It didn't take long for you and Clint to fall into a routine of lunches and dinners and long weekends spent together in bed. Weeks passed and, before you knew it, midterms were approaching.

The best thing about being an art major was that your midterms consisted of several projects and only one paper. The projects were done and ready for the midterm art show but you were procrastinating on the paper. Well, sort of. The research was done, but you still needed to write it. Currently it was a Saturday afternoon and your feet were propped up in Clint's lap while the two of you watched a movie you'd seen a dozen times before.

His hands rested on your legs while one of his thumbs rubbed against your bare skin. You'd spent more time watching him than the movie. Suddenly, you were struck by an idea and pulled your legs from his lap. He glanced over in surprise to find you grinning. His gaze narrowed. "What are you up to?"

You hopped to your feet and held out a hand. "Trust me?"

"Always," he answered and took your hand without hesitation.

You dragged him through the apartment to your studio and directed him to sit on a stool in front of your easel. "Stay." You danced around the room to gather the needed supplies and felt Clint's gaze on you the entire time. You handed him a pallet of paints in various shades and placed a blank canvas in front of him. Then you hurried back to the corner where your camera was already set up from an earlier session. One of your classes had an assignment called art in motion where you were supposed to capture images of someone creating. You didn't like anything you'd done so far. Maybe this would be different. You set the camera to take pictures every thirty seconds with no flash. There was enough natural light in the room that it shouldn't be needed.

You turned back to Clint to find him watching you with a little smirk. "You gonna tell me what we're doing here, beautiful?"

"Haven't you figured it out, handsome?" you teased. "We're going to paint a picture."

He huffed a laugh. "You should know by now that there's not an artistic bone in my body."

You hummed in agreement. "That's why I said we not you." You sashayed your way back to him and took the pallet to secure it where you always did when you worked. You picked out a couple of brushes and handed him one. "Brush. Water. Paint," you instructed, pointing to each in turn.

"So, what would you have me do, oh artistic one?"

"Whatever you want. That's the beautiful thing about art. And if we hate it, we paint over it. Just have fun." To demonstrate your words, you coated your brush in a vivid medium blue and a bit of white and made a swoosh right in the middle of the blank canvas. As always, you felt a rush as the color marred the pristine surface. Perfect.

"I'm not sure I understand. You need to show me again."

You frowned. What was there to understand? With a little shrug, you filled your brush again but Clint's hand on your wrist stopped you before you could add more color to the canvas.

"No. I won't be able to see it like that. I'm an old man you know."

You rolled your eyes but allowed him to shift your body so you stood in the small space between him and the canvas, nestled securely between his knees. One arm wrapped around your waist to pull you back against him. "Much better."

"In that case..." You plucked the brush from his other hand and replaced it with your own. Before he could protest, you placed your hand on top of his and steered it to the canvas. The two of you made a slash of color across one corner.

There was a pause before he said, "That was oddly satisfying."

His declaration had you grinning again. "It is, isn't it?" You moved your hand from his and leaned against his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder and you simply watched as he continued to paint. It wasn't long before he was intensely concentrated on the canvas. His tongue poked out slightly between his lips, begging you to kiss him. You resisted and instead, grabbed a brush, added some paint, and quickly swiped it down his nose.

He stilled instantly and blinked. "Did you just..." he asked without looking at you.

"Yep."

He hummed and his fingers splayed against your stomach as his hold tightened. Instead of retaliating as you'd expected, he simply added more paint to the picture. After three or four strokes, something wet smeared down your cheek.

You bit back a laugh and pursed your lips. "And you just..."

"Uh-huh."

You held your ground for a bit before twisting away from his grip and spinning to face him. Grinning, you held your brush up like a sword. "So that's how it is."

He mirrored your stance and arched a brow. "You started it, sweetheart."

Moments later, paint was flying between the two of you and laughter filled the air. At some point, you abandoned the brush and scooped up paint with your fingers to fling at him. Until you made the mistake of getting too close. His paint covered hands grasped your arms and turned you so your back was pressed against his front. Streaks of color decorated your skin and Clint's shirt you'd slipped on this morning.

His lips found the curve of your neck and you no longer wished to escape his hold. One hand splayed against your stomach while the other found its way under the shirt. His warm hand cupped and caressed your breast and you pressed against him with a moan. You'd never been a particularly sex-driven creature prior to Clint but damned if you weren't constantly turned on in his presence.

His teeth raked across the skin of your neck while he squeezed your breast again. "Fuck, Clint." You felt his smile against your skin as he started to walk to the two of you forward. Your hands grabbed the arm around your waist as you let yourself focus on the feel of his lips and hand on your body. This man drove you insane with want—with need—until you weren't certain how you'd ever existed without him as such an intimate part of your world.

The hand on your belly slid down past the band of your panties to cup your sex. You whimpered as you arched against his palm and he chuckled. As he lowered the two of you to the fabric covered floor, you bit your lip to keep from saying the words that seemed to hover on the tip of your tongue so often lately. You were happy with him, elated even, but you would give nearly anything to be able to tell him that you loved him. Because you did. With every part of you. You did almost nothing without him by your side anymore. And the few things you did, you always found yourself wondering how he would react if he was there.

Once you were on your back and splayed out before him, he paused to rake his eyes over you. The heat in them caused any disappointment you felt in your current relationship to flee. And any thoughts you might have had about taking the risk and just telling him disappeared as his lips found yours and his body pressed into you. You couldn't chance losing this. Not yet. Not until you were completely sure he was just as gone for you as you were for him.

Your hands tangled in each other's clothing as you undressed one another, desperate, needy for one another as if you hadn't just made love mere hours ago. And as he pressed into you, filling you completely, you arched your back and clawed at his arms as you forgot about the camera snapping away in the corner.