portolan | Open Post

The late afternoon sun tints the room a rosy gold, reflecting off the copper of the buildings to cast everything in an ethereal glow. One of the few things Balthier always missed about Archades. So many afternoons spent as a child with his mother, making art in that magical hour of perfect light.

Today, David sits out on the balcony reading, the fall air playful and lovely. Balthier has a perch in a chair, tilted out so he can see David. In his lap is a small notebook he often keeps with him but has never actually let David see; by now it's filled with small sketches of the man he loves, stolen when the other is busy.

Maybe it's how long they've been together now, maybe it's the disarming pleasantry of good light and weather from a bright spot in his youth, maybe it's the way steeling away to an apartment like this makes it easy to feel like everything else can be put aside for awhile -- whatever the reason, Balthier is more relaxed, and so when he stands to go pour himself fresh tea and pull an offering of snacks for David, he leaves the notebook open on the table beside him.

The book is a good one, a wonderful one actually. Not a history or a play, but something purely fanciful. Which is educational in its own way, but mostly it makes him think of the peace and freedom he has found. And he cool air almost feels a bit more like home, so sitting and reading is nice.

Balthier's arrival on the balcony is almost expected, and both the man and the light repast are met with a soft smile. And the notebook with curiosity.

"Am I being afforded another measure of trust today?"

"Seemed like it might be time," he says, kissing David's head before settling in the chair beside him, sipping at his tea and looking out. A stunning view, high enough up to see the airships and the plants tumbling from balconies and up the sides of buildings.

When he was a boy, he dreamed of having this -- someone he loved, quiet leisure time spent together, a life full of adventure. He'd tucked that dream away, slowly, until he'd forgotten it. Looking back at David, he'll give a soft smile of his own. Peace and freedom indeed.

The notebook is sweet, intimate. There are dozens of drawings, the earlier ones a little rougher, not quite always getting his likeness, but get more consistent with time, preoccupied with the way he tilts his head or the way he curls up in a chair, some trying to capture those beautiful looks he gives Balthier without him realizing he's being drawn. It's abundantly apparent Balthier has spent a lot of time looking.

"I knew you drew," he said, turning his gaze to the paper but not opening it past the page it was on now, "I just didn't realize I was considered a worthy subject."

"I wasn't ever cut out to be a professional artist," Balthier muses. "Terrible habit of only drawing things I like." He hasn't drawn many people in his life; Fran, yes, some childhood friends, his mother, a few actors he liked. David has been an endless source of joy in more ways than one. "Worthiness was never a question."

"Don't throw around 'professional' around me. It's not about that. It's about what makes you happy. If doing this makes you happy, then you're cut out for it."

Worthiness is absolutely the question.

Balthier chuckles. He hadn't actually meant to get David started that time. "I promise you my self-worth is not on the line. I enjoy drawing, and if you enjoy them, then I'm elated. You can page through, you know. I'm giving you access to this secret." And no one else. He likes the privacy of sketchbooks and images. Likes making something for the joy of it. Likes the way it keeps records.

The permission has the notebook in his hands moments later so he can start looking through them.

"Seems I'm a common subject."

Balthier laughs. "David, you are infuriating. This is positively the least interesting reaction to seeing drawings of yourself that I could have imagined." But he's smiling warmly.

Well, fine, let him give the genuine one of looking up with a smile.

"No one has ever drawn me, to my knowledge. Thank you."

Balthier's grin widens, because he'd suspected that David would be pleased, but it was still different to see his reaction, the way he's studying the pages with that discerning eye of his.

"You know, I drew the first few before we were technically together. I was worried it would be too much, if you knew, and then I got in the habit of keeping them private. Now it seems like a silly secret to have kept."

All he could do was look this over, a bit in awe that he might be worth drawing. That he might be cared for enough to be studied like this.

"Which one was that? The first one?"

David, love, of course he is worth drawing and caring for. And maybe Balthier is a little sentimental, and a little nervous, and wanted a keepsake and a memory for when David was away from him, for when he inevitably left. Though he's less concerned about the latter now.

"They're generally in chronological order, yes." He chuckles, pleased. "I'm glad you like them. I was afraid you might find it clingy, though I admit I'm rather proud of myself for you not realizing. Normally you can see right through me."

And there's a question hanging in his throat now. He takes a sip of tea. He'll let David look a little longer, doesn't want to rush this moment with another. Because sharing a sketchbook is high on Balthier's list of intimate gestures, and he's savoring being seen and delighted in as well.

"I find it charming. That someone thinks me important enough to put on paper," David answered, letting a bit more awe linger in his voice. He flips back and he goes until there's no pictures of him and then flips back. There he is.

"I don't want to see through you. I want to see you. And here you are, seeing me."

"Are you fishing for me to remind you out loud, or are you being thick today?" Balthier asks affectionately. He sets down his tea and comes to hover behind David, wrapping his arms loosely around the man's shoulders and settling their heads together. "I think you're important enough to be stupidly heroic for, and the make poor decisions for, and to put down on paper so I'll always have you with me."

He kisses David's hair. "You only see through the parts that aren't pretense. That is seeing me." And he loves David for it.

"I might be fishing," he admits with a soft smile and sets the pad aside to better allow for the embrace.

"You'll always have me with you, beloved. I swear it. And I like looking at you as you are."

Balthier likes that David enjoys so much attention, likes things said directly and repeatedly. It's helped him so much in being open, in getting back in touch with the pieces of him that like to be that way.

And he loves that way that, after all this time, David still melts happily into his touch. Scions does that make Balthier feel important.

"So you know what I'm going to ask you now, don't you?"

"No, I don't," David answers, looking at him before returning his attention to the little morsels he could nibble on.

"I want to draw you without having to hide what I'm doing," he chuckles. "If you're comfortable, of course. It will involve a lot of staring. I can offer back that I shall be terrible self-conscious when it's not going the way I want."

Oh! David smiles. Of course he's going to have to allow this.

"Where do you want me? And how?"

Balthier laughs. He hadn't anticipated David being ready now but he's not complaining. He loves when David's enthusiasm grips him like this.

"Somewhere you're comfortable. You could go back to reading or just talk with me. I could put you in a pretty chair or on the sofa or the bed." He's still behind David so the other doesn't see his smirk, but he probably hears it. "Or you could let me do some proper figure study, document you in various states of undress. It's up to you, love. Model has to be comfortable."

"You know that I'm comfortable with being bare before you. Please, just tell me what you want."

And he wants it, so much. To see what the man draws him like.

He didn't want to be pushy, not if David wasn't in the mood for something like that, but he's thrilled that David is, hears the wanting in his response. Well, maybe he doesn't regret waiting this long to tip his hand.

So Balthier tilts his face down close to David's ear, lowering his voice. "I want you naked on the couch pinned under my gaze, and I want to spend the hours it takes to make a good image inspecting every inch of you. And then when I'm done looking for the day, I'll come check the accuracy of my rendition against the feel of you in my hands."

Oh jesus. David shivers, trying not to make a soft noise of wanting. Damn.

"You're getting back at me for that whole four hour worship sessions, aren't you?"

Getting David to make noises was half the fun; he was so good at restraining himself. Balthier feels that shiver though, and his body answers with a pang of warmth. Well.

"Getting back at you implies some level of complaint and I assure you, there were none." He'd like to be very clear on that, thank you. That day had been incredible and he'd been entirely wasted for two days after. And maybe, privately, he'd teared up at how utterly loved he felt.

"Returning the favor while attempting to dishevel you, well, what can I say. You fell in love with a menace." He disentangles from David only so they can move inside.

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