#j2trash

They’d exchanged a lot of emails, some photos from Sam’s end. This was strictly a business thing, one of them a painter with a commission at hand and the other a professional model, paid to be a part of the order. Gadreel had chosen him for the vulnerability he’d showed in his pictures despite his notable height, the visible strength of his body and the masculine shape of his face. He was perfect for the job and that was all he’d thought of it. He’d done this work longer than he’d been a free man, or as free as someone who was never secure in his footings with a dark past lurking behind the corner could ever be, and he’d seen a hundreds of models in that time, tens with the body type of the man now following him to the studio where everything was set for the work to begin. Most of them he painted from life, he preferred that greatly to photographs, but some people were too far or simply not comfortable with standing hours on end in some strange pose required of them for the painting to work. It wasn’t that he was unaccustomed to human beauty alive in front of him; he appreciated it, he devoted himself to it even though his approach to it would have convinced many otherwise. But Sam - something about him felt different, different in a way that felt as if earth itself was rocking every time their arms brushed together in the corridor. 

I’ll be lucky if I won’t forget to breathe altogether when he’s seated and I’m surrounded by the paint fumes with every rare inhale I can force myself to draw.

Like watching him was forbidden, something Gadreel could only steal from Sam - like his body wasn’t for viewing, even though that was strictly and explicitly what he’d been paid for in advance.

“You had some props for me?”

Sam’s voice was casual, his eyes avoiding Gadreel’s but no longer in a way that spoke of unease. He seemed relaxed now, ready to do his work, and it was the artist who was hesitating, caught up in some strange illusion left behind from the odd introduction.

“Yes.”

A quick, light flicker of green towards Gadreel’s direction made the artist smile even though he had no idea what the incoming joke would be yet. Sam’s smile was contagious to say at least, far more genuine than some he’d met over the course of his work, although it would have been unfair to claim that his models were not often the most pleasant individuals to deal with. They often parted friends, and some would stay a long while - some of his oldest friends were models from his work.

“Are you sure I won’t end up looking like Jesus? I mean... the thorns kinda worry me, if I’m honest.”

“Worry you because they might draw blood, or because you don’t want to look like Jesus?”

“The latter. I didn’t even think of the former. I don’t think that’s something I need to worry about.”

Gadreel’s smile toned down. He shook his head.“No. I can promise you the crown will not make you look like Jesus.”