The Artist

Chapter 41

Rolling over in Harry's bed to see him intently studying a sketch pad while drawing harsh lines across it has to be my favourite thing to do.

"Morning." I sigh, kissing his shoulder as I look at the sketch. It's me.

He notices my staring and smiles almost shyly, "what can I say, you're a brilliant subject."

I laugh. He's so wonderful. Perfect, even.

I look again at the black inkings on his arms, I always find something new to see about them. A new detail I previously missed.

"I think you should get one." He breaks my trance.

"Huh?" I ask cluelessly. He chuckles, tossing the sketchpad away and pulling me down underneath the covers with him.

"A tattoo. You should get one, I'll draw you one and you draw me one, then we'll get them done. Today!"

"Woah, easy tiger." I giggle, admiring his enthusiasm. "It'd be pretty awkward if we broke up..." I say as seriously as I can. I watch as his face contorts in disgust.

"What?!" He looks at me, brows furrowed and a deep scowl indented in his features.

"Speaking of which," I begin, might as well jump into the deep end now. "You've never actually asked me to be your girlfriend..."

His expression shifts to a shade of panic. "I didn't think I needed to... I've never told a girl I loved her before, I thought that was just us, signed, sealed and delivered." He says softly and I grin. Good answer.

"So those tattoos...?" I grin, "give me a page and a pen and I'll have you one in a minute. Draw me one too."

"What? No! I was only half serious... You've never even got a tattoo before?" He looks at me like I'm a feral animal. I chuckle, clambering over him to reach the sketch pad and pens. I tear him out a page and lay across his lap on my stomach.

He uses my back as a support as he begins sketching, lip between his teeth. I lean on the cardboard cover of the sketchpad, intently thinking up an idea for a tattoo.

I think for a while, wondering and trying to think up something creative or funny or something. Anything.

I scratch out the beer bottle with 'You booze, You loose.' Written above it.

I decide against the ship, too complicated and easy to mess up.

I finally decide on something simple. The very thing your mind conjures up when you think of love.

"A rose?" He smiles as I reveal it to him.

"Yeah... See, a rose is beautiful and it has many layers of petals, you've got layers too."

"Good call, I could've been getting an onion tattooed on my arm with that frame of mind." He chuckles and j thwart his arm.

"Listen!" I complain. He puts his finger over his lip, promising silence.

"Well, basically roses are pretty and so are you and they're my favourite flower and see, they're lovely to look at and their petals are soft and delicate but their stem has thorns and its difficult... Like you."

He looks deep in thought, and then makes a face as if he's realising something extraordinary. "I get it! The thorns represent me being a prick!" He falls about laughing and I join him.

"You really are a dickhead." I grin and he hymns sweetly against my neck.

"Yeah but I love you. I love the the rose and its concept too, and I love you... And I love you.." He repeats kissing on my neck sloppily.

"Alright back up, what's my tattoo?" I push him off gently, he sighs and grabs his sheet.

"It's not nearly as poetic as yours," he laughs, showing me the sketch.

It's a skyline, very simple. There's black buildings rising into a grey sky. It's all drawn as if being observed from a height... Like a-

"Rooftop. To remind you that you conquered your fears and I made you do it." He smiles as if he didn't just make my heart leap. "Also we made out a lot of times up there and I really fucking enjoyed it."

I grin widely, squealing as he grabs me and pulls me down under the covers again.

His lips meet mine in a sweet and sensual kiss. At first it's simple and enjoyable, but the longer we remain on top of eachother, the hungrier the kiss gets and the more vulnerable we become.

His hands roam everywhere, and I let them. I keep my hands on his chest while slightly pushing my body against his.

"Will you let me do something?" He asks with a husky voice. His pupils have almost taken over his entire green eyes.

"Anything." I say, brushing a curl of his tangled hair out of his eyes. His forehead already plays host to a few beads of glistening sweat, something I'd usually squirm at the sight of, but on him it's the epitome of sexiness.

"Let me paint you."

"You already have, and sketched it." I smile, letting my fingertips run up and down his cheek.

"No. I want to paint you as you are. No makeup. No hairstyle... No clothes. I want you. In every way that I can have you." He cups my face as I stare blankly at him.

I think for a while, but deep inside I know what my answer will be.

"....Ok. You can do it. I'll do it.... Paint me."