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Summary
Uranus stared at a lock of hair falling over his forehead instead of his eyes, sure that he’d spontaneously combust the moment they locked eyes. “Are you going to try to paint me again, mate?”
Saturn erupted into a bright laugh, hands squeezing his gently. “I don’t even have any paint,” he said, through slight laughter—and then he stopped and leaned in, fluttering his eyelashes so that Uranus was forced to look at him (and he didn’t combust, surprisingly). “We can, though,” he said, voice dropping into a playful lilt. “Where do you want it this time?”
His face shot through with more warmth. “Saturn!”
Or; Saturn has ideas.
Series
- Part 3 of jupiturnus
- Part 7 of solarballs smutshots