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Standard Disclaimers apply:  Characters in this story belong to Naoko
Takeuchi, etc.
Insert your own hentai disclaimer here:__________________________

Warning to the reader:  This fanfic is only mildly provocative.
Hope you enjoy!

Any comments are welcome at:  ayfl@hotmail.com
Copyright 1998 to Lunar Rose
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"L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.  On ne voit bien qu'avec le
coeur."  -Antoine de Saint-Exupery

(The essential is invisible to the eyes.  We can only truly see
with the heart.)

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THE ARTIST AND MODEL

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Paris the city of love was in love with itself.  It was a glorious day
with the clouds, as white as doves, drifting leisurely across the
The sun's golden globe lighting up the blue-hued sky.  It was
the year 1925 where Paris and its painters set the world aflame with
their new era of art and fashion.  Life was exhilarating, as
intoxicating as the best wine.  Change was everywhere and the gossip
mills worked over-time.  Aah, life was grand, life in Paris.

He brooded, his dark face set in a deep scowl.  So many women, so many
possibilities but they were only in his dreams.  The women all looked
alike with their fashionable, little bobs of hair.  What had happened
to the romantic ideals of the 18th century with Goya and Antoine Jean
Gros.  Now the women all seemed like pictures of a Kewpie doll with
their heavily rouged faces and plucked cupid brows.  They were all the
same even the great Isabelle of Montparnasse.  She was the queen of all
the models for she knew everyone and everyone knew her.

Darien Luneon, painter and creator extraordinaire dwelled on oblivious
to the new-comer staring in awe at the splendor of Paris.

She was different, a refreshing change to the old.  Wearing the puerile,
athletic silhouette, she stood proudly, head held high.  Her trim skirt
pleated with aureate serge fell to her knees.  Her white overblouse made
with crepe flowed loosely above her skirt, only to be belted at the
waist.  She watched with wide-eyed amazement at the bustle of Paris, the
gaiety and life of the city d'amour.  It was so very novel to her.

Serena Van Cleve, scandalous without a hat of some sort, surveyed the
scene before her.  Her long, flaxen hair provided a shield of protection
from the curious glances of passerbys.  Her delicate brows had not been
plucked nor had her face been painted.  Her lips were a faint rose while
her cheeks were flushed with excitement.  Her eyes were so very large
fringed with long golden lashes.  Wide-spaced and as blue as the bluest
sky, her eyes were indeed very beautiful.  Her high cheekbones and her
pert nose completed her face.  Her ivory skin did not need whitening
nor did her lips and cheeks need rouging.

Serena was new to this city, this peculiar and exciting environment.
She was American, recently voyaging to France to seek her destiny.
Romantically inclined, Serena had dreamed of being a model, no, not just
an ordinary fashion model but one immortalized by the great painters.
Just like Mona Lisa immortalized with the strokes of Leonardo Da Vinci in
his famous painting, La Gioconda.

"Is someone waiting for you or are you waiting for someone?"
A busty lady and her high-pitched voice had broken Serena's reverie.

"I certainly hope I'm waiting for someone.  This is the model's fair,
isn't it?"
Serena was nervous, chewing on her lip every now and then.

"This is the place all right.  But you don't have the looks to be a
model.  Look at you, all scrawny and savage-looking.  You'll never go
far with the way you look!"
A new intruder had entered the curious circle of people hearing the
busty lady's comments.

"I for one absolutely agree with you Maggie.  You need only look at her
to know that she's a nobody and will stay a nobody.  And to think that
this, this little piece of nothing, is what the provinces are turning
out daily."
It was another woman, slender and beautiful with her dark hair gleaming
under her chic hat.  Her slim body was covered by a form-fitting jade
green dress.  On both of her arms were two admiring men.  She gave
Serena a look of disdain and walked off with her admirers leaving a
snickering crowd in her wake.

"If someone will paint me and pay me for it, then that makes me a
model," Serena retorted, astonished at the French girl's rudeness.
Americans were outspoken but even they refrained from such vile words.

"I highly doubt you will find someone.  Better for you to spread your
legs in the Quartier because no one will paint you."
The busty lady named Maggie accused with much venom.

"I will paint her," came the emphatic reply.  The deep baritone voice
turned the people's heads towards the speaker.

He was a tall man bordering on six feet four inches.  His broad
shoulders and narrow hips encased in a white shirt still smeared with
paint and a tight pair of  breeches emphasizing his muscular, long legs.
His stormy blue eyes fixated on the blonde in front of him with an
alarming intensity.  His hawk-like nose was set with a startling
finality at the center of his ruggedly chiseled features.  His strong
chin indicated his stubbornness and his wide mouth held a promised
sensuality.  His monumental features and size stood out like a
giant among ordinary men.

He strode forward slowly circling Serena like a vulture circling
his prey.  He admired her long limbs and the paleness of her skin.
He touched her hair and fingered its strands.

"At least its still long and clean enough to work with," came the
insolent reply.

Serena was beyond humiliation for she was passing into absolute
mortification.  She was being treated like livestock, with all the
touching and weighing.  Surely this was not what models went through
every single time.  After all, she was new at being a model.  The
people were rude beyond her belief and this man was touching and
poking at her here and there seeing if she qualified to be painted.
She was going to scream in fury and frustration if this insanity
continued.

"Very well, come along ma petite."
It was an order.  She had met with this man's qualifications and he was
going to paint her.

Serena did not need to be asked again.  She marched with her nose
in the air after the giant who had rescued her in his own way.  For
the moment, she would forgive him for his incessant touching and
treatment for he had saved her, hadn't he?

He walked at a brisk pace in front of her.  Darien was contemplating
at what had caused him to gallantly rescue her.  Not that he cared
much that she was being pecked alive by witless females.  That was
a daily occurrence and it didn't bother him in the least.  There was
something about that girl, something he couldn't quite put his finger
on.

He glanced back at her.  She was magnificent in her fury.  Her
rosy cheeks and her deep breaths indicated that she was doing her
bloody best to keep up with him.  Unknowing to her, Darien chuckled
at her adorable efforts.  His soft chuckling ended when he noticed
her breasts' erotic movements due to her strenuous efforts.  Darien
frowned, his thoughts were a scattered mess and his arousal was
not only uncomfortable but bothersome.

Serena was staring at the giant with the mop of untamed black hair.
It reminded her of her mare with its shiny, black sheen.  She felt
uncomfortably warm despite the cool breezes.  He was walking awfully
fast through street after street.  She had hardly had the chance to
admire the quarters they had passed in such a rapid succession.  The
cobbled street was considered the pathway into the "royaume des
artistes."  The path led to two-story, half-timbered houses, most
of which were crumbling to their destruction.

He stopped abruptly at a door.  Serena glimpsed at the filthiness
of the place he called home.  He entered fully expecting that she
follow.  And she did, not wanting to be left outside.  The inside
was little better than the outside's shabbiness.  Canvasses were
everywhere, some done others in the midst of being finished.
Rainbows of colours splattered on to the canvasses in every tone
and hue.  There were a series of naked women, children and fruit.
But the man's passion was definitely naked women....  From the
scribbled signature at the bottom of each piece, Serena deduced
that the giant of a man's name was.... Darien something or other.

Darien was watching her, passively and silently.  He watched her
reaction to his paintings, the little frown now and then.  The
gentle smile when something pleased her eye.  He wasn't sure what
to make of her for she was so very different.

"There's a bedroom in there," Darien pointed to a closed door.
"There's a robe on the hook.  You can change in there."

Serena whirled around her skirt flaring, brazenly showing a trim
pair of legs.
"I thought that you could paint me with my clothes ON."

The little chit and her crazed notions were simply irritating him.
Darien grounded his teeth," If you haven't noticed, I paint women
in the nude, naked, without clothes on."

A delicate furrow of her brows.  "Perhaps, you are not skilled
enough to paint me with my clothes on then?"

The woman was rubbing him the wrong way.  "Look lady, I saved you
from a bunch of nitwits and put my reputation on the line for your
sake.  And this is the thanks I get.  I'm paying you to remove your
clothes and to model - that's the way *I* paint, whether you like it
or not."

Serena glared at him for a moment then ashamed she walked to the door
he had indicated earlier.  "My name's Serena by the way," she said
sweetly before slamming the door hard behind her.

Inside the bedroom, Serena looked at the robe he had said would be
there.  It was blue, shabby and worn.  Serena sighed.  This was not
the time to be overcome with shyness, she chided herself.  Slowly
and reluctantly, she unbelted her small, leather belt.  In the
same sluggish fashion, she parted with her skirt and her overblouse.
Hesitantly she pulled off her chemise, all white and warm from her
recent exertion.  Her trembling fingers could not take off her knickers.
They were her sister's knickers, all lacy and frilly.  They were her
sister's good-bye present.  She stepped out of her worn pumps and
quickly belted the blue kimono-like robe about her.

"Are you ready yet," came an annoyed shout in that same deep baritone
voice.

Slothfully, Serena opened the door with a strange emotion akin to
dread.  She gently closed the door.  Darien watched her with hooded
eyes as she walked hesitantly towards him.

"Sit over there by the window and take the robe off," he directed.

She nodded her head while unconsciously licking her lip.  Darien
was fascinated.  Her tongue darting out furtively to trace her lip
leaving it wet and moist.  He had to stop this line of thinking
if he was going to survive.

She sat on the chair in front of the window where the sun's rays
entered in streams of light.  The dusty drapes were pulled back
and the light kept pouring into the dismal studio kissing everything
it could reach.  She took off the robe, a red flush staining her face.
She was shy all of a sudden, where was her reserved courage when she
needed it?

Darien stared at the most erotic thing he could think of.  Her hair
tumbled in waves of gold down her back, its tips tickling the flesh
revealed.  Her face was all rosy due to her embarrassment and
obvious shyness.  Her breasts were like two perfectly proportioned
globes ending into a pink nipple.  Her concave stomach led down
to a ....

Darien couldn't believe his eyes.  The girl was wearing her damned
knickers.  Those bloody knickers were transparent, a white film
covering her sex from his lusty view.  It somehow made it all the
more erotic.  Somehow seeing the flaxen wisps of hair covering her sex
yet at the same time not really seeing it at all.

"Take the knickers off," he managed to rasp out.  Serena looked
crest-fallen.  She would be brave.  She would take her knickers
off.  She wouldn't be shy or embarrassed at all, now would she?

Standing up, tall and proud as Joan of Arc, Serena proceeded with her
task.  With the same sluggishness as before, Serena began to peel gently
her knickers off of her.  Slowly, she uncovered her surprisingly moist
sex, down her curvaceous buttocks, down her comely white thighs,
down her trim legs, until her knickers pooled into an unwanted heap
on the floor.

Hell, the girl was giving him an unconscious strip-tease that
happened to stir him straight to the core.  If wasn't aroused
before, he undoubtedly was now.  If Serena had looked at him,
she would have noticed a darkening in Darien's eyes and a certain
something protruding his breeches.

Serena sat down again, completely naked and completely self-conscious.
But she needed the money if she wanted to stay in Paris.  She
was trembling under his intense gaze and she knew it.  Was this
what sexual attraction meant?  She didn't have a clue but that
pooling of warmth to a place DOWN there was certainly disconcerting.

Darien who had set up his canvas and easel when Serena had undressed
was in awe.  She seemed like a goddess with her now sun-kissed skin
and glowing blue eyes, a maelstrom of emotion with her new
discovery of sexual attraction.  He felt it then, the animated
thrill of painting the masterpiece of his career.

She was sprawled out on his over-stuffed green chair.  Her long
limbs draped here and there.  On her face was a look of confused
excitement.  Darien lifted his brush and he painted.  He didn't
bother sketch for he wanted to capture this moment, this exact
moment.

He painted fast and furiously, without inhibition.  Darien painted
with a freedom he had never known existed.   He painted the
shadow between her breasts, between her legs with a bold
strokes of colour.  He dipped his brush in his paint and he continued
to paint, to create.  Ah, she was a nymph but it was getting late.
The sun had long since dipped into the sea and the moon had long
since risen high into the night sky.  Darien had lost track
of the time, so immersed was he in his work.  Peach hues, yellow
ochre, a crimson here and there, a dip of vermilion, and on it
went.  The seemingly never-ending series of strokes and dabs of
paint covering the white canvas into a multitude of colour.  Around
midnight, Darien stopped, exhausted.  He stepped back and his eyes
widened.  She was there as if in the flesh.  Her blue eyes were
captured in detail with their whirlpool of emotion.  Her mouth
turned up into a secretive smile.  Her body was a king's delight, so
very luscious and full.  He had painted as he had never done before.
And he had created something far greater than he had ever imagined
possible.

He wanted her badly.  Darien looked at his muse, his angelic
inspiration.  Serena looked utterly fascinated by him, his
movements, his expression of triumph.

He kneeled before her, his goddess.  Tenderly, his big hands captured
one dainty feet in his hands and kissed it with the same tenderness.
Slowly his kisses traveled upwards to her calf.  His hands, a
palette of colours themselves, smeared colours of green and gold
on her body.  She was his canvas, not that cold board of canvas.
He painted her, his kisses moving relentlessly up her legs until
they reached the juncture between her thighs.  His hands and the
rainbow of colours followed his kisses, coating Serena with his
kaleidoscopic desire.

Darien leaned forward to a still dazed Serena and trailed his kisses
across her cheeks.  Coming to her senses, Serena tugged at his
shirt's many buttons.  Unsuccessful she ripped it with her nails
brushing his scalding hot skin.  They didn't need words for their
actions spoke louder than any eloquent word.

Darien was burning, burning in need.  A need to possess the
woman in front of him, a need to make her his.  His mouth
slanted downwards and captured her mouth.  It was rough,
desperate.  Darien lessened the blazing intensity of his kiss
when Serena was responding in gentle child-like pecks, soft
like a summer's rainfall.  He coaxed her lips open and thrust
his tongue into her mouth.  Scraping the wet insides of her
mouth with his tongue, the gentleness was gone.  Serena
followed his lead pushing her tongue into his mouth.  The
kiss exploded beating down boldly.  They were caught in a
tempest, a storm of desire.

Darien cupped her full breasts in each hand.  Her globes fit
perfectly in his large, roughened hands.  He was groaning, he
had to stop before it ended too quickly.

She looked at him then.  Her eyes aflame with passion gazing into
his.  Darien lowered his head deliberately seeking a taut nipple
into his hungry mouth.  He suckled and nipped awakening Serena's
carnality.  She threaded her hands into his hair gripping it every
now and then in a burst of passion.  She tugged on his hair gently,
he looked up startled.

"Please I want to look at you," Serena whispered.

Darien gazed into her pleading eyes and nodded.  He took off his
ripped shirt and his breeches.  He stood still before her in
his nakedness, magnificence, and erection.  He was all hard,
his sinewy muscles running rampant across his body.  It was so
very different from her own.  She ran her questing fingers lightly
across the velvety softness of his skin.  She looked at his
astonishingly hard nipples with fascination.  She kissed them then
decided playfully to return his favour.  Meanwhile Darien had let his
hands wander across Serena to his heart's content.  His hand
movement stopped when she began to suckle his nipple sending
a blast of shock through him.

She stopped her assault to look at his reaction when he picked
her up into his arms.  Strategically cradling her so her breasts
were pressed snuggly against his massive chest.  Her rounded
buttocks rubbed against his manhood with his every step, inciting
him to put her on the floor and take her then and there.

He reached the bedroom and resisted the urge to throw her on the
bed and ravish her delectable body until he was sated.  Serena was
sprawled out on his bed, filled with this peculiar feeling that
continued to nag at her.  She watched with heavily lidded eyes as
Darien lowered himself between her parted thighs.

Two muscular thighs were placed on either side of her, his pillars
of strength.  Without warning, Serena's hands guided by her passion
wrapped themselves around his manhood.  Her fingers caressed the
skin giving way to a rubbing motion.  Her tentative but greedy fingers
with their butterfly touches were bringing a shocked Darien to the
brink of ossification.  He was groaning now under Serena's somehow
expert manipulations with her seductive squeezing and the unbearable
pressure of her sliding fingertips.  He was threatening to spill
if the little chit continues with these ministrations, he would spill
like the callous efforts of an inept youth.  She rubbed the blood-
engorged, velvety tip of his manhood against her damp nether lips
in her primal need.

Darien thrust into her unable to wait any longer.  He eased into her
silken sheath marveling at its smallness, its wetness and  its
tightness.  Serena's eyes widened to the point that he could see
the tiny flecks of obsidian floating in her eyes.  Her hands clawed
frantically at his tightly-clenched buttocks while her hair was
fanned out into a shimmering carpet of gold.  In this position,
he pushed through the barrier of her maidenhead with a surprise.

"Damn," he cursed, his eyes tenderly tracing her face.  Ashamed at
the pain he had caused her because of his lust.  He hadn't known
but he should have guessed from the way she had first kissed him,
chastely and sweetly.  He had lost his control in his feverish
excitement at his creation and the emotions this beauty evoked
in the depths of his heart.  He kissed the tears that coursed unchecked
down her smooth cheek.  He drew his mouth to kiss her tenderly on the
mouth.

Oh dear gods, it hurt so much.  She knew losing one's virginity would
hurt.  Her mama had told her so before she had died.  She had heard
her sisters gossip about it.  But she was still unprepared.  Dimly
she was aware that he was kissing her the cheek then on the mouth.
He was apologizing in his own way for unknowingly hurting her.  But
it wasn't his fault that he hadn't known.  She should have been frank
and told him that she was inexperienced.  But it was too late for that
now.  She returned his kiss with fervour, stroking him, telling him
it wasn't his fault.

Darien began to move inside her, sliding deep enough to slam against
the wall of her womb.  She arched at this new sensation bringing
her hips tight against his, while he captured a berry-hard nipple
into his questing mouth.  Spasms began to ripple across the length of
her tunnel of love causing both their hips to grind in their reawakened
lusty ardor.  Darien abandoned all hopes of control surrendering to the
heaving tumult of ecstasy.  They soared then to the heavens on the
wings of galvanic turbulence reaching a place where fireworks exploded
again and again.  Soon they were swept to an unimaginable paradise
where they drowned in an oblivion of rapture.

They lay helpless in each other's arms while the moon continued to
glimmer and the painted Serena continued to smile her secretive,
little smile.

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The End