AN: Grab a cool drink, kids – there are sexytimes ahead. This one gets an M rating. Part next in prof!verse for the Sculptor.
"I don't wanna lie,
I'm gonna take what you're giving
'cause I know you're willing,
To take me all the way…you got me right here,
Combustible and I can't wait to finally explode.
The big big bang, the reason I'm alive,
When all the stars collide, in this universe inside.
The big big bang."
The Big Bang – Rock Mafia (my current song obsession – I do not care that Miley is in the video)
As usual, she is on time. Even though his home is notoriously difficult to find, she is there, on his door step promptly at 2PM. Like some January days in Southern California, this one is rainy – blanketing the hillside in a soft gray mist, effectively shutting them off from the rest of the world.
"Come in." His voice is much huskier than he intends it to be.
"Thanks – you have a nice place." She looks around, noting the eclectic ambiance.
Mina had never visited his home at the University. He had never taken her to his private studio, but he has pictured there countless times. In creating Venus Felix, she had been everywhere. And now, she is here. After months apart, it doesn't seem possible that she is standing in front of him. She is thinner than he remembers and her face has lost some of its radiance. The dark smudges under eyes match the ones on his face.
He turns around and walks downstairs to his spacious studio. Silently, she follows him.
He doesn't ask if she wants anything to drink, or if he can take her coat. His hands twitch with tension – if she so much as brushes up against him… He believed he had taken care of any reaction his body might have by indulging in a marathon masturbation session the previous day – finally allowing himself to picture the two of them together. And yet, with her here, in his house, knowing she will soon be naked, he isn't surprised to have a physical reaction.
"Over here." He has set up a simple drop cloth with a worn wooden stool in front of it. Soft lighting creates an ethereal glow in the space. Earlier in the day, he travelled downtown to the Flower District to pick up a stunning bouquet of roses. Their heady fragrance dominates the room.
"Should I…?"
"Disrobe." Allowing her privacy he turns around and collects his sketch pad and various drawing utensils. Trying to control his shaking hands, he reminds himself this is not any different from previous sessions. She is his subject, he is the artist. He tells himself that he is in control of the situation. He mumbles, "I hope you're not too cold, I turned up the heat about an hour before you got here."
"It's fine. Where do you want me to sit?"
He turns around and refusing to look anywhere but her face, asks, "Aren't you going to tell me what you want?"
"I…" She hesitates.
"For your wedding gift, what you want for your…Ace." Keith struggles with his clarification. In another world, he wishes she would tell him exactly how she wanted it and where she wanted it. Unfortunately, in this universe, this time, she is about to explain what sort of present she has in mind for her fiancé.
Naked as the day she was born, she picks up a particularly lovely rose and seats herself gracefully on the stool, saying, "I leave it up to you."
All of the inside jokes, the teasing, the quasi-relationship they once shared is gone. Is there something that can replace it? Keith struggles. He looks at his canvas. He can't do this. He can't pretend for one second longer.
He puts his pencil down and stares at her.
"What are you…?"
"Something I should've done a long time ago."
He is at her side, simultaneously picking her up and violently assaulting her lips with his own - stumbling towards the large futon he keeps in the far corner of the room. He doesn't consider rejection, doesn't comprehend she will turn him down. He knows what she won't say – this entire endeavor is a farce - that she knew what was going to happen when she walked through the door. Every moment from the time they spoke on the phone weeks ago has been eternity, but it has brought them here. And then her hands are on him, needfully urging him to divest of his own garments – to be as unclothed as she is. When he is stripped bare, he pauses above her, looking into her lovely eyes – the color of the Caribbean.
"What took you so long?" she whispers.
He thinks of all the wasted months. All the frustration. The sleepless nights. Keeping his gunmetal stare on her, he says, "My pride."
Then she reaches between them, swiftly guiding him towards her already wet and willing body. He needs no further encouragement and swiftly pushes forward, nearly losing himself in the heat. He is home.