Draw
Day 1.
She was so actively focusing on the particular shading of that muscled arm, the intricate pattern of the tattooed Celtic cross which complimented it, the ideal proportions of that hand with that long forefinger that spelled a perfect 'Veritas' on the side, that she didn't sense the presence of the shadow that leaned over her shoulder.
"T'is not bad, lass, but I don't think ye've rendered the size of that eejit's huge-ass forehead faithfully…"
The Irish brogue made her jump and immediately close her sketching book to hide the drawing from prying eyes. She also felt her cheeks, and, let's be honest, her whole being, turn bright red as heat radiated from her skin. Not to mention the pathetic stutter that came out of her mouth.
Pretending not to notice, the young man leaped over the backrest to come and sit by her side on the park bench. He was gazing at the unknowing model lying further away on the grass, napping under a warm spring's sun. Neither seemed a lot older than she was, late teen or early twenties. And this one didn't look exactly like the other man—his hair was darker, his skin fairer, and his traits a little thinner with a small beauty mark above the corner of his lip—even though there was something very similar about them. They were roughly of the same built and wore the same kind of clothes, a black or dark gray worn-down tee-shirt with loose faded blue jeans. Also, she could spy identical tattoos on their arms and neck. She thought these two might have belonged to the same gang or something of the sort. That could mean trouble.
"Also, ye've overestimated the size of his cock by a lot. And I mean a lot. Don't ever show the fucker that thing, or I'll never hear the end of it. Trust me, me little brother's ego doesn't need the boost."
Dear God, brothers? The red on her cheeks turned crimson. She wondered when her basic intellect would start functioning properly again, and if she would ever recover from the shame.
The picture in question was pretty explicit. She had spotted that handsome fella, asleep in the park this sunny afternoon, and her imagination had turned rabid. He was lean, and tight, and perfectly proportionated. Her own skin was well-tanned, with her native descent, but his looked golden, like he'd been dipped in honey that you'd want to lick off of him. She'd pictured him without his clothes on, with his dick in hand, and the pencil had flown on the page. Only now that she'd been caught did she realize that it may have been completely inappropriate. It was especially not meant for a relative's eye.
However, come to think of it, this one didn't seem angry or awkward at all. He seemed amused, and even a little excited.
"No one was ever supposed to see it…" she still murmured shamefully.
"Really? That's too bad, 'cause, otherwise, ye're very talented!"
"Huh… Thanks. I mean… I guess I shouldn't have done that… Could you- Could you keep it to yourself?" Especially from the man in question.
"The drawing? I'd take it for sure!" He beamed at her like a child being offered candy.
"What? No! I mean, shut up about it!"
He smirked at her embarrassment: "C'mere, ye're secret's safe with me, lassie! I won't tell anyone ye're such a perv!" Then he burst out laughing, hiding his wide grin behind his hand like a mischievous toddler, and her bashfulness turned into mild annoyance.
"I might be a pervert, but what are you? Sneaking up on me like that, looking at things that are private!"
He chuckled again, not apologetic in the slightest.
"I'm not blaming ye, though, lass! Truth is, I'm a pervert as well, so, I understand."
She frowned at him, afraid of what might come out of the guy's mouth next. She might have loved doodling some indecent little sketches, but 'perversion' was where she drew a line, so to speak. That's when she definitely observed the young man's expression turn a little sheepish. And his next whispered words sounded far from the snarky tone he'd used until now:
"If I keep yer secret, though, will ye keep mine?"
It was weird. They didn't know each other from Adam; she'd never seen that man before and still didn't even know his name. But she immediately understood why he would confide in her. Exactly, because they didn't know each other. Why would he care if she judged him? They might not even see each other ever again. That was maybe the best way to get something out of his chest while ensuring the secret was completely safe. So, she answered with a no-nonsense expression, almost defiant:
"Only if I'm the only one you've ever told."
He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with innocent glee. "Tell me something first: did ye draw that picture of me brother because ye thought he was attractive?"
"Hum… I guess I thought so, yes. Why?" A little pink returned to her cheeks, though at this point, admitting that was the least of her worries.
"'Cause I-… I think so as well."
She let that sink in. For a moment, silence settled between them. Her peering at him, him looking away. She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps seeking a confirmation for what she thought that meant, but then closed it before uttering a word. It was pretty clear. If his words weren't, the way he was gazing at the sleeping man before them with a forlorn expression erased any doubt she could have had.
His voice came out a low murmur: "See, ye may be a pervert, lass, but I'm a degenerate." He lowered his head, his tone seeping with self-hatred, his broad shoulders slumping as if they were overburdened by the whole of society's disgrace. That's also when she realized that the tattoos he was sporting were a testament to his Christian faith. Thus, she was suddenly overwhelmed, herself, with compassion and tenderness toward that young man, barely out of adolescence, dealing with such torment.
"You're not degenerate. You can't help who you're attracted to. And it's not like he's underage and you're old or anything, right?" she mused.
"Aye, but me own fucking brother! Isn't that fucking disgusting?"
"I don't know. I don't have any sibling. So, I don't know what it's like. I only know that, if it's frowned upon, it's only to protect young kids, or to prevent girls from being knocked up by someone in their family… I think it's bad for the baby's genetics too. But in this case, who cares, right?"
He turned to her with raised eyebrows and widen eyes. Then, he suddenly burst out laughing again, almost rolling off the bench. And she realized she liked that sound way more than his self-loathing.
"Well, that's definitely not the reaction I was expecting from the first person I told!" he managed to utter.
"Were you expecting me to rain the fires of hell upon you?" She laughed as well.
"Don't joke about that!"
"Okay," she tempered, deciding to go easier on him: "let's say your god exists and all. Isn't he made of love or something? Wouldn't he want you to be happy, as long as you don't hurt anyone, I mean."
"Aye, maybe it's a trial, and I'm supposed to resist it…" But she could see in his sad eyes how much that idea was depressing. That boy switched mood faster than light.
"Or…maybe you're supposed to be honest with your brother and see what he thinks of it…"
"No fucking way! That's it, now I know ye don't make any fucking sense, lass."
"So what? You're going to keep your secret forever?"
He remained silent for a moment, contemplating his options, his gaze still lost on the silhouette of his brother before them. Then he shook his head as if a ridiculous idea had made its way into his mind and he had to cast it away.
"Anyway, lass, I just thought it was funny to tell ye, but it's not like I'm ever going to tell anyone else. Though ye can go over and show him yer pretty drawing if ye want! I'm sure he'll appreciate it! Although, if ye do that, ye got to draw me as well, with an even bigger cock!"
He had found again his laid-back demeanor, from when he'd first arrived, and she felt like he was withdrawing from her already. He was trying to take back control, to mask any weaknesses he might have left appearing. Further, on the grass, the other one was slowly stirring out of his nap. It seemed like a signal.
"Well, it was nice talking to ye, lass."
"It was nice talking to you too."
"Maybe I'll see ye around!" He waved and ran away without another word.
Once there, she saw him crouch and meanly flick the ear of his barely awake brother that instantly retaliated by grabbing his neck, catching him in a headlock which had them rolling over in the grass, wrestling and laughing like idiots, each trying to pin the other down under his weight, without ever succeeding.
Okay, that was ridiculously arousing. She could see their hands grabbing each other's skin, their tee-shirts being tugged up and almost torn, their legs tangling to try and stuck the other in a vice. So, obviously, her imagination started running wild. Especially with the information she now had.
After both boys were satisfied with kicking the other's ass, they got up, swiped the thin green blades off their own shoulders, then started on their way out of the park, walking side by side, lighting cigarettes. She noticed they were taking the southern exit, leading to the Irish neighborhood, which made perfect sense.
Before they got too far, though, the darker-haired brother, whom she had been talking to, turned her way with a grin and another friendly wave. She waved back, still a little stunned by that unexpected encounter and incongruous conversation.
Finally, once she couldn't see them anymore, and had even been staring into space for a while, she opened her sketchbook once more, and started frenetically tracing rough drafts to try and capture the scene she had just witnessed.