Stephenie Meyer owns all TWILIGHT characters.
The Twilight Twenty-Five
thetwilight25[dot]com
Prompt: 8 - daydream
Pen name: IngenueFic
Characters: Bella, Edward
Rating: PG
All prompts can be found here:
www[dot]thetwilight25[dot]com/round-five/prompts/
Her heart pounds in her chest, a heavy thudding against her ribs that echoes in her ears. Her skin feels like it's on fire, the tingle of pins and needles reverberating across her body. She isn't new to this, not at all, but she's nervous today for some reason.
When she knocks on the classroom door, it opens to reveal Marcus Felice, renowned artist and professor at the arts school. He gives her a smile, ushers her into the room and leads her to the small stage at the center of a circle of students. She tries not to look at anyone, doesn't want to make a connection of any sort with anyone, and instead returns Marcus' smile when he helps her onto the stage.
She sheds the robe she was given earlier and the air in the room swirls over her skin in ghostly caresses. Marcus motions for her to lie on the chaise lounge, and silently asks permission to move her naked limbs at well. She signed an agreement form earlier so it's really just a courtesy that he's asking. Cold hands push her down slowly but long fingers halt the movement of her hips so that she's mostly on her stomach with one hip higher than the other. He lifts her arms from beneath and drapes them over the edge of the chair; the movement makes his fingers brush against the side of her breasts but the touch is methodical and barely registers in her mind. Moving down her body, he bends both of her knees and separates her legs a bit before draping a sheet over her backside and down to her calves. She knows she's hidden from view.
Marcus appears in front of her and lifts her chin so that she's staring up at him a little bit. "Too much," he murmurs and leads her face to stare straight ahead. "You can close your eyes if you'd like."
Her eyes shut but she still hears Marcus give instructions to the class. She only half pays attention and so she knows the students will be sculpting the likeness of her body but they don't have to form her true to size. When he says "Begin," she takes a deep breath and finds the place that lets her be still for hours on end. She'll have breaks, of course, but she likes to focus her mind on pleasant dreams because it makes her hold a pose.
Slowly, almost like those old-fashioned camera countdown reels before films, she sees images flicker through her mind. They're silly, really, but the thoughts are always the same, ever since she first started posing for art classes. It's not something she ever thought about doing but she noticed a flier on a bulletin board one day asking for men and women of all races, shapes, and heights to model. Her first assignment had been to pose at a table with her hands folded and her face turned toward an open window.
The love of posing made her come back. It was easy for her to get into a quiet place in her mind so the professors and students appreciated her and thanked her generously. The fee she obtained at the end of a session wasn't terrible either.
Her first nude assignment was for a sketching class when the students only used her as a basic shape rather than draw the details with charcoal. She had been nervous then too.
Those are the images that flicker through her mind like candle flames but the brightest image is one she's wanted ever since a professor told her she had the body of a muse. She wants to walk into a gallery, wants to attend an artist's show, and she wants to see her body in lights. She wants to see a spotlight on a portrait that has her hair flowing down the straightness of her spine. She wants to see the curves of her breasts and hips and thighs come to life in a statue.
She wants to be someone's muse.
If she's being honest, she wants to be the reason a man or woman is showcasing his or her work. She wants to be the reason for someone's pride, wants to hear patrons discussing the details of the art. Would two people discuss the colors used to create the tone of her skin? Would someone's eyes dissect the freckles across her right shoulder? Would another patron's fingers yearn to reach out toward a sculpture to try to understand what she might feel like beneath them?
"Bella?"
Her eyes pop open and Marcus is standing in front of her again.
"Would you mind if the artists mark their stopping points on your body for a break?"
She didn't realize 30 minutes had already passed. "Of course," she agrees.
The points of markers are cold on her body and she can't help but flinch a little.
"Excuse me," a low voice says. Marcus moves out of the way.
The student leans down and mumbles an apology for being in her face. He brings his hand up to her shoulder and all Bella can see are tan traces of clay on his fingers. He presses the marker on her right shoulder and draws a tiny line.
"I wish I could put your freckles in my piece," he says.
"You do?" She looks up to see a pensive look on the man's face. Thin wireframe glasses – glasses that have flecks of clay at the corners – frame green eyes. He nods and gives her a soft smile. "Why?"
"Because they're interesting." He moves the pencil to his left hand and reaches out slowly with his right so she can stop him or move away if she wants to. She doesn't and his touch is warm and inviting. "Right here." His fingers dance over the map of freckles over her skin. "I like the way they seem to be like stars in a galaxy."
She can't help but be somewhat awed at his words. "A poet as well as an artist?"
"Just a regular man with dreams," he corrects her. He trails his hand off of her body but offers it to her for a handshake. "My name is Edward."
"Bella." She slips her hand next to his and feels a tingle shoot through her body when he increases pressure in a firm shake. "It's nice to meet you."
Thank you to oOza for the beta work!