deadly nightshade | fever in, fever out

chapter 56: the hollow men

"We are the hollow men,
we are the stuffed men,
leaning together,
headpiece filled with straw. Alas!"
-"the hollow men", cocteau twins

Joey shuffled his bare feet upon the carpet. He set his hands on either edge of the chair and his thumbs brushed against the sides of his thighs as they spread over the top of the seat. He held still for the two girls across the floor from him, and his black curls sprawled down over his chest and his collar bones.
Sam stayed on the couch with the pad of paper set upon her lap, and her hard graphite in one hand. Her ink pens rested on the table in front of her: she knew which ones she would work with upon looking on at Joey's naked body before her. It was a bit of a challenge, especially with Belinda right there next to her. She took her seat on the floor right next to her so she had a different angle.
The same man. The same hollow man and yet with two artists who were about to see and draw down something different from each other.
His bare knees had a bit of a sheen to them while his shins were perfect and straight. His feet were narrow but shapely, as were his ankles. His skin had that soft brown tint to it all over. Toned all over. Toned and yet very thin.
Sam let her eyes wander up to his thighs and his hips. That little line there over his hips that made her think of Cliff and his belt. She had no idea if it was the way in which he was sitting but she swore that he had a little extra curve on his hips. She stared on at the space between his thighs and the way he just held still there.
"Like what you see, Sam?" Belinda teased her as she followed her gaze.
"I'm just looking on at him and getting the idea of how his body looks. I did it with Cliff, too." She pursed her lips as she raised her gaze to his stomach and his chest, both as flat as a board. She thought back to Charlie's closet where Frank let her feel up his hair and his skin. There was a soft smooth looking texture to Joey's skin that made her want to touch it for herself.
But she brought her gaze to his neck and shoulders and the tousled black curls. Her fingers tingled at the very sight of the curls. She couldn't hardly shake that feeling away as she looked over the literal crown of curls atop his head.
She kept her eyes fixed on his head and his bangs, and she touched the graphite down on the surface of the paper. The hard graphite glided across the grains; every so often, she peered down to ensure she was really drawing out his head and shoulders first. The light from the kitchen shone upon the curls so they had a bit of a glisten to them.
She made a mental note to let the ink in the fine tipped pen speak for itself once she took off the cap.
He stared on at her as she let her eyes lock onto his; her hand glided across the grains as she kept her gaze fixated on his face. His brown eyes stared back at her: two big deep pools of darkness; the skin on his face was so smooth and soft looking. The skin on his neck looked even softer and smoother.
Sam brought the tip of her pencil down the surface of the paper. Ever so lightly, she moved it to and fro for a bit of an outline on his neck and shoulders. She moved down to his arms and then the rest of his body. Out of the corner of her eye, Belinda followed suit but from the down low angle.
At one point, Sam stopped drawing right around his hips so she could have a look at the thick dark outline Belinda had left in her wake.
"You sure you wanna go that dark?" she asked her.
"Yeah, I'm gonna be doing it with the extra dark graphite," Belinda replied; the middle grain graphite left a dark enough line that Sam wondered if she planned on using a fixative afterwards
"I'm getting so hungry," he griped.
"You're kinda perfect right now, though, Joey," Belinda pointed out as she dropped her gaze to her paper for a few seconds.
"Yeah, your stomach is really beautiful right about now," Sam added, "—being all flat and empty." She moved her pencil closer a bit for a better outline near his waist and his hips. The memory of the closet with Frank would not go away.
At one point, she stopped drawing and held onto the pencil with her other hand. She flexed her fingers, much to Joey's amusement.
"Holdin' on too tightly?" he teased her with that signature grin on his face.
"No, actually," she replied with a tilting of her head. She nibbled on her bottom lip and she turned her pencil around with two fingers so the tip of the graphite pointed towards her. Belinda turned her attention to her right then.
"Joey—this is gonna sound weird," Sam started in a soft voice, "but—I want to touch your body."
"You want to touch me?" He raised his eyebrows at that.
"Yeah. Just to feel your skin. Get an idea of what exactly I'm drawing here."
Joey shuffled his feet underneath the chair so the skin on his knees had a bit more of a sheen to them.
"My hands are very soft," she told him as she held the pencil closer to her chest.
"It's not your soft hands I'm worried about," he confessed, "it's the hands altogether."
"Why, though? You were kind enough to let me touch you when we were at the lake that one time."
"Yeah, but we were alone, though."
"Belinda doesn't mind," she assured him.
"Yeah, I don't mind at all," Belinda herself added with a shake of her head.
"Besides—the smoothness of your skin has opened up something in me. I want to feel the texture. I want to know what I'm feeling here. I feel myself wanting to be more of a physical artist than just a straight up artist. Something about—wanting to make more texture in my art just—gets me thinking."
Joey ran his tongue around his lips and he didn't move a muscle.
"But at the same time, I want you to be comfortable," she continued. "That's always been my intent with you especially—Cliff was more open with it." As the words left her lips, the firm feeling rose up in her throat once again. Indeed, she brought a hand to her mouth and she bowed her head for a second. Belinda set a hand on her knee. Sam didn't move: the only sound came from the pipes in the wall behind them. But the feeling went away and she rose her head for a better look at him. She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes so as to better let the feelings melt away from her. Belinda's fingers caressed over her knee; she then opened her eyes and beheld the sight of Joey right before her. "But I want you to be comfortable at the same time. You're a different model this time."
Joey shifted his weight in his seat once again and that time he stretched out legs before him. He had such a lanky shape to his ankles that she wondered how he hadn't broken them whilst playing hockey.
"Have at it," he told her in a low voice.
Belinda moved her hand away from her so she could walk on over to him.
"Again, tell me if you aren't comfortable," she told him, "I'll stop if you aren't comfortable."
He never moved his hands from the edge of the seat as she knelt down before his feet. She tucked the pencil behind her ear and, after she flexed her fingers a second time, she set her hands on his ankles. Slender and spare in flesh, and yet they were strangely elegant in their shape. The bones had a beautiful curve to them as they led into the muscles in his lower legs. Her fingers made their way onto his feet, which were just as narrow and spare, but his veins were like a spider web spread over the top. His skin was like that of silk all the way over the top.
She then moved her hands back his legs again, that time towards his knees and his thighs. His skin was even smoother there, but he squirmed a bit in his seat.
"You okay?" she asked him as she froze right in place.
"Yeah, I just—I just—" He let go of the edges of the seat for a second just to let himself flex his own fingers for himself. "Okay—okay—hang on—I gotta—I gotta—"
He held onto the edges of the seat once again and she brought her hands back to his thighs. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him nibbling on his bottom lip. But she kept at it all the way inside there. She wondered what exactly she was doing as she moved in closer to the space between his thighs.
"It's so hard," he complained.
"Don't be such a bastard," she scoffed. Her fingers caressed over the skin: he was extra smooth in between those thighs, even smoother than on his ankles. Smooth as silk. Her eyes fixated onto his face: she flashed back on that day in her apartment where she touched herself. Touching her body was akin to touching his body.
They were both art.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, but she kept at it. She could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face and so she moved onto his hips and that little crease there in between his thigh and his hip bone. Skin and bones, and yet soft and smooth as if he had layers upon layers of flesh on his body. Add to this, his hips were full and smooth in their shape, made even rounder by sitting down. Her fingers caressed onto his waist and the lower part of his belly.
"You feel kind of—hollow," she remarked as she gently pressed on his stomach. "All hollow in here."
"I am so hungry right now," he confessed to her.
"It's okay—I'm sure we'll think of something soon. We'll find something for the three of us soon enough—just let me feel you. Let me feel this skin—"
He shifted weight a third time as she moved her hands onto his chest, the deepest fullest part of his body. He was so thin that she could feel his ribs: all smooth and without a single notch in them one. He was a hockey player and yet, as far as she knew, he hadn't broken a single bone in his body. Not a single break to found and he was still slim and delicate in the face of all the drinking.
"You have such a beautiful body," she told him. "Really beautiful."
Sam ran her hands down his arms, which were as smooth as anything else: add to this, he relaxed each of his muscles for her touch. She used two fingers to feel both of his wrists, including that silver metal bracelet on his right. Another round on his chest and those soft fine sprigs of dark hair all around his skin, and she moved up to his hair. So coarse and yet so smooth at the same time.
He closed his eyes as she moved her hand to the back of his head and those silken roots at the base of his neck.
She stared into his face, now placid and soft with the feeling. It was a fleeting thought, but she considered giving him a kiss on those dark lips for acting like such a good boy that whole time. It was tempting: the dark skin looked smooth like dark chocolate and the side of his neck smelled so good with that soft soapy musk. His entire body smelled good.
She then ran her fingers through the ringlets on either side of his head. His hair followed their way out like the heads of snakes.
"Okay," she breathed, and he opened his eyes at her and he sighed through his nose again.
"Feel better about it?" he asked her in a low voice, to which he cleared his throat.
"Quite a bit, yeah—I feel closer to you, too."
Joey took a glimpse down at his body.
"If I do say so myself," he teased her, again with that grin on his face. Sam rolled her eyes, but then Belinda burst out laughing at that.
"Quite the note to go out on, too, might I add," he declared.
"How so?" she asked him as she stood upright next to him.
"We're gonna be doing a couple'a tour dates in a month or so. Show dates in between recording dates."
"Wow," Sam remarked as she rubbed her hands together. "Wait, when do you go back into the studio?"
"Uh—tomorrow, I think? Tomorrow bright and early. Which means you two girls can either come on in with us given the association with Aurora and whatnot, or we can see you tomorrow when it happens."
"Well, it's dumping snow right now, Joey—I don't really feel like driving four hours through it all."
"I don't, either," Belinda added.
Sam then returned to her spot on the couch and she set her pad of paper on her lap once again. She had a simple pencil sketch of Joey right before her. Now all she needed was the black ink for the texture and the mood of it all.
The two fine tips for his hair and the little bit of shading around his joints. Every so often, she peered over at Belinda, who kept her thicker graphite at an angle all around her sketch of his body. They had two completely different renditions of the same man before them. Two drawings, a pair of hollow men right upon their laps.
She drew his eyes so it seemed as though he was looking off to the side. His black curls were so coarse and so flyaway that the fine tip almost didn't feel enough for that sheer amount of texture. And yet she wanted to feel him. She wanted to feel him on the paper just as how she felt him for real.
She noticed Belinda had drawn a heavy groove right under his left knee and she wondered how it would look if he was standing up for them.
"I almost feel like I should be holding something," he confessed at one point.
"Maybe another time," Sam vowed to him as she added the final touches on his hair and his fingers. Soon she signed her initials at the bottom of the page and she showed it to Belinda, who was also adding the final touches on his arms: she had used the edges of her fingers to better spread the graphite about so she held onto the paper pad with only her ringer finger. But she turned her head for a look and she gaped at the ink drawing before her.
"Wow! I love that, Sam—it's real dark and spooky, like you've tapped into a side of Joey that we hadn't seen before." She turned to him. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Sam then flashed it to Joey, who brought a hand to his chest.
"Hooooly shit," he breathed out. "Get that framed. Get it framed and call it 'deadly nightshade' because that's exactly what that is in essence."
He injected her with his venom and she brought it out onto paper.
"How 'bout this?" Belinda asked him and she showed off her pad to him.
"Get that framed, too," he added with a nod of his head.
"You can move, by the way," Sam told him.
"Oh, good!" Joey jerked his head forward so his hair flew out like a tight whip. He snapped it back so it spread over his upper back and shoulders, and he showed off his neck and shoulders to them. Sam showed him a smile as she put the cap back onto the pen. She got to feel him up and she wondered where they would go after that.
"I am STARVING!" he proclaimed as he clasped his hands to his stomach.
"Well, put some clothes on and we'll order some take out," she told him.
"Take out and some pie, too," Belinda added.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I just said I'm hungry, I didn't say I wanted to get fat," he teased them. As Joey stood to his feet and put his clothes back on, Sam continued to look on at the drawing rested upon her lap. The ink hugged the paper as if it was made for it, and it followed the lovely, slender shape of his body. His hair curled about like the very beginnings of rain clouds over the lake outside. It made her think of all of the dreams she had had before.
Maybe he was the mysterious man in her dreams, except he didn't have a streak in his hair. But she thought back to what Marla had told her, and that he may have been nothing more than a metaphor for life looking up for her. Indeed, when she raised her gaze to Joey again, right as he adjusted his belt, she couldn't help but feel that Marla was right.
She wanted to do more right then. More of him. More of that deadly nightshade that enticed her so. Cliff had gone away and left the darkness in his wake. It took Lars to tell her to continue on through the darkness so she could see a bit of herself there. A bit of herself in the form of the venom. The venom and comfort of Joey.