Commissioned [completed]

Chapter 31 - detail work

"Here I am; you going to present your nude to me?" You asked in a way of greeting, a bagel in one hand, coffee in the other.

He was behind the desk in a wheely chair. "Give me one moment...." he had a piece of office paper and a pen and seemed to be in a passionate tizzy of scribbles. This was going to be good.

You sipped your coffee.

He glanced up from his drawing and paused, drawing forgotten, "Now you are the one who is looking like shit, Pittore. Do you have, uh, guidelines about you painting hungover?" He hurriedly turned back to his piece.

"Something about me not really being commissioned for my artwork has me feeling... unprofessional?"

Terzo's face turned stern, and he touched a clawed finger to his lips.

You frowned, confused, and then it dawned that Sister was likely listening somehow. "You commissioned me for my body, after all," you blurted.

Any sternness faded to laughter. "Yes, yes, and from what I can tell, your body needs a shit ton of water right now." He gave a couple extra flourishes with his pen, evidently signing his work. Everyone went through that stage of having a signature nearly the size of the piece they'd drawn. You remembered yours with a fondness for the craft.

"Coffee is what it's getting," you grimaced and touched your head; it wasn't too bad. "I've had worse."

"Oh?" He stood slowly with his drawing in hand.

"Was a uni student too, remember?"

"Ah, yes, that I can understand," he chuckled, skirting the desk and coming to hand you his lovely nude.

"Marks for detail," you said, receiving it, "you up for criticism or you feeling attached?" You asked as you would Marie.

"Criticism, eh? Please, Teacher~" he purred, "tell me what I have done wrong."

"Detail is good, but you have an imbalance of detail since it seems you have spent fourteen of your fifteen minutes purely on your pretty cock," the picture had him situated on a throne/chair? With a massive head and a huge penis. "Scales off."

"You sure, Teacher? You don't want to check first, huh?" He lingered close with a grin.

"Think I'm too hungover for this—this though," you flapped the paper about, "I'm keeping." You turned around and headed for your easel.

"That good, huh, Teacher?"

"Should I have said, 'confiscating'? Eh... the moments over," you slipped the lewd drawing into a sketchbook for safekeeping. You liked the idea of framing it and hanging it on a wall when you had a wall to hang it on; when this was all a memory, and you were safe from all things esoteric and heart-related.

"Perhaps if you're stuck here long enough, I'll have you paint a real nude for me, huh?"

You could only imagine the tension; you would surely crumble during the first session. A tingle ran down your spine. "I'd have you pose only in your bowling shoes," you munched on your bagel absently.

"How was your night, Pittore?" He asked softly, coming to lean on the desk as you began setting up.

"Was... it was." You shrugged.

"Spend time with Swiss, did we?" He then gestured to his neck.

"What is?" You followed his gesture.

"Haven't seen a mirror yet, have you?"

"He didn't," you narrowed your eyes. And there was a foggy memory of hot breath on your neck—the feeling of writhing against a warm body. He had murmured something about 'not while you're drunk'. You were a bit of a combative drunk, so he lamented, 'Take this as an IOU, Sweetheart.' You skidded around to the mirror and angled your neck. "Ah, he did." Purple and blotched matching your face. You still looked like a Disney Dalmatian, with the purple splattering across your jaw and eye.