Eyes the color of sea glass scan Theo's face, the eyebrows above them furrowed in concentration, and the intensely focused attention on him makes his skin warm. Sitting still and being drawn by Luka gives him the perfect excuse to stare unapologetically, so he does. Over the last day, he's had countless moments to admire the younger lad, but every time he does, he finds something new to adore. Above the left corner of Luka's lip is a small mole, and it jumps and dances with every emotion that crosses his face. Right now it's tucked inside his bottom lip, hidden from Theo, and he frowns at that.
"You're not meant to move," Luka chides, smirking, and there's the mole again.
Theo whispers an apology, relaxing his features and resuming his previous task of trying to memorize every inch of Luka's being. Under the bright light shining in through the window, his curls appear to be more copper than blonde, tones of red streaked through. Already, he's familiar with the pattern of freckles splattered across his cheeks and nose, but nevertheless he traces them with his eyes like it's the first time he's seen them. He's beautiful, and strong. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing toned forearms, and when he twists to retrieve another stump of charcoal, Theo gets a good view of his defined torso through the open buttons of his linen shirt.
And, my gods, Theo wants to paint him.
Luka feels the burning sensation on his skin of being acutely watched. Which isn't fair, because he's trying to focus. Committing his captain's every feature to parchment is difficult enough, without said captain's eyes raking across his entire form like he's hot coals that must be tended to. He'd love nothing more than to be allowed to simmer, but it's impossible with this man. He sneaks a glance at Theo's face to make sure the curve of his cheekbone is right, and of course, Theo smirks at him. The speed with which he tears his eyes away and back to his drawing is embarrassing. Theo knows what he's doing to him, but Luka wouldn't dare lie and say he isn't reveling in it, just a little bit.
"Tell me about Bellows," Theo requests, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear but stopping when he hears Luka groan warningly at him.
The younger man's eyes close for a millisecond in quiet grief, not long enough to be noticed by his captain. The last few hours have been spent in a state of contentment that Luka hasn't had since his time with Conrad came to an abrupt end, and he feels guilty for not being miserable every second of the remainder of his life. He's painfully aware that if the roles were reversed, his former captain would never move on- the most important pieces of him would die with Luka and he'd never know a moment of peace again. And that knowledge, as it claws a hole in his chest, threatens to shred him from the inside out.
His expression faltering might have gone unnoticed, but his prolonged silence does not. Theo doesn't claim to be a wordsmith, never knows what to say in any moment of great importance, but he understands the feelings of others better than most. Feels them better even. Without Luka saying a word, he knows that Conrad Bellows was so much more than just his companion's captain.
"You loved him."
Luka's vocal chords are seized and even if he wanted to, he can't croak out the 'yes' that's lodged in the back of his throat. Can't bring himself to say it aloud, for he never did when Con was alive, and it would feel a betrayal to admit it now. Now when it's meaningless, when it does nothing for the man who was everything to him - the man who pleaded on more than one occasion for him to say it.
His green eyes glare at the black and grey version of his current captain as he continues to draw the intricate and intimate lines of his face, demanding his body behave, that it keep the tears where they belong: at the bottom of the well, deep beneath the surface.
The tension and anguish rolling off of Luka is palpable, and Theo wants to help him relieve it, doesn't know how. With a level of patience that is agonizing, he simply sits in contemplative silence and hopes his counterpart accepts the open invitation to talk as much, or as little, as he needs to.
An hour or more passes in the kind of quiet that is suffocating, but neither man is brave enough to unwrap their fingers from around their own throat and offer some relief.
Luka's finishing up shading his companion's neck when the other man pops up, like he was sitting on a loaded spring, and walks toward him. Instinctually, Luka snatches the drawing off of the easel and clutches it to his chest protectively, his other hand reaching out to rest on Theo's chest, stopping him.
"It's not done!" And his voice is filled with an over-reactionary amount of alarm. He hates the way it sounds.
Theo chuckles, glancing down at Luka's fingers that are now gripping the fabric of his blouse, "Is art ever really finished?"
Luka's eyes roll so far back he can see the little birds chirping and flapping around the inside of his skull that are active whenever he's in his captain's presence, "Gods, that made me want to wretch."
"Come on." And Theo's voice is so buttery, so soft and fond, Luka reluctantly pulls the parchment away from his sternum and hands it to him. Fearfully, he watches his face for any adverse reactions, no matter how brief. It would crush him if Theo didn't approve of his art, and he's not entirely sure why.
After several seconds that drag out endlessly, Theo's eyes lift to meet Luka's, and they're filled with tears. And, wow, that was not what he was expecting. The captain carefully places the drawing back on the easel and closes the space between them in two strides. His large, warm palm reaches out and cups Luka's cheek, the birds in his skull are screaming now, and he smiles a breathtaking, toothy grin.
"You are something special, Luka Littleton."
The tension tightens it's grip around his throat at the sound of his name on Theo's tongue, and he inhales shakily, "Does it please you, sir? I'm not sure it does you justice."
The use of that formal term from anyone else would be silly and illicit a laugh from Theo. But when it leaves Luka's mouth, it makes his entire body tingle in excitement, blood flooding his neck and cheeks. It's not fair, how he can do that to him so casually.
The bright smile freezes and falls away from the captain's mouth, and he steps impossibly closer to Luka, backing him into the hooks on the wall, his voice husky, "Don't call me sir. Please."
He's pleading with him, and the younger man doesn't know what to do with that. He nods, eyes falling to his hands which are, once again, bunched in the fabric of Theo's tunic. He lets them fall away, muttering a breathy apology. His throat feels like it's coated in soot.
The taller man's tear ducts threaten to spill over, and vulnerability is a scarier thought to him than death, so he tears his hand away from Luka's face and steps back, out of reach. There's a string wrapped around their chests, tying them together, that pulls tight whenever they're in the same space, which, aboard a ship, is almost always, and it feels inevitable to be dragged into the other's orbit. It feels pointless to try and stop whatever this is.
But they both have their reasons to try and sever the string, no matter how desperately they crave to pull the other in.
Theo glances at the drawing, then back at Luka, "I've never felt seen quite this deeply before."
The tears threaten to re-emerge, the string becoming taut once again.
"I think you give me too much credit," Luka deflects, "I just drew what was in front of me. I drew you."
Theo sighs, "Is your inability to take a single positive remark well intentional?"
"Yes," Luka says proudly with a matter-of-fact flutter of his lashes, and the string tugs fiercely on his captain's heart.
There's a loud knock on the door to Theo's chambers and he quickly reaches back and pulls the book case closed in one swift movement, his index finger on the other hand coming up to press against his lips to indicate for Luka to hush.
Another knock.
Luka's furrowed brow indicates his confusion, so Theo closes the space between them and whispers in his ear, "No one knows about this room."
Luka feels faint at his captain's warm breath on his neck, almost moans externally. He turns so their faces are inches apart, wanting to see the taller man's features up close.
Which, of course, is a mistake, because it sucks the air out of his lungs and he nearly chokes, stifling a coughing fit as whoever was knocking enters the room, only a few feet away, their boots loud against the wood floor.
"No one?" he whispers, to which Theo shakes his head in response. "Why did you show me?"
And that's silly, because surely he knows. Surely Luka is aware of the affect he has on Theo. He must know.
Theo almost laughs at the absurdity but stops when he hears Zizi grumble a quiet 'where the fuck are they?' mere inches away from the door. He waits with baited breath for her to retreat, closing the door to his cabin behind her. Once she's gone, his eyes fall to Luka's still naive, innocent face, looking up at him.
He leans forward and presses a palm flat against the wall next to Luka's ear, leaning in impossibly closer, "You feel safe."
Luka swallows, the soot in his throat getting thicker, "What if I betray you?"
Theo's nose brushes Luka's jaw as he bends down and whispers 'you won't' before pushing open the book case and sauntering away, leaving the younger lad gasping for air.