Unleashing My Boyfriend's Brother Desires

Impressionism vs realism

*** Alexander's POV ***

The room smells heavily of oil paints and at first, I want to walk right out. I watch as she takes the first bite out of her sandwich and my attention drifts around me. The place was silent, and I found myself a little surprised at how dark and crowded the room was. The shelves on the wall had been filled with supplies and finished projects, so many of them that there were plenty on the floor as well, enough to use as wallpaper for the whole house.

My attention drifts from painting to painting and my feet carry me around the maze of canvases. I had to admit that I found myself surprised at the artwork I was presented with... but one definitely catches my attention.

First, it was the size. The canvas was almost as big as me, and it was half uncovered, unlike the other large ones. A thin, white, almost sheer material was hiding most of it and I didn't think much of it as I reached out and pull off the covering.

A cloud of dust rises as the covering falls and what I see leaves me frozen in my spot.

I'm not entirely sure what startles me. Maybe it was how different the painting style was, or maybe it was that I found myself staring at a life sized painting of a naked model.

Not any naked model...

Sultry, yet kind and warm, hazel eyes stare right at me and I find myself unable to look away.

My heart skips a beat and I can feel my whole body grow a little hot. Now I understand the need for the mirror that sits against the wall somewhere on the far right of the room.

Fully naked, the model was facing right towards the canvas, while her body was positioned on a two thirds kind of way towards the viewer. Long hair, slightly wavy, falls down slim arms and frames the round face. Despite the fierceness of the eyes, it is obvious that there is nothing menacing behind them. She was looking from under her brows, and I am still trying to figure out if I was allowed to look anywhere else but the face of the model.

The realism of the painting is striking, and I lean a little closer, taking in the texture of the skin. I can spot a few freckles and I allow my eyes to drift further down the model's figure, down her neck, to her clavicle, wondering if I'd find more freckles the more I looked.

Just as I think this, Selena brushes right past me, throwing the covering over the canvas once more, muttering nonsense and apologies.

"I'm so sorry! This was covered for a reason! I should have gotten rid of it long ago, I know! I should-"

"That is quite a different painting style. Is it yours?" I find myself asking, suddenly a little too curious about not only the art but the artist herself.

Selena doesn't seem to register that I was talking to her at first, as she tries to put the painting away, most likely into some forgotten corner or pile in the workshop, but when I call her name, she flinches and freezes in her spot, her back turned to me, her body serving as wall between me and the painting.

With her this close, I think that the painting was bigger than life sized, and I find myself impressed once more.

"I never knew you were this talented-" the words leave my mouth before I get to think of what I was saying.

A small pause follows and Selena turns her attention fully towards me, her eyes meeting mine, still startled, but clearly a little sour about what I had just said. I can feel my heart pick up the speed when I realize I had just indirectly insulted her and I straightened myself a little and slightly moved back from her.

"I mean-" I cough lightly and brush a hand over my beard, looking around, trying to find something else to admire. "Max never told me what kind of artist you were..." I continue. "I never knew you were an impressionist."

To my surprise, a soft chuckle escapes her and her overall tension dissipates as she fixes the covering over the painting I had just stumbled upon.

"I am not too certain Max was aware that what I did had a name, so it's not a surprise he never spoke about it." she confesses and, for some reason, I feel a bit of sadness in her voice.

"Possible." I admit as I watch her walk back to her easel.

She sits down and digs right back into her sandwich, leaving me trapped in her maze of paintings. Silence settled over us again, and I thought this was going to be the end of our interaction. So, I look around once more, before deciding to head out.

"What exactly do you know about impressionism?" Her questions comes all of a sudden and when I look at her, I notice the shimmer of curiosity and genuine passion.

I don't have to think too much of it to know this was the first time she had purposefully asked me a direct question. We had avoided each other for as long as I can remember and even if I wouldn't have minded walking away, I am pleasantly surprised at the opportunity to not spend the evening alone.

*** Selena's POV ***

Despite the lack of obvious emotions, Alexander proves himself to be decent company. Of course, he doesn't talk much, but he listens with clear attention. The few questions he asks, are not impertinent or beside the subject, but they are rather enjoyable topics such as : Where do I take inspiration from, why did I choose this particular style and so on.

But eventually, our conversation circles back to the painting that he had stopped in front of.

"Why such a shift in styles for the portrait?" Alexander asks, his head turning towards the covered painting.

I can feel a slight blush creep on my cheeks and I kind of wished for him to forget he had ever seen that. Of course, he noticed my hesitation, and, after a few moments, he pushed himself up from the wooden stool he had chosen to sit on while we talked.

"It was just an experiment-" I find myself spewing nonsense, trailing my eyes away from him, the smile on my lips fading lightly as the memory of the events precursory to the painting springs back to memory.

"Whatever it was that triggered it, I think you should experiment more. It would be a shame to let go of the knack you have for realism to be let go of..."

"A knack?" I repeat, pushing away the grim memory and forcing myself to smile as my eyes move up to him.

Fox like eyes widen lightly and right as I am about to apologize, he offers me a half smile.

"Well, if it's not just a knack, you should definitely try to do something about it."

The way one of the corners of his mouth curls upwards makes my heart flutter and my stomach feels empty all over again. Gods, the man was stunning! To compare him to a revered God was an insult to the way Alexander looked. To the way Alexander walked and kept his back straight, or the way the color of his eyes almost felt as if they were perfect representations of the deep, stormy ocean.

"Pose for me." I blurt out, a little lost in his eyes, my voice soft, my words a plea rather than a simple request.

For a brief moment, Alexander's smile wilted and I wonder if I managed to insult him. His brows come back and the wonder in his eyes dissipates, once again replaced by the distant and aloof attitude.

It feels like an invisible hand reaches into my chest and grips my heart, squeezing it of any passion and artistic drive and my stomach twists with nausea and regret. Max never wanted to pose for me. What made me believe that Alexander would have liked it?

"Actually-" I tear my gaze away from him, straightening myself and facing my empty canvas again. "- nevermind that. I know you have better things to focus on-" I start talking but Alexander interrupts me.

"Realism or impressionism?" he asks as he takes his seat right back, his eyes pinned on me.

"Pardon me?" I ask, a little unsure of what exactly was he talking about.

"If I pose for you-" he explains himself shortly, gesturing vaguely to the blank canvas.

Joy blooms in my chest when I realize this was some sort of an informal agreement to my stupid proposal, and it spreads all the way to my face. I find myself smiling, from ear to ear as I stare at him.

"I- uhm-" I stutter as I look around, trying to get a hold of my sketchbook.

"How about-" suddenly, his voice rings so close to me that I can feel his breath brush against my face.

I immediately look at him and my heart almost stops when I come face to face with him. He is only a few inches away from me, and he hands me over the sketchbook, his face lowered to almost the same level as mine.

"- we start tomorrow?" He offers and I feel like I am about to lose balance and fall right off my stool.

He's so close that his perfume is intoxicating me. I pick on rough notes of sandalwood and something sweet that tangles with the whiskey in his breath and the smell of oil paint.

My eyes trail over the angular features of his face and this close, I swear I can see a few birthmarks on his skin-

"Yea-ah-" I murmur, unable to make out a coherent sentence, taking the sketchbook from him.

Alexander offers me a gentle, almost pleased smile as he straightens himself.

"Here you both are!" Aaron's voice breaks the silence of the room alongside the spell that took my breath away.

Alexander's eyes trail away from me, his charming smile drifting off, while my eyes remain fixed on him, unable to pull away as he starts walking towards the door, while Aaron walks in.

Even when the other man stands in front of me, smiling, I can't look at him. My eyes are pinned on Alexander's back, until he is completely out of sight.

"Still struggling to find something to jumpstart your inspiration, I see-" Aaron hums, taking notice of the same emoty canvas I have been staring at throughout the past days.

"I think I might have just found something..." I comment, unable to look directly at him.

A gentle touch of warm fingers, pulls me back to reality. Aaron tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and when I look up, he greets me with a warm smile.

"I'm glad you're finding your spark once more..." he hums and if it were not for the fuzzy feeling left behind by alexander, I might have felt the butterflies caused by Aaron...