There are four bowls arranged on the floor of the living area of the hut. Each contain gloop in varying earthen shades but for the last, which smells slightly better than the other three and is black
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He tries not to stare when he realizes she's looking at him, but looking at Priestly doesn't seem to help too much, so he keeps glancing between the two.
"Had I known, I would've worn something more appropriate," says Priestly, looking down at his ripped jeans which, thankfully, are concealing his interest nicely. At least it keeps from staring too hard at all the skin and curves that Brooke's revealed.
Priestly keeps hold of the paintbrush, but it's a close thing as Yorick collides with him octopus-like, wrapping around him and grabbing hold of his sleeve and grappling for it like it's the holy grail.
"I think it's clear who she trusts with her body," he says, once he catches his breath.
"She trusts me!" Yorick protests, ignoring Brooke's accusation. Still, while he's detangling himself from Priestly he accidentally discovers a little somethin-somethin goin on down under. His jaw drops, mouth widening into a giant grin. He points and cackles.
The laughter stops abruptly as he turns back toward Brooke, hand out, doe-eyed. "I'll take one. I'm artistic."
"Oh, like you aren't packing too," mutters Priestly, eyeing Yorick's crotch until he realizes that doesn't actually make him seem less gay. "All right," he agrees immediately, shooting his eyes up to meet Brooke's. "We'll both do you. Paint you! You know what I mean."
Brooke thrusts her sketch in Yorick's face to shut him up. "This is what I'm going for," she says, tipping it so Priestly can see, too. "Sort of like I'm a tree? But a pretty one who bosses you around at parties."
"Well," says Brooke, reaching for the bowl all but spilling over with brown paste, "we'll all have to do both if I'm going to be ready in time."
She dips her hand into the bowl and starts smearing it over her stomach. "So get to making me brown, boys, and don't be shy." She's seen both of them asleep and drooling on themselves, their pillows, and each other - it's hard to feel like any innocence will be lost after that.
"One, two, three," says Priestly, already committed to the game. He throws rock, and groans when Yorick hits him with paper, actually wrapping his hand around Priestly's fist to prove his superiority. Or something.
Though running his eyes down Brooke's backside, Priestly's pretty sure he actually won the game in the end.
So to speak.
Taking up one of the colors, he darts his hand out and smears a bit on Yorick's collarbone and down onto his shirt before carrying on to mimic Brooke's design like he'd done nothing at all.
"Fuck!" Yorick yelps, and retaliates by smearing brown paint on Priestly's chin. "Ha. Beardly."
The paint feels all cold and wet and drippy and Yorick squirms, shimmying before he gives up, pulling his shirt up and off, wearing it on his head like a towel.
"Hmph!"
He moves on to more important matters, like painting Brooke's legs. Holy cow.
"Uh..."
He tries not to stare when he realizes she's looking at him, but looking at Priestly doesn't seem to help too much, so he keeps glancing between the two.
"Is this like...mud wrestling?"
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She'd wanted to do a show with body paint more than once back home, but Bitchtoria never let her. "You guys are artistic, right?"
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"Paint you? Paint you, right?"
He knows. He went to college, those art department students did some pretty weird shit.
He looks from Brooke, to Priestly and that paintbrush, to Brooke again.
Fuck this.
Yorick lunges for the paintbrush. "I'll do it!"
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"I think it's clear who she trusts with her body," he says, once he catches his breath.
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"For god's sake, are you boys gay for each other or what?" She takes a step backward with the brush. "I have more than one."
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The laughter stops abruptly as he turns back toward Brooke, hand out, doe-eyed. "I'll take one. I'm artistic."
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"We'll both do you? Wow, you are one kinky bastard, P. Riestly Esquire."
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He smiles winningly.
"Right! I can do that."
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"Piece of cake," he insists. "Do I get to do your front or your back?"
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She dips her hand into the bowl and starts smearing it over her stomach. "So get to making me brown, boys, and don't be shy." She's seen both of them asleep and drooling on themselves, their pillows, and each other - it's hard to feel like any innocence will be lost after that.
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Though running his eyes down Brooke's backside, Priestly's pretty sure he actually won the game in the end.
So to speak.
Taking up one of the colors, he darts his hand out and smears a bit on Yorick's collarbone and down onto his shirt before carrying on to mimic Brooke's design like he'd done nothing at all.
Reply
The paint feels all cold and wet and drippy and Yorick squirms, shimmying before he gives up, pulling his shirt up and off, wearing it on his head like a towel.
"Hmph!"
He moves on to more important matters, like painting Brooke's legs. Holy cow.
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