"My shh-irt?" August is flabbergasted, his arms tight across his chest.
Theo shrugs, removing his own and in reaction, August quickly turns away. It is not like August has never seen a man without a shirt. In fact, undressing and clothing bodies is done for every client. But perhaps the fact that Theo is still alive is what makes him unnerved. Carefully, August turns around, deciding it is only appropriate he looks at the other's body. How bad can it possibly be?
Well, not bad at all. He has perfect skin, monotone and smooth. He likely works out, or maybe it is from all the lifting, because his stomach lays flat and the skin so thinly covers his muscles beneath. Like a statue of Achilles, he is chiseled in all the right ways. Though, do nipples usually stand so perky? Come to think of it, a dead body's blood is drained- no wonder they look different now. August warms up and lets go of his breath, his shoulders falling as he loses tension throughout his body. But then, Theo turns around.
Across the top of his back are long scars, something August has never seen before. There are several, likely over forty and they are white with a pink, puffy surrounding layer. This indicates they are healed but were deep wounds, a serious injury could only leave this lasting effect. His brows furrowed and he purses his lips, stomach feels like it is stuck in a knot.
"What happened to you?" August whispers.
"I was punished often as a child. I attended a boarding school and, well, the teachers could be quite mean."
Maybe home schooling was not all that bad. He never had bullies, though, his parents may classify as a type of one. Kids can truly be ruthless, so he heard.
"But why?"
"I often misbehaved. It was for a plethora of reasons. I rebelled a lot because I was not allowed to see my sister or anyone else in my family while in school. The other kids cared not to be my friend because they thought I was strange. I also just… have a personality that does not belong in this society. They called me a freak and now, I am starting to think they were right."
"Their comments do not determine your worth. Do they still impact you?" Asks August, his chest aching.
Theo nods, "of course they do. But I think that if they never said the things they said, I would not be an artist. It keeps me inspired."
August does not know what to say. Is it rewarding to turn one's misery into beautiful art, or does this mean the individual torments themselves by reliving their awful past? Perhaps a bit of both, though, it is admirable to find beauty through pain.
"Your turn," says Theo.
With nimble fingers, he opens the buttons of his blouse, one by one from top to bottom. He lets the tight black shirt become loose around his arms, falling off his shoulders before shrugging it off onto the floor. Then, he lifts up his undershirt, the last fabric between him and the cold air of the studio.
Theo stares uncontrollably. Not one scratch, one blemish. The man's in perfect condition, to say it blunt. As if he never fell as a kid, never cut himself with scissors, never stung by a bee.
"Well, now we can say we know each other much better," August sighs, struggling to sit up straight. He much prefers staying hunched over.
"Skin tells a story. You know mine in full now. Well, part of a full. Do me a favour and lounge back, your hand behind your back on the edge of the stool."
August follows his orders, becoming a model.
"Wonderful. I am going to fix you up now, okay?"
August swallows, unsure what to expect.
Theo dips his hand in clean water, and shakes off some of the drip. Then he runs is wet fingers through August's hair, shaking against his skull to loosen up his locks. The addition of cold water creates little clumps of curls, sporadic and disorganized but so very human. August holds his breath as he receives a serious shaking, his brain likely swishing around helplessly inside of his skull. Quickly, Theo is done is wrath.
"You say you have wavy hair, but I had a feeling there were curls. Look at your little ringlets, adorable! I am envious."
August feels them carefully. In his hand, he bounces a spiral of hair, feeling it spring back and forth in his palm.
"Thanks, I think?" Careful on how to respond.
"Ah, I could be your stylist, you know that? Now, I am going to drape a fabric over you. This is why I told you to take off your shirt, by the way. I never paint my subjects in contemporary clothes, that would date my paintings. Skin is timeless," he chats while ripping a piece of linen off a large roll.
With a long scrap, he drapes it around his neck, doing one single loop. He carefully pulls at the end, the circle narrowing and closing in around August. The apprentice bites his lip. Surely, Theo will not choke him, right? But the painter keeps pulling, slow but at a steady pace, the ends pulled further and further. He begins to panic ever so slightly, forcing his eyes up and right into the mischievous gaze of Theo. His eyes are smiling but lips smirking, eyebrows ever so slightly raised. For having once said he is scared of eye contact, he appears to have no anxiety now, not even a smidge of hesitation.
August puts his hands around Theo's wrists. He squeezes him, not enough to give him pain but to make him aware. Theo lets go.
"Choking is not your thing? How unfortunate for me. You did so well. I am going to tie it off here, okay? I need you to look… wrapped. Like a gift."
Theo does as he says, even slightly loosening the fabric so that two fingers can fit between it and the skin of his neck. He finishes it off with a little bow.
"This next one is to be bandaged around your torso. Sit up tall and put your hands on my shoulder," Theo instructs.
He sighs rather dramatically but does as instructed, trying not to look down. To himself, he prays Theo makes no comments about the way his ribcage protrudes so forward, or how his stomach so slightly spills over the top of his pants- imperfections only he would notice, yet seem so painfully obvious each time he looks in the mirror. Silently, Theo spins the coil of fabric at a width no greater than a hair ribbon around his chest, leaving gaps of skin visible between the layers.
With each movement, his fingers brush so lightly over his chest, teasing his sensitive skin. It is a strange feeling, one that causes August to cross his legs. The artist catches on, his own heart begins to pump at an unusual pace. With each wrap around, he moves his hands up his chest to his most sensitive area, touching it so lightly he must feel like a feather against fragile skin. He watches his apprentice's eyes shake, large like a doe.
"I like this look. It makes you look like a patient," comments Theo as he continues wrapping him.
"What look are you going for?" Asks August.
"I truly don't know. I am just experimenting. Do you mind if I let your nipples poke out? A little nudity, if you do not mind."
August turns red, shutting his eyes in humiliation.
"How about… just one?" August finds a middle ground.
"Just one! Ah, I did not expect such a cheeky answer! I like your vision, yes," Theo is in shock. Perhaps he did not seriously mean the question, August now realizes that.
He finishes with his chest rather quickly, mostly to get over his own discomfort in between his legs. But Theo is no more than a man, one who is driven by pleasure and all things decadent.
"Hey, August? Have you noticed you are not stuttering anymore?"
August sighs, "congratulations, I suppose."
Theo smiles, "I broke down your walls, you like me now! Will you break down mine too?"
"Is it a competition?"
He smirks, "ah, August. Everything in life is a competition. So, do your best and be better than me at everything. Got it?"
He returns to his canvas and angles his easel in a way so that August is in the center of his view.
He steps back to evaluate his model, but the raise of his eyebrows tells August he is not yet done.
"I need more colour in your face," Theo says as he pats his pockets, a sigh of disappointment, "I haven't a clue where my rouge could be. We will have to do this the old fashioned way."
Back to his model, he rests himself on August's thighs, his weight so carelessly handed over to the other's body. He moves himself up, his face just centimetres from his apprentice. His cold breath meets the other's warm aura, the wind of his batting eyes tickles his cheeks. Theo's eyes are dreamy. Blue and frosty.
"August," he stops himself to breath, "I'm going to… bite your lip. Will you hate me for it?"
He stares. Hate him? Well, no. But that means Theo's lips will be on August's- is that even allowed? His lips never have never known the surface of anyone else, just his parents and himself. He feels his head shake up and down. Curiosity got the best of the young fool!
"Bite me," whispers August.
And in a gentle swoop, Theo takes August's plump bottom lip and pulls it between his teeth. He tugs, not gently, in a way that makes August dig his nails into the wooden stool. He lets go of it, letting it slap back onto the other's warm face, then does it again.
This time, he rubs his tongue along the length of the other's pouted lip, curious to know what it would feel like. Of course it was smooth, not a crack for him to spoil. He moves his teeth's grip ever so forward, hanging onto the thinnest layer of skin. Isn't the strength and fragility of the human body so amusing?
He lets go of the other, August's taste lingering in his mouth. He watches the other recover, a single tear wells up in his left tearduct but he doesn't bother touching his swollen lip. He stares uncontrollably up at Theo, a feverish gaze he likely does not even understand. His mouth is ever so slightly wet and hair disheaveled.
'August… he's everything I wanted to find,' thinks Theo to himself. 'One day, I'll make him a real mess. Only then will he be my perfect muse.'