Art [Zarry]

III

~Monday~
Zayn
"You're perfect." I whispered, wiping at a bit of stray paint near his bicep.

"So lovely." I continued, adding a little more red to his lips, and pink to his cheeks.

In this painting his eyes were shut, while his wet lips were parted, revealing a few of his upper teeth. His chin was tilted upward, his glossy curls spilling down his shoulders.

My hands were covered in the paint, as well as my clothes. I'd immersed myself in painting Friday night after work, and I barely noticed the sun streaming through the curtains as I continued to paint.

This was my tenth canvas, and this was was my most erotic. The past paintings were all around me, leaned back against the walls of my spare room.

Various drawings were scattered out across the floor, and pinned to the walls with thumb tacks.

I was surrounded by so many paintings and drawings, I'd never felt so happy in my life.

This was making up for all those years I restricted myself from painting and drawing.

It was such a massive release.

I painted back over the muscles in his torso, licking my lips as I added a bit more colour to his muscular thighs. I went back over his large member, adding more pink there as well, careful not to put too much, as that would make the veins less visible.

In this painting, he was aching to be touched. I knew he wanted to be touched. His member was throbbing for attention.

I knew that he dreamed of letting someone have their way with him.

As I painted him, in my mind, I was that someone.

In reality, I'd do nothing but blush and stutter around him, but in my head, I dominated him.

"Oh....my...God." A voice said, jerking me out of my little world and allowing reality to smack me across my face.

I flinched, my brush falling to the floor as I turned and looked toward the one who spoke.

It was Louis.

He looked around the room at them all, his lips parted in shock.

Immediately, I began to panic, having flashbacks of how my father screamed at me when he found the paintings I did as a teenager.

Flashbacks to Friday after work, as I rushed through the art supply store like a mad man, grabbing all I could.

"Louis I....I'm an artist they're only paintings, nothing's wrong with me, I'm-I'm alright, m'fine." I struggled to say, picking my brush up and putting it back on the tray of my easel.

My hands were already shaking.

"Why've you done all of these, Zayn?" He asked, finally looking at me.

I chewed on my lip, hard. "It's...." I trailed off, sighing heavily.

"I've done this since I was a teenager. I can't help it, I can't stop myself. It pleases me in ways I can't describe." I said quietly, looking at my feet in shame.

"That's why I stopped painting and drawing. I avoided it at all costs because of my parents and because it's-it's sick, and wrong. I know you probably think I've gone mad but, Louis please try and understand, m'not mental I promise." I said, ending with my eyes focused on his.

He stepped close to me, holding my shoulders and shaking them a bit as he spoke. "Zayn, calm down. These paintings are incredible. You've got real talent. I don't think you're mental, mate. I don't see anything sick or wrong about it."