When Argenti agreed to pose as a model for you, he certainly didn’t have this in mind. A face portrait maybe, or some striking pose in his full armor, but no. The armor is in carefully dismantled pieces on the plush rug; Argenti is in nothing at all.

He’s draped along the length of a white chaise lounge, long limbs stretched, every inch of him bare. Everything about him exudes a languid sort of peace; his skin gleaming in the soft natural light, the bright crimson of his hair splaying out against the cushions. You’d strategically tossed rose petals everywhere, the rich color only emphasizing a sense of beauty and sensuality.

If it weren’t for the rosy flush on his face or the slight pinch between his brows, you’d never know he wasn’t completely at ease. Being around you like this, baring everything; it’s a new and unsettling sort of vulnerability.

But the gentle lilt of your voice when you ask him to shift just-so is soothing.

He may be the subject of the art, but it’s you that captures his attention wholly. Seeing you in your element feels so…intimate. His eyes relax as he watches you work; your careful strokes on the canvas, the critical eye that rakes over him, cataloging every curve and ridge and shadow. What do I look like to you? What do you see in that beautiful mind?

A little humor warms in his eyes as you pause and stretch, working a kink out of your neck from painting for too long. For a fraction of a second, he can almost forget his vulnerable state.

“Do you need a break?” he asks.