Characters: Yondu Udonta, Kraglin Obfonteri
Relationships: Yondu Udonta & Kraglin Obfonteri
Tags: sketches, artist!Yondu, I name everything Frank, mutual pining, idiots in love, emotional idiots, kissing, fluff,
Warnings: None.
Summary: "Kraglin." The Centaurian's voice held a warning.
"Yondu." He parroted back in the same tone.
"Obfonteri. Give. Me. Tha drawin's."
Kraglin knew he was risking an arrow to the gut, but the curiosity was eating him. "Why?"
"Because tha rest are o' you!" The Centaurian blurted, his jaw snapped shut with a click.
The taller man looked from the captain to his hand and back again, "There has to be at least twenty pages here." He replied quietly.
"'At's just one sketchpad." Yondu uttered back.
"How many sketchpads do you have?"
Prompt One: Hobbies/Work
A/N: Honestly, Kraglin not seeing his own appeal just hits me in all the right soul places.
The concept of Hrax and Hraxian!Kraglin comes from the incredible Write_Like_An_American, who's stories I utterly adore (and you should totally go read, like, all of them because they are amazing) So, shout to them for creating it because none of my stories would exist without their ideas :)
Part One of Yondu Week 2019.
#yonduweek
Kraglin cursed for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. The ledgers weren't adding up again. Either someone wasn't handing in the req forms or someone was stealing from the Eclector.
The Hraxian rubbed at his temples quietly and sighed, rolling his eyes, he realised he had no choice but to bring this shit to Yondu's attention.
The crew would not be happy with him for that.
Picking up the datapad, he wandered over to the bathroom, cutting through it to the door to Yondu's cabin.
He opened it without looking up, "Oi boss, listen these –"
He stopped dead.
Yondu was sitting on his couch, shirtless, with a ton of paper strewn across the plank that sat on two upturned milk crates, that served as his coffee table. Each page held detailed, and incredibly beautiful sketches.
The captain himself sat frozen, like an orloni in a moped headlight, pencil over the current drawing, glasses perched on the edge of his nose and a smudge of lead on his cheek.
Kraglin blinked.
Yondu mirrored him.
"Boss – what're'ya doin'?"
The Centaurian cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, "Uh – 'm drawin'."
The taller man crossed the room in two strides and picked up a page. The sketch was of Tullk leaning on a desk, Kraglin wasn't sure how, but Yondu had perfectly captured the good humour the older man always seemed to carry behind his eyes. "Ya drew all these?"
"Yeah," the captain scratched a thumbnail over his brow, smudging more lead on his face, "look, I know they ain't that good –"
"Ain't – what tha fuck ya talkin' 'bout? This is incredible! It looks like a stardamned photograph!"
Yondu's brows pulled together for a moment, then raised in disbelief, "Ya – ya think so?"
"Are ya kiddin'? Yeah, fuck me, look at this. Ya've completely captured Tullk's personality. I mean – how tha fuck do ya do that?"
The older man snorted, "I dunno, I just – see a situation an' memorise it. Then I draw it later."
Kraglin looked up, "Boss – these – these are amazin'."
Yondu's lips turned up in the corner, "Thanks Krags. Ain't nobody ever seen these."
Kraglin stepped over the table and sat on the couch, collecting all the papers up in a bundle and setting them on his lap. He handed the datapad to Yondu and nodded to it, "See what ya make o' that, I can't git it ta add up."
The Centaurian sighed, pushing the glasses up his nose, staring intently at the screen.
As he looked through the ledger, Kraglin began to go through the drawings.
The one of Tullk was on top, so he put that back on the coffee table and went to the next one.
It was of Gef in an arm wrestle with Retch, Kraglin snorted, it was fairly clear neither of them wanted to lose. The detail was astounding, the Hraxian could even see the sweat dripping from Gef's nose. He placed it down on top of the other one.
The next was of Oblo, holding up an orloni pup. Kraglin remembered that day, they were getting rid of an infestation of the little nippy bastards and Oblo had found this little pup with a gimpy leg. He'd absolutely begged Yondu to let him keep it. Scrap had been part of the crew for nearly twelve years before he'd died of old age. Kraglin smiled and wondered if Yondu would do a copy of this for Oblo, the man would appreciate the hell out of it. Scrap was the only thing the bastard cared about until Yondu couldn't stand him moping about anymore and they'd bought him a plant which he called Frank and set next to his bunk. The thing was utterly huge now, but no one dared tell Oblo to get rid of it.
Sliding the page down onto the coffee table he chuckled at the next one, it was Taserface with poor old Halfnut under his arm in mid-noogie, there was a man in the background leaning on the wall and smirking. Kraglin frowned and tipped his head, it – it sort of – looked like him. The drawing was tall and lean enough to be him and the hair was right, but he was quite sure his nose wasn't that small, his eyes didn't sparkle like that, nor did he have an almost – sexy – smirk. How odd. Every other drawing had been bang on the money, with details so accurate it could've been drawn from a photograph.
He placed it down and went onto the page behind it. Next to him Yondu cursed in his own tongue and pulled a bottle of whiskey from between the couch cushions. Kraglin gave him a knowing look and Yondu silently rolled his eyes, then focused back on the datapad.
The next few were of Quill in various stages of aging, from the one time Taserface put him into a soup pot, to the time he was in his late teens and Kraglin had him backed up against a wall with a rather wicked looking knife to his neck, again the details of his person were almost – flattering – rather than the gaunt and goofy image he saw in the mirror every time he bothered to shave.
The ones after these were of various places they'd been over the years, landscapes, marketplaces, a gorgeous drawing of Knowhere from just outside the port – Kraglin wasn't sure how in the hell the captain had made the stars look so beautiful with just lead pencil and shading. The ones after were of the Eclector and some of the m-ships, various pieces of machinery, the ship's core room, the bridge.
Then another of him, under an m-ship with a spanner in his hand and grease all over his arms – fuck, how did the grease look wet – Kraglin was beyond impressed. The angle was almost erotic, he looked like a pin up from the calendar in the Tailor's workroom.
The Hraxian glanced at Yondu who was deep into the datapad.
The next was of him again, this time shaving in the bathroom, towel slung around his hips. He never thought fucking shaving could look sexy.
What the actual fuck?
The datapad hit the coffee table with a clatter that made Kraglin start violently.
"A'right fun's over, give 'em back."
Kraglin's eyes narrowed – Yondu looked almost – jumpy, "Why?"
"Give 'em back." The Centaurian growled, making a swipe for the papers.
The Hraxian was quicker, holding them away from himself. His arms were that unnaturally long that Yondu would literally have to climb over him to get them. "Why?" He repeated, eyebrow raised.
"Kraglin." The Centaurian's voice held a warning.
"Yondu." He parroted back in the same tone.
"Obfonteri. Give. Me. Tha drawin's."
Kraglin knew he was risking an arrow to the gut, but the curiosity was eating him. "Why?"
"Because tha rest are o' you!" The Centaurian blurted, his jaw snapped shut with a click.
The taller man looked from the captain to his hand and back again, "There has to be at least twenty pages here." He replied quietly.
"'At's just one sketchpad." Yondu uttered back.
"How many sketchpads do you have?"
The older man's eyes darted away, then back again. His answer was a simple shrug of the shoulders.
Kraglin's mouth suddenly felt dry, "Why're there so many o' me?"
Yondu shrugged again.
The Hraxian felt his temper flare and grit his teeth, "Yondu if ya dun gimme a straight fuckin' answer."
The Centaurian took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, before snarling out, "'Cause ma brain is filled o' images o' you."
Kraglin blinked.
There was no way the captain was saying – what he thought he was saying.
I've fallen asleep at tha damn desk again. This ain't happenin'.
Yondu threw his glasses on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Kraglin continued to stare at him silently.
The Centaurian snatched the paper back, slamming a page down on the coffee table with each sentence, "E'erytime. I see ya. Yer doin' somethin'. Or sayin' somethin'. Tha. Image. Sticks. Like glue." He sighed, surveying the images quietly. "I gotta draw it ta git it out. Otherwise all I see is you."
"Tell me ta shut it if I'm wrong – but I git tha feelin' ya dun see me as just yer first mate." Kraglin said staring at all the drawings of himself.
Yondu snorted and shook his head once, refusing to make eye contact.
Kraglin looked at the man next to him – Yondu was stuck on him. He rather liked that, considering he'd been stuck on Yondu longer than he'd care to admit.
The smile started in his eyes, slowly filtering down to pull at his lips. The Centaurian glanced up at him in the silence, frowning at the smile he was receiving.
The Hraxian ducked forwards, pressing his lips gently to Yondu's. It was a chaste thing – just the lightest of touches before pulling back, but Kraglin had never felt such electricity in his entire life.
He leaned back on the opposite end of the couch with a soft grin, "Ma head's filled wit' pictures o' ya too."
His answer was lap full of enthusiastic Centaurian.