a damn love letter from his pussy. “C’mon, I think I can learn this artistic mumbo-jumbo with your cock in me.”“Maybe you should be the sensei.”Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut under the blindfold, tight enough that the soreness of them quells the irritation blooming in his gut alongside the pleasure.“Shouta.”“Katsuki,” he answers, fingers now pumping a steady rhythm that threatens to distract Katsuki from what he wants.“Please.” He tightens everything he can reach around Shouta, his ankle around his hip, his pussy around his fingers, his searching mouth against his cheek.It’s a desperate, embarrassing attempt that pays off in a quiet groan, removal of his fingers and the delicious sound of coveralls being shuffled open and boxers being shoved down.Katsuki’s mouth waters, his body shivers, and he throbs for it. For the sight of that thick, heavy length that he just knows has been leaking pre-cum throughout the entirety of their evening.Shouta calls it an artist’s boner, but it’s bullshit and he knows it. It’s for Katsuki, it belongs inside Katsuki. Exasperation creeps up like a knife and stabs him right in the gut, twists it. Katsuki sheds this pretty poet skin who entertains artistic ramblings, exposing his bitchy, needy core.“Inside. Fucking put it inside already. You make me stare at it all day and then don’t fucking use it? I’m supposed to believe it’s just there for decoration?”“Well,” Shouta says, caressing Katsuki’s thighs open around his hips, splitting him down the middle so his dick can kiss him where he’s quivering. “That would go against the lesson. Nothing is just for decoration. Everything has a purpose in the end.”Before Katsuki can even groom a complaint to full efficacy, Shouta’s already surged inside. Immediately, his body blooms in reverse, something like wilting but he’s not dead, he’s strung alive. Despite being pulled taut, he flows around Shouta, gets him wet, takes his tongue and carts it along his stubbly, paint-splattered jawline.“That’s it, that’s what I wanted. You’ve got it now, don’t you?” Shouta gasps out, starting up a rhythm that has breath punching out of Katsuki’s gut, dislodging that knife of exasperation quicker than before.It’s deep like this, and Katsuki whimpers from it, bites and nips so Shouta knows not to stop, to keep going. “It’s f-fucking, you’re so deep. It’s not sparks, it’s stars.”“Cheesy. You feel like a supernova, Katsuki?” Shouta teases lightly, nosing into his jugular, finally, finally marking him in a slow suck. “Cheap poetry to describe it like that.”With Shouta carrying his weight, he’s able to grasp onto the ropes in a twisted hand, giving himself more leverage to get Shouta’s mouth where he wants it.The kiss they share is nasty, all teeth and tongues and disharmonious clacking. But it doesn’t stop either of them, nor Katsuki from figuring out that his control of the ropes allows him to sorta kinda fuck himself on Shouta’s cock, in a smooth rhythm with him.He meets him inch by inch while they kiss, moaning and gasping with every flick of his tongue against his own.“More like a fire,” Shouta notes against his lips. “It’s the feeling of a fire eating you whole from the inside, isn’t it?”Katsuki can’t help the laugh. “Now who’s writing cheap poetry?”“Can’t write sonnets about you, that’s why I paint,” Shouta groans.“Right now, I’m fucking glad you do,” Katsuki says, bouncing down as Shouta increases the pace, holds down his hips and uses the tension from the ropes to move Katsuki up and down, completely stealing all his agency.He eats his words again. They go down sour but he can’t complain about the meal because Shouta feels so fucking good inside him. Too good. Like he shouldn’t be allowed to be a genius and someone who’s good at sex.“Historically, those two things always go together,” Shouta comments against Katsuki’s jaw. “Babbling already?”Katsuki didn’t realize he was. “Fuck—I want to see you.”“Not yet. The masterpiece isn’t done, hm?”And it isn’t. He’s on the cusp of it. He’s about to scream bloody murder from the way Shouta’s cock is annihilating the spot inside him.“Kiss me.”Shouta does, less nasty, a more firm reminder of how much he’s there to worship Katsuki, to treat him like the god-given muse he swears he is.Shouta’s palm splays against the back of his heated neck, fingers carefully untying the blindfold, and Shouta pulls back just as Katsuki blinks the blur out of his eyes.“There he is, my pretty boy,” Shouta croaks.The look on his face is completely unmasked with awe and Katsuki folds under the unyielding devotion of it. He comes with a loud shout thrown back over his shoulder, clenching around Shouta’s cock tight enough to hurt.“That’s it, my perfect Katsuki,” Shouta murmurs, peppering his face with kisses. “You’re so angelic when you cum, love.”“Hah—you just love me,” Katsuki pants, riding wave after wave, clinging to what he can. “No one else would say that about me.”“Galleries full of people have said that about you.”Katsuki shakes his head and looks back to bask in the adoration in Shouta’s eyes and smiles. “They think that because what you paint is how you see me. Nothing more.”Humming in thought, Shouta gives Katsuki another kiss, this time on the corner of his mouth. “I believe you have more to learn, then.”Shouta slips out of him and Katsuki feels the creeping cold loneliness of the warehouse the moment he does.“You didn’t cum,” he protests, flexing against the ropes. If he was aching before, his muscles are screaming now. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning on painting some more.”Pursing his lips, Shouta’s hands slide up Katsuki’s body to where his hands are still tied. “Don’t worry, for now I’m done painting…” he trails off, undoing the rope so Katsuki’s hands are finally free. “...canvases, at least. I’d like to try a different medium.”Katsuki shakes his head and settles his hands on Shouta’s bare shoulders. “Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t involve rope.”Shouta smiles. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”