Page 111 of When Ben Loved Tim
I can tell he’s hard too, although not fully, since he keeps losing himself in his creative impulses. One of my favorite songs comes on the radio, so I sing while he works, his brush moving across my chest as it rises and falls. This has to be one of the most unusual art collaborations. Somebody find us a willing gallery. We’ll be the talk of the town!
“Done,” Tim leans back. “Now you really are my butterfly.”
“Show me!”
Tim leads me out of the studio, but only after checking to make sure the coast is clear. When he flicks on the light in an office restroom, I see myself in the mirror. Green leaves and brown branches cover my face and most of my chest, making me resemble some sort of nature god. Right in the middle, over my heart, is a butterfly with rainbow wings.
“That’s incredibly beautiful,” I breathe before seeking him out in the mirror. “Do I get to paint you?”
“No!” Tim says. “In fact, we probably shouldn’t leave that on for long. It’s only acrylic paint, so it’s water-based, but it’s probably not great for your skin.”
I imagine myself covered in acne and reach for the sink.
Tim grabs my wrist. “Not here! It’ll make a mess. My dad will flip. Let’s go back to my place. I’ll hose you off in the backyard.”
He’s such a bastard! I know he’s kidding though. The days are getting longer, but it’s still way too cold for running through sprinklers. I get some strange looks on the drive home. Especially at stop lights. I almost joke that we should do this more often, so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone recognizing me, but that’s an idea he’d probably like, so I don’t.
Once back at his place, we go upstairs to the bathroom. Tim turns on the shower. Then he strips off his shirt. I stare, as always. I’m glad he didn’t let me paint him. He’s already perfect.
“Are you getting in with me?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re going to need help.”
I don’t see why, but it’s an offer I can’t refuse. I scramble out of my clothes. We’re both hard when stepping into the tub.
“Sword fight!” Tim cries, thwapping his wiener against mine.
I laugh and do the same until I get water in my eyes. And it stings a little.
“Shit,” Tim says. “Hold up.”
I see him grab a washcloth before I’m forced to shut my eyes.
“Keep them closed,” I hear Tim say.
One of his hands is on my chin while he dabs at me with the washcloth. He’s gentle when doing so, occasionally guiding my face back to the water to rinse off some of the paint.
“Ouch!” I complain when the washcloth rips at the paint stuck in my eyebrows.
“I’ve got this,” he murmurs.
I hear the washcloth hit the bottom of the tub before he carefully uses his fingers to massage the paint out of my eyebrows. His lips press against mine suddenly. I kiss him back, eager to be close to him.
“Just a sec,” he says, guiding me toward the warm spray of water again. “Rinse off.”
I tilt my head toward it and then turn around, wiping my eyes so I can look at him again.
“That did it,” Tim says, nodding in approval while lathering up a bar of soap. Then he gestures for me to step forward.
After I do so, he begins washing the paint off my chest, but he doesn’t stop there. He bathes my entire body. Every nook and cranny. And while it’s erotic, the gesture is also unmistakably affectionate.
“I love you,” I say, pressing my sudsy body against his.
The words don’t take him by surprise this time. Tim smiles and kisses me, and while he doesn’t say it back, I’m certain now that it’s true.
He loves me.
Chapter Twenty-One
