Welcome to My Sexy Saturday. For this hop, authors post 7 paragraphs, or 7 sentences, or 7 words. This can be from a WIP or something published. This week I’m posting an snippet from my M/M WIP Victory Portrait.
In this snippet, victorious general Darius Arrento is sitting for a state portrait. As the artist works, Arrento becomes enamored with Peta, the artist’s slave.
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Brazzi resumed sketching quickly, like a fencer seeking hits, his charcoal stick skating across the canvas. Arrento contented himself with looking at Peta, the way the morning sunlight created highlights and shadows from the youth’s body as though he were an artwork himself. Any artist would have been pleased with such a creation: the torso just broad enough through the shoulders, balanced by strong arms with toned muscles betraying some use of weapons. The arms of farmers and laborers differed from those of soldiers. The youth’s legs, however, those glorious thighs and tight half-moon ass revealed him to be a rider. Cavalry, perhaps. He might also be some wellborn youth for whom riding and using blades were activities of leisure. Arrento’s lip twitched at the thought.
He noticed the youth had ceased stroking his cock. “Don’t stop, boy, continue. I like watching you work.”
Peta swallowed and his jaw firmed, but he resumed. Arrento watched intently the way two fingertips caught drops of pre-come and curled over the smooth cut tip, then back along the shaft, adding slickness as the hand slid back toward the golden nest of curls dusting the full, tight balls. He shifted his position slightly to accommodate the burgeoning size of his own neglected cock.
Angling out from behind the canvas, Brazzi picked up a brush and reached with it toward Peta’s cock. The flat bristles flicked over the slit, picking up drops of pre-come which he immediately carried to a spot of brownish pigment on the palette. Arrento’s breathing quickened as Brazzi performed this collection again… and again, the bristles lightly touching the rosy skin surrounding the welling slit. Peta groaned, his hand working faster.
“Cease stroking,” the artist murmured. It was apparent the youth needed no further stimulation. Droplets flowed freely at every touch of Brazzi's brush. Like a spigot, Arrento thought, appreciating the image.
“May I?” he asked, indicating the tableau. He wanted to touch that hard cock, discover its texture and hardness, fill his hand with its heat.
“Not now. Stay put. The light is perfect for capturing your coloring.”