#jacfc

Avery got up, brushing back dark curls as he picked his way across to her, careful not to step on the canvases she’d laid out on the floor. By the time he made it around to Monet’s side to look at what she was struggling with, it had already become a jumble of overlapping gestures in thinned burnt umber.

Monet dropped herself down onto her stool, palette knife held loosely in her aproned lap as she glared up at her canvas. “‘S not working,” she murmured mostly to herself. She’d been trying at this concept for weeks, never satisfied with anything she produced.

Avery could see the signs of burnout easily enough.

“Take a break,” he said, not quite a suggestion and more of a reminder. She said nothing, glaring petulantly down at her palette stand instead as if daring the pigmented smears of paint to suggest something better. With a weary sigh, Avery sidled up behind the seated painter to settle his hands onto her shoulders.

He felt her immediately lean into the touch, instinctive as he worked his thumbs against tense shoulders. Avery waited until her lean became more relaxed, until he felt her back press lightly against his front, before he leaned down.

“Take. A break,” he repeated by her ear, eyes looking down from the painting to the pale stretch of her thin neck. It was late, and he wanted to go to bed, but not alone. Monet’s weak protest came in a groan, though it faded out when she felt a warm kiss against the side of her neck.

Languidly, her head tilted back to allow him room as Avery kissed a path up her neck and to her jawline. He spared a hand from her shoulder to trail along after, turning her face easily towards him before their lips met in a long, slow kiss. His other hand grazed up the back of her neck, fingers sliding easily into her silky hair - he knew only too well how easily Monet fell into touch.

When Avery broke the kiss, wordlessly sliding away from her to head towards her bed, he didn’t look behind him. He didn’t have to.