075: famous
title: famous
fandom: weiss kreuz
characters/pairing: schuldig/aya
word count: 359
notes: done to slash_me_twice's table found here, prompt 075: famous.
I blame that picture of Aya naked in a bed. An exercise in description, mostly.
Aya’s a movie star.
The light is positioned so perfectly across his naked body that it seems contrived. It’s at his back, filtering in through the window and illuminating the edges of his figure. Aya sleeps on his right side, the left shoulder hunched down with the arm next to his face. The other arm is tucked underneath him, the hands resting near each other, the long fingers curled. His flat chest is pressed together, the two ridges of his collarbone jutting out while the hollow of his throat is deepened.
The muscle in his neck stands out, his cheek lying on his shoulder. The earring falls across the other cheek, a kiss of gold against white, the same way his eyelashes grace his skin. Aya’s red hair is bunched against the pillow, strands from the ear tail swaying from his breath and some sticking near his mouth.
His waist tapers like a woman’s, the ribs gently expanding with each intake of air. Each hipbone is a small bump that pokes out, the stomach spanning between them. A thin sheet covers the rest of that pale body, wrinkled underneath and spilling across his legs.
Aya wasn’t born. Aya was crafted, molded by an artist’s hands, each piece painstakingly blended together into perfection. Each curve was lovingly laid out, each muscle carefully corded together. Aya was made for display, for people to admire and gaze upon, no matter what scowl or frown he puts up.
Schuldig sits backwards in a chair, arms folded on the top. Light streaks in from the window, dust dances in the air, and everything’s so god damned beautiful and perfect that it has to be from a movie.
“Schu?”
Aya’s sleepy voice brings Schuldig’s attention to his face. Aya’s pupils are small, the violets dazed and tired and framed by black lashes.
Schuldig reaches forward and tucks the red ear tail away. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep, kitten.”
Aya allows a small, soft smile to show before his eyes drift close.
He’s like a movie star, and Schuldig wonders how the hell he himself ever managed to land a lead role.
fandom: weiss kreuz
characters/pairing: schuldig/aya
word count: 359
notes: done to slash_me_twice's table found here, prompt 075: famous.
I blame that picture of Aya naked in a bed. An exercise in description, mostly.
Aya’s a movie star.
The light is positioned so perfectly across his naked body that it seems contrived. It’s at his back, filtering in through the window and illuminating the edges of his figure. Aya sleeps on his right side, the left shoulder hunched down with the arm next to his face. The other arm is tucked underneath him, the hands resting near each other, the long fingers curled. His flat chest is pressed together, the two ridges of his collarbone jutting out while the hollow of his throat is deepened.
The muscle in his neck stands out, his cheek lying on his shoulder. The earring falls across the other cheek, a kiss of gold against white, the same way his eyelashes grace his skin. Aya’s red hair is bunched against the pillow, strands from the ear tail swaying from his breath and some sticking near his mouth.
His waist tapers like a woman’s, the ribs gently expanding with each intake of air. Each hipbone is a small bump that pokes out, the stomach spanning between them. A thin sheet covers the rest of that pale body, wrinkled underneath and spilling across his legs.
Aya wasn’t born. Aya was crafted, molded by an artist’s hands, each piece painstakingly blended together into perfection. Each curve was lovingly laid out, each muscle carefully corded together. Aya was made for display, for people to admire and gaze upon, no matter what scowl or frown he puts up.
Schuldig sits backwards in a chair, arms folded on the top. Light streaks in from the window, dust dances in the air, and everything’s so god damned beautiful and perfect that it has to be from a movie.
“Schu?”
Aya’s sleepy voice brings Schuldig’s attention to his face. Aya’s pupils are small, the violets dazed and tired and framed by black lashes.
Schuldig reaches forward and tucks the red ear tail away. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep, kitten.”
Aya allows a small, soft smile to show before his eyes drift close.
He’s like a movie star, and Schuldig wonders how the hell he himself ever managed to land a lead role.