The Colors Between Us

by Kate Hawthorne

Not Even a Box of Baking Soda

  Donny unfolded himself from Roland so they could both stand, and he palmed his cock through his jeans while he followed Roland out of the room. They headed down the hallway opposite the studio and Roland pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside. Donny followed him, quickly assessing the room before he turned and pressed Roland into a wall. He grabbed Roland by the neck and tugged his face down to smash their lips together, eagerly licking his way inside Roland’s mouth.

  “You taste like vodka,” Donny mumbled, reaching a hand between them to feel Roland’s cock through his pants. Roland gasped and Donny opened his eyes to see him glaring back at him. “Stop it. Just kiss me,” Donny demanded while rolling his eyes, and Roland did. He ground his cock against Roland and stepped backward until he sat down on the bed. “Take off your clothes,” he instructed, easily pulling his own shirt over his head and working the button of his jeans.

  Roland stepped toward the bed and took his shirt off, then dropped his hands to his pants, fumbling the zipper. Donny thought he looked nervous, like his hands might have been shaking.

  “Come here.” Donny rose to his knees and crawled to the edge of the mattress. His pants were still mostly on, his cock jutting out, confined by only the fabric of his briefs. Roland took a step toward the bed and Donny raised his hands to cover Roland’s against his zipper.

  Roland’s hands were shaking.

  Donny used his fingers to guide Roland, first with the button, then with the zipper. He used Roland’s hands to grip his waistband and push his jeans down to just below his ass. Donny leaned forward, hands still entwined with Roland’s, and kissed his chest. He licked Roland’s nipple and kissed his way down his side, their hands still secure around the back of Roland’s jeans.

  Roland’s whole body shook now, his breath coming out in sharp gasps. Donny slid Roland’s hands up to his ass and flexed their fingers into the skin.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered against Roland’s torso, glancing up to make sure he was heard. Roland nodded, his eyes half closed.

  He slid his fingers under the waistband of Roland’s boxer briefs and tugged them down, exposing his erection. His cock was beautiful, broad, and strong, just like Roland. Donny groaned and enveloped the base of it with his hand, giving an experimental tug up to the tip.

  Roland’s entire body convulsed, but he didn’t move his hands. He just looked down at Donny with his glassy green eyes, his lips slightly parted. Donny licked a stripe up the underside of Roland’s cock and Roland’s eyes shifted toward the floor, then closed. Donny moaned, tasting the tang of precum as he slid his tongue through the slit of Roland’s cock. He closed his entire mouth around the head and worked his lips down Roland’s length slowly swallowing every inch. When he reached the base, his nose buried in a thatch of light brown hair, Donny flexed his throat and flattened his tongue against Roland’s shaft. Roland trembled again but made no sound.

  Donny pulled his mouth free and leaned back. Roland’s face was still downcast, his eyes still closed.

  “Get on the bed, Roland. On your hands and knees.”

  Roland opened his eyes and moved around Donny, assuming the position he’d been told. Donny kicked his pants off, pulling a condom and lube from his wallet and tossing them on top of the bed. He tracked his hand down Roland’s spine, relishing the feel of how hot and alive Roland’s skin felt.

  Roland was fucking beautiful like this. His long body bent and folded, his hair fanning out around him on the bed, hiding his face. He looked like a fucking god, all coiled tension and strength.

  “Are you sure you want this?” Donny asked, kneading his fingertips into the golden mounds of Roland’s asscheeks.

  “Yeah,” a muffled reply came from underneath the hair.

  “Good.” Donny spread Roland’s cheeks apart and licked from his balls to the top of his crack.

  “Fuck,” Roland groaned out, arching his back.

  “In a minute,” he replied, licking his lips and then laving his tongue around Roland’s tight hole. Donny hummed, gently pressing the tip of his tongue inside of Roland, loving the way his muscles fought the intrusion. Donny prodded at Roland with a finger positioned right under his tongue and slipped it all the way inside.

  Roland pressed himself back onto Donny’s finger, and Donny licked the edge of Roland’s hole with the tip of his tongue while he finger fucked him. Donny slid another finger in, and Roland cursed, curving his back upward before relaxing and easing back.

  Donny’s cock felt like it was going to burst. It bounced and flexed against his stomach, and he released his hold on Roland’s ass so he could reach down and stroke himself while he ate Roland into oblivion.

  Roland writhed underneath Donny, his hair a fucking mess, obscuring his face, his shoulders, his hands. He mumbled unintelligibly and made the sexiest and most guttural noises Donny had ever heard.

  Donny let go of his own cock and reached around to grab Roland’s just as he pressed a third finger inside. He sealed his mouth around his fingers, still rolling his tongue around Roland’s puckered hole while he fucked the man with his hand.

  Donny’s cock dripped onto the bed, and he slowly pulled his hand from Roland’s ass, one finger at a time. When Roland was empty, Donny licked him again, letting his tongue dip inside.

  He tore open the condom and unrolled it down his shaft, ripping the lube open and drizzling the contents of the packet down Roland’s crack. He used his hand to smear the lube around, pressing two fingers back inside. They went easily and Roland thrust himself eagerly onto Donny’s hand.

  “Fuck. Please,” Roland groaned.

  Donny turned his fingers so his hand was palm down and used his other hand to line his cock up with Roland’s entrance. As he pulled his fingers free, he thrust his cock inside leaving him fully seated in one, smooth move.

  Roland fisted the sheets and Donny cursed, pulling out and then pushing back in. Donny clutched his fingers around Roland’s waist and dug his fingernails in, leaving little half-moon divots as he continued his steady motion in and out of Roland’s ass.

  “Harder.” Roland’s voice drifted out from under his hair and Donny connected their bodies more forcefully, gripping harder, moving faster.

  “Harder,” he repeated, and Donny obliged. He folded his body over Roland’s back and curled his fingers around Roland’s shoulders for better leverage. Donny was sweating, little drips falling from his chest and spattering across Roland’s skin. He leaned down and licked, tasting himself mixed with Roland’s skin, and his balls drew up, near his own orgasm.

  “Touch yourself, Roland,” Donny ground out. Roland shifted his weight onto one arm and he reached down and stroked his cock with short, rough strokes.

  “Fuck me harder,” Roland demanded again.

  Donny wasn’t sure he could fuck Roland any harder, but he grabbed a handful of Roland’s hair and spun it around his fist, tugging Roland’s head to the side. He braced himself on Roland’s hip with his other hand and managed close to a minute of furiously hard thrusts before his body convulsed, and his balls pulled up before he came.

  Donny cried out and his body jerked, the hand in Roland’s hair shifting down and pressing Roland’s face harder into the mattress. “Fuck.”

  Once his body stilled, Donny released Roland’s hip and reached around to grasp for Roland’s cock. It was soft and sticky, covered in cum. Donny was relieved. He’d gotten so wrapped up in fucking Roland the way he’d been asking for that he’d lost all awareness of anything beyond chasing his own pleasure.

  Donny smoothed his hands down Roland’s back, pressing him flat onto his belly and pulling out before flopping over onto his back. They were both covered in sweat and panting, Roland’s hair a sweaty tangle around his face and neck.

  Donny pulled the condom off, tying it at the end and getting up to find a trash can. He tested a door against the back wall of the bedroom, pleased to find a bathroom behind it. Donny dumped the condom in the trash and br
aced himself on the bathroom counter to catch his breath.

  He wasn’t vain, but just fucked looked good on him. His skin had more color than normal, and his lips looked swollen and full. Donny smoothed his hair down and padded back to the bedroom and found Roland already pulling his clothes back on.

  Donny crawled across the mattress and gathered Roland’s hair in his hand, moving it to the side so he could press a kiss against Roland’s exposed shoulder before he put his shirt back on. Donny licked salt from the side of Roland’s neck and nipped at the skin.

  “Why are you getting dressed so soon? Come take a shower with me, let’s clean up,” Donny mumbled the words into Roland’s skin. Roland reached up and removed Donny’s fingers from his hair and slid away, pulling his shirt on, effectively separating them.

  “You can shower if you want.” Roland stood up, avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna grab a drink.”

  And like that, he was gone.

  Donny had been looking forward to showering together. He wanted a chance to run his hands over every inch of exposed flesh he could find on Roland’s body repeatedly. He closed his eyes and thought about Roland, leaning down into him, rubbing their slippery cocks together until they both came a second time. But much like when he was at home, Donny opened his eyes and was still alone. He heard ice being dropped into a glass from the kitchen and, resigned, slid his briefs and pants back on. He put on his socks and slipped his feet into his shoes, grabbed his shirt from the floor and walked into the living area.

  Roland leaned against the kitchen island, his eyes closed, half a glass of what Donny assumed was vodka dangling from his fingers. Donny stopped at the coffee table, scooping their leftover food back into their respective containers, noticing Roland’s plate had gone largely untouched. Donny stacked the plates and to-go boxes and carried them into the kitchen, setting the plates in the sink and opening the fridge to store the food.

  He was met with emptiness. There was literally nothing in the fridge, not even a box of baking soda.

  “Do you not cook, Roland?” Donny questioned over his shoulder.

  Roland shrugged and took a drink, unable to meet Donny’s eyes.

  “Alright,” Donny enunciated the T with a flick of his tongue and closed the refrigerator, straightening up. He walked to Roland, took the drink from his hand, and set it on the counter. He reached up and twisted the ends of Roland’s hair around his fingers, tugging Roland down for a kiss. Roland opened his mouth slightly at Donny’s persistence, and Donny still didn’t feel any heat in it. He released Roland’s hair and stepped away, shoving his hands in his back pockets.

  "We can play the non-consent game if you like, Roland, but I need to know you’re actually into what I’m doing before we cross that line.”

  “What?” Roland questioned, picking his glass back up and taking another drink. Donny watched the muscles of Roland’s jaw as he swallowed what had to have been an entire mouthful of vodka.

  “Do you not like affection or whatever? I was just inside you, and you were begging me to fuck you harder, harder, harder, and now you won’t make eye contact with me, you won’t kiss me. I don’t know what you want from me.” Donny ran a hand through his hair and shoved it back inside his pocket. He stared at Roland’s face, even though Roland still refused to meet his eyes.

  “No, it’s just…” Roland closed his mouth, then opened it to take another drink. The glass was empty now, and Roland fumbled it back down to the counter. He took a step toward Donny and closed his eyes, reaching his hand out to stroke through Donny’s tousled hair. Roland kissed the top of Donny’s head. “It’s just nothing. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not nothing. But whatever you say. I can tell when I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Donny separated himself from Roland and, against his better judgement, pointed toward an untouched bag on the counter. “Did you still want Pete to stay here?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Well, that’s his stuff. You should be fine. You just need to make sure he doesn’t fuck with the bandage, and give him his medicine in the morning. I should be done at work between three and four, so I’ll come back to grab him then, okay?”

  Roland looked up at Donny, his hair obscuring most of his face, and nodded. "Sounds good to me.”

  “Well, alright then.”

  Donny furrowed his brows, unsure of what was happening. He was pretty certain he somehow had just been demoted to fuck boy, and that didn’t sit well with him. But being inside of Roland had felt fucking awesome so he was willing to let this play out a little bit longer. Roland still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and the air in the room shifted to that same awkward and unwelcome vibe he’d picked up on the night before.

  He opened the door to go and had one foot out of the penthouse when he heard Roland’s voice from behind him.

  “Thank you.” Roland was facing the door and pushed his hair behind his ear, glancing up and then quickly back down, “For dinner, I mean.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Roland,” Donny said, but Roland had already turned and walked away.

  Chapter 8

  Be Here For This

  Roland was out of vodka.

  He’d managed to fall asleep a few hours after Donny left the night before. It was a surprisingly restful sleep, and he only woke up because Pete was on his pillow kneading his hair and meowing into his ear. Roland stumbled out of bed and dumped the contents of the bag from Donny onto the counter. There was a Ziploc bag of food which he poured into a bowl and set down on the floor for Pete. He filled another bowl with water and placed it down as well, before he filled the litter box Donny had provided and set it on the floor a few feet from the food.

  “Pete,” Roland said, looking down at the little cat. Pete looked up at the sound of his name, and Roland pointed at the litter box. Pete looked at the litter box, flicked his tail in the air, and went back to eating. Roland hoped Pete got the message, but if not, most of the penthouse floors were concrete. Cleanup wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

  Roland opened the freezer and that was when he realized he’d finished all the vodka. He debated popping out to get some more, but a glance at his phone let him know it was barely seven in the morning which he knew was not an acceptable time of day to be buying hard liquor. So instead he dialed the building concierge and requested three bottles from their shopping service.

  An hour later, Roland found himself in front of a blue canvas, bottle of vodka secure in one hand, paintbrush in the other. He stared at the canvas and Pete swirled around his feet, making figure-eights between his ankles. His little bandaged paw made a soft thump every time it landed on the concrete.

  Roland closed his eyes and tried to picture Donny’s face, but he couldn’t see it. He squeezed his eyes closed with more force and still couldn’t manage to bring it to the forefront of his mind. They had eaten dinner less than eighteen hours ago, and Roland was drawing a blank. What he did remember, though— the feel of Donny’s tongue inside his ass and the rough slide of Donny’s cock as he fucked Roland into the mattress.

  Roland’s cock twitched, and in his head he could see that, clear as day. He couldn’t even remember looking at Donny’s cock last night, but he could easily paint it to perfection by the memory of its feel alone. The way it stretched him was such a solid memory, it seemed to be a tangible thing in his mind.

  His ass clenched, and he took a drink before placing the bottle on a stool beside him and dipping his paintbrush into a dark gray glob of paint. Roland painted what he knew, and the lines of his own back started to take shape on the canvas.

  Hours later, Roland had a near empty bottle of vodka. He stopped and stepped back, taking a look at the canvas for the first time since he started. He’d painted the previous night as if he’d been a third party spectator observing from across the room. The lines of Roland’s own body, jagged and rough, half-covered by streaks of a bland and miserable-looking brown. What Roland had intended to be Donny was there as well—smoother lines i
n alabaster white formed a male torso—even though Roland couldn’t remember if it was accurate to life. The top of the figure blurred into oblivion and an angry splatter of black.

  This was useless.

  Roland had agreed to dinner with Donny to see him again so he could, in turn, paint him. But Roland had barely taken the time to look at the man before he let Donny swallow his dick and then fuck him. Donny was painfully beautiful, but Roland couldn’t put Donny’s parts together in his mind. All he could see were those goddamn eyes, and all he could feel was his hard fucking cock, and Roland couldn’t reconcile the two together into anything worth a damn.

  And wasn’t that the story of Roland’s life.

  He slapped his open palm against the wet canvas and pushed it to the ground. The easel fell with it, tumbling over Roland’s stool, and the empty vodka bottle. The bottle bounced against the concrete, snapping at the neck. It startled Pete awake, and he jumped up and fled the room in a flurry of brown and gray hair.

  Roland slunk down the hallway, accidentally slamming his shoulder into the doorframe as he cornered into the kitchen. The pain sent a jolt through his entire right side, and he stumbled, stepping into Pete’s water bowl and knocking it over. Roland slipped in the puddle, catching himself with the edge of the countertop and the fridge door as he fell. He still landed hard on his ass, fingers wrapped around the door of the refrigerator and jeans now soaking wet from the spill.

  “Fuck,” he grumbled, righting himself and yanking open the freezer. He pulled out a fresh bottle and eyed the knife block on the other end of the counter. The empty slot was a reminder of the destruction he’d caused two nights prior and he thought about the fleeting satisfaction he would feel to go back into his studio and annihilate all his new shortcomings.

  Hell, he could create a gallery showing of his fucking destroyed masterpieces that would never be. He could call it The Ongoing Failures of Roland Wilson.