She finds herself gliding across the white marble floors of the intricate studio. She feels him. She feels Thunderman and his eyes on her. She feels lightning kindling raw electricity from his eyes onto her, prompting a jolt in her feet to hastily flee onto the next painting or gracefully disappear behind the closest wall. Of course, his grace is none lack thereof hers.

She snaps a glimpse at him. Her 2.5 seconds of memory shows a fleeting image of brown long waves framing the fair-skinned smoothness of his heart face.

Stop staring

The smirk that lodges his lips and pulls it to the left leaves her focusing wildly on something, anything that makes sense. She aims at another picture, discernibly examining the measures of brush lines across the woman's cheek and its curvy waves slithering down and across the plumpness of her thick brown lips.

Graceful Pornography by Roman Diem. Interesting choice of title.

And somehow, the very red spot between the woman's thighs fails to unsharpen the volt of unyielding sensation charging Issa's atmosphere, perhaps giving it life, if you will. It's Thunderman.

He exhales deeply, staring straight ahead and she believes something must be said.

"Stop following me."

She catches his attention and dares to stare back into the eyes of the storm.

"We're in a gallery."

"I am aware." She clips pointedly.

"A gallery full of paintings."

She encloses herself with the intimidation of stoic stillness and quirks a curious brow for a better explanation. Her ears drink in the deepness of his accented voice and her body swallows, goose bumps like sand dusting her delicate skin.

"See, in here, everyone intends to find the art that speaks to them..."

Air liberates the tightness squeezing the ribs in her chest, the cadence of her pulse strives laboriously to revert to normal as he breaks away his stormy eyes to the display ahead of him.

"But for some reason, you won't."

✿ - - - - ✿

the mantis shrimp eye contains 12 color receptors, therefore, being the only animal to see the most colors