He can't help but quirk a smile, the scar on his lips lifting unevenly. "I see," he says, as if deep in thought with just himself, before moving to settle onto the chaise, leaning back against the finely patterned blanket draped haphazardly across the cushion.

And then his hands begin to wander like shadows upon the walls at dusk. His fingertips dance lazily down his stomach, tracing the dip of his hipbones before moving further to circle the base of his cock. His eyes are locked upon his painter's face, curious about his reaction.