New friend

Hassel has a new friend.
He'd met her through Brassius- some sort rookie artist he'd taken under his wing. He'd seen her work a few times before meeting her, unfinished pieces residing in Brassie's studio. He thought they were magnificent. Brassius clearly agreed, gushing over her work while walking him meticulously through each new piece, then praising her work ethic and artistic vision ("so avant-garde!"), then just her herself.
According to him, when he had first encountered her at a local gallery, the poor girl could barely even speak, a tiny timid thing. It took some time before she'd open up, but with a lot of coaxing from a mentor- no, a like minded peer and future collaborator- she blossomed into something truly beautiful. And again, avant-garde.
Hassel wasn't sure if that's a word you'd use to describe someone's personality (or more candidly, if Brassius even cares), but it clicked once he'd met her a few times.
The girl had no social awareness.
Or, at the very least, was a bit strange. Though one could say the same for most artists- by virtue, you'd expect one to be a bit subversive or odd. But she was exceptionally odd.
He'd first met her at the studio, and she didn't speak much at all, a shrinking violet. She quietly nodded as Brassius raved, excited to finally introduce her to such an important person in his life. The first unusual thing, was how she clinged onto Brassius's sleeve. He was quite touchy with her in a way that felt almost uncharacteristic, an arm around her shoulders, or a thumb smoothing over their held hands as he talked. Comforting guestures, but very much physical.
She opened up over the next few visits, explaining her own works to him, which utterly delighted him. She had a clear passion and an incredible eye for detail, guiding him through the haunting symbolism and imagery in her work through a rapid-fire (If a bit stilted) monologue. Quite the visionary!
And at some point, she had started clinging onto his sleeve as well.
As their friendship developed, she opened up more, and he began to realise she wasn't necessarily shy (With them at least), just a bit... different. What he had initially assumed was reservation in their conversations, may have just been bluntness. Succinct yet uncompromising, refreshingly eclectic, he can see why Brassie felt drawn to her, even outside of artistic endeavours! And of course, any friend of his is a friend of Hassel's, too.
They had began seeing each outside of Brassius, who was delighted his friends were getting along so well. And Hassel had begun to reciprocate her touches, starting out with a pat on the shoulder, or a guiding hand on her back in a crowd. Which was challenged with a linked arm (He accepted, ever the gentleman). Then invasions of personal space to show him something cute on her phone. Then outright leaning on him. Tickles and "boops" on the nose appeared somewhere along. How sweet!
There was always an odd apprehension of her part, as if she wasn't sure if it was okay, or if it was, how much was too much. Which he found strange given how much it was initiated. As he began to reciprocate more, perhaps more than what's "normal" between an older man and a younger woman, it slowly dawned on him.
It seemed nothing was off limits.
He'd been using her interactions with Brassius as a guideline almost, aware at this point she must show affection and trust through touch, but still unsure what is appropriate. He wants to show her how much he's grown to value her, but would never want to make her uncomfortable! Especially as man, it's something he's wary of.
That time, he'd been watching them from a short distance, the two chasing each other like children through one of Brassie's gardens. He appeared to be winning, judging if only by the delighted shouts. Cornered, she playfully lunged at him, but he skillfully ducked. Landing halfway on his back, he hooked his arms around the back of her knees, and stood up.
Neither of them seemed shocked by this, so he can only assume this happens regularly? Still, Hassel is shocked as she kicks her legs in the air, thighs pressed against his shoulder and very much upside-down. Brassius turns to face him, triumphant as she squeals.
His shock dissipates into delight as he plays along and applauds, though he notices something.
Her skirt is rather short.
While nothing... inappropriate, is on display, it affords him a view he wouldn't usually be privy to (N-nor should be!). She either doesn't notice, or doesn't care. Brassius's hand is also planted firmly on the back of her thighs, soft and fleshy nearing the tops. Though this is presumably to keep her supported, it still feels a bit too... intimate.
She laugh-screams to put her down as he strides over, half-hearted kicking rubbing the fabric of the skirt into his cheek, smushing his smug grin. He relents, setting her down and asking if she's alright as she catches her breath and regains balance, blood rushing from her head. She giggles, confirming she's right as rain.
His warm gaze turns sinister, apparently ready to pounce and continue their game. He slowly stretches his arms out to give her a head start, which she notices and screams again, which Hassel guffaws at, amused and delighted.
This apparently caught her attention, and she sprints towards him as brassius claps his arms around the empty air, playfully roaring.
Hassel barely has time to react as she jumps at him- no, quite literally into his arms. He's rather impressed he caught her at all, but the positioning is awkward, her dangling by her arms around his neck, supported by his arms around her waist. It's more like a rough hug, and her breathing giggling into his ear makes him freeze (That and being tackled so suddenly. Mostly that. Just that.)
Brassius too seems shocked by the development, affording time for Hassel to collect himself somewhat and reposition the girl, hoisting her up past his chest as she cackles, finally safe from the monster she provoked.
In doing so, he has to hook an arm just under her hips, warm flesh soft against his hand, mirroring Brassius just a moment ago. his other arm squeezes against her lower back, pressing her stomach against his.
Her arm comes up to rest a hand on his head, shoulder against his cheek, resting her torso against his clavicle. Something softer presses into the bone, and into his neck.
She's blocking half of his field of view, but he sees an equally surprised Brassius laugh, somewhat out of breath. She looks over her shoulder again, turning her torso more towards Hassel, and yells again as Brassius saunters over, scrambling even further upwards on him.
And while Hassel does like to think of himself as a gentleman, a soft romantic who could never be so crude, and especially not to a woman half his age,
Her tits are quite literally all he can see.
Or, can't? As in, they are in his eyes. He is being smothered. He has gone to heaven. He is going to hell. She has to be aware- no, deliberate- because she's hugging his head, burying his nose between her breasts, still giggling, still writhing-
Brassius admits defeat. She pouts, elated at "winning" but disappointed the game is over. He reaches upwards to... disengage, her from Hassel, giving him much less time to composed himself as she's ripped away.
If Brassius notices anything, he doesn't say it. He's sure he can pass off his red face from the sudden exertion. He plops her down, making a show of brushing off imaginary dust as she titters, asking if she'd like to actually help with the garden now, not terrorising him. She covers her face, apparently flustered, but nods.
She pauses, and turns back to Hassel, asking him if he'd like to help as well, trailing off in a cautiously optimistic tone.
Well. He was planning on excusing himself to the bathroom to have a crisis, and hopefully compose himself a bit, but he can't say no to someone like her.
She grabs his sleeve again, dragging him over to the flowerbeds, and he catches Brassius's gaze for a moment. He quirks a non existant brow at him, partly smug, very telling, and something a bit unreadable. He's not ready to unpack that yet.
As Brassius starts explaining what they'll be doing, the dense air clears a bit, a much needed relief. His body feels electric. They get to work, and Hassel quietly muses to himself. He feels like even if he isn't ready, he'll understand that unreadable look in Brassie's gaze soon enough.