To my queenie, Anj0921, I told you a VERY long time ago that I had this idea somewhere in my master list of chapters and now it is here. You probably don't remember this and frankly, neither did I.
Warning - lots of (sexual) innuendos.
Photo #83: You're My Muse
The next photo isn't even a Polaroid photo like the others. It's an actual painting with real paint on a real canvas. It's not even a good painting that you'd put up in art galleries. It resembles something Osten would paint with his non-dominant hand and blindfolded.
It was a rectangle with two small legs on its bottom ends. On top of the rectangle was a stick figure lying down on the rectangle, with a pink skirt and red hair that looks like squiggles with a yellow crown on top. That is the part that makes Eadlyn believe that the stick figure in the painting is her mother. However, the red lips sort of throw her off since her mother isn't the 'dark-lipstick-wearing' type of woman. The fact that her father signed the portrait at the bottom throws her off even more.
What is this painting? What does it mean? Does Eadlyn want to know?
-o-
After a long day of work, Maxon is ready to just unwind and go to sleep which will only lead to another day of the same rigorous work. He opens his bedroom door and falls back on it as it closes. He looks over and sees America exiting their ensuite, already prepped for bed in her silky and possibly scandalous pajamas. Maxon's eyes roam up and down her body which makes America stop walking and strike a pose just to enlighten him.
"Are you wearing makeup?" Maxon asks, finally noticing something different about his beautiful wife.
"Kinda forgot to take it off," she replies, popping her lips at the end of that sentence.
Maxon smirks. "Did you have special plans for tonight, my dear?"
He raises an eyebrow at her with interrogating eyes. America's heart skips a beat as she feels her spirits lighten up.
"Maybe I did," she responds confidently, tugging on the collar of his shirt.
Maxon snickers. "Well, if my guesses for your plans are correct then there's no need for cake on your face, you get enough of that on your birthday."
America puts her hands on her hips, an action which Maxon loved, especially when her hands were on top of a lacy waistband.
"Sit, sit," Maxon says, pointing to their bed. "Let's have some fun."
America suddenly grins wildly, the apples of her cheeks slowly tinging red like her hair. She strides over to the bed on her tiptoes and gently sits on the edge. America's eyes never leave Maxon as she crosses her legs. Maxon takes slow steps towards her, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up to the crook of his elbows.
Moments Later
"This was not what I had in mind," America states.
"I have always wanted to try this," Maxon replies excitedly.
America whines. "Are you almost done?"
"Not even close. I just started."
"Was the crown necessary?"
"I have a fantasy."
"So do I and this was definitely not it."
"Oh, maybe next time we can reenact one of your fantasies."
Maxon looks from behind his canvas to look at his wife who's posing for him on their beds. America currently gives him the most distasteful look to contrast his goofy grin. He holds an easel filled with various paints and a brush in his hands. America looks bored out of her mind despite her pose being her lying on her side, facing him. All he really wanted to do was paint her portrait and give a salute to his possibly non-existent artistic side.
"I should have been an artist," Maxon says, looking at his canvas before returning his eyes to his wife. "I mean, look at this portrait. You're my muse, my dear."
Instead of being flattered, America rolls her eyes. She can't deal with this but if a good portrait comes out then maybe she'll forgive Maxon for making her be in this pose for hours. And who knows, maybe she'll get something she actually wanted in the first place. To be fair, she thought Maxon wanted the same thing at the moment before he pulled out a canvas and some paints along with a fake crown.
"Now, I am done!" Maxon exclaims.
"Let me see!" America exclaims, rushing off the bed.
She stops just before the canvas and waits in anticipation for the portrait reveal. Maxon turns the canvas around in one swoop and America's jaw immediately hits the ground at the horrendous work that Maxon's calls her portrait. It's just a stick figure of her on a rectangle. She was expecting a masterpiece given the amount of time she had to pose for.
"I'm appalled and offended," America tells him. "No one would give a dime for that."
"On the contrary," Maxon argues. "Valuable and classic paintings can sell for billions."
"This isn't a classic. You just painted it and not only is it horrible but a painting sells for more of the painter is dead."
Maxon continues smirking. "True, true, my dear, but take this into consideration - this is a portrait of the Queen, painted by the King."
America thinks about that as she watches Maxon sign his name in the corner with a thin brush and black paint. Then, she nods, finally seeing the value in a trashy painting.
"You should've put the royal seal on it," America suggests.
"Nonsense!" Maxon exclaims. "That would ruin the painting."
"Sure, Maxon, the seal is what will ruin the painting." She rolls her eyes playfully.
"People will pay for this."
"Yeah..." America mutters. "Too bad it'll never leave this room."
America picks up the canvas and puts it on the side. As she brushes her hands off and feels Maxon grab her from behind and pick her up. America screams in laughter like an excited child as she lands on the bed and Maxon pounces on top of her, planting kisses on her neck.
"Now, we can have the fun you've been waiting for..." Maxon mutters to her.
That is the limit to what kind of smut you can expect from this story.
I was going to have America say something sexy like "paint me like one of your French girls" but remembered that Daphne was French and that would be so weird and inappropriate.
Stay Tuned - America's second and third opinions are not being helpful at all.
