A response was initiated to his question--but silence lulled between them as he awaited the details of the answer. Eyes meeting eyes-- his grin reflected back in the other man's dark irises. Jax arched up his brow at the choice of mayhem--what a delightful choice for a descriptor.

"Certainly ain't ever been put in a cage," the comment danced a little too close to truth and legitimate fear of such a thing, but surely the man before him wouldn't know that. The impish grin helped along the notion that Jaxon was simply flirting--and referring to his status as a very eligible bachelor. "Nice to know the man behind the camera is able to see me as I am."

The photographer's gaze was not intimidating--but nearly so--and surely was to some less comfortable souls. Jaxon fed off the power and focus rolling off Oriel--being quite impressed by the way the other twenty-five year old was able to command the room so flawlessly. The photographer smirked and Jaxon found the expression most irresistible--dangerously so. He had always had a weakness for something with that touch of mischievousness hiding just below the surface.  "Darlin', I look good in ever-thang, but not near as good as I look in nothin'." Another wink then--shameless flirting--all for fun, he claimed.

Models complied immediately with O's command--taking their places on either side of Jaxon so the photographer could assess the aesthetic combination he had to work with. Jaxon's bone structure was not nearly as refined and hard as most models--he still had a great deal of youthfulness to his beauty. He glanced to either side of himself for a brief moment--his bare skin seemingly made darker and more warm in color when surrounded by the stark white of the models' robes. But his attention soon went back to the long-haired artist facing him--more interested in seeing the wheels turning in Oriel's mind than to size up the models he'd be working with.

"Pardon me." He said, right before reaching out a hand to Felicia.

The woman took it, letting him pull her a bit closer to Jaxon and angling her towards him. He held up their entwined hands almost close enough to touch Jaxon's skin, studying the contrast between her pallor and his tanned hue. Then he did the same with Camden. Both models were tall, Camden was the same height as Jaxon and while Felicia was shorter, she was much taller than the average woman.

As he worked and thought, he answered Jaxon's daring comments. "Well, you in a cage would definitely be a sad sight. Never knew you to be held down in one place, not even back at school."

Then he let both the models go, smiling at them and placing them right behind Jaxon so he could look at the contrast between body structure and hair colour. The models seemed almost faded when around him. The seeker was much more vibrant, seemingly more real and tangible. Less classically beautiful, but so much more enticing. Oriel had almost been tempted to touch him when angling the models, angling him instead, but he hadn't. He had to be professional, after all.

"As happy as I'm sure most would be to see that sight, there are some lines we can't cross." His eyes twinkled as he met Jaxon's gaze again. "Though I'm sure it would all be very artistic."

He dismissed the models, telling them the shoot wouldn't be starting yet and to do their own thing until then. With a glance at his old schoolmate he called for the make up artist again, telling her to bring Jaxon's uniform while she was at it.

"I think I may have an idea. But it might take a little longer than I first thought. Would you mind?" He asked Jaxon.

Jaxon watched with interest as Oriel worked--his mind musing all sorts of imaginings of what the photographer could be thinking. None were probably accurate as he was no artist himself, but kept the seeker well entertained in the silence. He grinned at the comment of his reputation back in school. He had been a bad boy in those years only in the light rule-breaking and heart-breaking sense. He wasn't doing anything truly bad when he broke the rules--just things like missing curfew, shagging under the Quidditch pitch, and other harmless bits of fun.

"Aye--can't say I'm much different from back then," was the only comment the Cole made about himself now versus at Hogwarts.

His offer to get naked was declined, but he still knew that everyone around him was still enjoying that mental image. A deep round of laughter rose up and rumbled from his chest at Oriel's choice of the word artistic. "A few strategically placed shadows and body parts and it could be very classy." He tempted. That country drawl dragging out the words and molding them together sinfully.

The models were sent off to wherever models went when they weren't being exploited for their aesthetic superiority and he was left with just the photographer again. Jaxon shook his head at the question the man directed his way.

"Nah--not at all--I'm yours til you're done with me. Ain't got nowhere else to be," he promised--the country twang accenting his words as his wolfish grin enhanced the innuendo of his phrasing.

"I can see that." He told the other. While Oriel hadn't paid much attention to anyone during his time at school, he heard things. And the things he heard about Jaxon definitely put him on the 'interesting' list. Oriel was stuck somewhere between the 'mad scientist' and 'eccentric artist', what with his two jobs, and so he had little time for people who didn't interest him. It wasn't meant to be rude or dismissive, but that was the truth.

But Jaxon was interesting and kept you on your toes. It made him good for photoshoots, Oriel chided himself, that is all. Be professional. He was trying.

"Well, naked isn't too far off from where Reina wants you, so you might get your wish if you're not careful." He joked, though he was tempted. And he knew that that was Jaxon's goal. He seemed to flirt with anything that moved, and while entertaining and flattering, he'd been through rough patches with people like that before. As tempting as it was, Oriel always ended up as the one that was hurt.

Though a little flirtation never hurt anyone, now did it?

"I promise not to keep you overnight." Oriel winked, just as the make up artist approached.

He knew she was surprised, but she didn't say anything. In her hands she held a large make up kit and Jaxon's Arrows uniform. The blue was very light and the golden very rich. That wouldn't do at all, he frowned. No, no. The shape, sure, but the shades had to go. Oriel grabbed the uniform and held it up to Jaxon's face, back of his hand barely brushing the other man's cheekbone. He kept on frowning at the offending garment. Wrong. All wrong.

He unfolded it and handed it back to the woman. "Paint the logo on his chest. In..." He took the kit from her and started grabbing pots of body paint. He gave her instructions on how to mix the colours he wanted; a dark, oily blue and a golden that was still rich but had a rusted and raw edge to it. "Hop to it."

He took a few steps back, lips still slightly pursed, but eyes roaming over Jaxon's body.

Jaxon was rather proud that he had managed to remain the same despite the passage of time. It was a testament to the geniuneness of the man--that fame and money hadn't changed him. Or perhaps he had always simply acted as if he had the world in his hand. He couldn't say--and didn't worry about it further. He was enjoying himself...and wasn't that life's purpose?

His brow arched up at the comment about the Witch Weekly editor. "I'm sure she isn't the only one-" was his coy little retort. Oriel was beginning to reciprocate his flirting more blatantly--which only served to encourage the seeker further.

The promise not to keep him overnight earned a little chuckle and an inquistive: "Oh? You sure about that?" The words came as he arched up his brow--his dimple appearing as a distinct divot in his cheek, attempting to work its magic on the artist. Oriel would not have been the first artistic type to hold Jax's attention--he had a bit of weakness for them or so his romantic history showed.

Then, it was back to work. The brief contact did not go unnoticed by the seeker, but he said nothing about it--not wishing to discourage Oriel from going further. He looked down at the only slightly shorter wizard--finding it most adorable the way his brow furrowed up as he frowned--finding some fault it seemed with the uniform. Jaxon had never adored the thing, but it was a mark of pride to have the honor of wearing it. He'd been with the Arrows quite a long time. Before his drafting to the team, though, he had been a long-time PU fan. It had been a bit of a transistion to get used to being on the Appleby bandwagon.

The make-up chic stammered out an affirmative response and went about the work Oriel had assigned to her. The paint when it touched his skin was cold and resulted in a short intake of breath. Immediately, the woman was apologizing, but Jaxon never faltered in being his charming self. Drawling out a promise that all was fine and she didn't need to worry. His smile was warm and encouraging as she went back to her work, desperately attempting to keep her hands steady. He made gentle, kind comments of encouragement as she worked--saying how he could never manage such a task and praising the ease she with which she was creating the logo on his chest. His words weren't wholly honest, as she was struggling a bit--not due to lack of skill, but nerves it seemed. But after a few minutes, his charm and down-to-earth nature had the girl more at ease--and she was making quick work of the finishing touches. The woman turned to the photographer for his feedback, stepping aside to revel the depiction dominating the dark skin of Jaxon's bare chest.

Oriel didn't answer the question, because he wasn't sure. Behave.

As the woman got to work, Oriel turned his back to them and went to the platform where the models would be standing. He took out his wand, twirling it here and there, making all sorts of fancy props appear from the large boxes around the room. There were ornaments and rich furniture and silk curtains and crystal chandeliers. He enchanted them to start ranging themselves and pulled a couple of coloured papers from his back pocket. He held several of them up before deciding on two and tossing the rest over his shoulder.

At the moment there was not attention for Jaxon, only for the picture.

He called a few set designers over and gave them the cards. "Break it all. Disarray. This colour first, details in variations of this other one. No more than four."

He waved the models over and told them to go over to get the basic prep done. He'd be over to pick their clothing soon. Then he turned back to Jaxon and the make up artist, who was waiting expectantly. He got closer and bent down slightly so he could look closely at it, for the moment paying no attention to personal space or intimacies or how that could be construed. Everything was the picture now.

The logo was... prefect. Yet not. It wasn't what he wanted.

"This is... the exact logo. It's perfect." He said, though he sounded unsure. "This is my mistake. Sorry Cordelia. Absolutely and totally my mistake. I don't know how to... explain the way I want it."

Oriel drew a large breath and exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead. He'd have to do this himself.

"Please go oversee Camden and Felicia's prep. Make it ethereal. Like in that shoot from last year, you know the vela edition? But a bit less... angelic. Ethereal, not angelic. Get it?" At the woman's nod he offered her a smile. "Truly sorry about this mistake."

As soon as she was gone he grabbed Jaxon's arms and drew them up, making a cross with his horse. "Excuse me." He said hurriedly, grabbing the kit Cordelia had left behind. He vanished her work before taking off his blouse. It wouldn't do to get paint on it. A few of the scars caused by his experiments were visible but he wasn't ashamed of them; he liked working with explosive materials.

Carefully he started painting what he wanted, eyes fixed on Jaxon's chest.

Oriel left them, but Jaxon wasn't offended or put off by the loss of the photographer's attention. There was much to be done. Jaxon half-watched Oriel drift around the space, watching as a set began to take shape. It was really awesome and interesting to see everyone working as things started to take shape. He was wholly impressed by it all.

The poor woman looked like she might cry at the tone Oriel had used to critique her work-because the words had been most kind (at least, as Jaxon understood them). But Oriel placated the woman. She nodded many times as the man spoke, though why all the head bobbing was necessary was lost on Jax. He placed a hand on her back to offer some comfort and smiled at her. "You really did an amazing job--it's exactly it," he promised, but the words didn't seem to make the woman feel any better. Oriel gave her another command and she seemed eager to escape from the two of them--and Jaxon supposed to redeem herself. He hoped she better understood the commands Oriel had given her, because he surely didn't. He wasn't even really sure what the word ethereal meant.

O offered him an apology, to which Jax replied to with simply "sure." He wasn't fussed. The contact was minimal and he wouldn't have minded any amount of manhandling from the artist. The logo was gone from his chest in an instant and his throat tightened for a moment, fear creeping in that the magic might have removed the glamour that covered the tell-tale scars of the few scratches on his abdomen, but a glance down told him that wasn't the case. He could breath easy. In his short moment of panic, he hadn't seen Oriel remove his outer shirt--leaving the other man in only a fitted tank now.  Something Jaxon could not complain about at all...but he'd missed the opportunity for a clever, flirty comment about managing already to get the man out of some of his clothes as Oriel was already getting to work repainting his chest.

Jaxon was used to the chill of the paint now--and did not flinch at all. He just watch, looking down at Oriel, studying the details of the other man's body. His mind wandering to thoughts of how the other man had earned the few scars that scattered over his skin that were visible to Jaxon. Oriel was much more pale that the deep tan skin Jaxon had inherited from his father. Delicate, precise strokes began to create the team logo again--it was not so cleanly depicited now. When he sought for a word to describe the image--his mind offered up the term raw...and he thought it wholly appropriate.

Jaxon let himself stay quiet as Oriel worked. Content just to observe--it was pleasure, really, to watch the other man work. To see how his eyes would narrow or brighten as the visual took on what he had seen beforehand in his mind's eye. Seeing creativity applied made Jax nearly envious of the other man's talents--he had no artistic capacity himself. But what a delight it was to be a canvas now for the handsome artist.

Slowly but surely the logo began to take form on Jaxon's chest. There were no defined lines, no clean edges. It was rough and crude and intense, and just like Oriel had pictured it. This matched the seeker's personality better, this made it seem like it was a part of him. Otherwise it just didn't fit, it would be just like stamping him with a label and putting him on a shelf. No, Jaxon was much more special than that, and this made it truly look like it wasn't just on him. It was him.

He pulled back, placing the tips of his fingers on Jaxon's shoulders and pushing him backwards. At a distance he could admire he own work, he could see how unrefined it was, yet still recognisable. That was what he was aiming for. A smile bloomed on his face. Yes, good.

"That only leaves the rest of you." He looked back up at Jaxon's face. "Please take a seat, I'll be back with you in a minute. I'll do it myself this time around too, if you don't mind."

He turned away again, casting a glance at the stage to see everything coming along nicely. Except... "Rip those curtains. And that mirror; why is it still whole? Reina gave us free reign, people, break stuff." He instructed. Somehow, commanding a classroom full of inquisitive students handling explosive ingredients had made instructing this chaos quite easy.

Walking over to the wardrobe he stopped for a quick peek at Cordelia's work, giving her a tiny hint for more mat colours, and then started throwing clothing about. Soon enough he'd picked two basic outfits for the models -handing them off to the costume assistants with instructions to add accessories matching the mood of the stage- and then picked some clothing for Jaxon.

When he returned he dumped everything on a desk and sat on top of it, right in front of the man. 

"So, I take it you're enjoying yourself? Playing with the Arrows and such."

Brush stroke after brush stroke, as smooth and soft against his skin as a lingering kiss, built the artwork on his chest. Jaxon had began with the majority of his focus on himself, on watching the logo form, but Oriel became much more interesting. Jax watched the other man's eyes and lips, everything about O's face was concentrated and expressive. The effect drew in the seeker--tempted him to touch, but he didn't dare move.

Then it was over. Jaxon nearly didn't realize until Oriel pushed him away. The distance between them growing was distinctly the opposite of the athlete's desire, but when Oriel smiled, so did his canvas-

"Just what to do wanna do with the rest of me?" The country twang came through strong in that flirtation, accented by a little suggestive wiggle of the man's eyebrows and a deep, husky chuckle.

A sharp sound of cloth tearing was followed by the shatter of glass and a symphony of chaos as the set designers took Oriel's words to heart. Jaxon was more curious by the moment just how these photos would turn out. The mind of the artist was most fascinating.

Time had gone so fast when Oriel had been there painting on his chest, but the man's absence seemed to stretch on for a great length of time. Funny how perception alters the mind's eye. But he was observant and flirty--winking and flashing grins at those that passed by and stole glances at him. He fed on the attention; it was pure energy.

Then--the beautiful photographer was back carrying all sorts of things. Jax paid little mind to the assortment that Oriel deposited in front of him, instead his dark, enchanting gaze went to the other man, himself. Focusing solely on the artist, Jaxon did as had done for many others before Oriel, using his attention and bold presence to make it seem like there was no one else in the room at all.

"Absolutely, livin' the dream," Jaxon drawled. His dimple appearing and disappearing as he spoke, lingering with the cocky sideways grin that rested on the seeker's boyish features. He looked both man, boy, and angel--or perhaps demon...something beautiful and tempting as the Devil, himself. "Looks like life has been pretty kind to you, as well. Witch Weekly is a solid gig. Get the pleasure of company like mine," he flashed a wide, dazzling smile at the reference to himself. "But whoever is waitin' at home for you might not like that bit so much."

Oriel hadn't replied to the man's query before leaving, preferring to leave the tense air between them as it was. Because, truthfully, he didn't know what he actually wanted to do to Jaxon. The man was captivating, absolutely so, and Oriel wanted to draw and sketch and feel- Whoa. Stop right there. Working. Concentrate. Now.

When he got back he started the conversation, and smiled good-naturedly as Jaxon expressed his pleasure at his job. With soft fingers he tilted the man's face, applying gentle strokes of make up, only enough to accentuate and move the shadows a bit. Nothing on the seeker's face would change, Oriel couldn't imagine anything having to be changed on that face.

At the man's question he chuckled, a sound that was barely perceptible. "I've only been here a few weeks, to be honest. My other job wasn't taking up enough time so I though I should get another one. Might blow myself up by accident otherwise."

That was true. Too much time meant a bored Oriel. A bored Oriel meant a risk taking Oriel who tried out formulas with way too many explosive components in them. It wouldn't do to blow up the castle, or himself. Witch Weekly filled up the other hours he had, the ones in which his imagination and excitability became recklessness.

He almost winced when Jaxon mentioned a partner. "And yes, the company is... pleasant. But nobody's waiting back home.