Inclination

Portraits, Proximity, Pager Exploitation

Harry sets you up with a small 8 x 10 canvas, an easel and your very own palette of acrylic paints. You sit across from one another with your art hidden as you both attempt to paint portraits of one another. It doesn't exactly feel fair - considering Harry is a talented artist who could potentially sell his paintings for money, whereas your skills don't dive far behind some mandatory high school classes.

"Okay..." he places a few more strokes against his canvas before repeating himself, "okay. I'm finished." You glance at the portrait that you've painted of Harry, nearly ninety percent complete with a few details that need to be sharpened, but decide you can't wait to see what he's produced before you finish.

"Don't tell me that you've actually been sitting over there painting like a horse or a pair of butt cheeks this entire time." You step down from your stool to circle around to his side, your sight focusing on the painting in front of you immediately and sucking your words back into your mouth in an instant.

On the canvas is a muted olympic blue background with a portrait that very clearly represents you, your hair shining as if the sun were reflecting on it and the addition of a handful of chiffon flowers decorate your flowing hair in a pleasing tousle. Your eyes are directed down towards the corner of the piece, your eyelashes thick and attractively dark as you clutch a worn book to your chest. Your lips and cheeks match in color, an endearing orange-based poppy red that have your actual cheeks flushing a similar shade of scarlet.

Your gaze flicks to him and you expect him to also be admiring the painting, except his focus is set firmly on you. You aren't quick enough to expose where his vision had been resting before you caught him staring, but now he's very clearly regarding your eyes for a reaction to his work.

Your heart thumps madly in your chest as you swirl your tongue around the inside of your dry mouth for a bit of substructure before you part your lips to speak, "I hate it."

His mouth flourishes into a slow, tight lipped smile before he raises his paint-covered brush up into the air and reels it back with his index finger. You shriek an ear piercing, "no!" just as you're spattered with a collection of poppy-colored dots, your mouth hung open in shock as your stare down at your crime scene of a t-shirt, "you better fucking run."

Harry slides his ass from his stool but only makes it one step away before you're casting a spray of clover across his back. You laugh but then bite your lip when he freezes before relaxing and rolling his shoulders back menacingly. Your body stiffens in anticipation as you back away from him, your cheeks aching from smiling wide and your heart slamming against your sternum. He spins on his heel suddenly and you're screaming again before taking off across his studio with Harry nipping at your ankles.

Just as you reach the door, you're extending your palms forward to grab the handle to escape but he's gripping your wrist and whirling you around to face him before pressing you against the glass paneling. You raise your palm to wipe tears from the creases of your eyes, your vision blurry from laughing so hard but when you see the paint brush lowering towards your face you start swatting at his wrist, "no, no, no, Harry! Don't do it! C'mon, please don't!"

His face is pulled into a mischievous smile, his dimple popping drastically in his cheek as his two top teeth bite down on his bottom lip pointedly, "oh yeah? S'all fun and games until you're about to get a new face, huh?" You laugh loudly and use all your strength to keep his hand at a hover above your nose and then in a moment it's as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room when you both simultaneously realize that Harry's pelvis is weighted heavily against yours.

The heat from his stomach rises and falls into your skin and his hand suddenly becomes lax and drops away from your face. Both of your breaths are shaky and mixing in the gap between your mouths and when you glance up at Harry's eyes, his sight is firmly rooted onto your mouth.