The Fires of Passion

Comepletely Unrelated Bonus Chapter

Author Note:
This has nothing to do with Brent and Ruvik, but a lot of you guys wanted to read this horrible thing I wrote long ago, so here it is. Enjoy.
•••
I push open the door of his studio tentatively. My ears are flooded by the sound of classical music.
"Tchaikovsky's 'Serenade for Strings,'" he replies, his back still to me. "One of his better pieces, in my opinion. Of course, only the first movement in C major. It's classic."
"It's beautiful," I reply.
"Ah, bella, I knew you would agree," he says before setting down his brush and turning to me. Momentarily, I forget why I came by his studio. I was too busy swimming in his beautiful purple eyes.
"Uh, you called me down here?" I pipe up meekly once I finally remember.
"Ah, yes. About that," he lightly holds my chin with his thumb and forefinger, almost as if he's afraid he'll break it, "I was wondering if I could paint you."
He smiles warmly. I know how much he loves his art, so I agree.
"Please, stand here," he guides me to a platform in the center of the studio. Carefully, he positions me as to capture whatever symbolism he's aiming for.
"Hm... croise derriere seems to be the best way to go, since it highlights your graceful stature," he explains as he moves my right arm up above my head and my left out behind me.
As he lingers on my left fingers, he states, "Try to stay as still as possible for now. I promise I'll be as quick as I can."
He moves my left leg out behind me as well. Afterwards, he takes a step back to decide if this is the pose he really wants to paint.
"Perfetto," he breathes as he begins to gather paints.
After a few minutes, he finally decides on the base colors. Before he go back to get the brushes and palate, I ask, "Don't you need an easel?"
"Bella," he looks me in the eyes, brushing my hair away, "I don't know how to ask this of you, but..."
He bites his lower lip, thinking of the best way to phrase his request.
"I was wondering... uh, what I meant when I asked if I could paint you was... uh, would you mind if I painted you, uh, nude?"
"What?" I breathe.
"I completely understand if you change your mind. I should have been clear about my intentions from the beginning."
"No, no, it's, uh, it's fine," I smile slightly, "I don't object."
"Oh, bella," he delicately brushes my cheek. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I reply. I feel my fingers cramping, but I don't want to move them, lest I ruin his image. "Do you want me to strip down here or..."
"No, no, there's a bathroom in the back of the studio," he tells me as I lower my arms and leg.
Before I leave, he hands me a box, "If you want, could you change into these, please?"
"Sure," I reply, taking the box and heading to the bathroom.
Inside the box is a skimpy nude thong, stick-on bra, and bald cap. Slightly confused, I strip down and don the contents of the box.
When I return to the platform, I hear him softly whisper, "Bella."
Delicately, he repositions me; being extra careful to only touch my hands and feet.
"So," I begin, "What's this all about?"
"Bella, when I said I would paint you, what I meant by that was... you would be my perfect canvas for my opus maximum."
He opens up a few of his paint bottles and squeezes a bit of each color onto the palate. He waltzes behind me and says, "Now, I'm going to start with your back."
A second after he says that, he brushes some paint across my upper back. A slight gasp escapes my throat. He stops suddenly.
"Did I hurt you, bella?" he asks, concerned.
"No, the paint is just cold. Please continue."
He continues swiping paint across my back until it's fully covered in paint.
*[Idk if I wanna add more or not, so I'm just gonna skip to the end of it for now]*
"Here, let me help you," he says as he slowly moves my leg forward. "You must be so stiff from standing so still for so long. Don't worry, bella. The piece turned out perfetto."
He gently takes my left hand and slowly guides it back down to my side, massaging my fingers in the process. Finally, he reaches up to grab my right hand. As if snapped out of a trance, he freezes when he touches my hand, staring deep into my eyes, piercing my soul. This is the most vulnerable I have felt in front of him, and I think he feels vulnerable in front of me now, too. He laces our fingers together with one hand and tenderly brushes my paint-covered face with his other. He begins to pull his hand away, but I softly push it back to where it was with my free hand. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers my right arm.
My knees suddenly give way. I feel myself falling and let out a small gasp. He catches me swiftly, gracefully, carefully placing one arm across my shoulder blades and the other on my lower back.
"I'm sorry about your shirt," I say. "It's covered in paint now."
"Don't worry about it, bella. It is paint that has grace your skin. Shall I carry you to the bathroom?"
"Yes please," I reply before he scoops me up into his arms. I loosely wrap my arms around his neck as I close my eyes and lay my head on his shoulder. He feels so... secure. He sets me down gently in the bathtub.
"Ciao, bella," he whispers before closing the door behind him.