Galerie Léchage d'oreille

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AI artwork
白
character: ichigo_hitofuri back alley, 5 boys, yaoi, kiss, multiple boys, group, tall male, short blue hair, aqua hair, yellow eyes, handsome, beautiful face, refined features, slim waist, glossy lips, wet lips, cool expression, overwhelmed, eyes half-closed, blush, parted lips, white gloves, military uniform, cape, necktie, black hair, tall stature, muscular, sexy body, beautiful young men, combatant, form-fitting bodysuit, metallic gauntlets, visor, leaning forward, kissing, hands on his shoulders, hands on his waist, hand cupping his cheek, tilted head, from below, dutch angle, close-up, foreshortening, looking at another, looking down at viewer, depth of field, night, dim light, brick wall, narrow alley, The camera sits low and slightly off-axis, tilted a few degrees so the alley's brick walls converge above the group — a dutch angle from below, close-in, so the five figures crowd the top of the frame and the wet cobbles tilt away at the bottom edge. In the centre stands the swordsman with short aqua-blue hair and yellow eyes, tall, his waist drawn in by the fitted military uniform, white gloves flexed, the cape fallen back off one shoulder, and the necktie pulled loose by an impatient hand. His face is the still point of the picture: refined handsome features, glossy lips parted and wet from the kiss just broken, a single strand of aqua hair stuck to the corner of his mouth. His cool composure is only now cracking — eyelids heavy and half-lowered, a flush rising high on both cheekbones, chin lifted and turned a little to his left, breath held. He is not resisting. Four tall young men with black hair close in on him from the four directions of the alley and press him between them: one at his right shoulder, fingers curled into the epaulette of his uniform; one at his left, gloved hand flat on the small of his back; one in front and to his right, cupping his jaw and leaning in to take his mouth again, nose nearly touching his cheek; one at his left ear, lips brushed to the temple behind the fall of blue hair. Their athletic bodies are lean and muscular under dark fitted clothes, shoulders and forearms showing, each angled inward so the group reads as a knot with the swordsman at its centre. The fifth, the combatant, is crouched low in the left foreground against the wet brick — form-fitting bodysuit dark and close to the body, gold-trimmed visor catching the one warm light, metallic gauntlets braced on his knee — head tipped back, eyes fixed up at the swordsman's mouth in open anticipation. Only light bounces off the wet stone and the wet lips: a single lamp further down the alley rim-lights the four black-haired heads from behind, throws their faces into half-shadow, and puts a long highlight down the swordsman's lower lip and the bridge of the visor. The palette stays close to wet night — deep blue-black, brick brown, the pale aqua of his hair and the gold edge of the visor as the only colour events. A thin thread of rain water runs down the alley's centre seam and pools where the cobbles dip, mirroring the lamp in a broken bright streak. Tense, sultry.
白武遼

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