He's aware, at a distance, of physical arousal, like an old ache - a seemingly constant companion, always at his side, his cock throbbing, already fully hard, in his pants. But his body's physical reactions are muted somehow, despite their urgency, in comparison to the way every iota of his mind is devoted to the aesthetic of Alecto Crabtree's body, the lines and curves and planes that comprise it. His charcoals are almost nonsensical at first, his fingertips coated completely black as he sketches and rubs at the page, the image slowly coming together - the delicate drape of shadows over each limb, the details sharp but seeming inconsistent until one realized that what the charcoal depicted was everywhere Alecto wasn't, as though covering up the pale whiteness to make the picture emerge. Joshua adds the intricate tracery of shadow, of depth, to Alecto's body with worshipful touches, charcoal flaking gently off his hand as he follows the tracery of the exact opposite path of the light falling over him, all those intimate, hidden places, now revealed by his nakedness and display.

His fingers freeze, between the depiction of Alecto's spread legs, after caressing the darkness behind his knees, the alternating play of shadow along his inner thighs, and then his pitch black thumb brushes along what would be the furl of his hole, between the impossibly tantalizing curves of his ass, just as Alecto works his own two fingers in.