“Morning, lovebirds,” Ella shouts as she makes her way into the main room. She sits next to me at the kitchen island, bright eyed and fully dressed, “What’s for breakfast?”

“French toast, German omelets, Canadian bacon, and Irish coffee,” Henry smirks as he turns from the stove with the last omelet in his pan.

“How very worldly of you, Henry George Thomas,” she smiles at him as she grabs a clean plate from next to us on the island.

He chuckles as he scoops the eggs up and places them nicely on her plate, “Actually, I accidently rolled one of the omelets I was making and decided to call it German so it looked like I did it on purpose. And the coffee is only half Irish. We only have Bailey’s non-alcoholic creamer.”

I take a small bite of a piece of Canadian bacon and smile up at him, “That’s false advertisement.”

“Sue me,” he looks at me challengingly.

I arch an eyebrow, “I don’t have to sue. I’ll just put you in handcuffs and walk you out of here.”

“Handcuffs, huh?” He chuckles again and turns around to put the pan down, “And you would-”

“Cut it out,” El interrupts cutting up her breakfast. “You two are going to give me dirty thoughts and I don’t have time to change my underwear.”

I laugh as Henry turns slightly pink.

“Where are you off to?” I ask before taking another bite.

She places her hand over her mouth as she chews and answers, “I have to go talk to Toby’s producer. I wrote this new song that we think would be perfect for him.”

“We?” I question raising my brow.

She chews the rest of her bite and nods, “Me and Toby. I showed it to him last night after the concert. He loved it.”

“I’m sure he did.”

I look over to Henry, who has a full plate in his hand as he leans against the kitchen counter, and nod in agreement.

“What’s that mean, Henry George Thomas?”

“I just mean that, um, you two, um,” he starts to move the food around on his plate as he talks.

I step in to save him, “Anything you write, he’ll love. You two were pretty close the other day.”

For the first time, probably, ever, Ella’s cheeks tint the same color as Henry’s. She looks down at her food again and sighs, “Would it be totally horrible if we got together?”

“Are you kidding?” I ask her, surprised.

She looks at me and shakes her head, “We’ve talked about it, but never really set anything into motion.”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” I see Maya run out of the bedroom in a flurry of curls as she pulls a shirt over her head. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” She grabs a pair of shoes from by the door and pulls them on, tying them quickly, “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” She looks up at us sees the food on the counter. Without another ‘shit’, she stands up straight and walks over to Henry’s side of the counter.

As she grabs a piece of French toast with her hand, I ask, “Something wrong, dear?”

“I promised your Pops that I would make a guest appearance on his show today and I’m running late,” she piles a few pieces of meat and an omelet on the bread and tops it off with another piece of French toast.

She stands on her tippy toes and kisses Henry’s cheek, “Thanks for the breakfast.” She moves to our side and kisses El’s and my cheeks, “I’ll see you guys tonight.” And then Maya grabs her jacket with her make-shift sandwich in hand and hurries out the door.

Henry shakes his head and goes back to his food. Ella chuckles quietly and I smile, knowing that I have amazing friends.

“So what were you saying about Toby, El?” I question after another few seconds.

“Nothing,” she sets her fork down on top of the plate and grabs a napkin off the counter. She dabs her lips and throws the paper onto the plate as well, “it’s not a big deal.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans a little looking over at our other roommate, “But I could ask you, Henry George Thomas, how you slept last night.”

I feel my eyes bulge slightly, but fortunately no one is looking at me.

He shrugs his shoulder and turns his back to us setting his plate in the sink, “I was fine. We fell asleep out here watching a movie.”

“You looked awfully comfortable,” she smirks and raises an eyebrow at him.

He doesn’t see her as he washes off the dish he used, “Yea, the bed’s not that bad for a pull-out.”

“Hmm,” she says knowingly and lets out a little chuckle. “Here,” she picks up her plate, takes the napkin from it, and holds it in his direction, “can you put this in the sink?”

He turns only enough to grab her dish, but not enough to see his face, and quickly turns back.

“Alright,” the short brunette announces, standing to walk toward the front door, “I have to get going. You kids don’t have too much fun without me.”

“Are you done eating?” Henry asks as Ella strolls out.

I look down and see that my plate is mostly clear, “Yea, sure.”

“I’ll take it,” he holds his hand out in my direction.

I nod and pass it over, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Did you still want to paint?” I rest my elbows on the island and lean toward him.

He nods and turns to me again, “Yea, I’d actually really like that a lot.”

“Good, I’m going to put on some old clothes,” I stand and make my way to my room.

As I reach my door, Henry says, “Do you mind if I bring some music?”

I don’t. And I tell him I don’t. I’d actually really like to hear what he listens to.

Twenty minutes later, we’re standing in the art studio with brushes in our hands. We each have our own canvas, but there's a stand between us for the paint and extra brushes. I bring over the old iPod dock and a towel (so that his music player won’t get covered in color) that he sets up before we start.

“I hope you don’t mind Alternative Rock,” he says as he taps the screen.

When The Smashing Pumpkins’ ‘1979’ start to play from the speakers, I shake my head and chuckle, “You make my life difficult.”

Why does he have to be so amazing? Not liking him would be a lot easier if he stopped being so unbelievable.

His eyebrows scrunch together, “I can change it.”

“No,” I smile, looking over at him, “I like it.”

-----

Hours later, I step back from my canvas and roll my neck to the side.

Henry steps back as well and pauses the music, looking over at me, “Something wrong?”

“I just can’t get it right,” I hold my hand out toward the decorated canvas. “I’m about to cut it in half and burn the pieces.”

He chuckles and swishes his brush in the cup of water, “I know that feeling. Work through it.”

“I have been for the last hour!” I yell.

It’s mostly directed at the easel in front of me and has nothing to do with Henry, but he puts his hands up in surrender, “Sorry; didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No,” I sigh and run my hands down my face, “it’s not you. It’s this stupid painting.”

He nods and sets his brush down completely, “So scrap it and start over.”

“I probably will,” I sigh again and walk over to the chair next to my desk. Plopping down, I gesture toward it again, “What do you think of it?”

He tilts his head and looks over my art. His cheeks pink slightly and he his eyes travel over to me slowly, “I actually really like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“It’s abstract, right?”

I nod, but don’t respond

He chuckles, but shakes his head, “It would actually be perfect above my bed.” He points to a couple spots, “The little streaks of dark blue are basically the color of my comforter. The thick black lines almost resemble a city skyline. The splashes of red every now and then give it some sort of pop without taking it over. And if I’m honest,” he squints and bites his lip for a second, “I think the grey could be a little less, but it’s not too much that it hurts the overall look. I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

I walk back over to the canvas and look for everything he said. Oddly, it’s the grey that I hate about it. And he’s right; I’m just being too hard on myself.

“It’s yours,” I announce after a few seconds.

“I don’t-”

“No,” I cut him off, “I want you to have it. It’s either that or I throw it through that window.”

He chuckles and nods his head, “Deal.”

“Good.”

“But, you have to sign it first.”

“What?” I raise a brow at him with a smirk on my face, “Why?”

His face goes blank, “Everyone signs their work. It’s not done until it’s signed.”

“Where did you hear that?”

He smiles and turns his body toward me, “My high school art teacher. She was a nut job, but she was a great person. I learned a lot from her. Now,” He claps his hands together and looks straight into my eyes, “I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes,” he nods with a smirk on his face. “Close your eyes.”

I do without question. I just stand there with my eyes closed.

“Okay,” he says, “open them.”

My eyes open, but nothing has change.

“I didn’t do anything,” he admits when he sees the confused look on my face. And then shakes his head, “that’s not true. I turned my painting around.”

When I look over, sure enough, his canvas is facing away from us. I didn’t even get to see his painting. Maybe that was the point.

“Now,” he stands on his side of the table between us and holds his hands out, “pick a color.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head again, “Pick out a color.”

“Any color?”

“Yes,” he put his hand over the black jar, “except this one.” I point to the white jar and he nods, “Awesome.” He grabs a three inch brush and holds it out to me, “Take this.”

“What is this about?”

“You’ll see,” he chuckles and holds out the brush further. “Take it.” I grab the brush and he grabs points toward the white paint, “Put it in.”

“Is this some kind of fetish?” I laugh as I do what he asks.

His cheeks pink slightly, but he laughs too, “No, I told you I need your help.”

“Okay,” I arch a brow after the brush is coated.

“Now take the brush out and close your eyes.”

My eyes close as I bring the brush to me. Next, I hear what sounds like tape being unraveled. It happens a couple of times before I ask, “Can I open them yet?”

The sound stops and Henry’s voice comes from very close by, “No.” His voice turns into a whisper, “I’m going to move you, so don’t try and throw me against a wall.” We both chuckle and I feel his hands on my waist and his chest against my back. His voice is soft again as he instructs, “Okay we’re going over to my painting. I’ll guide you, so relax.”

I left out a large sigh and nod my head, “Okay.”

He pushes on me and I move to the right. We walk a few more steps and he not so gently jerks me to the left before stopping completely.

“Do not open your eyes,” he says it in a warning type of voice.

I swallow roughly and nod again.

His left hand slides around to my stomach lightly and his right grabs my right hand, “Give me this brush for a second.”

I let him take it from my hand and feel his body turn and expose my right side. But, its back seconds later and he’s handing me the brush again.

“It’s dripping, Henry,” I laugh as I feel paint run down my arm.

“I’m fully aware.” And then his lips are on my ear, “My eyes are open.”

I chuckle awkwardly, feeling like I could jump him any second. This is a very unusual form of torture. I have to concentrate on keeping my breathing regular.

He backs up from my face a little bit, but still uses a quiet voice, “I’m going to put your hand in position. When I say ‘go’, paint a straight line down. Don’t do it slowly. Just pull the brush down with confidence. None of that second guessing stuff.”

Keeping my eyes closed, I pull my head back and turn it slightly in the direction of his voice. My head hits – what I presume is – his shoulder, but I leave it there, “You want me to blindly paint on your artwork?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t elaborate, so I don’t ask. I just move my head back to face forward and loosen my shoulders, “Alright, I’m ready.”

His hand takes mine and he moves it to where he wants it. When he lets go of my hand, I get a little nervous.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he whispers, “Don’t worry about anything. Let go of everything. All I want is a line straight down.”

“Why don’t you do?” I have to know before I paint on his painting.

His lips hit my ear again, “Less control.”

I nod because I understand what he’s saying. He can see what he would be doing. He could see where he was putting the brush and how it would turn out. He wants it to be unplanned. He wants it to be free.

His hand leaves my stomach and the music starts playing again. It’s one of my favorite songs ever, ‘Iris’ by The Goo Goo Dolls. He adjusts my hand again slightly. I feel it hit the canvas as he places both hands on my hips. “I’m ready when you are,” his voice is warm on my cheek.

Letting out a ragged breath that I didn’t know I was holding, I pull the brush as straight down as I can without being able to see. I can’t control my breathing anymore. With just the one stroke for a paintbrush, I’m more exhilarated than I’ve been by any sensual partner I’ve ever been with.

When the brush is down by my side, I release it from my grip. As it crashes to the ground, I turn around in Henry’s arms and open my eyes. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And when my lips capture his, I feel like it’s the breath I’ve been trying to catch.

My hands move up to his face on their own to hold him in place. A second later, his arms wrap around my waist and his lips move with mine. Relief runs through me; along with elation and lust.

In the back of my mind, I know that it’s his first kiss and I should try to make it special. But, I can’t. It’s like my body is on autopilot and my lips are in control.

The kiss is rough and messy and my heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest. My hands slide from his face to his hair and I know I’m smearing paint, but I can’t care. I need him closer or harder or just - more. My brain can’t comprehend everything all at once.

I feel his hand on the back of my thighs and then I’m being hoisted in the air and my legs are wrapping around him and we’re moving. He’s walking. Not far, apparently, because the next second, my back’s against a wall.

His whole body is pressed into mine and if we were in a different predicament, it would probably be physically uncomfortable. But right now, it’s not enough. Nothing is enough, but at the same time, it’s too much.

When I break away and let my head fall back into the wall, he moves to my neck. It’s not gentle either. He bites and sucks and kisses. If he hadn’t told me himself that he’d never even kisses someone, I would think he’s an expert.

“Henry,” I breathe out. He doesn’t even acknowledge me, so I try again. This time I can’t help the moan that comes out with it, “Henry.” Still nothing, I move my hand from his hair and put them on either side of his face. Pulling back, I look into his eyes, “Henry.”

He doesn’t say anything. His eyes are dazed over and his breathing is labored like mine. He stares up at me wordlessly, still holding me against the wall.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” I raise an eyebrow looking at him meaningfully.

His brow scrunches together, “You don’t want to?”

“Oh, I do,” I chuckle lightly and place a peck on his lips. “But this being your first kiss and all, maybe we should take it a little slower.”

His head falls against my chest and he nods, “You’re probably right.”

I pull him back to look at me in the eyes, “If there was ever a time I wish that I was wrong, it would be right now.”

He laughs lightly and nods. Taking a deep breath, he takes a step back and a second later lowers me to my feet gently.

“Sorry, I got so carried away,” he says as he releases me and takes another step back.

“Don’t be,” I say quickly and bring my hands down to his chest. “I started it.”

He smiles and his cheeks glow the slight pink that I’m starting to really like. He looks down to his feet, “That was probably the best first kiss in history.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I admit with a chuckle.

When he looks up, his eyebrow is hitched and he looks a little concerned.

“Not that I didn’t want it,” I clarify. “That was amazing. Probably the best kiss I’ve ever had,” I point out and his head ducks again. “What I meant was that I wasn’t planning it. With you so pressed against me and your voice in my ear and your cheek against mine. Not to mention, the feeling of doing something that artistically linking us.”

He looks up with a smirk, “You want to see it?”

“See what?” Now, I’m confused.

“The painting,” he reminds me. “You finished it. Well, almost.” He walks over to the canvas and pulls a couple pieces of tape from the material, careful not to damage it. When the tape is gone, he looks over it at me and holds his hand out for me to take. When he pulls me over and turns me toward it, he puts his head on my shoulder and his arms around my waist, “See; now everything’s perfect.”

And he’s right. The background is different colors of dark, blending and merging together. The thick white stripe, only broken in a few small places where he put the tape, is exactly what it needed. I gave him exactly what he needed.

~A/N~

GUYS! It's officially my BIRTHDAY!! And as it's my birthday, I decided happy birthday to me!!! Let's make them kiss!! YAY!!! BIRTHDAY KISSES (kind of) YAY!!

Happy Sunday! Happy Birthday!

And for my birthday I want lots of votes and comments! AND I want you to go vote for Save My Day in the Watty's. (it's in the Non-Teen Fiction catagory)