by D. V. L. Spencer
(01/25/06)

Gabriel was lost again, lost in a universe of color and feeling and some intangible something that he'd never been quite able to explain to Giselle. When she looked at his creations, her eyes following the patterns, her fingers tracing the ridges of paint, she felt she stood at the doorway of Gabriel's universe. For those brief moments she could see what he saw, feel what he felt, and understand. He spent his days writing in sketchbooks and drawing in notebooks, splashing paint and making music, and never doing precisely what was expected of him. He made his own paths, his own melodies, and she did her best to follow, like a child trying to match an adult's stride.

He stood in front of her now, hand poised in front of a large blue canvas, brush dripping with azure paint. He was wearing a loose shirt spattered with every color imaginable and snug black sweatpants with fresh blue handprints smeared all over the thighs. Sometimes he used a cloth to wipe his hands; sometimes he forgot. She thought maybe he liked it, feeling the paint on his clothes and his skin, his very own camouflage. There'd been times when she'd looked into the studio and not seen him at first, a painted man lurking amongst the painted canvases.

His back was to her and she waited, not wanting to startle him. She knew he was thinking, trying to grab patterns from his mind and imprint them on the taut canvas. She admired the graceful lines of his body, the gently tousled waves of his hair. Gabriel was as beautiful in repose as he was in motion. A friend once laughed when Giselle said that observing him was like watching a perfect ballet.

He moved, then, the brush dragging a thick, waving line on an angle across the canvas. He paused and Giselle stepped forward, letting her foot rest heavily on one of the creaky floorboards.

"I'm in the middle," he said, his broad shoulders twitching slightly in surprise. "Do you need something?"

"Just visiting," she replied, moving closer. Gabriel knew she loved watching him work, loved the way he sometimes sang softly, thinking up words to go with the soft swishing rhythm of his brush. "Is that okay?"

He turned his head slightly. "I'm a little blocked -- no, more like feeling a randomness. I can't focus."

Giselle took the last few steps until she was standing just behind him. She stood on the tips of her toes and rested her chin on his shoulder, looking at the great blue expanse before them. "Sometimes I help," she said softly, nuzzling his ear as she slid her arm around his narrow waist. Her fingers dipped under his loose shirt; she could feel his skin, hot and slippery with sweat.

"Sometimes you do." His raspy voice was seductive, tinged with affection.

Giselle felt her cheeks flush and she melted against him, happy that he was letting her stay. Sometimes the muses were elusive, and it made him frustrated and impatient. Those times he craved solitude. She was glad this was not one of those times.

"Start on the right," she suggested, letting her fingers skate along his sleeve until they curled around his forearm. "You always start from the left."

"Do I?" He turned his body and she moved with him, like a dance, while he looked around the studio at his other works. "Hmm. I think you're right."

They had played this game before, and she thought Gabriel enjoyed it as much as she did. He returned to the blue, stretching his arm forward and sweeping the brush right to left. She held on to him, feeling muscle flex through the thin layer of his shirt. She stayed up on her toes, resting her cheek against his back, his soft brown hair brushing across her forehead as his body shifted against hers.

The canvas was large. He stepped back and forth, though Giselle knew he was moving more than he had to in order to please her. She shadowed him. When he leaned left she did the same. When his right arm arced over the canvas, hers followed. When he bent forward, she went with him, letting him hold her weight, letting him feel her breasts against his back.

"Giselle," he sighed. His hand snaked back and caressed her hip, fingers bunching the thin fabric of her nightgown. He tugged until he found the hem, fingertips slipping beneath to bare skin. "Naughty girl," he admonished softly. "How do you expect me to work?"

"I'm helping," she answered, sliding against him. "Inspiring."

"That you are," he agreed, tipping his head back, turning so he could brush his lips across her forehead. He pressed her palm against his stomach, holding her in place as he loaded the brush with more color. He made blue waves on the canvas, little sharp points of blue-over-blue.

Giselle always hoped to inspire Gabriel, to return the favor of everything this handsome Danish artist had given her. Every poem she wrote had some hint of his influence, physical, intellectual, or some indefinable rhythm she'd captured from one of his painting sessions. He motivated her, but also soothed her. His gentle composure calmed her in her manic modes. The two of them gave each other balance -- the pale, serene artist and the dark, moody poet.

She smiled. This wasn't to say Gabriel didn't have moods of his own, but he worked them out with paint. She couldn't always interpret the resulting canvas, and he didn't always explain. The darker ones, the ones that frightened her a little -- those he kept to himself.

This lapis haze he spread on the canvas was far from dark, and as she followed its evolution, as she mirrored Gabriel and listened to his quickening breaths, she began to feel intoxicated. A pleasant warmth spread from his body to hers. Her skin tingled everywhere they touched. The layers and layers of beautifully blended blues before her seemed so peaceful, so calm, and yet so...seductive. With her ear pressed to Gabriel's back, she could hear his heart synchronizing with the steady thumping she felt inside her own chest.

Her breath hitched a little and Gabriel paused. His fingers tightened around hers, and his painting hand stopped mid-stroke, brush dripping blue onto the floor. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Morocco," she answered, before even knowing why. Then images stole into her brain, of days on the beach, blue sky and blue water and white sand turned cerulean on reflection. It was like a serenade to the color blue, buildings trimmed in cobalt, silk scarves like a peacock's feathers; even the ceiling above their bed had been painted like the night sky, deep sapphire with tiny pointed stars.

Gabriel nodded slightly, and he dragged his fingers across one corner of the canvas. Her hand still clutched his sleeve, so their arms moved together.

"What about Morocco?" he asked, and he sounded a little out of breath.

Giselle had no words, even with her poet's vocabulary. It had been one of those rare moments in life when, for a few delicious days, everything is more perfect than it should be. "I don't know," she murmured, the tone muffled against his shirt. "I'm thinking of that first day we met, when I was lying in the sun, feeling sorry for myself..." She closed her eyes, remembering her girlish broken heart, her devastation over some Armani-suited loser who'd told more lies than truths.

"When you walked up to me," she went on, "I almost didn't believe you were real." She'd been startled by the sudden appearance of this ethereal Scandinavian beauty, bronzed by Moroccan sun. His pale blue eyes seemed to look right inside her.

"What nerve I had," Gabriel chuckled, dropping his brush onto the tarp, smearing the paint now with his whole hand. "To sit down next to the most exquisite woman on the beach and assume she'd want to talk to me."

Giselle hugged him tightly. "You didn't assume at all. You knew everything, right from the beginning." She remembered his sun-bleached hair tumbling around his face in the breeze, his smile almost shy as he handed her a small, brilliantly striped shell.

I thought you might like this, he'd said, and she'd laughed when he looked pointedly at her shoes, which were perched at the end of her blanket, filled with a mountain of shells and stones. He'd knelt down in the sand then, slightly tattered surfer shorts hanging enticingly low on his hips, sea water running in rivulets down his toned body.

"My beautiful golden boy," Giselle purred, rubbing his body, now only a little softer than it was then. "You were such a charmer."

"I was an idiot." Gabriel turned in her embrace until he faced her, his hand winding into her dark hair. "A boy trying to seduce a woman."

"You succeeded, if you remember." Her hands pushed below the waistband of his pants and curved over bare flesh. "Now who's being naughty?" she whispered, lips brushing against his throat.

"You are," Gabriel said, and then he was grabbing her, his legs bending around hers as he dragged her to the floor.

The unforgiving oak was painful when her shoulder blades smacked against it, but it was forgotten the moment Gabriel pressed his warm body against hers. She gripped the taut muscles in his arms, tilting her chin to allow him access as he kissed his way down her neck. "You're attacking me," she accused, attempting to sound affronted. "Just like Morocco, throwing me down on that blanket--"

Gabriel pulled back enough to look at her, soft strands of golden hair framing his angular face. "You kissed me, remember?"

"It was a kiss. I didn't ask to be ravished."

He smiled, his gaze slipping down the deep V of her nightdress. His fingers caressed the lace before tugging the fabric away so he could press his lips to her bare skin. "Yes," he said between kisses, "you did." He looked at her hungrily as he exposed the soft swell of one breast. "Just as you're asking now."

She arched against him as he traced her curves with warm strokes of his tongue. His mouth closed over her nipple, gently sucking it through the flimsy cloth, and she grabbed at him roughly. Her hands caught the hem of his shirt, yanking it up so she could feel his bare skin. Her fingers pushed between their bodies, rubbing the soft hairs on his belly.

Gabriel shivered against her, pressing with his hips, trapping her hand as he kissed his way up to her ear. "I -- I've gotten paint on you," he confessed softly.

Giselle looked down and saw the pale streak of blue over the washed-out print of pink flowers. "Another sacrifice I've made for your art," she teased, a little out of breath.

He grinned and used his finger to draw another line, then another. "You make a pretty canvas." He touched her throat, leaving trails of paint along her skin with the cool damp slide of his fingers.

Giselle watched his gaze travel over her body, his eyes filled with wonder and desire. She'd seen that look before -- that first day, when he sat down beside her and spread her shells and stones out on the blanket. One by one, he'd meticulously arranged them into a beautiful flower mosaic. Then his eyes had turned to hers, and he'd gently placed a warm shell on her stomach. When she didn't protest, he'd boldly continued, fingertips brushing her skin again and again as he created an intricate sunburst pattern around her navel. The "rays" had flickered in the light, shells gently shifting each time she drew a shaky, shallow breath.

She'd quivered with anticipation as she watched him, his shoulder rippling as he moved, blonde hair falling over one eye as his teeth bit down on his full bottom lip. The charms hanging from leather cords around his neck had clanged together, a sort of musical wind chime that formed a tune he'd started to hum along to.

Gabriel was humming now, but it wasn't really a melody, just soft murmurs of appreciation as he touched every curve of her body. She pushed his hair back from his face so she could see him clearly, pale arching brows over deep blue eyes, razor sharp cheekbones separated by the long, elegant line of his nose. From this angle he looked almost exotic, otherworldly, but she knew if he tipped his head up and grinned, he'd be pure California surfer boy. She ruffled his hair, imagining the ocean wind tossing it, shimmering in the blazing sun.

He'd been close, just like this, leaning to place the last few shells on her stomach, his smooth face and beautiful lips hovering just in front of her. And that was when she'd kissed him, gripping his shoulders with both hands, shells cascading off her as he'd pulled her against his body.

She was doing it now, tugging his hair, yanking him close to taste his lips. He fell against her, his weight pressing hard, soft murmurs vibrating into her mouth. Gabriel's tongue pushed past her lips, plundering, taking what he wanted. Giselle wrapped her legs around his waist, arching against him, squeezing him with her thighs. Then she started rocking, shuddering as she felt his arousal through his sweatpants.

His hands were everywhere, touching, teasing. She couldn't stop moving, moving with his hands as she'd moved with his body. She broke the kiss to catch her breath, and opened her eyes to find Gabriel looking wild and debauched, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, breathing hard through his kiss-swollen lips. His blue canvas loomed behind him, the color seeming to invade him and fill his eyes with oceans and beaches and the night sky...

He was kissing her again, his mouth enveloping hers. Giselle let him devour her, her hands tearing at his shirt and not minding that buttons flew off and clattered onto the floor. She clawed at his exposed chest, scratching through the pale hair, thumbnails grazing his nipples. He gasped and pulled back, but she kept her hands on him, feeling the tight flex of his pectorals as he struggled to work free of his shirt sleeves. Her fingers dragged down over his ribcage, caressing and tickling his warm belly before abruptly pushing under the waistband of his sweatpants.

Gabriel groaned softly when she grabbed hold of him, his hips pressing forward eagerly. "Wicked woman," he said hoarsely, "distracting me from my work. Don't you want me to finish?"

"I definitely want you to finish," she replied, and then she spread her legs wider, her nightgown slipping up her hips and exposing her nakedness.

Gabriel growled and thrust into her hands, his hot velvety flesh rubbing against her tightly woven fingers. He finally tore himself free from his shirt and flung it across the room. He put his hands over Giselle's, letting her stroke him a few more times before he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the floor.

Jars of paint were rolling across the floorboards when he pushed inside her, his bare chest pressing down hard against her paint-streaked nightgown. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, wanting to feel every inch of his body against hers. She nuzzled under his soft waves of hair, licking and biting at his neck, each scrape of her teeth causing him to shiver against her.

His hands slid under her clothes; she could feel the stickiness of his paint-smudged fingers, could imagine the prints of his hands all over her bare skin. When he pushed her thighs harder against her chest, driving himself in even more deeply, her arms flailed, knocking over a tin of brushes. There was a noisy clatter as they scattered across the floor, but she was more aware of Gabriel, his panting breath gusting warmly against her ear.

She sighed his name, again and again until it had its own melody. He murmured breathlessly into her ear how much he loved her, slipping into his native Danish. "Du vil altid være i mit hjerte, så smuk, så perfekt. Jeg elsker dig, Jeg elsker dig, mere og mere..." You will always be in my heart, so beautiful, so perfect. I love you, I love you, more and more...

She moved with him, feeling every muscle in his body straining against hers. She remembered their first time, reveling in Gabriel's passion, loving the way the bedsprings groaned with every fevered push of his body. His heated skin had been damp with sweat, his warm tongue lapping at her neck, his calloused fingers scratching her thighs.

It was like that now, all warmth and wetness. She felt she might dissolve between the firm press of Gabriel above and the brutal hardness of the floor below. She tugged on Gabriel's hair, tilting his head so she could press their mouths together again. She pushed her tongue inside, licking into his mouth feverishly before dragging her teeth roughly across his bottom lip. His eloquence dissolved into deep, rumbling groans, and she suddenly felt him pulsing inside her, his fingers digging harshly into her skin as his hips jerked forward again and again.

Giselle's body went taut, her breathing ragged, her thighs quivering as she absorbed his thrusts. Her shoulders ached and her spine twisted, but inside was a glorious fire, spreading through her until she was shuddering and crying out, stars flashing amongst waves of deep dark blue.

For a while they did nothing but breathe, bodies still entwined, faces pressed together. Then Gabriel gently withdrew, stretching out beside her, draping an arm over her. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking over the abstract art that used to be her nightgown.

"I'm fine," she replied, running a hand over his chest, the warm skin marked with errant stripes of blue. She let her fingertips swirl around his nipple, grinning when he quivered under her touch. "You make a pretty canvas too," she murmured, tracing a wavy line down his stomach.

"I think I like this new medium," he said, leaning in to kiss her, gentle brushes of his lips all over her face and neck. "Mange kys til min eneste ene." Many kisses for my one and only.

"Din for evigt," she replied softly. Yours Forever. And she knew by his smile that she'd pronounced it correctly. Gabriel's eyes were paler now, and he'd sounded sleepy. She thought dreamily of a shower with him, warm water cascading over his muscular curves, and she knew she'd have to get him moving in that direction before he fell asleep right on the floor. She ruffled his hair and smiled, admiring his golden beauty against the vibrant painted backdrop one more time. "So, you were thinking of Morocco, too -- when you started painting?"

For a moment he looked sheepish. "Um, actually...no." Then he grinned broadly, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. "But I'm glad it made you think of it."

Giselle pushed him away, but she was laughing, and she let him wrap her tight in his embrace again. "I'm glad, too," she conceded. Glad for every day since that day she'd spent on a Moroccan beach, and seen the most beautiful bright waters in her life surpassed by the sweet gentle blue of her golden boy's eyes.

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