by CE Ricci
I don’t answer him, instead moving to the vanity and slide to the floor, my back against the base cabinets. Taking a deep breath, I do my best to drown out the sound of Rain begging and beating at the door.
But it’s fucking difficult.
I hope he doesn’t rip the damn thing off its hinges trying to get to me before I have the chance to look through this.
“River, open this fucking door right the fuck now!” he yells, anger rising in his voice as the doorknob continues to rattle.
I don’t respond, letting him stew in his rage.
He drew me.
He drew me.
He. Fucking. Drew. Me.
No matter how I think it or how many times it crosses through my mind, it doesn’t make sense.
“Babe, please. Just do this one thing. Open the door and I promise we can look at it together.”
Ah, he’s already trying to make a deal with me.
A lot of people don’t know this, but the stages of grief apply to more than loss and death. Rain, whether he realizes it or not, is already on the third step: bargaining.
I open the pad to the next page, then the next, and the next after that.
It’s page after page of sketches.
All of me.
My tattoos.
My chest.
Arms.
Abs.
Lips.
Eyes.
My entire fucking face.
It’s all here in graphite and paper, staring back at me like a mirror.
I don’t know how long I sit flipping through page after page of his sketchbook. I must go through it half a dozen times, still unbelieving that he almost filled an entire pad with nothing but me.
When did he do these?
I’ve never seen him with this pad before. He’s never sketched in front of me, save for that one time on the FaceTime call. He hasn’t taken any photos of me, that I know of, to sketch from.
Which means this is all straight from his mind.
Which also means… each time he touched and kissed and licked every single inch of my body… he wasn’t just worshipping it.
He was memorizing it.
My heart pounds in my chest and my palms start to sweat as I stand on shaky legs. I feel like fucking Bambi just learning to walk as I cross the bathroom and open the door.
I expect to find Rain still right in front of me, but in my reverie, I must have missed that he was no longer banging against the panel of the door. Instead, I see him sitting on the ground across the hall from the doorway, his head in his hands.
Stage four, depression.
He heard the door open from the way his shoulders stiffen as I step into the hallway, but he makes no effort to look up at me or say anything.
Squatting down in front of him, I place the closed sketchbook on the floor to the side of him, but he still doesn’t look up.
“You drew me?” I whisper, my voice shaking and full of emotion. It wasn’t meant to be a question. Or maybe it was.
I have no clue what this means, and I’m sure he doesn’t either.
That’s probably why he didn’t want me to see them.
Look at me, baby, I plead silently, my stomach clenching with anticipation.
As if he can read my mind, he lifts his head from his hands, his amber eyes meeting mine. They’re red around the rims, as if he’s been holding back tears, and I hate the idea that this caused him pain. It was never meant to, but I can’t help being selfish sometimes and only thought of my own desire in the moment.
I watch as a stoic mask slides into place over his face, one he hasn’t worn around me in weeks, and I have the urge to grip his shoulders and shake him out of it.
We aren’t like that. Not anymore.
And then I realize.
Stage five, acceptance.
But acceptance of what? My anger or outrage when there isn’t any?
Grabbing his wrists with both hands, I haul us both up to our feet before taking his face in my hands. My heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest to get to his. If only to let his know mine has never felt so completely whole.
I love you.
The words are there, have been for along fucking time, waiting to make their presence known. But I don’t say them.
All they would do is scare him away.
But I beg silently, searching his eyes for any recognition that he understands the way I feel about him. That this is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me, inadvertently or not. That he just gave my heart wings and let it soar.
That I fucking love him.
And I do. Goddamnit, I do.
I’d give anything to be able to tell him at this moment.
But I can do the next best thing.
Show him.
I crush my mouth to his in a blistering kiss, backing him against the wall. Biting at his lower lip, I flick my belt open, unbutton my jeans, and slide down my zipper in one quick move before beginning on his own.
“Your talent is so fucking sexy,” I murmur against his lips, sliding my tongue along the seams before gripping my shirt and tugging it over my head. I toss it to the floor of the hall and walk back to his room, yanking off my jeans before crossing the threshold. As I do, I hear SayWeCanFly’s “Pavement” coming from my still open Spotify app on my phone, giving me an idea.
“You aren’t mad?” I hear Rain ask behind me, uncertainty evident in his rough whisper.
In only my underwear, I step around the canvas on the floor and start digging through the containers holding most of his acrylics. “No, not at all,” I tell him as I grab a couple large bottles of paint. Foregoing the small hole of the squeeze top and just ripping the entire lid off before crushing the bottle in my hand and dumping royal blue paint all over the canvas laid out on the ground before me.
“What are you doing?” Rain asks, a tremor in his voice.
I glance up at him as I unscrew the other cap on the second bottle of paint, this one forest green. He’s standing barely out of reach on the other side of the canvas, naked down to his boxer briefs and hard as a fucking rock. My mouth practically waters at the sight.
Showing you that I love you.
I squeeze out every drop of the paint from this bottle, too, spreading it all over the canvas and not giving a damn if any gets on my hands, arms, or any other part of my body.
Once the bottle is empty, I toss it to the ground with the other and turn to face him, sliding my underwear down my legs and throwing them across the room. I reach over and grab his hand, giving it a swift tug, and force him to step onto the paint-covered canvas.
Slipping my fingers into his waistband, I smear the mixture of paint against his hips as I tug down his boxers, kneeling before him as I go.
“Making art.”
Cool paint slides and squishes under my knees as I run my tongue up his length, from taint to tip, sucking the head into my mouth while my fingers lightly feather up the back of his calves and knees, causing him to shudder. I suck him slowly for a few seconds before popping off and dipping my hands into the paint below me.
The urge to brand him as mine in any way I can is raging through me like a tidal wave, and I allow it to take over my senses.
Bringing my paint covered hands back up, I grip the backs of his thighs just below his ass in my palms. I lean up further on my knees, licking down the V of his hips with the flat of my tongue and then up the other side the way I know he loves, paying special attention to the ink on his left hip. Biting at the skin there, I pull it with my teeth, causing his cock to jump beside my face. When I release and pull away, I see the tiny white crescents from my teeth indenting his golden skin.
Imprinting him.
I want to mark every part of him as mine. Every damn inch.
With my teeth.
My tongue.
My hands.
Mine.
And he is fucking mine. I don’t give two shits if he’s “out” or if we make it official
or if I have to wait until he is ready to give this a real shot.
He. Is. Mine.
Licking his cock again with a long, slow brush of my tongue, I keep my eyes on his face. His attention is fixated on me, kneeling before him, vulnerable and submissive.
“Put your cock in my mouth, baby,” I say with a husky demand, causing his brows to quirk. I smirk at him, knowing full well he’ll listen, even when he is seemingly the one with the power.
You have no idea how wrong you are, baby. I might be on my knees for you, but you’re about to see what it’s like to completely lose control.
He wars with himself for a whole three seconds.
And then the underside of his dick is sliding a long my tongue into my mouth.
My hands knead the backs of his thighs before using my grip to take his cock deeper into my throat. Rain groans above me, sliding his hands into my hair to help me take him even further, his cock twitching when I moan around it.
Fuck, I love having my mouth on him.
I continue to work him over, my head bobbing on his length in fast, shallow passes before slipping into the back of my throat, licking and sucking every damn inch. My teeth run gently back up his length and it makes him go wild.
His grip on my hair gets harder as he begins thrusting into my mouth, panting and groaning while I cup his balls, kneading them with my paint covered hands, careful to avoid his ass.
“I’m close, Riv,” Rain grunts as he continues to fuck my face. “Where do you want me?”
I remove my hands from him to pat my sternum with my fingertips and he’s quick to follow, pulling out of my mouth and stroking himself through his climax, coating my chest and pecs with his release.
“Shit, what are you doing to me?” Rain growls and drops to his knees in front of me, taking my face in his palms and kisses me, rough and passionate. One hand moves down between us, grasping my dick firmly before giving it a couple fast tugs. He nibbles on my jaw before licking his way down to my collarbone as my fingers graze down his back.
“Put your cum on my cock,” I tell him with closed eyes, lost in the sensation of his mouth and his hands on me. His mouth pauses for a brief second as he processes my request.
His fingers are running across my chest a second later, collecting his cum before gripping my cock and slicking the length with his release. A groan rumbles through me at the feel of his hand stroking me, coating me with his essence.
“Stand back up and turn around,” I murmur, needing his hand off me so I don't blow a load before I even get inside him.
This time he obeys without hesitation.
I grip his taut ass in my palms, spreading his cheeks to expose his puckered hole to me. I’ve never done this before, but fuck it, I dive in, my tongue caressing the tight bud. And surprisingly, I find eating ass isn’t unpleasant at all. Flicking the tip of my tongue against him, I feel him shiver.
“Fuck. Babe,” he pants.
He fucking likes it.
That only spurs me on more.
I spread his cheeks wider, continue lapping at his ass, slipping my tongue inside him, coating him with saliva the best I can. There’s no way I’m not about to break away, covered in paint, to try to find a bottle of lube in my own bedroom.
Rain’s body continues to shake and I can’t fucking take it anymore.
I need to be inside him.
Pulling away, I move to sit back on the canvas covering the ground, slippery with a mixture of blue and green and teal.
Rain gazes down at me, a concoction of fear and excitement present in his eyes.
“Come here, baby,” I demand softly, a smile spread across my face as I lean back with my hands sliding through the paint below me. “Come slip my cock in your ass and ride me.”
This time, I do see uncertainty cross his handsome face, but I do my best to give him all the reassurance I can with my eyes.
I love you.
Whatever he sees, he trusts, because he steps over me before kneeling down, straddling my torso.
Along with eating ass, I’ve never topped another guy from the bottom before either. Tonight is a night of firsts, it seems.
Then again, it’s not every day you realize you’re in fucking love with most beautifully infuriating man you’ve ever met.
I lean back further on my forearms, the chill of the paint on my skin sending goosebumps across my skin. Rain grips my dick, still slick with his cum, and before I have time to think or fucking breathe, he lets out as shaky breath and sinks down on my cock. He lets out a low hiss as he takes my entire length in him for only the second time. Using my abs to sit up, I run my hands across his chest, his arms, his stomach, leaving behind smears of color.
Fucking beautiful.
And so goddamn perfect.
After adjusting, Rain begins to move above me, fucking himself on my cock. Riding me like he was made to do just that.
Probably because he was.
My cock slides in and out of Rain’s ass with ease, and I grip his hips in my hands and help him move up and down on me, enjoying every moment of being inside him.
“Just like that,” Rain gasps, shifting his hips so my dick will scrape against that spot of pure bliss inside him.
He’s so incredibly brave.
So strong.
I want him to love this, to take back his pleasure from that fucking cocksucker who stole his innocence.
But more importantly, I want him to want to love this.
Humans were built to find pleasure in sex, but for victims of assault, they question the ecstasy that comes with it. They can feel guilt over their enjoyment.
I don’t want that for him anymore.
Because I love fucking him.
Almost as much as I fucking love him.
“More,” he moans roughly as he continues to move on my shaft.
“Take what you need, Rain,” I say breathlessly.
My hands continue to frantically drift over his body as I watch in awe as he uses me for his own pleasure. I trace the planes of his muscles, leaving streaks of blue, green, and teal in their wake across his skin. He seems to pick up on my goal to paint every available inch of him, so he joins in, sliding his hands through the paint below us before gripping my shoulders and sliding his palms down my arms.
Rain’s knees start slipping, making it harder for him to keep a steady pace as he continues to work himself over my shaft, so I wrap my arm around his back, the other hand on his ass and quickly flip our positions.
Hovering over him, I trail my lips across his jaw as I thrust my hips into him with quick, smooth movements. He pants against my neck and sweat starts trickling down my back when his slick fingers work their way into my hair. Tugging at the strands, he pulls my mouth to his.
“Baby,” I murmur in protest, thinking about where my mouth and tongue were not long ago.
“I don’t fucking care,” he growls before grabbing my face, coating teal paint all over my face, and crushing his lips to mine. His tongue is immediately probing my mouth to find mine and I fucking love it. I kiss him fiercely, fucking him harder and faster as we slip and slide over the paint-covered canvas.
Soon, too soon, I can feel myself getting close.
I need him there with me.
Reaching between us, I grip his length and slide my fist in rapid strokes, using the paint as lubricant.
“Get there, Rain,” I growl into his mouth before moving my mouth to his Adam’s apple, licking it despite it being covered in paint.
Fuck it, it’s non-toxic. I checked.
“I am,” he groans, his hips bucking to meet my thrusts. “When you go, I’ll go.”
“Where do you want me to cum?” I pant, bring my mouth back to his.
“Wherever you want, babe. One of the best things about art is the mess you get to make while creating it.”
Goddamnit, I love him.
I smile against his lips, nipping the bottom one and giving it a soft tug with my teeth before pulling from hi
s body. Gripping both our cocks in my hand, I jack our dicks together, coating them with paint and sweat. I finish first, spilling all over his paint-splattered stomach, his own release right behind mine.
Struggling to catch my breath, I reach down and rub my hand through the milky liquid, mixing our releases together with the paint across his abs.
Claiming him.
Mine.
Creating a fucking masterpiece.
Ours.
I might not always understand art, but I sure as hell feel it. It's messy and never perfect, but it’s always beautiful in its own way. It’s a visual representation of not only time and effort, but of passion. It’s a way of putting a piece of your soul on display for others to see and trusting them to find similarities in their interpretation. It's open to vulnerability, knowing not everyone will see it in the same light.
Just like the love I have for him.
And from the drawings in his sketchpad, I’m willing to bet the love he feels for me too.
A love like ours will never be perfect. Putting in the work won’t always be easy. Sometimes we won’t work quite right and others we will have to take a step back and try to see what the other sees. And there will be times when people think it's wrong. But I have no doubt it will always be intense and passionate.
A chaotic flurry of adoration and desire.
Yet as messy as this love is, it will always be beautiful.
Because it will always be ours.
Paint sex is a lot of fucking fun.
And the aftermath, washing each other clean in the shower? Equally as enjoyable.
But what isn’t a good time? Trying to clean off dried acrylic paint from hardwood floors.
What can I say? I don’t always think my brilliant ideas through completely.
This was most definitely one of those times.
Even still, I don’t think I’ve ever smiled as much as I have this morning, watching Rain scrub the floor, bitching and moaning under his breath about my asinine ideas, only to look up and catch me staring.
And then…he’d smile back.
Not a smirk, but a genuine fucking smile, and I think part of me died right there.
I want nothing more than to be the reason behind it, for as long as I can be.
Oh, and the canvas? It turned out really fucking cool, so I’d say it was well worth the cleanup hassle.