mad hatter // r.s.l.

24 : colors

Brady regurgitated the gulp of coffee she had just taken. "You what?! She what?!"

"She's alive." I sat down beside my girlfriend. "Potentially under a different name, but I saw her. She tried to run from me at the bridge!"

"But are you sure it was her-"

"Of course I am, I can easily recognise her! I loved her for years after all."

The temperature dropped in the room, shortly followed by my stomach as realisation hit me. Brady's eyes looked at me long and hard, then directly ahead, displaying no emotion whatsoever.

"Babe. Yes, I loved her, but I love you now, okay?" I looped my arms around her. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, it just slipped out, I guess." She smirked. "You like coffee don't you?"

"Erm, of course, why-" I was cut off by her lips on mine and her hands gliding up and down my arms. It was a matter of seconds before she found her way to my lap and my hands to her waist & we were both engrossed in each other's presence.

It was harder than I thought to control impulses when every single element of the situation was giving me a green light. I tested the waters, and dared to slide my hands up her curves beneath her shirt and she didn't protest against it.

Or when I eased the shirt over her head and pulled her even closer to me.

Bradley Carter

Skin to skin will always be my favourite. Take that whichever way you wish, but I mean being close to someone you love.

It awoke a new degree of intimacy, and I don't know, it was just nice.

I disregarded the fact that we were both one step away from nude and shuffled closer to him. "You smell very nice."

"How do you come up with these things?" Ross chuckled, moving his fluffy hair out of the way.

"I don't know; and what happened to your hair?"

"I opened the conditioner bottle and accidentally poured half of it on my head, so now I look like a blow dried cow."

"Fluffy milk horse!"

"Dear God." He laughed and left a kiss on my collarbone. "Do we.."

"Not today, if that's cool with you?"

"Of course."

"I just prefer to enjoy the intimacy." I smiled. "And to be honest, I'd rather spend hours on end talking about anything and everything then 30 minutes having sex, because we all know you would just fall asleep straight after."

"Hey, I was always told to take a nap after a work out." He stopped to think. "Help me move the table."

I followed his orders, and then we placed newspaper on the wooden floor. I put on one of his shirts as he decided to just get dressed again &I then cantered off into a cupboard, producing paper, watercolours and pallets.

"YAY!"

"I remembered having some art supplies in here." He set them down. "I'll grab us some water and tissue."

I reached for a pencil, initiating a simple sketch of his desk in front of the window, including the detail upon it and the window frame. Then I teared up the page, beginning a new sketch.

Ross, on the other hand, was already stuck in with the painting. There was a change to him, however. He seemed more downcast than before. "Are you okay?"

He flinched slightly. "What- oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me, you look upset." I put down the paper. "Nostalgia?"

"Like never before." He dropped his paintbrush. "My dad taught me to paint before he left and I never did it again until I met you. I don't know, I just wish I could forgive him and continue with my life, but he missed 17 of me growing up. He missed my first A+, my first girlfriend, my first car and my driver's license. He just wasn't there and it occasionally hurts that he came back for something and will probably leave again when he has it."

"I didn't know it affected you so much, oh my god." I moved closer to him. "I wish I could help, but I don't want to interfere with your personal affairs."

"You are my personal affairs." He laughed.

"You know what I mean." I smacked his arm. I took advantage of his sleeve rolled up and grabbed the paintbrush with the pastel blue he was using & began to paint on his skin.

I wasn't sure of what I was doing yet, but I knew that nothing I drew would improve him in any way.

He was ripped at every edge, indeed, but he was a masterpiece in its simplest form.