A/N: Hey everybody! Another Kairi/Naminé to help our number and feed the starving femslashers out there. Kingdom Hearts is a cold place for us ladies, a very cold place. If any of you crazy kids want to try the "activity" mentioned in the below fic I have some tips for you. The amount of paint you use is very importaint. Just a thin thin thin layer works best. Try to avoid movement because it will create wrinkles and cracks. The paint tastes really bad but in most cases it's non-toxic. Cheaper brands work the best, because more expensive ones are more watery and tend to run, I prefer Liquitex Basics Acrylic Color because it smells like bubblegum. And yes ladies I did try it. For research I swear. I wanted acuracy. And I was bored.
Disclaimer: I don't own chars.
~Acrylique~
There are people in this world that would give their lives for art, for creation. There are people who could spend their whole lives chiseling or applying minut bits of color over a canvas. These are creatures of the mind, inventors, poets. Making epics out of nothing. Building castles out of cards.
I was not and would never be an artist. I'm sure that there must be some sort of joy in it for the Romans to sing their praises and for adolescent girls to labor so, but I was a connoisseur. I liked to read, I liked to look at pretty things. Never once, however, have I wondered how they got there. Somethings simply just are. I don't have the patience for inquiry, trust me.
My girlfriend, my beautiful talented girlfriend, however, was constantly thinking, building, painting, constructing, writing, and dissecting. She didn't get my dole enjoyment out of the act of consuming, only producing. My Naminé was a giver. Mostly.
Of course at twelve thirty in the afternoon, standing stark naked as that little productive child rejected yet another pose, I wasn't exactly thinking her the giving type.
"I want to take a picture." She said. "You are so pretty." She said, "It'll just take a minute." she said. Let me tell you something, there are some anal retentive, detail oriented, creators out there who will never take "just a minute" to do anything in their pathetic lives. Perfectionism, unfortunately, makes everything take a very long time.
So I was completely striped, completely shaven, because as the lovely Naminé put it, "We don't want any paint getting stuck in pubic hair, do we?", and perched on a sofa that could have been used for anything before we salvaged it from someone's garbage. Every few seconds I was given a "turn this way" or "move your hand here". I was trying to be good and not complain, but it was hard, very, very hard.
One fifteen. It was nearly one-fifteen when she clasped her pretty hands together with a finality that almost made me weep with joy. The clock on the wall was my only sanity, a connection to a world where time still passed, a reminded that I would have to sleep eventually.
Naminé drifted over to a corner of the room briefly to retrieve her tackle box where she kept her paints. I told her time and time again that they sold paint boxes, I'd seen them, I contemplate buying one at every birthday and holiday, still she clings to that grimy thing. My throat begins to feel slick like worms
She moves as delicately as she always had. Smooth connecting movements that were so perfectly feminine, so sultry I wanted to jump up and give her a reason to move erratically. Her slender fingers perused over perfectly aligned rows of acrylic paint. Because it dried faster. Because the colors were brighter. Because it peeled right off. Because it wouldn't kill me. She stopped at a brand new tube, Cadmium Red Deep Hue. Red was a favorite of hers, I'd learned. Naminé thought that looking at a nice shade of red, carefully placed, would make viewers of her artwork aroused, hot under the collar. She even told this to her entire Critique class, or at least claimed to.
Her pretty pinched doll's lips tottered off into a soft grin, "You ready?" she piped in a moderately husky tone. Not even waiting for an answer, she began to unscrew the cap and slather it onto a white plastic pallet with no well. I was just happy she was putting it on a pallet. I was half expecting her to fling handfuls of it at me, I'd seen her do that to canvas enough times.
Calculating blue eyes looked over me head to toe, but at this point I'd had more than enough time to over come any self-consciousness I might have felt. I knew that she wasn't really seeing me, she was seeing a canvas waiting to be turned into something spectacular.
"Remember don't move, until I tell you that you can." She said sweetly, still scoring me with her eyes. I didn't answer. I'd learned the hard way that answering counted as moving. I wasn't aloud to so much as breath too heavily until she allowed it.
Her little grin grew wider as she got on her knees in front of me. She petted one of my knees softly, apologetically, before returning to her business face. One small finger dabbed into the large puddle of paint before she set it at my side. I let my eyes scan over the small glob of paint over that finger and tried to brace myself. Suddenly I wished I had pressed he about what exactly she was going to be painting on my naked body.
She picked the little plastic tray back up in her right hand and settled herself a little more comfortably. "Sorry," she whispered with a little hiccup of a laugh. Her finger smoothed the bright red paint over her lips deftly. Oh god. Her eyes locked onto mine for a long moment before she leaned forward and pressed a controlled open mouth kiss on the top of my abdomen. I fought a shudder at the contrast of the warmth of her breath and the cool wet paint.
She pulled her head away carefully, gazing first at the oval kiss mark and second to my eyes. I tried my best not to let her see anything but mannequin perfection. I knew she was fishing for a reaction, wanted to see a taste of lust.
Expertly she applied another sheen of paint. I looked at the large stock of paint on her pallet. Just how much of this was she going to put me through?
It took me a few more carefully placed pecks to realize that she was aiming to create a heart about my middle with some interesting places for the extremes. Don't want to get any paint stuck, huh?
The perfect Naminé was almost all business. After every kiss there was another generous layer of paint applied. She never allowed her mouth to exert more pressure than necessary. A mistake meant precious time spent on clean-up, and there would always be a little stain left behind. Naminé expected nothing less than perfection from herself.
She worked methodically. Paint, kiss, paint, kiss. Every so often she had to stop to spray a layer of mist over her pallet so the paint wouldn't dry up. Every little thing had to be symmetrical. And when she opened her mouth nice and wide to cover a nipple and anything else x-rated she had to gage how wide to open it again on the other side. I had to stifle a laugh at the way the paint came to little points at the tips, and a groan.
My artist finished her heart in an impossible 45 minutes, careful not to get close to anything internal. By the time she'd finished it I knew that there wasn't anyway she could know how much I was both enjoying and despising the slow tortuous kissed that I could neither respond to or return. I played the good little girl and stayed silent and obedient for the sake of art, for the sake of my beautiful artist.
She wasn't done with the heart though. More kiss-marks had to laid. My arms, my legs, and my face were looking awfully bare after all. She didn't take quite as much time placing these, however. They were more random and quick, the focal point was complete after all. They were more random and quick. The cusp of a foot, the gentile round of a knee, the edge of a shoulder, the point of a smooth cheekbone. Every kiss hot, cold, and tortuous.
It was two thirty when she stepped away from me, the newest layer of paint already drying and cracking on her persed lips. Naminé scanned me over to the point where even I felt self-conscious. After an impossibly long time she stepped back to me with a small hop and placed a careful hand behind my head. It grasped tightly. Then she sucked at my lips until they looked it, I assumed. I was to busy enjoying her painted mouth to analyze it.
She stepped away after making sure I was still in my most perfect position.
Naminé's camera was absolutely beautiful. It had been a graduation gift from her father and she loved it. Now I don't know much about cameras but I'm fairly certain it's a good one. It has a long lens and takes pictures that look like stills from movies. It's memory card holds more pictures than I may be able to store on our little run-down computer. A pretty penny must have been spent on it, yet she hardly used it for anything. Naminé was more into drawing and illustration than photography.
At long last she picked up the camera and attached the lens she wanted to use. The paint on her fingers must have been dry, because I couldn't see her touching it otherwise.
Ans thus started another stretch of forever. Naminé in her infinite perfectionism worked over hundreds of pictures of little kissed-up me sitting still as death. She had to get on her belly and stand on a chair in multiple locations. She took face shots and shots of hands and the heart. She told me to look one way then the other. She told me to pout and crack a smile and hang my tongue out. First to the left, then to the right, the pointed, then flat like a dogs. I made a really convincing angry face.
It was almost four o'clock when I saw the light on the camera go off. I almost didn't believe it.
She looked at me with a pretty soft smile, her lips still stained Cadmium Red, "Sorry about all that, but I think we got some really good ones." she removed the lens and placed both it and the camera back in its box.
I stayed as still as possible, hardly believing that it was over. I didn't even know if my voice was still usable, if my legs could handle my weight. Where we even done, or was there more scenery, more paint?
"You can move now." she laughed sweetly as she walked towards me so much as a step.
I got to my feet instantly and enveloped her in my arms. The paint on my middle split in a few places. "Thank god." I said before even realizing it. I corrected myself with, "I really do hate you."
She wiggled a little and peeled at a painted kiss on my cheek. It hurt. "What do you say we got take a bath, and get all this paint off?"
I laughed a little and ran a thumb over her lips, trying to catch some paint on the edge of my nail. Some came off taking a little bit of lip with it. I sighed and licked at the blood, "Yeah a bath sounds nice."
Naminé smiled her most radiant smile as her eyes lit up with excitement. "Wait, wait. I have an idea." she scuttled over to her camera and put the lens back on, "Go get in the tub and wait for me. I want some more pictures."