Fic 11: link
More Than Enough
Prompt: Arthur is an artist. He needs a model and he paints nudes. Gwen is a model in need some quick natal cash.
Gwen looks at her phone again, checking the address. 397 kastanye, chestnut Lane. She sighs and walks up the four steps to the door and presses the bell.
“Yes?” a smooth baritone voice jawaban a moment later.
“Um, hello, this is Gwen Leodegrance. The model anda hired?” she winces, hating that the last bit turned into a question. She’s never seen this Arthur Pendragon (if that is his real name) before, but he has the sexiest voice she’s ever heard, and it’s been gnawing at her for two days.
“Third floor, apartment B,” the voice tells her, and the door buzzes. She opens it and hurries inside, out of the cold.
Gwen looks around. No lift. Sighing, she heads for the stairs, grateful for her rigorous workout routine.
Apartment B. Here we are. She walks to the door and knocks.
The door opens a moment later and she looks up into a face that could not have been crafted oleh God. “Um, hello,” she says, wondering who his plastic surgeon might be.
“Hello?” she repeats. Why is he staring?
“Yes, come… come in, please,” he recovers, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Gwen, was it?”
“Well, my full name is Guinevere, but I go oleh Gwen,” she explains, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck.
“Guinevere,” he says, trying it out. She drops her phone.
“Sorry,” she mutters, retrieving it.
“Silence your phone, please,” Arthur says, striding to his easel in the corner. “I don’t like to be disturbed.” He starts digging through paint tubes, looking for something.
“All right,” she says, puzzled. He’s curt, but incredibly attractive. And the way he berkata my name, she thinks, biting her lower lip. “Where would anda like me?” she asks, snapping back into reality.
“Hmm?” his head snaps up, his eyes roving over her body.
“Where would anda like me?” she repeats, blushing now, the innuendo in her pertanyaan suddenly hitting her.
It doesn’t seem to be lost on Arthur, either, because he clears his throat again, a tube of brown paint clutched in one hand. “You can change in the bedroom,” he points, his voice soft and low. “There’s a jubah hanging on the back of the door. I’m… having to change my original plan a bit now that I see anda in person.”
“All right,” she says, puzzling at him again. What an odd thing to say. She looks and sees a dark red velvet chaise lounge set near the window, the bright winter sun shining in.
Shrugging, she goes into the room and shuts the door.
Arthur putters, trying to decide. His original plan was to place her on the chaise, but he doesn’t think her coloring will complement the dark red of the bench. She’s like cinnamon. Mocha. Caramel. I need a lighter backdrop to highlight that.
Frowning, and suddenly wanting a snack involving cinnamon and karamel with a Latte on the side, he drapes a cream-colored sheet over the chaise, arranging it until it looks satisfactory. He pulls a potted palm over, and inspiration hits.
Gwen emerges, wearing the too-big robe. “What kind of model do anda usually paint? Amazons? bola basket players?” She holds her hands out, the sleeves hanging off.
“Oh, shit. Sorry. That’s the wrong robe. I forgot to put the other one out,” Arthur says, smirking slightly. “That one is mine.” And she looks too good in it.
She shrugs and walks over to the chaise. “Here?”
“Yes. Can you… can anda braid your hair please?” he asks, digging in a large trunk.
“Um, sure. Just one?”
He nods and watches, mesmerized, as she easily pulls her beautiful hair back, winding it together.
“I do like your hair,” he says, almost apologetically, “but it won’t do for what I have in mind.”
Gwen goes to her bag and pulls out a simple black hair elastic, securing the end with it.
“All right,” Arthur says, motioning to the covered chaise.
Gwen walks over and drops the robe, surprised at the nerves she feels. It’s not like I’ve never done this before, she thinks, sitting now.
Arthur, to his own horror, is caught staring. Like a bloody adolescent, he thinks, angry with himself. But still: wow. His hands twitch. They want to run themselves all over that skin now bared to him.
Steady, man. He walks toward her and, very gently, places a emas circlet on her head. “Lean back,” he mutters, and she slides lower. “Rest your head there.”
lebih orders, lebih arranging. “Bend your knee.” “Relax your hand.” His fingers brush her skin from time to time and she tries not to jump as his touch sends tingles through her body, settling between her legs.
Finally he drapes the other object over her body: a rubber snake, black, its head on her shoulder, its tail brushing her thigh.
“There. Now you’re Cleopatra,” he says, his voice still low and soft. Gwen chances to look up at him into his eyes, and gasps slightly. His blue eyes are dark, passion-glazed, and she realizes that it is not just she who is attracted to him.
“Am I dead?” she whispers, afraid to move.
He tucks a stray curl behind her ear, and boldly leans in close. “Almost,” he whispers in her left ear.
goosebumps erupt all along her left side. Arthur sees this and asks, “Are anda cold?”
“No,” she answers, still afraid to raise her voice above a whisper. Nevertheless, he strides to a dinding and notches the thermostat up a bit.
Finally he goes back to his easel, and the only thing he says for at least an jam is: “Close your eyes, but do not fall asleep.”
She returns the selanjutnya day, same time, her hair already done. The other jubah is there this time, but she takes Arthur’s anyway.
Arthur smirks at her when she comes out in his jubah again, but says very little. She arranges herself remarkably close to how she was the sebelumnya day, which impresses Arthur.
“You’re smarter than most model I’ve dealt with,” he comments, placing the snake again.
“It was here,” Gwen says, her fingers touching his as she moves the head just slightly, back to where it was yesterday. “And thank you,” she says to his compliment.
“Yes, you’re right,” he says, puzzling as he looks at his hand where her fingers have touched his.
He talks a little lebih today. “Why did anda answer my advert?”
“I needed some money, obviously,” she answers, moving very little.
“What for?”
“I don’t believe that’s really your business.”
“Fair enough.”
And he says nothing more.
The selanjutnya hari Arthur is grumpy. He says almost nothing. When he drapes the snake across her again, he mutters, “Should be done today.”
Is that why he’s grumpy? Gwen wonders, and finds that it makes her a little sad as well. She was looking meneruskan, ke depan to coming back the selanjutnya day.
He regards her for a moment, his eyes softening. Then he runs a single finger down her cheek, a lover’s caress, before striding away to his easel.
“It’s for my father,” she says eventually.
“What is?” Arthur asks, a little sharper than he intended.
“The money. We want to fly my brother halaman awal for Christmas.”
“Oh,” he says softly, feeling like a heel. He had been assuming she wanted the cash for a new Coach bag atau some Louboutins atau some other frivolity. atau maybe just natal gifts. “Where is your brother?”
“Mongolia. He’s in the Peace Corps.”
And I suppose his name is Tiny Tim? Arthur finds himself thinking. “Wow,” is all he can think to say.
He works quietly for a bit, waging a silent internal debat while Gwen lounges in her false half-dead state, Cleopatra, queen of the Nile, waiting for the Asp’s venom to take effect.
“Guinevere,” Arthur says suddenly, and Gwen’s skin tingles again, a physical response to her name on his lips.
“Hmm?”
“Can anda come back tomorrow?”
“You’re not going to be done with the painting?” she asks, cringing at how clearly hopeful her voice sounds.
“I’ll… I’ll be done,” he mutters. “I was wondering if you’d come back… to… just…”
Gwen tries not to smile he is so cute in his bashfulness. “Yes, Arthur,” she says, her voice betraying her again. It is breathy, wanting.
He just drops his brush and stalks over to the chaise, standing over her for a moment as he decides what to do. Her eyes are still stubbornly closed, but he can tell oleh her breathing that she knows he is near.
Gwen is waging her own internal debat now. What is he doing? Is he making an adjustment? Is he going to…
She feels the rubber snake lifted from her body and only just hears the faint splat when it lands because his lips are on hers at the same moment, soft but passionate, hungry, his tongue quickly searching hers out.
Gwen moans into his mouth and her hands find his hair, reveling in the texture of their silken threads.
“Shit,” he gasps the curse, climbing over her on the chaise now, yanking at his paint-splattered t-shirt and throwing it behind him.
“God,” Gwen answers, her hands reaching for his jeans, opening them and helping him shed them in record time.
“You are distractingly beautiful,” he mumbles, his lips against her skin, the skin he has been longing to touch, caress, feel writhing beneath him. “I’ve painted a lot of models, but you’re the first one I’ve ever wanted to…”
“Shut up, Arthur,” Gwen scolds lightly, silencing his lips with hers.
Their hands explore, their lips explore, each loving their discoveries, each wanting lebih and lebih as their limbs tangle on the narrow chaise.
He kisses her breasts, laving her nipples stiff with his tongue while his fingers explore below, her wetness making him groan.
She follows his lead and takes his length in her hand, gasping slightly at his impressive size, measuring him with her strokes.
“I want anda so much,” he mutters, adjusting himself between her legs.
“Yes,” she agrees, pointing him where she wants him and he immediately delves into her, burying himself in her with another groan.
“Arthur,” she moans his name, clutching his shoulders, pressing her breasts into his chest while he kisses her neck, her ear.
“Guinevere,” he jawaban at her ear and she moans with pleasure, winding a leg around his, pulling him closer.
Arthur moves smoothly in and out, and they swiftly climb together, touching the sun, the moon, the stars, before crashing down together into their own ocean, crying out and gasping and scooting the chaise several inches on the floor.
“Good thing I was finished with the painting,” Arthur says eventually, his head on her chest, their limbs still entwined. “At least the parts I need anda for are done,” he clarifies.
“So eager to be rid of me?” Gwen asks wryly, her fingers dancing in his hair.
“Never,” he answers, squeezing her, and she giggles.
They lay there forever and yet not long enough, but eventually they must move, must return to the world.
“So this is awkward,” Arthur frowns, handing her a check as she stands near his door.
“Just for the modeling,” Gwen says, smiling at him. “The other bit was free of charge,” she says. When he laughs, her jantung soars. “You have a wonderful laugh,” she says, touching his cheek.
“I hope it’s enough to bring your brother home.”
“Thank you,” she says, slipping it into her tas, dompet without looking at it.
“Tomorrow?” he asks hopefully.
“Tomorrow,” she nods, leaning up to ciuman him. “And perhaps the hari after…”
“I like the sound of that,” he purrs, ciuman her back, deeper.
“I must go,” she whispers, gives him one last small kiss, and heads out the door.
Arthur leans against the closed door, grinning like a boy on natal morning.
In the stairwell, Gwen pauses and digs out the check.
It’s lebih than enough.
More Than Enough
Prompt: Arthur is an artist. He needs a model and he paints nudes. Gwen is a model in need some quick natal cash.
Gwen looks at her phone again, checking the address. 397 kastanye, chestnut Lane. She sighs and walks up the four steps to the door and presses the bell.
“Yes?” a smooth baritone voice jawaban a moment later.
“Um, hello, this is Gwen Leodegrance. The model anda hired?” she winces, hating that the last bit turned into a question. She’s never seen this Arthur Pendragon (if that is his real name) before, but he has the sexiest voice she’s ever heard, and it’s been gnawing at her for two days.
“Third floor, apartment B,” the voice tells her, and the door buzzes. She opens it and hurries inside, out of the cold.
Gwen looks around. No lift. Sighing, she heads for the stairs, grateful for her rigorous workout routine.
Apartment B. Here we are. She walks to the door and knocks.
The door opens a moment later and she looks up into a face that could not have been crafted oleh God. “Um, hello,” she says, wondering who his plastic surgeon might be.
“Hello?” she repeats. Why is he staring?
“Yes, come… come in, please,” he recovers, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Gwen, was it?”
“Well, my full name is Guinevere, but I go oleh Gwen,” she explains, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck.
“Guinevere,” he says, trying it out. She drops her phone.
“Sorry,” she mutters, retrieving it.
“Silence your phone, please,” Arthur says, striding to his easel in the corner. “I don’t like to be disturbed.” He starts digging through paint tubes, looking for something.
“All right,” she says, puzzled. He’s curt, but incredibly attractive. And the way he berkata my name, she thinks, biting her lower lip. “Where would anda like me?” she asks, snapping back into reality.
“Hmm?” his head snaps up, his eyes roving over her body.
“Where would anda like me?” she repeats, blushing now, the innuendo in her pertanyaan suddenly hitting her.
It doesn’t seem to be lost on Arthur, either, because he clears his throat again, a tube of brown paint clutched in one hand. “You can change in the bedroom,” he points, his voice soft and low. “There’s a jubah hanging on the back of the door. I’m… having to change my original plan a bit now that I see anda in person.”
“All right,” she says, puzzling at him again. What an odd thing to say. She looks and sees a dark red velvet chaise lounge set near the window, the bright winter sun shining in.
Shrugging, she goes into the room and shuts the door.
Arthur putters, trying to decide. His original plan was to place her on the chaise, but he doesn’t think her coloring will complement the dark red of the bench. She’s like cinnamon. Mocha. Caramel. I need a lighter backdrop to highlight that.
Frowning, and suddenly wanting a snack involving cinnamon and karamel with a Latte on the side, he drapes a cream-colored sheet over the chaise, arranging it until it looks satisfactory. He pulls a potted palm over, and inspiration hits.
Gwen emerges, wearing the too-big robe. “What kind of model do anda usually paint? Amazons? bola basket players?” She holds her hands out, the sleeves hanging off.
“Oh, shit. Sorry. That’s the wrong robe. I forgot to put the other one out,” Arthur says, smirking slightly. “That one is mine.” And she looks too good in it.
She shrugs and walks over to the chaise. “Here?”
“Yes. Can you… can anda braid your hair please?” he asks, digging in a large trunk.
“Um, sure. Just one?”
He nods and watches, mesmerized, as she easily pulls her beautiful hair back, winding it together.
“I do like your hair,” he says, almost apologetically, “but it won’t do for what I have in mind.”
Gwen goes to her bag and pulls out a simple black hair elastic, securing the end with it.
“All right,” Arthur says, motioning to the covered chaise.
Gwen walks over and drops the robe, surprised at the nerves she feels. It’s not like I’ve never done this before, she thinks, sitting now.
Arthur, to his own horror, is caught staring. Like a bloody adolescent, he thinks, angry with himself. But still: wow. His hands twitch. They want to run themselves all over that skin now bared to him.
Steady, man. He walks toward her and, very gently, places a emas circlet on her head. “Lean back,” he mutters, and she slides lower. “Rest your head there.”
lebih orders, lebih arranging. “Bend your knee.” “Relax your hand.” His fingers brush her skin from time to time and she tries not to jump as his touch sends tingles through her body, settling between her legs.
Finally he drapes the other object over her body: a rubber snake, black, its head on her shoulder, its tail brushing her thigh.
“There. Now you’re Cleopatra,” he says, his voice still low and soft. Gwen chances to look up at him into his eyes, and gasps slightly. His blue eyes are dark, passion-glazed, and she realizes that it is not just she who is attracted to him.
“Am I dead?” she whispers, afraid to move.
He tucks a stray curl behind her ear, and boldly leans in close. “Almost,” he whispers in her left ear.
goosebumps erupt all along her left side. Arthur sees this and asks, “Are anda cold?”
“No,” she answers, still afraid to raise her voice above a whisper. Nevertheless, he strides to a dinding and notches the thermostat up a bit.
Finally he goes back to his easel, and the only thing he says for at least an jam is: “Close your eyes, but do not fall asleep.”
She returns the selanjutnya day, same time, her hair already done. The other jubah is there this time, but she takes Arthur’s anyway.
Arthur smirks at her when she comes out in his jubah again, but says very little. She arranges herself remarkably close to how she was the sebelumnya day, which impresses Arthur.
“You’re smarter than most model I’ve dealt with,” he comments, placing the snake again.
“It was here,” Gwen says, her fingers touching his as she moves the head just slightly, back to where it was yesterday. “And thank you,” she says to his compliment.
“Yes, you’re right,” he says, puzzling as he looks at his hand where her fingers have touched his.
He talks a little lebih today. “Why did anda answer my advert?”
“I needed some money, obviously,” she answers, moving very little.
“What for?”
“I don’t believe that’s really your business.”
“Fair enough.”
And he says nothing more.
The selanjutnya hari Arthur is grumpy. He says almost nothing. When he drapes the snake across her again, he mutters, “Should be done today.”
Is that why he’s grumpy? Gwen wonders, and finds that it makes her a little sad as well. She was looking meneruskan, ke depan to coming back the selanjutnya day.
He regards her for a moment, his eyes softening. Then he runs a single finger down her cheek, a lover’s caress, before striding away to his easel.
“It’s for my father,” she says eventually.
“What is?” Arthur asks, a little sharper than he intended.
“The money. We want to fly my brother halaman awal for Christmas.”
“Oh,” he says softly, feeling like a heel. He had been assuming she wanted the cash for a new Coach bag atau some Louboutins atau some other frivolity. atau maybe just natal gifts. “Where is your brother?”
“Mongolia. He’s in the Peace Corps.”
And I suppose his name is Tiny Tim? Arthur finds himself thinking. “Wow,” is all he can think to say.
He works quietly for a bit, waging a silent internal debat while Gwen lounges in her false half-dead state, Cleopatra, queen of the Nile, waiting for the Asp’s venom to take effect.
“Guinevere,” Arthur says suddenly, and Gwen’s skin tingles again, a physical response to her name on his lips.
“Hmm?”
“Can anda come back tomorrow?”
“You’re not going to be done with the painting?” she asks, cringing at how clearly hopeful her voice sounds.
“I’ll… I’ll be done,” he mutters. “I was wondering if you’d come back… to… just…”
Gwen tries not to smile he is so cute in his bashfulness. “Yes, Arthur,” she says, her voice betraying her again. It is breathy, wanting.
He just drops his brush and stalks over to the chaise, standing over her for a moment as he decides what to do. Her eyes are still stubbornly closed, but he can tell oleh her breathing that she knows he is near.
Gwen is waging her own internal debat now. What is he doing? Is he making an adjustment? Is he going to…
She feels the rubber snake lifted from her body and only just hears the faint splat when it lands because his lips are on hers at the same moment, soft but passionate, hungry, his tongue quickly searching hers out.
Gwen moans into his mouth and her hands find his hair, reveling in the texture of their silken threads.
“Shit,” he gasps the curse, climbing over her on the chaise now, yanking at his paint-splattered t-shirt and throwing it behind him.
“God,” Gwen answers, her hands reaching for his jeans, opening them and helping him shed them in record time.
“You are distractingly beautiful,” he mumbles, his lips against her skin, the skin he has been longing to touch, caress, feel writhing beneath him. “I’ve painted a lot of models, but you’re the first one I’ve ever wanted to…”
“Shut up, Arthur,” Gwen scolds lightly, silencing his lips with hers.
Their hands explore, their lips explore, each loving their discoveries, each wanting lebih and lebih as their limbs tangle on the narrow chaise.
He kisses her breasts, laving her nipples stiff with his tongue while his fingers explore below, her wetness making him groan.
She follows his lead and takes his length in her hand, gasping slightly at his impressive size, measuring him with her strokes.
“I want anda so much,” he mutters, adjusting himself between her legs.
“Yes,” she agrees, pointing him where she wants him and he immediately delves into her, burying himself in her with another groan.
“Arthur,” she moans his name, clutching his shoulders, pressing her breasts into his chest while he kisses her neck, her ear.
“Guinevere,” he jawaban at her ear and she moans with pleasure, winding a leg around his, pulling him closer.
Arthur moves smoothly in and out, and they swiftly climb together, touching the sun, the moon, the stars, before crashing down together into their own ocean, crying out and gasping and scooting the chaise several inches on the floor.
“Good thing I was finished with the painting,” Arthur says eventually, his head on her chest, their limbs still entwined. “At least the parts I need anda for are done,” he clarifies.
“So eager to be rid of me?” Gwen asks wryly, her fingers dancing in his hair.
“Never,” he answers, squeezing her, and she giggles.
They lay there forever and yet not long enough, but eventually they must move, must return to the world.
“So this is awkward,” Arthur frowns, handing her a check as she stands near his door.
“Just for the modeling,” Gwen says, smiling at him. “The other bit was free of charge,” she says. When he laughs, her jantung soars. “You have a wonderful laugh,” she says, touching his cheek.
“I hope it’s enough to bring your brother home.”
“Thank you,” she says, slipping it into her tas, dompet without looking at it.
“Tomorrow?” he asks hopefully.
“Tomorrow,” she nods, leaning up to ciuman him. “And perhaps the hari after…”
“I like the sound of that,” he purrs, ciuman her back, deeper.
“I must go,” she whispers, gives him one last small kiss, and heads out the door.
Arthur leans against the closed door, grinning like a boy on natal morning.
In the stairwell, Gwen pauses and digs out the check.
It’s lebih than enough.
