The Adventures of a Pumpkin and a Running Back Boy

Lexi, the Canvas

Before you read this, just a heads up, these little chapters are in fact extras. If you haven't read "I Sold Myself to the Devil for Vinyls... Pitiful I Know" you'll DEFINITELY be confused. 

Also, they're probably going to be short most of the time. 

Anyway, enjoy!  This part was actually meant to be in "I Sold.." but I decided to cut it out.

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Lexi, the Canvas

I woke up from a slight feeling of tickling. I slowly opened my eyes, to find Blake, sitting cross-legged beside me, his head over my stomach, a tiny brush in his hand and a bottle in the other.

“Don’t move Lex or else I’m going to screw this up,” Blake whispered to me, his eyes never leaving my stomach, and that’s when I realized he was using the brush on me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed, my head rising.

“Pumpkin, don’t move!” Blake ordered me, before kissing my stomach.

Normally this would have been enough to have me all crooning and happy but this was not normally. “Is that Chinese ink?” I all but shrieked.

“Sure is,” Blake answered, half smiling and kissed my stomach again, once, twice, thrice, “Focus Blake...” he whispered to himself, shaking his head, still smiling and then continued painting on me.

“But that’s like impossible to wash,” I whined. That asshole!

“I know,” Blake whispered mischievously.

“I hate you,” I mumbled but stayed still. He was dead. The minute he stopped and I knew I wouldn’t ruin his sheet by knocking the ink out of his hand I would whoop his ass and then some.

“Love you too” Blake answered, and then turned around, dipping the brush in a glass of water on the bedside table and then, turned it in the little bottle and finally continued his work.

This was totally unfair. All I could do was stare at him, and staring at him didn’t really help the whole murdering him plan. I couldn’t help but gaze at him in marvel. He looked so breathtaking like this, concentrating on something, his mind completely absorb with his work. My gaze couldn’t rip away from every muscle of his arms and chest that move with every movement of the brush, his perfect skin, his perfect face, his perfect hair, his perfect him...

We had been going out for months now. Surely I’d stop staring like a moron at him at one point, surely I’d start actually believing Blake freaking Eaton was all mine.

“What are you drawing?” I finally managed to ask him while trying not to drool like a moron.

“A tree,” Blake whispered his mind somewhere else completely.

“A tree?” I asked, in disbelief, almost rising.

He was drawing a freaking tree on me with indelible ink! He is SO dead!

“Just wait, you’ll see it sounds worst than it really is,” Blake replied, smiling.

I rolled my eyes at him because I couldn’t move and punch him. “You’re unbelievable!”

“Patience love, I’ll be done in five minutes and then you’ll see what a marvellous artist you’re sleeping with,” Blake told me, using a deliberately strong and undeniably sexy British accent.

Luckily, this wasn’t the first time he used it, so I was less of a snivelling goo of hormone after hearing him. Instead, I frowned realizing something. “How long have you been up doing this?”

“About two hours,” he answered absentmindedly.

“And I didn’t wake up?!”

“You did, twice,” he told me, looking up quickly and dipping his brush in water again, before continuing whispering slowly to me, “but I don’t think you were really aware of what was going on. First time you asked what I was doing and I told you I was always only doing you, especially in the French maid outfit and you answered good and then you fell back asleep and the second time you told me you didn’t want to go to school and closed you eyes before I could answer anything.” His eyes and hands never left my stomach as he worked and talked. This was seriously starting to get uncomfortable, but not exactly in the bad way.

“I don’t remember,” I frowned again

“That’s what I thought,” Blake answered me and then he turned back and switched bottles and brushes and then started to draw again, this time in red.

I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t like the look of this,” I whispered to him.

This earned me a chuckle. “You gotta have more trust in your boyfriend, Pooky!”

I rolled my eyes at him, and this time I got a full on laugh.

I wanted to kiss him right now, I wanted to hold him, I wanted to lick his freaking chest! When would he be done already!? All that brushing on my stomach was turning me on! And we were the morning!

“I know, I know. Stop squishing and then I’m all yours,” Blake suddenly said quietly to me, knowing exactly what I wanted right now.

Two minutes later, he put the brush and the bottle back on the bedside table, blew on my stomach, making my skin shiver and my muscles tense and then smiled to me.

“Alright, all done,” he announced enthusiastically.

I sat up and the bed and looked down on me. Even upside down, I sort of stared in amazement at the beauty of what he had done.

The tree was kinda of horrorish and you could see its head and arms, reaching for a red-heart that dangled from its head and in front of it. The art piece was simply breathtaking and as always I was shocked with the talent and skills Blake had. I could never draw like he did.

“Told you,” Blake said smugly and kissed me on the lips, a fast peck.

I frowned at him, wanting more, but then my eyes fell on scripture at the bottom of the drawing. I tried to turn my head a bit to read what it said, but Blake had used a creepy kind of calligraphy, hard to read upside down.

“What’s written here?” I asked, pointing.

“Property of Blake Eaton. Keep your fucking hands away.” Blake informed me smirking. “It might be hard to read though. I mean, I had an easier time drawing on you when you were sleeping, I was kinda used to your even breathing, I moved with it, but you’ve been slowing down my work ever since you woke up.”

I laughed. “Because I wasn’t breathing evenly?”

“No, because you were turning me on too much with your shivering.”

            And then we were both silent staring into each other eyes, with that look, that up-to-no-good-but-if-you’re-in-my-shoes-it’s-pretty-good-actually kind of look.

And then Blake was crushing me under him.