The Paint

“I’m done…” that clear voice was everything that interrupted the once silence. Dark grey eyes watched his prey as a small smile crept its face. She rose silently from the wooden table, not daring to disturb the beauty that those pair of eyes had in front. She did not drag the long red satin cover along, letting the glory of her naked body to admire. She walked steadily, small, gracefully footsteps pushing along the old rusty floor.

”You know my price…” The same voice was again like a dense mist over her ears. She leaned closely, whispering at her predator, seductively. She sent a hand over his covered chest, smirking slightly. Oh, it was so easy to manipulate things, but this time she was the one manipulated. This young man was all people, pardon, women wanted. Maybe that is why she went further with her abduction. She took the man’s lap as her chair and still leaned on him, adding another hand around his neck. She tried to whisper her words, because first time she failed. In addition, she succeeded with great effort.

“I know…But I also know that this paint is going to be the best on the next art gallery…” She smiled gently, politely, with hinted lust into her eyes. The man only got his hands on her back and forced them both to land on the floor, smirking in return.

“Don’t be so optimistic, Madam Lorena. You know some things are better off not in the candle light…” She was surprised at this man’s behavior. Some would already ravish her and she will only destroy their hearts after. Casanova, that Venetian, who needs him and his tricks and Marie Antoinette, please, she was better, she was the absolute queen of manipulation, especially with her…’job’. It was so intoxicating to take such a hard task and role but it was also fun and enjoyed every minute of it. She laughed. She laughed it away and kissed the man forcefully.

”I am assuring you, this will be a hit. I am very sure, my grey-eyed painter…” She smirked again, only to feel a hand on her mouth. Her dull brown eyes widen in shock. No one dared to silence her, to put insult into the injury, with a hand nonetheless!

”Hear me…Madam…” the tone got a little too much to handle for a woman like her. It was dangerous, so close; she could have sworn his breath was like ice. “I am respected for my realism in paintings…If you think that only this will become a hit, you are wrong. All will, even if you like it or not. Now, I must collect my price. I think Elisa announced you about it…” the same lustful eyes were occupying the grey jewels. She struggled but the other hand pinned her arms into the wood. She could have felt the roughness, if she was not too preoccupied in gazing into those eyes. They fascinated her, never in her carrier and entire life meeting two pairs alike. The smirk adored his slightly tanned skin. He got the hand away, only replaced by forcefully lips. She surrenders. She could not handle the pressure anymore. Someone new could say bittersweet, but to her it was as honey mixed with water.

”Hello world, I am back!” the same voice erupted around the cold room. The grey eyes never left. It still adored that slightly feminine face, sketched with a proud, cocky smirk, which seriously pissed off higher wigs. He stepped forward, rising the dust that was renamed ‘blanket’, from the carpet. How he hated that carpet. He wished everyday he could stop his needs and masks to ask for more money. It was such a waist of time to even step on it. However, for the moment, it occupied the room nicely and sent warm shivers through the feet.

”Already?” another voice, a young one, danced along the sounds, dark green eyes turning around to face the grey ones. He was so small, that he could have been confused with a child, but he was mature enough to say otherwise, or so people thought. In public, he was a generous, happy looking boy, but in private settings, he had the characteristics of a suicidal person. Confused by the prime voice, he raised the eyes a little more, observing the fit body adored with simple clothes. He always admired the painter in front of him, his master. He also enjoyed taking care some time of that brown wild hair. Heck. He loved it! Because in the light it shinned so beautifully, with a red tint, that made his paintings seem full of life. He always saw his master as a nymph, also. His source of inspiration, besides life, only things are over rated in the boy’s vision. “How much did she pay?” the boy let his almost destroyed brush on a chair, near, turning his full body to the painter.

”The usual…..” His tone was harsh, avoiding the boys gaze. He was too innocent for this stuff. He took the boy long ago, in a rainy evening. He could never forget that time, because then he became truly famous. He still felt his cautious emeralds on his body. Sometimes, those eyes passed his soul. It was creepy, but he could not resist not watching again the boy, as his body turned fully to him. He had a pale face full of red and black paint. Must be the rose painting he gave him to work on, yesterday. His shirt, hang loosely on one shoulder and slipped on the other arm. He tilted his head a little at the view. He must have been working all night. ”Take a rest….” He whispered, trailing along his legs into an old couch. As soon as his body hit it, the brown mane covered his face, sending the man into a light sleep. How he wished he were not that addicted to…the stuff. But that was a filthy lie.

The boy saddened instantly at the reply. The usual, he said. That means no money, only pleasure for him. He looked down at his naked feet. He examined his ungraceful toes, which were hanging like to dear life. Life is hard and then you die. Life is unworthy to have people as him in it. He was not like his master, his Gerald. He was…usual. He was pure European; the other was half-Japanese. He wished to be Japanese too, like his master. Women liked that part, even more than his talent. Women liked his body more than everything did. He lured prostitutes for his paints, but that was not bad, was it? He was a great artist. Take risks for your job, he always said. It does not matter who the model is as long as the art is still lingering, he will continue. He knew it. He made a promise after weeks of staying with the hearted man. He made a promise the he, Alan Greenriver, will take care of the humble master until his last breaths came out. He will also listen like a servant and never ask questions, unless it crossed the line. He took the brush again, starting to continue his work. That rose was going to be perfect for the exhibition, no matter what.