BRUSH STROKES
A Sailor Moon Sekkushiaru Roman

by Sailor Mac
	"You want to do WHAT?!?!?"
	Darien stared at Serena open-mouthed, unable to believe what he'd just
heard. It was so unlike her. . .
	"I said, I want to get a tattoo on my hip. Just above the bikini line. Of
a crescent moon."
	"That's. . . what I thought you said." He took a deep breath. "Why on
earth would you want to do that?"
	"Because it would look so wicked cool on the beach! And admit it, Darien.
. .wouldn't you find it just a bit sexy?"
	An image flashed through his mind of himself kissing a lovely little
crescent moon on her skin during a moment of passion, on his way from her
breasts to her womanhood. . .He felt his cheeks flush.
	Then, he snapped himself out of it. "Serena. . .I'm not saying that it
wouldn't be sexy or attractive. But getting a tattoo isn't like putting on
a piece of jewelry. It's for life. What if you decide you don't like it
anymore?"
	"Oh, I don't think I'd ever want to get rid of it."
	"You say that now, but what about 20 years from now? And besides. .
.getting a tattoo hurts. There's a *lot* of needles involved. And then
there's the risk of infection. . ."
	Her face fell a bit, but she still seemed determined. "But. . .but I
really want one!"
	"Tell you what. Before we go to the beach tomorrow, I'll get ahold of some
body paint, and I'll paint one on you. That way, you get to look cool, but
you don't have all the nasty things that come with it."
	A broad smile spread across her face. "Okay! I'm game for that!" She
leaned over and gave him a kiss. "What time should we get together,
Muffin?"
	"How about you come to my place at about 10?"
	"Sounds great." She embraced him, and they shared a sweet, lingering kiss.
"Bye, honey. . .I love you."
	"I love you, too."
	He breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he watched her rush off toward her
house. An impulsive decision to get a tattoo could have resulted in
disastrous consequences for her. Thank God, he thought, I was able to bring
her to her senses. . .
	Now, where the heck am I going to find body paint?
* * *
	She knocked on his door promptly at 10 the next morning. When he opened
it, she did her usual flying tackle.
	"Good morning, Muffin! Are you ready?"
	"Just about. Why don't you come into the bedroom, and we'll do your paint job."
	She bounded into the room, dropped her beach bag on the floor, pulled off
her coverup, and flopped down on her back.
	"Okay. . .let's get started!"
	He picked up a bag from Spencer's. He couldn't believe the variety of
cheesy erotic products he'd seen in there - fur handcuffs, edible body
lotions which supposedly got hot when you blew on them (he was sure they
tasted like liquid plastic), underwear for two, party games for lovers. .
.Those kind of props, he thought, are for people who lack imagination.
Unlike my Meatball Head.
	Removing a box labeled "Paintbox for Lovers," he said, "You might want to
take off your bikini bottoms so I don't drip paint on them. I'll give you
an old towel to lie on."
	She giggled. "Is that the *real* reason you want me to take them off, Darien?"
	"Yes, that's the reason, you little minx." He gave her the towel, and she
laid it down on the bed, pulled off her bikini bottoms, and laid back down.
	He sucked in his breath at what he saw before him - a combination of a
covered top and naked bottom. It was very, very alluring. . .
	Then, he picked up the paint - had to attend to the business at hand.
Taking a fine brush, he dipped it in black paint to make the outline of the
moon. When he touched it to her skin, she giggled. "Oooh, Darien - that
feels tickly!"
	"Hold still, Meatball Head! You'll wreck my line!"
	"Okay, okay. . .I'll hold still." And she did, while he finished tracing
the moon on her hip. She thought about how the brush felt. . .a nice
feeling,  soft and wet and tickling just enough to make it interesting. . .
	She began wondering how the brush would feel on other parts of her body.
	He got a thicker brush, dipped it in yellow paint, and began to fill in
the outline. A small purring noise escaped from her.
	"Darien," she said, "when you're done with that, I want you to do another one. . ."
	"I think one at a time is enough."
	"This will be one. . .that only you and I will see." She began to unfasten
her top. "I want you to paint a flower around my nipple."
	"Oooh, you little. . ."
	Before he could say the word she knew he was going to say, she pulled his
head down to hers, and their mouths came together, their tongues caressing
each other. The paintbrush dropped from his hand, onto the towel.
	When they broke apart, he took up the fine brush again, and began to trace
petal shapes on the pink around her nipple. She gasped at the feeling of
the soft bristles on her sensitive flesh. "Oooh, that feels good. . ."
	"Now, let's see," he said, "what color should I fill it in with? I know, a
lovely pink. . ."
	He got another brush, a bit thicker than the two he'd used before, and
began to color in the outline, not quite touching the nipple itself,
skirting around it. . .
	Then, he whisked the brush over the hardened tip, quickly, over and over,
and she cried out. What a delicious sensation! It was unlike anything she'd
felt before. . .
	He held the brush in place over her nipple and twirled its stem between
his two hands, making the bristles rotate quickly, and she let out a loud
"AAAHHHH!!!" Her legs were falling open, the honey beginning to pour out of
her and onto the towel. It was looking less and less likely that they'd
make it to the beach. . .and neither one cared.
	The brush began to stroke downward, leaving a trail of pink down her belly
as it moved toward the center of her being. . .
	When he reached the golden curls that covered her womanhood, he stopped.
She cried out in disappointment - until she realized that he was just
switching brushes. He got a thicker, softer one, dipped it in paint as red
as passion, and picked up where he left off. She felt the brush moving
onward, down, down, and then between her petals. . .
	"OHHH!!!" The exquisite softness touching her most private, sensitive
place shot her straight into paradise. She opened her legs wider, giving
him as much access as he could possibly get, her breathing becoming harder
as he began to stroke up and down, up and down. . .
	"Mmmm," he said. "I think this will be. . .my masterpiece."
	And he began to flick the brush quickly back and forth across her pearl,
as he had done with her nipple. She arched her hips, over and over,
trembling on the brink of climax. . .His mouth covered hers, as he
continued to stroke, their tongues tangling and dancing, and then he moved
his head down to her unpainted breast. . .As he began to suck, she let out
a wail. Finally, he pulled away. . .only to take the stem of the brush
between his palms again, position the bristles squarely over her jewel, and
twirl it quickly, back and forth, back and forth. . .That did it. The
floodgates burst within her, and her whole body bucked as she screamed his
name, as she was consumed by sweet, sweet fires.
	She fell back on the bed, panting. Softly, he kissed her neck, her cheek,
her lips.
	Then, she flipped him over on his back, yanked off his trunks, and grabbed
the paint kit.
	"Your turn to get some body art," she said. Taking hold of the
medium-width brush, she wiped the pink paint on the towel, then dipped in
in blue. She kissed his neck, letting her tongue slide up it and into his
mouth. They shared a long, hot, wet kiss. . .
	She pulled away and touched the paintbrush to his right nipple. She
flicked it back and forth quickly a few times, then took it in her hands
and twirled it, as he had done with her. He moaned loudly. She stroked the
brush across his chest to the other nipple, where she repeated her actions.
	Then, she reached for the thickest brush of all, which was still unused
and dry. She stroked it quickly up and down the length of his erection. He
let out a loud, hoarse cry. When she circled the head with rapid strokes,
he thought he was going to explode.
	She took up the finest brush, dipped it back in black paint, and began to
trace an outline on the head of his manhood. In some distant corner of his
passion-crazed mind, he noticed that the design was somewhat rose-shaped.
	Putting the brush down, she cupped and stroked the sac beneath his
maleness with one hand. With the other, she picked up the red brush and
began to fill in her outline, making maddening little swirls as she did so.
"OOHHH!!! Serena, oh GODS Serena, that's. . .that's. . . OHHH!!" He felt
like he was almost ready to come. . .
	Then, she went in the nightstand and retrieved a rubber. "Time to cover up
my painting," she said, rolling it on him. She climbed aboard, took his
hands in both of his, and leaned over for another long, deep, hot, wet
kiss. Serena leaned back, put both of his hands on her nipples, and gave a
big thrust, driving him into her. She began to move, her hips finding their
rhythm quickly, and both lovers moaned in pleasure. He raised his hips up
to meet every thrust, thinking that she looked so beautiful moving over
him, that *she* was a work of art, that he didn't think that love and
desire could possibly exist on this level before his explosive
coming-together with her. . .
	All conscious thought was soon obliterated, though, and there was nothing
but ecstasy, beautiful madness that consumed them both as their passion
built and built and. . .
	"AAAAAHHHHH!!! OH, DARIEN!" Serena's release shook her whole body,
electricity flooding her every pore. She sagged, but continued to thrust
against him, determined he experience the same mad joy, and then, to her
amazement, she felt it building up in her again, when she thought she had
nothing more to give, and then she was coming again, crying out his name as
she threw her head back, and he answered his ecstatic cries with his own as
he, too, achieved paradise.
	She crashed down atop him, and they held each other tightly, laying light
kisses on each other's faces as their breathing and heartbeats slowed down
to normal.
	Drained, he still managed to pull away just long enough and far enough to
dispose of the condom. Then, he took her in his arms again and kissed her.
	"I love you," he said.
	"I love you, too. Not getting that tattoo was the best decision I ever made."
	He laughed softly. "Body paint does kind of make a mess, though."
	"That's okay, Muffin. We can take care of that in the shower later. . ."
	And with that bit of sweet anticipation in their heads, they both fell asleep.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Inspiration can strike you in the strangest places. In this
case, inspiration came when I went to Spencer's Gifts on a fruitless search
for South Park plushes and happened to see a rack of cheesy lovers' toys,
including a body paint kit. The wheels in my head started turning, and the
rest is history. . .

Thanks, as usual, to Mark Berger, Luna and Artemis, Sailor November,
Jeffrey and Sally and the rest of the Wizards, Sailor Star Love, Molly, and
all the terrific writers who continue to inspire me, including Lady M.
Harris, Ivana B. Anonymous, Lunar Rose and Mishi Kawaii.	

Standard Sailor Moon disclaimers apply. These characters ain't mine, I'm
just borrowing them for a little while.