Heterochromic Haze

8- Valley of sin

I wait in nervous anticipation for his text. As the days go on I become more and more sulky, the sculpture taunting me with its incompletion.

When my phone does buzz, I'm about four seconds away from having my way with a girl who's practically begging me to ravish her. I pull away immediately to glance at my phone.

For the first time in days my heart feels light, my mind clear and I'm automatically pulling my pants up rather than down.

She whines on my bed but I pay her no mind, my eyes scanning the text.

"I have a few hours free now?"

I don't care that he's cock blocked me, or that he has yet again given me ten minutes notice.

"Come over."

I hit send without thinking about it, a smile playing on my lips as I rake a hand through my hair.

"I'm sorry, you have to go, hun. I have a model coming over." I say unapologetically but she takes it like a champ.

She reluctantly pulls on her dress and shoes, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before ducking out the front door.

Not even a minute later there's a tap at my door and I swing it open.

His eyes are heaven, renewing me and I gesture for him to come in.

"Was this a bad time?" He asks hesitantly and I shake my head.

"No, this is perfect." I say, smiling lopsidedly when I meet his doubtful gaze.

This time around I'm a bit more prepared for him. I change the playlist to something more mellow, my lighting already set up from our previous session and I light a candle for good measure.

He raises a brow at the additions but doesn't comment. I can feel my cheeks burn as I turn away and I frown deeply.

What the hell is wrong with me?

When he slips off his shirt, I spend less time ogling and more time focusing. I position him again, my hands more sure of themselves, and get to work.

He watches me intensely, as though I'm the work of art and it throws me off a little. My models don't look at me like that.

The silence emanating from him is what I encourage from my models, but with him it feels...wrong. I want him to talk, I want to know him.

"So...how has your day been?" I ask, cringing internally at how awkward I sound.

He takes a moment to respond, and when my eyes flicker to his, he looks somewhat surprised.

"It's been okay." He says quietly, taking care not to move. I can't help the sudden smile that spreads across my lips.

"And yours?" He adds suddenly.

I glance at him again, smiling warmly.

"Getting better with every second." I say.

Everett rolls his eyes slightly at my corny line and I laugh under my breath, knowing he couldn't possibly understand how much I mean every word.

"How did you meet Amyas?" He asks, his voice curious.

I smile to myself at the memory.

"I've known about Amyas for years." I say, amusement lacing my words.

Everett looks surprised by this.

"I went to school in the next town over. Every scholarship, competition, art showcase, there was always this kid mentioned. A prodigy, the next great master whose talent was unrivalled. I remember thinking with a name like Amyas, of course he's the next fucking Van Gogh." I say, smiling when I hear Everett chuckle.

"Anyway, he was always painted as my rival, but to be honest I never saw it that way. What we do is so different, you can't really compare art or talent like that. But, it's rural England and opportunities are slim. I loved his work, and when we finally met, it felt like I'd known him for years. I sort of had, in a way. I'd watched his work change, his style evolve, and I got to live through his experiences with him, through his paintings. Turns out he'd been doing the same thing with me. He understands me in a way no one else does. We've been inseparable since we met." I say simply.

The silence that follows spooks me a little. I hadn't meant to go on like that, but when I glance up, Everett looks thoughtful.

"I'm glad he has you." He says quietly.

I frown, glancing at his expression. He sounded like he meant it, but he looks quietly troubled.

"I'm the lucky one." I say confidently, smiling at him. This seems to be the right thing to say, but it doesn't settle his expression completely. I decide to leave him to his thoughts.

I work in my usual quiet, content manner, until I get to his abdomen. 

I hiss under my breath as my fingers nudge the clay uselessly. No matter what way I smooth the clay, it doesn't sit right. My brows tighten, my lips pursing as I glance from my model to my sculpture time and time again. I retract my hands, allowing them to perch on my waist as I squint in frustration. I can feel the clay sticking to my shirt but I don't care, images burning themselves to the inside of my brain as I fixate again and again on his torso.

"Ledger?" He says, his voice smooth and collected as he breaks my concentration.

I look up, meeting his eyes as he indicates for me to come closer. I sigh, wiping my fingers as I abandon my work. I step over to him, standing between his legs as his hands reach for mine.

My eyes widen as his fingers wrap round my wrists like a vice, guiding them forwards until my fingers brush against his abdomen. His eyes watch mine carefully, the depth in them so intense I feel like I can hardly breathe.

I hesitate for a moment before slowly dropping to my knees, spreading my fingers across his torso. He leans back effortlessly, watching me intently as my fingers explore his abs. I work my way down, feeling the lines of tension, envisioning what lies beneath.

My fingers glide down the centre of him, feeling the dips and hollows, gliding over the taught muscles. I slide my thumbs down to the very edge of his jeans, feeling the smooth skin that dips into an enticing pathway that I desperately wish I could follow.

His breathing hitches slightly as I caress the skin there, squeezing his hips as my thumbs massage the sensitive area. I meet his eyes then and immediately wish I hadn't. The fire that burns in them has me weak and my groin painfully tight.

I exhale shakily, breaking eye contact as I work my hands back up his torso.

I retract my fingers reluctantly, standing unsteadily as I meet his eyes again. He exhales deeply, swallowing as he watches me retreat to the sculpture.

I don't have any more trouble with his torso, but I also can't help being disappointed at the feel of clay beneath my fingers.

_

A/N Oops, sorry, late again. Better late than never ey?

I hope you all enjoy :) 

Francesca