Author's Notes: Because 1.) Random, unrelated Gippalai drabbles pop into my head, 2.) There's not enough Gippalai, and 3.) I'm able to upload things. Also, these will all have crappy titles, since they're drabbles.

Also, I want to thank Yuna-flowering, ffpanda, and Sydney Clock for reviewing so far! Even if these are just drabbles, I really appreciate it.

Because I just came from my Design class.

"art"

Gippal's fingers are smudged with black.

Baralai is lying on the bed with the sheets rumpled over his form, his hands resting near his face and fingers loosely curled. Half of his vision is his own arm—the other is of Gippal sitting in the chair next to him with a determined frown and sketchbook in hand. The blond holds a stick of charcoal that glides across the page, rolling it in his hand to make thin and thick lines, only for them to be blended in with the rest.

Baralai is smiling as he watches Gippal draw. His sleepy eyes casually regard every aspect: the way the dim light plays across Gippal's shirtless body, illuminating his silhouette; his tongue sticking out in concentration; and how his eye continuously flickers up to Baralai before going back to his work.

"What are you drawing?" Baralai asks softly. "Why don't you come to bed?"

"Can't," Gippal responds plainly. His hand makes another sweep. "Gotta finish. Gotta capture it."

Baralai's head tilts. "Capture what?"

"You, how you are right now. Isn't that obvious? Put your head back, will you?"

Baralai obeys, blinking widely. He didn't think he'd be the subject. Gippal chuckles and remarks on how Baralai should be a little more conceited.

Several minutes pass. Baralai lies there, almost afraid to move; Gippal asks him to relax like he was before, saying he could see the muscles tensing. Baralai tries, but the flicker of Gippal's eye and Gippal's smirk and the sound of charcoal sliding across paper makes Baralai nervous and needy at the same time.

"It's really rough, but I got it," Gippal finally says, setting the charcoal stick aside. "Here, look."

Baralai sits up and the blanket slides down to his stomach. Gippal turns the book around; a dark, beautifully blended interpretation of the Praetor is there. The black and grey of the eyes stand out the most, staring at half-mast, wanting.

"Oh," is all Baralai can say. "Wow."

Gippal grins and sets the book aside. He crawls onto the bed and runs a black-smudged finger down Baralai's cheek, leaving a streak. "You should pose more often. Like a model."

Baralai frowns, his stupor disappearing, and rubs at his face. The black smears more. "What would I get for it?"

Gippal leans over him. "This."

Later, Baralai doesn't complain when he has to shower and remove the black fingerprints on his body.

fin