I opened up my eyes, woken by the sound of Marcel’s suitcase unzipping. I turned over and saw him preparing fresh clothes for the day. Now it was the morning sun caressing his back and long, athletically curved legs. Sunlight and moonlight - two lovers taking turns to fondle their cherished paramour. No matter the light, his silhouette was equally beautiful. 

Did he hear me moving in bed? Even if he did, he stayed unbothered, continuing his morning routine. His shorts fell down, exposing his butt and all the rest. I didn’t look away, paralyzed, mesmerized... I watched him put on another pair of briefs, and then our eyes met. His face turned towards me, his eyes were asking - do you like what you see? When I saw his lips forming into that devilish smile, “do you like what you see?” started playing in my head on repeat. His cheeks, his jawline, his neck, his collarbones, his chest, his nipples, his stomach, his butt, his cock, his thighs, his calves, his heels, his toes… “do you like what you see?” 

I pretended indifference, turning away and, thanking the heavens my crotch was hidden under the sheets. Had he noticed the way my body reacted to the sight of his naked silhouette, I would have died of shame. 

He asked me to go running with him again, but my answer stayed the same as always. And once more he didn't insist,  acting as usual. I, on the other hand, was feeling completely out of place. With my hands sweaty and my mind dirty, I awaited my intruder's leaving. The moment Marcel’s steps blew over downstairs, my hand reached out to grab the familiar hardening. 

Led by some inexplicable impulse, I kneeled down and took out the sketchbook from under my pillow. There he was, half naked, caressed gently by moonlight’s sensual touch. I couldn’t resist anymore. His skin, his smile, his fingers… Do you like what you see? I felt my shorts slipping  down, fingers wrapping around my cock. Do you like what you see? Was it my hand, or his? Do you like what you see? I moaned softly, closing my eyes and imagining him behind me. His crotch pressed against my butt, his hand sliding fast down my length. Do you like what you see? My hips moving along, nearing an inevitable end. Do you like what you see? I could swear he was there. I could swear I felt his body tremble with pleasure next to mine. I could swear I heard him whisper teasingly…

Do you like what you see?

Have I lost my mind? What am I even doing? I kept asking myself as soon as the haze of desire faded away. I closed the book and threw it to the desk. He can't find out. That would be a disaster.

I jumped out of the bed, and immediately ran under the shower, impatient to wash away the guilt. It wasn't the first time I jerked off thinking about someone I had met. But it was usually total strangers involved in my fantasies, people I saw once and never again. I didn't have to look them in the eye afterwards and deal with embarrassment. It wasn't one of such cases unfortunately.

When I returned to the room, Marcel was already back from his run. I saw him standing by the desk, going through the pages of my sketchbook. 

“Hey! Did I let you touch my things?” I bursted out with irrational anger. Was it him I was irritated with, or was I just mad at myself?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he looked at me all amused. “Shouldn’t you have asked permission as well?”

“Excuse me?” I stuttered out, well-aware what he was driving at. 

“Sleeping people are usually unaware of them being sketched, you know… You should have asked.” His lips pouted, but then he smiled again, leaning closer towards me. My back broke out in goosebumps when I heard him whisper “I would have let you.”  

His superior stare was telling me - checkmate, Vic, try harder next time. I gritted my teeth and stayed silent with my arms crossed. His face was getting more and more amused.

“You can draw me anytime you want. I’m at your disposal,” he announced before turning his footsteps towards the exit. “I can do nudes too,” he added with a smirk and disappeared behind the door.

Now he's mocking me! Nudes? Does he know…? The sole thought made me feel light-headed. Wasn't my indifference enough to cover up the growing interest I had towards him? What was it that betrayed me? Was it the stare I gave him in the morning? Was it the fact I decided to draw him in the night? Or was it the look on my face when we first met each other?

Damn, I wanted to hate him. I wanted to despise him, but I desired his presence. I wanted to avoid him, but I was hungry for his attention. I wanted to ignore him, but I was thirsty for his affection. Why do we most long for things we shouldn't have?

We didn't talk much later that day, neither by the breakfast table, nor at work. He seemed to forget our short exchange, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. His words were stridently echoing inside of my mind, impossible to silence. 

In the afternoon when we came home from the shooting site, I saw him getting ready to go out with the girls again. I stared at him from over the pencil-covered pages, as he was brushing his unruly hair. He changed into a loose designer shirt, ready-to-wear but top quality, pretty expensive. 

“Did you do work for Valentino?” I asked curiously, noticing the tag under his collar, and spontaneously starting to outline my model's silhouette. “The shirt you're wearing…”

“Not yet,” he laughed lightheartedly. “No, I got it from a friend. You like it?” 

“Suits you well,” I replied, sketching bright red leaves adorning the sleeves.

“Are you doing what I think you're doing?” He raised an eyebrow, looking at me from over his shoulder. 

“You said I can draw you whenever I want.”

“Are nudes coming next then?” He laughed, going back to the mirror.

I hope so, I thought, and my cheeks warmed up with embarrassment. Hell, don't let him know, Victor.

“Why would I like to draw you naked?” I asked with a dismissive snort. 

“Why wouldn't you?” he smiled with confidence and turned around to pass me by. 

There he was, heading out God knows for how long. Again… I grabbed the corner of his shirt, like a child showing its parent the need for attention. 

“Wait…” I gasped out.

The thought of him spending another night out was just unbearable. No amount of cigs would calm me down this time. If he was about to drink beer by the lake, I wanted to drink from the same bottle, if he was about to lose his money playing cards, I wanted to watch him get his ass kicked, if he was to flirt with the girls, I needed to hear it with my own ears. He laid his eyes on me, half-surprised, half-amused, while I was fighting for my heart to calm down. 

“Are you going to the lake?” I asked, pretending to examine the material of his shirt.  

“You wanna join?”

I nodded without words, looking expectantly into his green, curious eyes. His fingers touched my palm, still squeezed around the fabric of his shirt. I instinctively grabbed his hand, and he pulled me upwards. He was smiling at me playfully. Was he laughing off my juvenile way of drawing his attention? Or was he just happy I finally decided to accompany him in the escapade?

“Come on let's go,” he hurried me up before dragging me with him. “Others are already there.”