Art House

by Charley Descoteaux

  He knew Garrett loved him, but he also knew love wasn’t always enough. He needed to be enough for Garrett, to not be yet another person in his life who let him down. Again. Being forty-four meant he wasn’t always able to show his affection physically—at least not at the slightest breeze or the moment a smoky hazel gaze turned in his direction. If he couldn’t get it up, would Garrett leave? He didn’t think so but didn’t want to find out. Just the fear of finding out he was wrong could be enough to draw things out to uncomfortable lengths. For Chase. Garrett hadn’t complained, not once, but he rarely complained about anything. He just left. He said it wasn’t because Chase was too old—Garrett insisted he wasn’t too old—but Chase knew in his heart of hearts that almost seventeen years was a gulf between them, not a mere gap.

  Chase squashed the urge to drop to his knees in front of Garrett and dive onto his cock. Hard against his, Garrett rubbed against him. But Garrett preferred to be nude for lovemaking, and Chase didn’t have anything against that. Not when it meant he got to touch Garrett’s lean, strong body, feel his hard length pressed between them, enjoy the heat of his skin and the way his slim fingers gripped so tightly he forgot where one ended and the other began.

  They kissed with a frantic urgency, as though each had something to prove. Chase felt he did—and also that if he hadn’t yet, it probably wouldn’t happen—but that didn’t stop him from removing their clothes and easing them onto the bed. The sheets probably needed changing, and the blanket lay twisted in a pile on the floor, but when they stretched out and held each other, nothing else mattered.

  With Garrett’s body pressed to his, shoulders to knees, Chase’s fears retreated to a dull roar in the back of his mind. He held Garrett, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist, hand cupping his perfect ass.

  Garrett slid his hand between them. He closed his fingers around Chase’s shaft long enough to line it up with his own before continuing over Chase’s hip. He rubbed against Chase and squeezed his ass, and Chase got a little dizzy with pleasure. He panted so hard his face tingled, and when Garrett slid his fingertips between Chase’s cheeks and teased his hole, he thought he’d come right then. It’s been so long.

  Chase rolled onto his back and pulled Garrett on top of him. His weight and the soft sighs he always made when he got close combined to send Chase over the edge. Chase came with a loud cry, his mind full of thoughts of Garrett’s fingers and his cock, along with a half-formed wish he were ten years younger or had a less physical day job and could stay awake after he’d finished.

  It was still early, but Chase had been up late the night before pulling a pair of tourists in a pedicab as they drank their way around Portland’s Westside Brewery Tour. The Pearl never seemed so large as when Chase pedaled through it for hours, towing the cab behind him.

  Garrett hadn’t been around much for weeks; they’d spent a few short hours together, and then Chase popped off far too quickly. He fought to stay awake but didn’t succeed.

  Chapter Two

  GARRETT DIDN’T want to leave, especially not with Chase asleep, but if he didn’t go soon he wouldn’t go at all and it was already late afternoon. He needed to go, to finish that job, even if it was selling out. If he didn’t pull his weight somehow…. He didn’t know how to finish that thought, and what’s more, he didn’t want to.

  For once in my life I will pull my own weight, finish something I’ve started.

  Even if it means breaking my own heart.

  He slid carefully off Chase and took a moment to watch him sleep, unable to keep from worrying about what would happen when he woke. Garrett worried that if he wasn’t around enough, Chase would find someone who would be, but everyone couldn’t support themselves with their art without leaving their own bedroom the way Chase did. Garrett honestly hadn’t thought the job would stretch out for months when he contracted to faux-texture the walls of two bathrooms in the West Hills home of an up-and-coming lawyer. But she’d loved his work and kept asking for one more project, one more room. The pay was what sold him.

  It wasn’t the first time he had spent so much time away from Chase, though. Only the first time it was because of a job.

  Rehashing their rocky history wasn’t getting Garrett out the door before Chase woke and made it impossible to leave him. If that happened, the job would stretch out even longer.

  Garrett looked around on his way to the master bathroom, at Chase’s works in progress and his clothing in piles between the doors and the closet. He did what he had to do and then dressed, a weight settling on his chest. I’m hardly visible in this room anymore, in his life.

  As Garrett zipped his fly, he glanced at the dresser. A long, low, heavy piece of furniture, it had sat in the same place since the early 1960s, when Paulie’s parents lived in the room. The top was strewn with bits of Chase’s life—loose change and receipts, various things he used to tie his long, dark blond hair out of the way while he worked—when he thought to do so—and a few snapshots.

  Last summer they had gone out to Buchanan House for a few events. He didn’t remember anyone taking pictures, but they must have, because lined up on the dresser were five photos. Garrett couldn’t remember when he’d last seen a photograph printed on paper, but Chase had five. Two were from Kyle and Brandon’s reception—the happy couple surrounded by various members of the family. Garrett remembered cameras flashing there but had avoided them, so he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see himself in either of those. The other three surprised his breath away. All had been taken at a bonfire, he and Chase sitting on the sand and leaning against the logs ringing the fire pit. In two they sat side by side, attention focused somewhere past the camera’s reach, Chase’s arm around Garrett’s shoulders. In the second of these, Chase’s other hand hooked around Garrett’s thigh. Garrett took the third from the dresser to examine it more closely. In it, he sat between Chase’s tented knees, leaning against him and looking up into his face. One of Chase’s arms draped loosely across Garrett’s chest. He couldn’t see it, but he knew that hand gripped his waist—he could almost feel it there, the warmth spreading from his side throughout his body. The flames painted lovely colors across their faces as they gazed at each other.

  Quickly, Garrett slipped the photograph into his back pocket, found his shoes, and left.

  As he walked to the MAX stop to board a train that would take him toward the West Hills, Garrett thought about the changes in Chase’s body. He was too thin—that’s on me for not being there to remind him to eat—but he’d never been that chiseled in all the time they’d known each other. The master bedroom was crowded with canvases, but Chase had thrown himself into his work before and hadn’t looked like that—his lean body rippling with muscles, blond hair too long and falling across his heart-shaped face, and the sexiest gold-brown eyes he’d ever seen. Chase was breathtaking. Garrett feared he wasn’t—and would never be—Chase’s equal in anything. He was less talented, less intelligent, less sexy… less stable, both emotionally and financially. Even after a decade and Chase’s help he hadn’t managed to make more than incidental money from his art, and had started trying to convince himself to give up the dream of making a living with it. Ten years ago—eight, or even five years ago—he’d felt like he was building momentum, but not anymore.

  That’s how he had come to start his career as a glorified housepainter. He knew he shouldn’t be ashamed of that. It was honest work. But he was. Deeply. He had always done his best work after a few hours at it, so he spent at least ten and usually twenty hours or more at a stretch working at the lawyer’s home. For some reason, Garrett couldn’t force himself to call Ms. Nelson by her first name.

  Geri. Nope, can’t do it.

  The idea was to make enough money so he could take a few months to do his own work, without feeling like a leech, but every time he finished one project she asked for another. And offered more money than she had the time before. He couldn’t say no. Even if it kept him in the West Hills instead of in
the Pearl with Chase.

  Chase could replace me, easily.

  Garrett put his earbuds in and played some cool West Coast jazz. Sometimes that worked to stave off his anxiety. At least the music gave him something to concentrate on beyond whatever he was fucking up at the time. He found a seat on the train, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the window. The mellow sounds of Brubeck and his crew didn’t do as much as he would have liked, but he didn’t feel any worse after a few stops. Small win. When his phone vibrated in his pocket, Garrett almost didn’t look. But he knew if he didn’t, that would be worse in the long run.

  Jess. Best friend, cheerleader, and confidant. Her checking-in text—How’s life, G?—made Garrett a little homesick.

  Jessamyn Iravani had been his best friend since fifth grade, the year he learned to be ashamed of being German and she learned that some people thought she should be ashamed of being Persian, both thanks to an insensitive teacher. She also became a target for being the tallest person in school around the same time he decided to come out. They’d bonded over being bullied—to be more honest, she’d protected him when he was attacked on the playground, and her mom had practically adopted him during times when his own mother had been… unavailable.

  He answered, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt. Good! On the train, going to work.

  Me too! Be good. But if you can’t be good, be great!

  She sent an emoji of a smiley blowing kisses. He spent the rest of the ride wondering which of her two jobs she was going to and how late she would have to work, and hoping she’d get off in time to catch the last train.

  Two buses later, he walked into the posh West Hills neighborhood and headed for Ms. Nelson’s house. The neighborhood looked deserted, but most of the homes on her street usually did. It had surprised him at first—he’d expected children playing in the manicured front yards, maybe with dogs or riding bicycles. Now, walking those streets just made him sad. His ideas of what it would be like living in a big fancy house hadn’t even been close to the truth, unless things had changed that much in the past ten or twenty years.

  He knocked on the front door, which felt too formal, but Ms. Nelson didn’t want him coming to the side door like a delivery man. “Come to the front door like a friend,” she’d said. That, at least, he could manage.

  She wasn’t the one who opened the door. A tall man with a magnificently sculpted body, whose face he recognized from pictures all over the house, came to the door. He didn’t look happy, but that didn’t take anything away from his blond good looks.

  “Hi. Is Ms. Nelson in? I’m Gar—” Garrett extended a hand and noticed that his was shaking.

  “I know who you are. Come in.” He barely stepped aside enough to allow Garrett to move into the hallway.

  Garrett rushed past, mumbling about getting to work, and was relieved when he reached the dining room alone. That relief was short-lived, though. He hadn’t even finished preparing to start when the man entered. Garrett considered asking his name but didn’t get the chance.

  “What’s your game?”

  “Just painting the dining room.” Garrett turned to face the wall and would have started sketching, but his hands shook too much. Even before the man crossed the threshold and approached him, Garrett wanted to leave. To run. For a short moment, he tried to tell himself he was overreacting, being melodramatic. And then the guy opened his mouth again.

  “Think you’re pretty special, don’t you? Well, don’t think I don’t know what’s been going on here.” He moved closer, and Garrett backed away.

  “Nothing’s going on. I’ve been painting the rooms she asks me to.”

  “And spending the night.”

  “Working. Nothing happened, not like what you’re thinking.”

  “And what am I thinking?” He stepped forward again. When Garrett stepped back, he pressed forward another few steps.

  Garrett tried to see the doorway without looking away from the boyfriend, but he wasn’t at the right angle. “All that’s been going on is work. I come over, work, and then leave. You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m gay.”

  “No you’re not. You’re bi. She said so. And you’re also a liar, so it looks like we have a problem.”

  Garrett headed for the door. Halfway there the boyfriend grabbed him by the arm and turned him around. Before he could get an arm up to defend himself, the guy’s fist connected with Garret’s nose. The boyfriend held him upright and punched him in the jaw and then crashed a fist that felt like a sledgehammer into his temple before letting go of Garrett’s upper arm. He dropped like a wet rag, his ears ringing. Garrett watched the boyfriend’s shoes as he paced the floor in the dining room. He wanted to get up and leave, run, but his vision was blurred and he could barely think around the throbbing pain in his face. It had all happened so fast, he might have needed a moment to catch up even if he could think past the pain.

  I wonder if my nose is broken.

  He thought again about getting up and moved his hands beneath him, trying to find the strength to push himself up. The boyfriend knelt beside Garrett’s head, took a handful of his hair, and turned his face up.

  “Next time you’re thinking about fucking someone else’s woman, look in the mirror and remember why your nose is crooked, slut.” Pain exploded in Garrett’s cheek as another blow landed, and he thought he would pass out. Instead, he felt himself dragged across the floor. At least the guy grabbed his arm and not his leg, so Garrett’s head didn’t bounce off the floor, only against the doorjamb as the boyfriend dumped him out the side door. “If I ever see you again, you’ll look back on today like it was the best day of your sick life, asshole.”

  Garrett curled into a ball on the pavement, shivering and panting, waiting for a kick or another blow, telling himself he would get away and everything would be okay and trying to believe it. The afternoon had turned to twilight since he’d gone inside, so when the door slammed and the side light went out, he lay in darkness. After a few minutes, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and promptly threw up.

  Chapter Three

  CHASE WASN’T surprised to wake up alone, but that didn’t mean it was easy. It was dark, so he guessed he’d missed dinner with Kyle and Bran too. He took a quick shower, and when he left the cold sanctuary of the master bedroom, Kyle and Bran were in the living room cuddling on the couch and chatting over something that smelled like wine. Kyle’s expression when he looked up and met Chase’s eyes said he had hoped Garrett would be around for dinner after all.

  Bran’s smile was fuzzy but he didn’t slur when he said, “Pull up a glass.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll go see if I can take a pedicab out for a few hours.”

  “In this weather?” Kyle sounded worried but the soft glow under his expression didn’t betray any serious concern.

  “If I can’t make money, I’ll spend a little.” He didn’t think he could stand another moment in the same room with the newlyweds, so Chase said good night and left.

  His thoughts centered on Garrett as he rode the elevator to the ground floor. Normally he would have taken the stairs, but he’d been getting a lot of exercise driving the pedicab, and he figured he could take it easy once in a while. Chase wondered when he would see Garrett again, if it would feel too invasive if he texted—and then wondered why he felt like he couldn’t text his own lover.

  You’re overthinking everything now.

  It had been much easier back when they’d first gotten together. Garrett was only seventeen and had fled his rough home life to live with Chase in an old foursquare house in the Hawthorne. Garrett had put up a brave front, but he’d been a little afraid to be on his own and dependent on a man he’d just met. That fear hadn’t gotten between them, though. For the first four years, they’d spent every day together. Chase had introduced Garrett to everyone he knew in the local arts scene, and Garrett had shared his unorthodox techniques with ink and charcoal. Back then Garrett had also done a lot of ta
gging, slipping out at night to create the most beautiful graffiti in the most unlikely places. Chase had literally felt awe the first time he’d been invited along on one of Garrett’s midnight art runs.

  But that hadn’t happened for a long time. Occasionally when he ventured into the old neighborhood, he saw a faded symbol that could have been Garrett’s, a lovely little treasure adorning a sound barrier alongside the highway or the side of a crumbling building.

  Chase reached the street and flipped the hood of his jacket up. He stood in the doorway frowning at the rain, wondering if it was even worth it to go out. He wasn’t scheduled, but there would probably be a cab available. Especially with the weather. Still trying to talk himself into earning a little money and burning off some nervous energy, he realized the rain wasn’t the only sound on the street. At first he thought it sounded like an injured animal, but when he saw a figure slumped against the newspaper rack on the corner, he realized it was a person sobbing.

  He approached slowly so he wouldn’t startle them. “Hello? Do you need some help?” It wouldn’t be the first time Chase had helped a homeless person get medical attention or made a call for someone who was stranded and afraid. Usually that happened outside of a bar, but just because he lived in a trendy neighborhood didn’t mean nothing bad ever happened. “Are you okay?”

  The person seemed to cry harder, and it sounded like they said someone was after them. Chase stepped into the deserted street and hunkered down in front of them. Before he could say or do anything else, the guy looked up and said his name.

  “Garrett? Fuck, what happened to you?” Garrett’s face was swollen, and he bled from his nose and mouth and maybe even from one ear. Chase gently took his shoulders and sat him up, trying to get a good look at him. “Can you walk?”