27. Haze
27
HAZE
Our fingers line up almost perfectly. Imry’s hand is only slightly smaller than mine, though mine is fatter. Arguably, it’s just more muscular, but my fingers are definitely fatter.
Hands have always been fascinating to me. There are thirty-four muscles in the hands, but all of them are in your palms and around the back of your hand. There are no muscles in your fingers at all.
I looked this up once after I saw a controversial post about someone having ‘ muscular fingers ’ once and complaining that they could never find pretty, delicate rings because of it. The comment section was all worked up over the use of that word.
Fingers can’t be muscular if they don’t have muscles. They can only be fat.
However, there are a lot of exercises you can do to strengthen your hands and some of them look like they’re actually strengthening your fingers. Thus, why I looked it up and why I always notice when my fingers are fatter than someone else’s. It’s simply something that fascinates me and I can’t help but mentally take note.
What I love is how his hand fits with mine. It sounds so sappy and cliché, but the way his fingers sit between mine is perfect. Like an exact puzzle piece. Not too small where you feel like you need to hang on or they might slip away. His hands are soft but not exaggeratingly so.
Like every part of Imry, he’s a work of art. Which might be why he has paint on his arm.
I study it for a minute, trying to determine if it’s a tattoo I simply hadn’t noticed before. This is one of the first times we’ve laid together naked and just enjoyed each other’s company without talking. Some soft touches. Kisses. Otherwise, we’re silent while I stare at the way his hand fits in mine and try to determine if this multicolor smear is a tattoo or paint.
It’s in a conspicuous spot, so I feel like if it was a tattoo, then I would have noticed it before. I may not be the most observant person, but I see Imry’s hands and arms a lot. I’m not sure I’d miss that.
“Are you changing the paint color somewhere?” I ask after I determine that it’s definitely paint.
“No…” Imry answers, clearly confused by my question.
“You have paint on your arm,” I say.
Imry shifts so he can see where I’m looking. His face had been tucked against my chin. He sighs before saying, “I paint.”
His sigh intrigues me as much as his confession. “What do you paint?”
“Mostly people. The occasional landscape.”
“Are you good?”
I feel his amusement as he turns his face into my pec, hiding his smile. “I’ve been told I am.”
“Will you show me?”
Imry sighs again. “I’m sure you’ve already seen quite a bit.”
Have I? Would I recognize them if he showed me again?
“I’ll show you my studio, but promise you’re not going to judge me,” Imry says. “Or… leave me.”
I frown. That’s a very strange prelude to seeing his art. Releasing his hand, I roll us so he’s on his back and I’m hovering over him. He laughs from the sudden change, but I can see the anxiety in his eyes.
“I can’t think of a single thing you could paint that would make me leave you,” I say.
He chews the inside of his lip as he stares at me. Searching my eyes for something. Eventually, Imry sighs and gently pushes me up. “Come on.”
I watch his sexy ass as he heads for the bedroom door, not bothering to get dressed. He lives alone, so I guess that’s fine. I’m not sure I’ve ever walked around naked. Then again, when have I never lived alone until recently? I guess I’ve never had the opportunity to think about it until now.
When my feet hit the floor, I consider whether I want to put on my underwear, at the very least. Would Imry feel uncomfortable if I followed in underwear when he was naked? What will he think?
A grin settles on my lips as I find the irony in him concerned with me judging his painting, and I’m wondering if he’s going to judge me for putting on underwear.
It’s fine. I can see what free ballin’ feels like this once. If I don’t like it, I won’t do it again. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want my balls supported and to prevent my dick from swinging between my legs, after all. Is it going to slap against my thighs, bouncing off one to come around and hit on the other?
Jesus, what am I, twelve? This is what happens when you live in a house that is a rabid environment for growing insecurities. Before I left, I would have said I was pretty confident in myself. I’ve learned since then that’s definitely not the case.
Body image issues aside, I’m not worried about how my body moves when unencumbered by clothes. That seems like something I should have figured out when I was twelve, right? When my dick first started being for more than pissing?
I shake off all my weird thoughts and follow Imry down the hall. Spoiler, my dick doesn’t sway as I was concerned it would. I suppose if it were bigger, then I might have that issue, but soft and somewhat retreated back into my body like a turtle’s head? Nah, I’m good. Of course, now I’m wondering if that’s something I’m embarrassed about.
Well, fucksauce.
“You okay?” Imry asks and I raise my eyes to his as I finally join him in the hall.
“Maybe having a bit of an internal crisis concerning my nakedness, but yep, I think I’ll live.”
Imry frowns. He’s standing in front of one of the spare room doors waiting for me. He pushes himself off and steps in front of me. “Will you tell me what you’re self-conscious about?”
My shoulders tense, and my chest tightens. I can feel my cheeks heat. “My dick, but not in the way I think most people would be self-conscious about it.”
He tilts his head to the side as he tries to understand my words. His eyes lower to my cock and I swear it sneaks a little further into my body while I notice his is not an innie. “There’s nothing wrong with your dick,” he says.
For a minute, I get this urge to laugh. It’s a strange conversation. One I really didn’t think I’d be having.
“Who’s made you feel that way, Haze?” he asks, eyes narrowing as he takes my hand, linking our fingers together once more like they had been in bed.
“My family, I guess. Back to the body image issues.” I shrug, trying not to let it be a big deal.
Imry sighs. With his free hand, he cups the back of my neck and presses his lips to mine. “You’re beautiful, Haze,” he murmurs. Not gonna lie, my breath catches at his words. “All of you. Inside and out. I’m not even just talking about inside your hole, either.”
I burst into laughter.
He smiles. “I mean it. I don’t know how to work through this kind of insecurity, and I know it needs to come from you. There’s nothing I can say to change how you think of yourself, but if you want, we can do a little research and see how you can get some healing. I hate that you think these things about yourself. I wish you could see yourself like I do.”
I wrap my arm around him and pull him flush to me. “Thanks, Im. Yeah, I think maybe I’d like that. Honestly, I don’t always realize I’m… affected by something until a new, innocent situation is before me and it randomly slaps me in the face and I become immobilized for a second while I think about it.”
Imry frowns again. “What did I do to cause that?”
“You didn’t,” I insist. “I’ve never walked around naked before. In hindsight, I’ve never had that opportunity. I went from living with my family to living with my friends, and while we’re close, we aren’t nudists.”
He chuckles. “Too bad. You have one of the hottest groups of friends I’ve ever seen.”
“Right?!” I grin. “But yeah. I was going to follow you and then… all these insecure thoughts popped up, and I was riddled with indecision for a minute.”
“Will you promise me that if I do something to bring one of these moments on, you’ll tell me? I don’t want to be the cause of your discomfort. Ever.”
“You’re not,” I assure him. “I admire your confidence. You also remind me all the time that you like what you see of me. It really helps because I know most of the time you’re not saying it to reassure me. You’re saying it because you believe it.”
Imry nods. “I do. I bet I would be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn’t. Don’t give me that look. I can prove it if you want.”
I have a feeling I’m not going to be comfortable with the methods he chooses, so I shake my head. “How about we get back to you? This is far too much attention focused on me and my body.”
He smiles. “Okay.” Imry kisses me and steps away. He returns to the door and pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “I feel like I need a disclaimer before I let you in, and yet, I can’t think of the right one to say.”
This might be the first time I’ve truly realized we both have some deep-seated insecurities, even if they’re very different. I move beside him and kiss the side of his head. “You don’t have to show me.”
Imry presses his lips together. For a second, I think he’s going to take me up on that. But he turns the knob and opens the door. This isn’t a guest room. It’s a painting studio, and it’s far bigger than I anticipated it would be.
There are easels all over the room. There’s an industrial set of metal shelves covering one entire short wall. The rest of the walls are covered with paintings. There are paintings against the back wall stacked against each other six, seven, eight deep, as well as others leaning against walls and shelves and on chairs.
The dozen paintings on easels are… me. I step into the room and stare at the closest one. I think my entire body should go up in flames at the absolute erotic nature of the painting, but… it’s a masterpiece. Each line and stroke of paint highlights different muscles of my body. The contour and outline.
I meander around the room, admiring all the different images of me. They’re mostly erotic until I get to the ones leaning against the walls and in the piles at the back of the room. That’s when they become solo. They’re just of me, not of us together.
It takes me a while to realize these are all snapshots of moments that happened over the last eight months. It’s like Imry took a candid picture with paint.
I turn to look at him. Imry’s still in the doorway, watching me. His eyebrows are knitted together. His bottom lip is between his teeth as he waits for my judgment.
“I think you have an obsession,” I comment.
He drops his head with a breathless laugh. “Yeah…”
“This is how you see me,” I say, looking at one that kind of reminds me of a romance book cover.
“I bet I could make you see that in you, too, if you put those clothes back on. I’d stand you in front of a mirror with the painting beside it. I’m not saying I’m perfect and can match your image exactly, but yes. That’s how I see you. That’s how everyone else sees you, too.”
He’s pushed away his own insecurities of letting me into his studio to once again try to relieve me of mine. The tightness in my chest has completely receded. It’s replaced by warmth, as if his arms were securely around me.
Because it feels a little overwhelming right now, I say, “I think you need a bigger studio. You’ve outgrown this one.”
To my surprise, Imry groans. I look up as his shoulders sag. “Come on. Get dressed.”
He disappears from the door. I follow, more curious than anything at his response. He’s in the bedroom, pulling on the clothes I ripped from his body a couple hours ago.
“No shower, huh?”
“We’re not going to run into anyone.”
I nod, still more curious than anything, as I dress as well. Silently, I follow him out of the house and into his vehicle. We don’t leave the property but drive through the woods, following the road connecting the different houses on the Van Doren Estate. He drives through the first four-way and heads towards Kairo’s house, where the road curves deeper into the trees again.
We arrive at a set of structures tucked into the woods. Imry drives around them until he gets to the one he’s after and parks the vehicle. He doesn’t speak as he meets my eyes and climbs out.
Like all the structures on the property, the doors are coded with scanning access. It opens for him, and we’re plunged into darkness. I’m reminded of the fallout shelter. But once we’re closed inside, he flicks on the light, and I find we’re in an enormous storage facility.
Unlike the other barns and sheds I’ve been to since moving to the VD Estate, this one is finished with drywall, residential lighting, and is climate controlled. What I’m looking at are rows and rows of shelves storing painted canvases.
“Oh my,” I say as I take a step further into the place. “How old are you again? I feel like there’s three lifetimes’ worth of work in here.”
He huffs. “I’m a quick painter and… I lose days painting sometimes. It’s an escape, a peaceful place… it’s also a kind of therapy.”
I choose a row at random and peek at some of the paintings. It only takes me a few minutes to know he’s the artist who painted the erotic images in my cottage. I also recognize the style of several paintings hanging in the big house.
“You have art around the Estate, don’t you?”
“Almost all of it is mine,” Imry admits.
I look at him with my eyebrows raised. He smiles sheepishly. “Imry, these are amazing, but why are they sitting in storage?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know what to do with them. I swap out old paintings when I get tired of looking at them and replace them with something fresh. Since my brothers and dad won’t let me throw them away, they end up here.”
“Imry, you should be in galleries. You’ve got some serious talent.”
“Thanks, but…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know where to begin and I don’t know if I want to hear critics talk about my work. My skin isn’t that thick when it concerns my paintings.”
I walk away from the aisle and pull him into my arms. “If I protect you from the negativity, will you think about opening a gallery?”
Imry laughs. “How are you going to do that?”
“Trust me, huh? You’re amazing, Im. The world would go crazy over your art.”
“You’re not just saying that because you’re sleeping with the artist, are you?” he asks.
I shake my head, grinning. “No. I have zero interest in art. I never noticed it before moving here. But I swear, everywhere I look, there’s something that catches my attention. You breathe life into your paintings. It feels like I’m transported to that moment.”
“You really think that?” he asks quietly.
“I really do. My friends have commented on the paintings too.”
He sighs. “I’ll think about it.”