One time I asked for drabble prompts (drabbles=short, short stories, often only 100 words), and my friend Ygrane asked for a “missing scene” type of thing from Chiaroscuro. This is what I wrote.
“I want to draw on you,” Jamie said.
Ben turned over and opened one eye to look at him. “Hmrph?”
“I want to draw on you.”
Ben blinked, rubbed his face, and said, “I’m sorry, it sounds like you’re saying you want to draw on me rather than just draw me and it’s throwing me a bit.”
“You’re hearing me right.” Jamie nodded with enthusiasm. “Can I, can I, please please please?”
“Draw on me,” Ben said.
“Yes.”
“With a pencil?”
“No, daftie, skin won’t hold lead. Ink. Or watercolor. Watercolor will wash off easily, if that’s what’s concerning you.”
Ben sat up and leaned against the headboard, still blinking at Jamie. “I’m more concerned,” he said slowly, “with the fact that you woke me up on my day off to tell me you want to draw on me.”
“It was spur-of-the-moment.”
“And the moment couldn’t have waited until morning?”
“Nope.” He shook his head. Jamie, Ben had noticed from the beginning, had a tendency to look amused most of the time, and he looked really amused right now.
“You’re not going to let me sleep until you get your way, are you.”
“Nope.” More gleeful head-shaking.
Ben sighed. “Right. Okay.” He threw back the duvet. “Go to.”
Jamie yipped with pleasure and bounced up to kiss him, then off the bed and out to his workroom. He came back a few minutes later with his watercolors paints, water, brushes and a palatte.
“Okay,” he said, settling on his knees over Ben’s thighs. “Hm.”
“Should I shave my chest?” Ben smirked at him.
“Don’t be silly.” He kissed Ben again.
Ben put his hands on Jamie waist and said, “I really don’t think I’m the one being silly here.”
“Hush. You love it.” He gave another swoop to Ben’s lips with his tongue and then sat back on his heels and picked up his brush.
Ben didn’t watch the brush—he watched Jamie’s face, the look of intense concentration and the way the tip of his tongue was clenched beneath his teeth. The water was cold and raised goosebumps on his skin, and the brush tickled like feathers or fingertips . . .
Mm. Fingertips.
Ben closed his eyes and tilted back his head. No more watching, though Jamie’s wonderful face was always worth watching. Just feeling now, listening, the soft swish of the brush in the water, the gentle touch of the brush, Jamie muttering to himself as he created . . . whatever it was he was creating.
“Jamie?”
“Hm?”
“Gonna take a picture of this and hang it in the gallery?”
Soft laughter and another kiss. “Oh, no, mate. This one’s just for me.”
Ben smiled and his eyes stayed closed as Jamie covered him with flowers and stars.
End.
