I awoke in the middle of the night. I was shivering and mindlessly clutching his arm; trying, unsuccessfully, to suck eough warmth from his fingertips to thaw myself, inside and out. I turned from my back to face him and he woke up.
"Are you cold?" That sweet, rough, middle-of-the-night whisper. Oh, how I had missed it. In responce, I curled up and rested my head on his warm chest. My frozen hand settled on his belly and he groaned sleepily. Instead, I wrapped my arm around his waist, sliding my hand underneath him, and slid my body down to rest on his tummy. I let my lips graze his deliciously smooth skin and I pressed my nose into his bellybutton. He pulled the blanket up over my head and rubbed some feeling back into my bare arm before sleep once again took over.
I awoke with a stream of light from between the curtains beating upon my eyelids. I could see the redness of my veins, feel the sun trying to pry open my sleepy eyes. My arm was asleep. He was lying on it. No, I was lying on it. I had my leg relaxed across his thighs, half of my body on top of his. I lifted my head from his chest; from that sweet, innocent, starting-out-the-day skin of his upper body. I looked at his face, moved my body up so i could kiss his half-open mouth. He went on sleeping and I slowly crawled over him and out of bed. I sat on the cold hardwood floor and unzipped my suitcase. Once I had slipped on a sweatshirt, I lifted the layers of clothing to reveal the large wooden case sitting snug and patient along the bottom of my luggage. I pulled it out and felt his eyes on me. I apologized for waking him up and he asked what I was doing.
"Come back to bed," he said. I only smiled and carefully pulled out my Strathmore.
"Toss me a pillow," I said as I scooted back to the wall. He pulled the fluffy one from under his lovely body. "No, you need that one." He replaces it and throws me the smashed one. Thin, but a savoir from the hard floor nonetheless. I place it underneath me and lean against the wall, bending my knees up and feeling the cold floor against my once warm bare feet. Then I take up my Strathmore and flip through the private moments, the uncontrolled tears, the lost smiles, and the self-abuse. Once I find a blank page I open the wooden case. I fix my eyes on Nik, taking in the colors of his flesh. Then I shake my head; he has propped himself on an elbow. "Your arm will fall asleep," I say. "Lean against the wall." So he lazily sits up and slumps himself against the maroon (pink) wallpaper. I set the paper on the floor and get up. I looked at him for a second and sat next to him on the bed. He watched my eyes as they poured over his body; my mind working, formulating poses. I unbutton an extra button at the top of his white cotton shirt, then a bottom one. I lay the edges out against his thighs to contrast with his black jeans and sit back to examine. It wouldn't matter what paper I used, the white wouldn't show up enough. I walked over to his closet and pawed through the various colors and textures. I plucked a dark blue button-up from its hanger and returned to the bed. We remained silent as I undressed him. He sat up so I could pull oe shirt off and the other on. He leaned back again and I put a few buttons into place. Yes, that would work nicely.
"Comfy?" I ask. Surely his back would get sore being slouched like that. I pulled on his shoulders and placed the pillow along his lower back. He smiled at me in thanks and I turned to resume my station under the window. He caught my shoulder so I turned back. He placed both hands on either side of my head and pulled me in for a kiss filled with morning breath and perfect contention. I lingered a moment and sat back on the pillow.
I contemplated using a grey instead of trying to perfect his flesh, as I often did when I was in a rush or gloomy mood. Certainly not the time nor place for hastiness, I'd have to opt for perfection. I picked up the worn-down pale and began to sketch.
The outline of his head was pure magnificence. I began on his body, relaxing farther into concentration as the blue worked smoothly on its own. My meditation was hardly broken when Nik's stepmother poked her head in the door to invite us out to breakfast. We kindly refused adn I barely acknowledged the sound of the car pulling away. Nike gazed out the window for a moment, then back at me.
"We're home alone," he said.
"Put that up, get into bed." I hadn't been working long, if I stopped now it could poetentially ruin everything. I frowned. Well, he had gotten out of position anyway. I set my Strathmore on the floor in front of me and looked at the page. The smudged outlines had yet to look like anything much and I prayed for it to turn out. I placed the pastel inside the outline of his shirt, stood up, stepped over my Strathmore and crawled up onto the bed to straddle his thighs. He placed his hands on my hips and I pressed the middle finger of my right hand against his chest. I moved my finger all the way down to his bellybutton, leaving a dull blue streak on his skin. I smiled, pleased with the idea of his and my art becoming one. I leaned in and kissed him, bring my hand up to run my finger along his jawline. Another blue line, another step in becoming a walking masterpiece. Suddenly, I wished I were a painter. GivinMy mouth hung half-open, in a slight, relexive grin as my clouded grey eyes followed my finger from the top of his forehead to the tip of his nose. Barely noticable. I licked my finger and pressed it firmly along his collar bone. Giving up, I allowed my hands to graze his skin, flattening my palms to his sides. I felt him breathe, I felt his live. My eyes did a ballet upon his stomach; upon the sporatic few freckles. They finally rested on his own eyes, which lovingly held mine.