You stood in the middle of the room, plastic laid down under your feet, completely naked and a little cold. The room was dark, but not pitch black, and the fireplace was slowly warming things up. You wouldn't be cold for much longer, but before that your shivering would have little to do with the warmth of the room.

The door opened, making you flinch a little. No one else should be coming in here except for him, but there was at least one more person who had rights to the boss' room. You would survive him seeing you this way, but you'd rather avoid it.

As it was, only the red-haired man you were expecting came in. He was dressed simply, comfortable trousers, a loose shirt that was almost entirely unbuttoned, and a medium sized box he was carrying in the only arm he had left.

"That took a little longer than I thought it would, my apologies for keeping you waiting." He says with a charming smile.

"Please tell me you told Benn not to come in here." You prompt him, leaning up and kissing his cheek as he walks near with his box.

"I told him you were helping me with a creative project," he replies, setting the box down on a small table. "Whether or not he comes in to check on our progress is hard to say."

You make a strangled sound of concern and the redhead simply laughs. He comes over to you and lifts you up against his chest with his one arm, before he kisses you softly.

"Too nervous?"

"N-no," you assure him. "You?"

He smiles, it's sweet and there's a deep emotion in it. "I've never let someone see me paint, but I think this will be worth more than any nerves."

He sets you back down on the plastic, kissing the top of your head before he goes back to the box. He pulls out a big flat plate connected to a stand and sets it up beside you. There's a second small tray he sets up across from the flat plate that has an assortment of cleaned painting brushes on it. You fidget a little as things come together around you.

You can't offer to help, you have no idea how he sets things up to paint, and even if you did you know he would just have you stay still and try to relax. So that's what you try to do, taking in a few deep breaths, holding them for a moment before letting them out slowly. There's a small smile on his face as he catches you breathing to calm your nerves.

"I said I wasn't too nervous," you say, cutting him off before he teases you. "I didn't say I wasn't nervous at all."

"Fair enough," he muses, handing you a blindfold. "Just at the start."

You smile softly, it was reassuring to know you weren't the only one that was a little nervous. It was the first time you had ever seen Shanks nervous about anything, and it was cute. You already had your hair tucked away - the paints might be edible, a variety of colored chocolates - but you didn't want food in your hair as a general rule.

As Shanks begins to squeeze colors onto the flat plate stand he had set up earlier, you tie the blindfold into place, after making sure you're standing in a good spot. You swallow nervously, fidgeting a little since the few sounds being made are hard to track.

"Just a brush first," he says, his voice is in your ear, and you can feel the warmth of him behind you. "I don't want you to jump too much."

Soft bristles, smooth and cool against your skin, start in the middle of your lower back and glide up your spine slowly. The bristles stay together, there's not enough pressure to push them wide, but you can almost feel each bristle as the brush moves over you. The sensation tickles, but the shiver that builds in your core is more of a turn on than you anticipated.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moan threatening to escape you. You're sure he's noticed you struggling, the pressure of the brush lessens and becomes more ticklish. You can't hold in the noise you make, the shaking air gasp escaping you as your shoulders twitch from the sensation.

"Not bad," he's practically purring the words. "You were able to stay put better than I expected." Leaning down he kisses the side of your neck softly. "Don't stifle those cute sounds you make, or I may have to adjust my technique."

You felt a shiver rush through you at his words and cover your face in embarrassment. "S-sure."

You could hear him walking on the plastic a little more clearly, and you realize he's letting you hear him.

"I'll start at your shoulders, so put your arms down and keep your chin up for now," he instructs and you move as he requests. "Just like that. This might be cold, but the fire will warm up the room soon enough."

It's not the fire that's going to warm me up at this point, you muse internally.

The cool sensation of the chocolate paint hits your shoulder. It was cool, but not cold, and certainly not uncomfortable.

The brush shifts, running along the curve of your shoulder and going down your arm a little.

"It's almost like oil paint, but a little thinner." Shanks muses, bringing the brush to your shoulder again and following a different line down your arm. It's pleasant, and it isn't tickling you, but you're fairly certain he's giving you a chance to adjust before his mischievous demeanor takes over.

He paints on you in silence for a long time. It's the quietest you've ever known him to be, and after a few minutes you realize he's honestly focused on painting something on you. Your shoulder down your arm, your other shoulder and down that arm. At least three different brushes on your arms before he's painting along your collarbone.

The brush slides down the middle of your chest, not too differently from how it went up your spine, stopping before your lower abs. He paints your stomach, and up your sides, carefully moving your arms as he needed to. He doesn't go all the way up your sides, so you don't have to worry about smudging anything.

The bristles move over your hips and you suck in a breath. You'd been relaxing into the sensation of it and the sudden twinge of pleasure almost makes you jerk. He finishes the motion before you hear him take a step back.

"Did it tickle?" His tone was truly curious, he hadn't meant to tease you.

"Only a little," you admit. "I... was kind of zoning out and then suddenly it felt good."

You don't have to lift the blindfold to feel the shift in his demeanor. Certainly not the change in his tone when he spoke again.

"It seems I got a little too focused." He muses.

"Ah, you can keep focusing." You assure him, nerves rising up in your voice. "It's okay."

He hums happily to himself, and you nearly whimper. You hear, and feel, him kneel in front of you. He taps the inside of your thigh, and you widen your stance, opening your legs as you feel the heat rush into you.

"I'm going to paint the line you like," his words are the briefest warning as the brush glides along the line where your leg meets your torso, sliding up from your crotch and following the crease to your hips.

Your body tenses a little as you try to control the twitching, a soft moan escaping you. Your toes flex as he paints along the first line, the bristles almost tickling the inside of your thigh. The mix of pleasure and tickling sensation causes you to moan louder as you do your best to not move.

"Oh, it seems I made a small mistake," there's a smile in his voice you can hear clear as day.

"S-sorr-haaa-HNGH!" Your body tenses harshly as a hot, wet tongue licks along the crease of your torso up to your hip, soft lips joining in to suck a little as he comes to your waist. "Shanks!" Your hands are on his shoulders as you're trying to steady yourself.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he says with a chuckle. "It was entirely my pleasure. Fault - I mean it was entirely my," he licks along the crease again. "Fault."

"If you're going to do that I n-need to see so I can steady against you." You whimper. "I don't want to reach for you and smack your face... or poke your eye."

"Alright," he agrees, allowing you to lift the blindfold.

You almost immediately put it back over your eyes.

"Oh-you-are-naked." You say quickly. You had seen him naked many times before now, but the view of him knelt in front of you, looking up at you with the brush in his hand and splotches of chocolate paints on his chest was more than you had expected. "Why do you have paint on your chest already?"

"I wanted to know what color it would mostly look like before I used it on you." He answers easily. "I thought you were going to take that off. I don't want you to poke me in the eye either." His tone is teasing, but you still pull the blindfold back off.

You can't hold his gaze for long before you're looking away, cheeks sore from the blood rushing into them. "Con-continue."

"Of course, love." He smiles as he continues to slowly lick along your crease again. You let a couple fingers rest against the top of his head moaning behind your other hand and trying not to shudder.

After he undoes what he had done he repaints the area and you swear he's trying to actually tickle you this time. Being able to see helps a little, but being able to see him work is turning you on. You were better off with the blindfold.

After a couple minutes he stands up again. You barely catch the look on his face, but it's not mischievous - there's an intense focus. A smaller brush, wet with water, swirls around your nipple in slow idling circles as the flesh gets stiffer and stiffer from the teasing motion.

"Sssshanks, what are you doing?" You finally break down and question him.

"I said if you stifled those cute sounds I'd have to change my technique." He explains, his voice sinking into you as the small brush flicks across your stiff nipple suddenly.

You gasp in surprise and pleasure from the sensation, holding onto him to steady yourself. He leans down, nuzzling against the side of your face and resisting the urge to kiss you.

"It's easier to paint when there's music," he whispers, hot breath teasing you with a deep desire to feel his lips against yours. "So please sing for me."

He steps back to get a different brush and you nearly whimper. You manage to compose yourself before he turns back toward you and resumes painting.

He places the wide flat brush against the underside of your breast, slowly dragging it up along the curve, nearing the sensitive stiff flesh he had been teasing earlier. You could feel his eyes on you, as the bristles drag slowly across your sensitive skin, each smooth strand causing you to gasp and groan with pleasure, trying so desperately to not move. To not breathe too heavy and cause your chest to twitch.

He wasn't so focused that he was just seeing you as a canvas, and you weren't trying to hide your whimpers and cries. Paint and bristles flowed over your skin, finding every note you had to sing for him. Sometimes he would kiss and lick your body, removing chocolate from you to repaint over it a moment later.

All of his mistakes seemed to be at the most sensitive parts of your body. A small line up the back of your leg, a part of your lower back near to the turn of your waist, a dip in your shoulder that made your arm shiver against your will, the inside of your ankle that nearly buckled your other leg from the unexpected jolt. You could feel the slick of your pleasure slipping down your thighs and realize after a moment of panic that Shanks hadn't painted there.

At all.

You were covered from your neck down in chocolate except for two bare lines down the insides of your thighs. The realization and understanding of why made your face go red as a shiver ripples down your back. Shanks had been taking a moment to look over his work, and smirks knowingly at your realization.

"Would you like to see?" He asks, setting the brush down.

You nod as he offers his hand, guiding you carefully into view of the full length mirror that was off to the side of where you had been standing. Body paint didn't have the capacity to act as true paint, and skin was a tricky canvas even for the best of artists, but your breath caught in your throat.

"Shanks it's... amazing." You murmur turning and posing in the mirror, following the lines of the work. You're covered in a starry sky, which is broken up in beautifully arranged pockets of flowers. You recognized the hibiscuses and forget-me-nots – flowers that meant delicate beauty and a plea to be remembered. There was a single, immaculately detailed iris, resting slightly off center to the left on your chest.

Right over your heart.

Your face goes red for a different reason and you can feel the heat rushing down your neck and up to your ears.

"Is... this how you see me?" You ask hesitantly.

"As best as I can depict it." He clarifies, standing behind you, the soft emotion in his eyes reflecting off the mirror.

You bit the bottom of your lip for a moment, "I know it's a taboo topic, but -."

Shanks' hand went over your eyes and he pulls your back into his chest, leaning your head near his heart. "I have not asked to paint anyone else, and I've certainly never painted on anyone else before." He answers the unspoken question.

Before you can say anything he tilts your head to the side and licks along the top of your shoulder and up your neck, causing you to gasp and squirm. You knew when things started that the "painting" was going to be temporary, but it felt like it was gone too soon.

"I never keep any of my paintings," he purrs into your ear. "But once I devour you, you won't be a painting anymore."

Your heart causes you to make a noise at the meaning behind that. Shanks was such an elusive creature, and he loved everyone fiercely, and wasn't afraid to say as much, but to declare his need for you without mentioning his love was something new.

His hand and his mouth destroy every careful brushstroke. The heat of his body against yours melted the fine lines of all his delicate work. Every touch and kiss was full of passion and need, sinking into your bones. As the colorful chocolate covers him, you return his kisses and licks, your fingers roaming over him when you can find him until you're on your back under him.

"Hold your legs open for me, bláth fiáin (wild flower)." He requests as you hook your hands along the back of your knees, pulling your legs open. No matter how many times you do it for him it still causes your face to flush, and needy moans – dripping with anticipation – to escape your lips. "Opening up just like a flower," he muses.

His hand is rough, it's been doing the job of two hands for years now, and there's no smoothness left in it, but his touch is still like silk. His thumb presses into your clit, and the hours of painting, teasing, tickling and licking have had you on edge for ages. Your cry of pleasure is like honey, nearly pushing you over a peak you hadn't even realized you were near.

He teases you with slow circular motions before two thick fingers push into your pussy with a terribly loud wet sound. Your hips buck, rolling up to meet his hand, driving his fingers as deep as they'll go. They curl and spread inside you, stirring up the deep need in you while his thumb continues to tease your clit.

"Shanks you're going to m-make me cum..." Your shaky voice is pleading, unsure of what it is you even want him to do at this point.

"Several times before I'm done," He promises, his hand pushing you over the edge with little effort. You struggle to keep your legs held as the pleasure jolts through you, tensing your muscles and shuddering the inside of your body against his fingers.

You're breathing heavy, opening your legs a little wider. "More... please."

Shanks smiles down at you, rubbing his thick cock against your sopping wet slit. "Of course."

He guides his tip into you, grabbing your leg from you and steadying himself with it as he pushes in slowly. The sweet stretching feeling pushes into you and your body rolls from your hips to your shoulders, delighting in the deep feeling that sends heavy pleasure up your spine.

The mix of sweat and chocolate has you both messy. Shanks kisses along your ankle and down your leg as he begins to move inside you. The soft shifting of the tarp beneath you is lost to the pleasure building between you. His steady rhythm and practiced movements find every sweet part of you, making you sing for him.

"A sweet wild flower with an equally sweet song," he purrs, leaving your ankle against his shoulder as he leans down, pressing into you and steadying himself with his arm.

You wrap your other leg around his waist, holding onto him as his pace quickens. It's not long before your toes are curling and you're twitching beneath him.

"Sss-hit-hngh!" Your body tenses and you shift your hips, his name dying on your lips as a jolt of pleasure shudders through you. Despite your shiver he doesn't stop, and the harsh zing of pleasure seems to skitter all through your core. "Sh-Shanks! It's -," you make a strangled noise trying to calm the strong rush of pleasure by shifting, but you can't get away from it. "-too much!"

"I won't let you go," He promises. "Let it take you, cum as hard as you can for me. I want to hear the sweetest of melodies from you, bláth fiáin."

Your breath is coming out quickly, whimpering gasps of pleasure as the climax pushes into you without mercy. Your fingers claw and clench against Shanks' body, your back arching and your legs shuddering in orgasmic pleasure so hard that you nearly pin his arm to his side. Long seconds of powerful pleasure feel almost unbearable as tears pool in your eyes, and the shattered gasps turn into deep needy almost guttural sounds. Just as you're worried you might pass out from the prolonged pleasure he pulls out, cumming on your stomach with a heavy grunt.

"That... was quite the delight," he admits, in a voice struggling for air for the first time since you've known him. "You nearly overpowered me, (Y/N)." He licks his lips as his hand smears cum and chocolate across your belly.

Shifting easily, he leans down and licks along your belly, eyes looking up at you as you peek from behind your fingers to watch him.

"Mm, not quite what I was hoping for," he mutters reaching over to the flat plate and drawing a line of chocolate paint down the middle of his tongue before diving between your thighs. His tongue pushes deep inside you as he hums happily.

You almost shriek at the sudden sensation against your almost painfully sensitive folds. You squirm against his tongue for as long as you can stand until you manage to squirm away from him entirely. He licks his lips as you shuffle back a little, hand between your legs, as though you could physically stop him should he put his mind to it.

"I'm w-w-way too sensitive for that right now." You insist and he chuckles.

"Very well, let me help you clean up," he offers, standing up and heading over to you. "I promise to be a gentleman," he assures you as he helps you to your feet. Leaning down he kisses you softly, almost too briefly, before nuzzling against the side of your face. His lips are by your ear as he whispers. "I won't do anything untoward until you're begging me for it."

A/N ... this man gonna make me write 50k+ words, isn't he?

Also, now that THAT'S out of my system, time to get back to Thrice Prophesized.