Chapter Thirty-Two

Loncey

As I gather tubes of paint, a clean enough wooden palette and as many brushes as I can find, I realize my hand is shaking. I'm not nervous. I'm not anxious. I'm not fearful that this is a bad idea. I saw the determination flash in Maeve's eyes. I heard the confidence in her voice as she suggested it. No, I'm not afraid. I'm its distant cousin. I'm full of anticipation. I'm buzzing with it. It's how I used to feel before a scene. It's how I used to feel before sex. It's how I used to feel when I was…

When I was in love.

Not that that's happening now. I don't know what is happening now, but I know it's not that.

My mind swims as I carry everything back through the house and out to my cabin again. Maeve hasn't moved her body, but her head is turned toward the door and window and I can see a small smile on her lips.

"You came back," she says.

"You thought I'd leave you hanging?"

"It may have crossed my mind."

"Nah, you're on my bed. Where else would I sleep?"

There's the softest snort of laughter.

"So you really want to do this?" I check again.

"Am I lying here with my tits hanging out?" she deadpans, her tone as acidic as it often is.

"Technically they're not hanging out. They're crushed into my bedspread," I point out.

"Just paint me, will you?"

"Can I sit on you again?"

"Yes," she says and just like last time, her voice is little more than a whisper.

I place the paints, brushes and palette down on the bed and then reach under my bed and retrieve the mirror I keep there.

"What's that?" Maeve lifts her head slightly.

I position the mirror on the couch.

"It's to help me see the night sky from inside. And well, I use it for other things too," I add.

"Spare me," Maeve says with a groan.

And I will. The last thing I want to think about is sex right now. Not only because I don't want my thoughts to go there and ruin this moment, but because I like not thinking about sex with Maeve. I like our conversations, our moments together and our shared experiences being about more than sex.

A few months ago I didn't think that there was more than sex when it came to being close to someone. How wrong I was.

"Can you shift a bit closer to the couch?" I ask and I turn away slightly so Maeve can do so with some privacy.

"Like this?" she says, and I look back.

"Perfect." I reach to turn on the lamp on my nightstand, then I move to turn the main light off. Before I move to climb on the bed and sit astride Maeve again, I look at her once more. I take in the curve of her back, how it narrows at her waist. I study the flare of her backside and I marvel at how soft and smooth and pale her skin is. I meant what I said. She's beautiful. She's beautiful in a way I don't often appreciate because my brain – rightly or wrongly – is normally busy interpreting curves and skin and flesh into how it can be explored sexually, how it can be pleasured to orgasm, how it can be grabbed and sucked and fucked.

But I don't want any of that right now. I want to paint. I want to paint on Maeve's skin. I want to make art with her.

I sit down. "Am I too heavy?"

She snorts again, but this time it's a lot louder. "You mean with all that muscle? Nah, you're as light as a feather."

"You know I could just write Fuck You on your back and be done with it."

"And miss out on painting a crescent moon like what's up there?" she says. "I don't think so."

I look down into the mirror and sure enough, there's a perfectly curved crescent moon grinning down at us from high in the sky.

"Keep still," I say and I reach for the palette and a tube of paint. "And don't worry, I'm using water-based paints. It will all wash away in the shower after."

"I can shower here?" she asks and the shy tone of her voice makes me pause.

"Not if you're not comfortable doing so."

"To be honest, I hadn't thought that far ahead," she admits.

"Spoken like a true Pisces rising." I wait for her to look at me and for her eyebrow to kick up or a perfect pout to purse her lips but she doesn't move, just like I asked.

"So what is it about my birth chart that has me doing this? Lying half-naked on a bed a million miles away from home while a porn star…"

"An ethical porn star," I emphasize as I return to mixing paints on the palette in my hand. "And honestly, Maeve, that's you. It's all you."

She fakes a loud gasp and lifts her head slightly. "So you admit not every single event in life is dictated by the stars."

I sigh softly but it's not from exasperation or frustration. It's more like resignation or maybe something easier, something more welcome than that. Something like peace.

"The way I like to see it is that we are the stars and the stars are us. We're all made of the same matter, ultimately. So sometimes that means the stars are in charge, leading the way, lighting up a path that yes, I guess, is predestined. But other times, it's all us. It's all our stardust that's in control."

"Stardust," Maeve repeats. "When you think about it like that, it makes you realise how insignificant and small we really are, doesn't it?"

My eyes roll down her body again and I can't believe she's in my cabin, on my bed, under my body like this. "I don't know, Maeve, this feels pretty significant to me."

My voice is croaky and cracks on the last word. We both hear it. We both stay silent and let it fill the room.

"I'm going to paint you now."

"Okay," she says in a whisper.

And I put my brush on her soft skin.

*****

It takes longer than I expect, and yet the time doesn't drag. It suspends. It expands. It fulfills.

First, I cover her back in a dark but cloudy gray. Almost black, it only has the smallest amount of white mixed in, but it's enough to authentically depict the night sky which is never completely black, especially not on a clear night like tonight when the moon and stars are proudly shining while half the world sleeps.

But we are not asleep. Even though we're barely speaking, even though silence fills the room, I am wide awake. And Maeve is too. Her body is completely still. Her breathing is steady and slow. But I can sense how she feels every stroke of my brush. I know she feels the paint dry and tighten her skin.

I mix more paint slowly as the dark gray of the night dries, then I take a long time studying the moon, wanting to get its shape right. I also look into the mirror and try to find the stars I know best, the ones that shine brightest: Saturn, Jupiter and, if I'm lucky, Mercury.

I want to tell Maeve about them, but I also don't want to break the spell that is our silence. It feels like we're sharing something and although I can't name it, and fear I can't claim any kind of ownership of it, I like it. I like it a lot.

"I'm going to start with the moon now," I eventually say in a low voice.

"It tickles," she says a moment later when my brush draws a C in the top right corner of her back, just above the jut of her shoulder.

"Sorry."

"I didn't say I didn't like it," she replies.

"You like to be tickled?"

"I like… I like to be touched like that. All gentle and sort of feather-light. I don't know if that's weird."

"It's possibly the least weird thing I've heard you say," I tease.

She tuts and I expect a scathing retort, but it doesn't come.

"Do you… do you like to be touched like that too?"

"Yeah," I say with a smile she can't see. "I like that too."

She coughs, clearing her throat. "What else do you like? Like in sex, I mean."

"You really want to know?"

"I told you. I want to get better at talking about sex."

"I like a lot of things, Maeve. It's sort of why I do the job I do," I say and reach for a smaller brush to define the crescent moon's points.

"But what's your favorite thing to do? Go on, shock me."

I let silence fall as I think about this. I don't need to think about it, honestly. I know what my answer is. I've even talked about it on my channels, which again tells me Maeve hasn't perused my content in any way close to the way I scroll through her videos. I hesitate to answer because I know my answer will not be what she expects and I know she'll likely have questions about that.

"Kissing," I say eventually. "Kissing is my favorite part of sex."

I'm not surprised when I feel a new tension land in Maeve's body underneath me.

"Kissing?" she repeats. "Of all the filthy, scandalous, X-rated things you do, kissing is your favorite?"

"Why are you so surprised?"

"But I kiss," she says and it's almost like she's talking to herself.

"What's your point, Maeve?" I ask gently and still my brush so she knows she has my full attention.

She takes a couple of long moments to answer and for a second I think she's just not going to bother but then her voice fills the room, tentative and lonely-sounding.

"I always thought I was missing out on something big, something special, something earth-shaking, you know? By not enjoying sex. By not feeling sexual attraction. But you've just told me that kissing is the best part of sex for you and I…" she pauses, "I don't know how to feel about that."

A flurry of half-formed thoughts land on my tongue and I wait until they are fully realized before I speak.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe it's allosexual people who are missing out?"

"Ooh, you know the word and everything," she teases, but I'm not in a joking mood. I stroke the back of my fingers up the right side of her back and that stills her.

"Did you ever think about how the way you see and experience the world is actually more special than those of us who do enjoy sex and get sexually attracted to other people?"

"I want to tell you that you're talking bollocks," Maeve says quietly. "But I also want to hear more."

"When you kiss someone, and you're enjoying it, what's that like?" I ask. "I'm asking because I don't know. At least I don't think I do. Because my stupid allosexual brain nearly always goes to sex at some point during a fucking awesome make-out session. I'm jealous that yours doesn't. I'm jealous of that… that clarity. Of that purity of mind."

Maeve doesn't reply. She falls silent and her eyes close. I keep my brush aloft above her back and I watch her body, her face, her hair, looking for signs that I've said something wrong, or that maybe she's fallen asleep. Eventually, she speaks.

"Have you finished the painting?" Maeve asks.

"Not yet," I reply.

"Finish the painting, Loncey."

And that's what I do. I add in the stars. I add in the subtle glow that surrounds each one. I add more depth and color to the gray background as more of the night reveals itself to me. I soften the edges so it blends into Maeve's skin. I add a little orange to the shadows of the moon. And then I lean back and admire my painting.

"Finished?"

"Yes. And it'll be dry in a few minutes. Water-based paints dry pretty quickly."

"Could you… could you take some photos? I want to see what it looks like."

"Of course." I wait another beat or two before pushing up and getting off Maeve.

I leave my palette, paints and brushes by the sink in my kitchenette and then I quickly wash my hands and wipe them dry with a dish towel. Then I reach for my phone.

When I turn back ready to take a photo, Maeve has moved. She's sitting up on her knees, her back to me and her long blonde hair still tucked over one shoulder. My painting catches new shadows and light in this position and I can't help but stare at it intently.

Or am I staring at Maeve intently?

Maeve who looks so beautiful with her narrow waist, curvy hips and a perfectly formed side profile atop an elegant neck.

Maeve who looks so fucking sexy kneeling like this on my bed that my mind is filled with a thousand ideas.

But then she speaks and those thoughts grind to a sudden halt.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, Maeve, I like it very much," I tell her with my eyes still pinned on her.

"Show me," she says and I promptly take several photos of her back, all from varying angles, before I turn the main light on in the room and then take some more.

"Here." I reach out my hand so Maeve can get my phone but I very deliberately stay back far enough that I can't see the front of her body.

"Wow," she says. "There's so much more detail than I expected. The moon… it's perfect. I was looking at that moon for a long time before we started and… yeah, it's perfect."

"You're guided by the moon, did you know that? As a Cancer sun," I tell her.

"I am?" she says, eyes still on the photos I took on my phone. "And what are you guided by?"

"As a Scorpio sun? By Mars and Pluto."

"So we're not complete opposites? You the ethical porn star and me the asexual lifestyle influencer who can't imagine anything worse than watching porn, let alone making it?" She's challenging me and I don't know why. I won't rise to it either.

"Why did you want me to finish the painting, Maeve? Is it because you want to go back to your hotel?"

She shakes her head and places my phone on the bed beside her. "Do you… do you have a top I can put on?"

I move to my chest of drawers and pull out one of my favorites. It's a spaghetti-strap silk camisole in a rich mauve red that flares slightly at the waist.

"Here you go." I lay it down on the bed.

"Thanks," she says and puts it on. It's a little baggy on her but covers her fine. "This is cute," she says, fingering the fabric.

"It's one of my favorites," I admit.

"You should wear it more often then," she says. "Life's too short to save your favorite clothes for a rainy day."

"Or a dark night," I mumble.

Maeve finally turns around, still kneeling on my bed but now facing me.

"I won't get your top dirty? With the paint?"

"It will wash out."

"Okay, come sit with me." She pats the bedsheet next to her and I slowly move to sit on the end of the bed. I push back so my body lines up with hers. "You said you didn't know what it was like to kiss without wanting to take it further, to make it about sex."

"Yeah, I mean, I think it's pretty awesome that that's what kissing is like for you."

"So let's do that." She places her hands on her knees as she pivots her body more toward me.

"Let's do what?"

"Let's kiss and not take it any further."

"You want to kiss me?"

Maeve nods.

"I need words, Maeve. Consent is at the heart of everything I do," I say it because it's true and because I hope it reassures her. But she recoils a little, swaying back and pulling her lips into her mouth.

"I don't…" she begins but trails off. I wait. "I don't want to be like the other people you… kiss and well, more than kiss."

It's my turn to be taken aback. Does she really think she's like the people I fuck on camera? Does she really think this kiss is going to be like all those other kisses? Does she really not know that she's a shooting star that I think could disrupt my whole atmosphere?

I lift my hand and cup her cheek. I could be wrong but I think I feel a little shiver as my skin touches hers.

"Maeve, you're not like anyone I have ever kissed, or have ever met."

"Sure look," she gives me a dismissive roll of her eyes, "I'm sure you've never fucked an asexual before. Not that we're going to be fucking."

"I know, but it's not that," I tell her, ensuring I have her eyes on mine. "Honestly, your asexuality is one of the least interesting things about you."

"Gee, thanks," she mutters.

"That." I lift my other hand and point a finger at her. "That's way more interesting."

"What is?"

"How you say thanks but it sounds like tanks."

"Well, now you're just being rude about my accent," she says with a sly smile.

"Maybe," I say, "but the fact remains that while I find your asexuality fascinating, and valid, and in many, many ways so damn admirable, you need to know it is only a small part of you."

Maeve sits back on her heels and looks up at me with a little bit of desperation. "But it's the part that people always get hung up on. It's the part that people can't see past. It's the part I feel compelled to explain over and over and over and—"

"Stop." I move my hands to hold both of hers. "Just stop doing it. You don't owe anybody anything. No explanations. Nothing."

"But I do have to explain myself." She looks down at our joined hands. "I do have to explain it to you when I want to kiss you but not do… more."

"You don't have to explain it, Maeve. You just have to tell me what you do and don't want. Period. But also, have a little faith in me. We've spent enough time together for me to have a rough idea of what your boundaries are."

"That's the most fecking ridiculous thing about all this. I do trust you. I don't know why but I just do."

And suddenly I don't care what comes next. I don't care if we kiss or not. I don't care if I never kiss Maeve O'Martin, although my whole body itches to do so. I just care that she trusts me. It's the best gift I could ever imagine receiving.