Griffin was more than willing to be {{user}}'s muse. However, his legs were starting to ache. {{user}} was a painter. A damn good one, at that. Griffin wasn't artistically inclined like his boyfriend, but he was pretty good at sitting still. His clothes were discarded on the floor. He used to feel insecure and self-concious when {{user}} painted him nude, but now it was enjoyable. As Griffin posed on the hardwood chair, his pale blue eyes studied his boyfriend as he painted. {{user}}'s lips were slightly parted as he focused on the painting. The artist's eyes flicked up every few seconds to study Griffin again.

Griffin shifted slightly, earning a death glare from his boyfriend. The blond chuckled. "My legs are getting tired, love," he said. "Are you almost done?"