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All Eyes On Me	By : ibgarry Category: +G through L > Ib Views: 1242 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Previously uploaded on AO3 and FFN. I do not own Ib or its characters, nor do I make money from this story.

Chapter List
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No sun came in through a window in Garry’s bedroom when dawn approached. He simply woke up on his own, finding Ib laying in his arms. She breathed rhythmically, still fast asleep. She was lovely from every angle, and this was no exception.
Carefully, Garry swept her bangs aside and kissed her forehead. His thumb ran across the length of her cheek. She was flushed from the heat.
Ib’s face tightened as she woke, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. She let out a yawn, hardly covering her face. She gave into fatigue and collapsed into the pillow again, greeting the morning with a groan.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Garry murmured, pulling her out of the pillow and into his arms.
Ib groaned again, smothered by Garry. He could feel her smile against his skin. “Mm, good morning…” she replied, her voice croaky. Her breath was warm. “I’m still sleepy.”
“Did you not sleep well?” Garry asked, loosening his grip when he looked down at her.
“I’m still trying to wake up.”
Garry sighed with her and rested his head against hers. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
“We didn’t eat last night, did we?”
Ib’s smile returned again when she recalled the previous evening. “No.”
Garry released Ib and pushed himself up on his elbows. Ib’s eyes opened, following Garry as he sat up. Hair still hung in front of her face.
“I’ll make you something, sweetheart.” He grabbed the back of her head and brought her closer again, kissing her forehead. Ib hummed, pleased with the idea that she didn’t have to make herself breakfast for once.
The bed shifted under Garry’s weight, and the blanket crumpled as he pushed himself out of bed. His briefs were still on the carpet. He bent over to reach for them.
“You have a cute butt,” Ib purred.
“Fuck off.” He grabbed Ib’s pink panties and threw them at her. She burst into a fit of laughter.
Having slipped into some underwear, Garry stepped out into the hall. It was too cold for comfort in the living room. As he made his way over to the kitchenette, he checked the thermostat.
It read “60°F”. Way too cold. He bumped it up to 70 and went on his way.
The vents began to hum as he stepped into the kitchenette. The tile was freezing, and a shiver shot through him. He rubbed his hands together, breathing into his palms for some sort of heat.
After a moment of recovering, he retrieved butter, milk, and eggs from the fridge. He set the box of butter and jug of milk to the side and opened the egg carton, checking its contents. Four eggs were inside, which would be more than enough.
Bread, cinnamon, and vanilla were scattered around his pantry, so he sifted through spices and cereals to find his cinnamon and extract. Relieved to find them up against the back of the shelf, he grabbed the sliced bread in front of him.
It was busy work trying to find his pans and whisks, but he had one of each in due time. His bowls were always in the same place, so finding them wasn’t nearly as hard.
He cracked two eggs into a bowl and began pouring in milk before his bedroom door opened again.
“Good morning,” Garry said, still focused on his work.
“Hey,” Ib greeted him, the exhaustion in her voice still lingering. Her footsteps grew slower, soft on the carpet until she hit the tile. “What are you making?”
“French toast,” Garry answered back. “Is that alright?”
“Of course,” Ib sung groggily, leaning against his back. He was just throwing in cinnamon to the mixture before he felt the bare skin on his back. Ib pressed a kiss to his neck, not quite tall enough to reach his jaw.
Garry turned to find her idling in her frilly panties, her eyes darting around the room as she took it in again. It didn’t shock him too much to see her there, and he returned to his task.
It was odd how quickly she got used to standing around in the nude, considering doing so had always embarrassed her those last few days. Now it wasn’t even her job and she was there, topless in Garry’s apartment.
Ib marched into the living room and turned on the television with the remote Garry always left on the coffee table. The white noise and speaking that followed was drowned out mostly by the hissing of the pan in front of him.
Two slices of bread were done cooking, and Garry slid the onto a plate he had prepared at his side, one after another. He could almost smell the grease, but it did look pretty delicious.
“Ib, there’s a plate for you,” Garry called to her from the kitchenette, resuming his work as he announced so.
“Oh!” Her head shot up from behind the couch. She was all-too enthusiastic to eat; by then, Garry knew fully well of Ib’s love for food.
Ib eagerly took the plate and ran around the bar counter to the dining table, pulling out a wooden chair. The smile on her face stretched from ear to ear, and the delight she found in having food in front of her was contagious to Garry. He couldn’t help but smile as she drooled over her handmade breakfast.
Having finished another two slices of french toast, Garry scooped them onto a plate and shut off the gas stove. He returned the prepared plate to the counter and went off to the fridge to put up the cold ingredients.
It took him a minute or so before the mess had been cleaned; cleaning out a bowl of spices and eggs was work enough. He piled his porcelain in the sink to sanitize and put away later.
“Are we painting again today?” Ib asked, her casual alto blocking out all other sounds.
“Yes, we are,” Garry nodded, sliding into the chair across from her. “Painting” wasn’t exactly politically correct, but he wouldn’t correct her. He noticed her food had gone untouched, but she was just reaching for it. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Yep,” she confirmed, ripping a bite out of the cooked bread. “I’m gonna take a shower after I eat.” Her cheeks were full of bread, but she smiled, her pink cheeks consequently rounder. “I’ve got to look my best if you’re painting me.”

A shower was just what the two of them needed, Ib especially so.
The tap was scalding, reddening the naked skin on Ib’s back. That was how Ib liked it, though, so Garry dealt.
The sound of water falling against her small figure was enough to keep the two of them quiet. The heat, although bordering an unbearable temperature, was arguably detoxing. Both of them thought so.
Although the idea might have been cliche, Garry couldn’t think of a better place to be at that moment then there, in his little bathroom with Ib in front of him. This was the Ib no one else saw, and it felt so special to him that he knew who she really was, behind her stage persona. Maybe they were similar in many ways, but this girl was not vulnerable. If anything, she was beautifully confident.
Hadn’t that changed, though? Before, she had been so shy. It was different now.
How times had changed.
Ib’s hair had thinned out under the water, and her bangs dripped long over her rusty eyes. Her fingers danced over the muscles of Garry’s back, not prominent but surely there.
She rested her cheek against his chest, and Garry ran his hand through her soaked hair habitually. To Ib, the feeling was ridiculously soothing. Her eyes fluttered closed.
A soft light came from the white curtain, and the color in Ib’s skin glowed. Her dripping chocolate hair lined the valleys of her collar. Her hips were a lyre. And God did Garry adore her.
Her senses were clouded enough until she realized the absence of skin against hers. Bottles clicked against the basin of the tub, but Ib didn’t open her eyes to the sound.
The smell of flowers she had yet to identify flooded her nose. The satin touch of soap brushed against her hair, and the cap of a shampoo bottle clicked shut. He held a hand to the side of her head, the soap piled into his palm.
Ib tilted her head back ever so slightly, letting Garry’s fingers run through her hair. “It’s odd,” Garry said, pulling the shampoo through her hair, “that a week ago, you never would’ve dreamed you would be here.”
Her lips pulled into a thin smile. “How would you have known I wasn’t dreaming of doing this?”
“Maybe ‘dream’ wasn’t the right word. Tilt your head back.”

Strangely enough, the only thing on Ib’s mind was work. She was already anticipating the coming night’s events. Any hint of anxiety or panic failed to pass. She wanted to keep it that way.
With her hair pulled behind her shoulders, she held her posture stiffly, the expression on her face unreadable. If anything made her anxious, it was being painted by the guy who popped your cherry. Right after he popped said cherry, in fact.
She hadn’t said anything to him, of course. It had never really come up in conversation. But that rush of adrenaline from the night before was already fading fast. The reality of everything was slowly coming into play, and realizing after she’d already done the deed that her deed-doer was eleven years older than her and working in the same strip joint as her was, frankly, very fucking terrifying.
All she had to do was stay quiet.
Oh, there was the panic. Her only thought was a simple “whoops.”
She pulled herself through the silence as Garry finished up with the charcoal outline of Ib’s portrait. The process had taken nearly an hour, including the time they had spent beforehand; as she had predicted, she was dying to leave.
A sigh escaped her lips just as Garry set the stick of charcoal to rest on the easel’s ledge, looking up from his work.
“Want to see?”
Eagerly, Ib bounded from the stool, making her way around Garry to see the work
As far as she knew, he had captured her well. The button nose, the thin line of her lips, her choppy, self-cut bangs were all there.
Charcoal was smeared on Garry’s clothes, but Ib wrapped her arms around his neck negligently, ignoring the mess. “It’s amazing,” she awed. With a burst of energy nearly caught in her throat, she pecked his cheek and stood, the faintest remains of black dust smudged along the sleeves of her blouse.
“I’ll start painting it after you leave,” he promised, standing to dust himself off. Under his breath, he mumbled, “And now I have to take another shower.” Garry didn’t think Ib would catch it, but she giggled.
A pregnant silence loomed while Garry pulled the canvas apron up over his head and hung it on the back of the easel.
“It didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” Ib noted.
“The painting will take longer,” Garry replied blandly.
Already, the conversation was dying. The cloud of doom that had already begun washing over Ib grew thick. Internally, she debated on the events of the previous night, having already realized the risk in what they had done. What would her mother say about all of this?!
“Is something wrong?”
Ib flinched, stuttering to answer him. “No, no, I was just think… thinking.”
Garry’s lips twisted into a frown, his focus narrowing. To Ib, it seemed he had an idea of the underlying cause of her concern, but he turned away, cleaning off the last of his mess from his workspace onto the plastic tarp under his feet.
Ib sighed, almost defeatedly. “Don’t worry about it.”
Another silence followed the statement of hers.
“If something’s wrong, you know you can tell me.”
Ib bit her tongue. “Yeah.”
A quick exhale out of Garry confirmed he was finished with his job. “Are you getting hungry?”
Just the simple question on its own startled Ib, though it was completely harmless in its origin, she knew. She resolved that, yes, she was very hungry. She was always hungry, it felt like. Her response was a nod.
“Come on, then.” His smile was silently vexed, but Ib tried to ignore him as he took the lead with Ib trailing behind.
The door hung open where Garry left it, so it was a simple task of just stepping through the doorway. The daylight through the shuttered windows was strangely blinding, enhanced by the white room. The table might have been wooden, but its veneer sparkled in the light, which only seemed to make matters worse. Garry was still dusting himself off in the hall.
“What are you hungry for?” Garry asked.
Ib quipped back with good intention: “Something you don’t have to make, since you seem to love cooking for me.” Garry could only laugh.
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All Eyes On Me