The Meaning of Art
Title: The Meaning of Art
Theme: Fourth Period: Art_Oil (4e), usako_mamoru, 2010 anniversary challenge
Genre: Fluff
Rating: PG13
Zared frowned, snapping his cell phone shut after listening to the voicemail message for the third time. He looked at the other three in the room.
“Mamoru’s not coming.”
Jiro rolled his eyes. “What his reason this time?”
Zared spoke with delicacy and confusion. “I think he said he has to wash Usagi’s hair.”
~
When Mamoru had come home earlier that day, he’d found Usagi in their extra room painting. This meant a lot of things.
For one, it meant turning up the volume on the radio, which was currently blasting California Gurls. Shameful recognition was tempered by Mamoru’s pride in knowing how to correctly spell “girls.”
Secondly, Usagi painting meant painting clothes, which consisted merely of a black sports bra and a pair of blue cotton shorts with a white drawstring bowed below her belly button.
Thirdly, almost the entire floor was covered by old bed sheets, some of which were white and some of which had been washed so often that their stripes and patterns had faded. Usagi concentrated on the easel before her, which was glaringly bare despite a light sketching. It contrasted sharply with the floor coverings and Usagi’s clothes, which were speckled by smudges and drops of paint in every color and size.
Finally, it meant that Mamoru was turned on. There was something about Usagi standing barely clothed and concentrating very hard on something while preparing to get possibly dirty that just did it for Mamoru. The way she stared thoughtfully at the canvas; the way she rocked from her heels to her bare and nail polish-chipped toes; the way she constantly wiped wispy light strands away from her face with her forearm, the rest of her hair having been plaited into one long, messy braid; the way she shifted her hips from side to side to get a better angle while brushes and pencils stuck out from her mouth and fingers.
And even though he wasn’t allowed to touch her when she had her paints out - which she did, he could see the tubes laid out on the floor, cast messily about her feet and therefore ready to be used - he couldn’t resist wandering in there and willfully being a bad influence by distracting her from her homework.
~
Half an hour later, Usagi sat by the tub. Her hair cascaded into the white porcelain, spreading out into a jungle that slowly crept out and ended in tangles.
Mamoru knelt next to her, slowly working his fingers into some of the strands.
Usagi picked up the bottle of vegetable oil and dabbed some into her own hands, finding another area of her hair that necessitated attention.
“You owe me a tube of French Ultra-aquamarine,” she grumbled at him.
Mamoru grinned acquiescingly.
The floor covers had needed a few more smudges of blue anyway.
---
Notes: I’m not an artist, but apparently oil makes it easier to wash off certain paints…?