The Colors Between Us

by Kate Hawthorne

He bent his fingers around the handle of a knife, sliding it out from its slot before thinking better of it. The handle was cold in his hand, but the vodka was colder. He twisted the top off the bottle and took a drink. The liquor soothed the muscles of his throat as he swallowed. He took another drink and twisted the cap back on.

  The fridge was still half open, and Roland’s stomach made a sound of protestation as he closed it. When was the last time he’d eaten? A couple bites of rice last night and a piece of chicken before Donny climbed on top of him and kissed him senseless.

  Roland reached up and traced his fingers across his lower lip, closing his eyes.

  You taste like vodka.

  That’s what Donny had said to him and Roland had been so offended, but here and now, Roland realized he didn’t even know what Donny tasted like. All Roland ever tasted anymore was blandness and vodka.

  Roland’s thoughts strayed again, to later in the previous night. His cock stirred, and he set the vodka on the counter and walked down the hall to his bedroom. His comforter was still in a state of disarray, not from his sleep, which had occurred on his couch, but from the encounter with Donny. Roland closed his eyes and he could see it clear as day.

  Why couldn’t he get it out of his mind and onto a fucking canvas?

  He undid the fly of his jeans and crawled onto his bed on all fours. Roland dropped his forehead onto the sheets and pulled his cock free, fisting it and stroking himself from root to tip. He pictured Donny’s slender fingers sliding into his ass and fucking him but only using spit for lube. He clenched, remembering the burn when Donny had pushed a third finger inside of him. Roland tightened the grip on his shaft and stroked himself roughly, grunting through the friction of a lube free jack off.

  Roland could vividly remember the feeling of Donny’s long fingers pulling out of his ass and tangling in his hair, pulling the strands tight against his scalp. His entire body shuddered as he recalled the smooth slide of Donny’s cock as he’d entered Roland for the first time.

  Harder, harder, harder, Roland had begged as Donny fucked him— hungry for the sensation, terrified of the connection. Sweat broke out across Roland’s forehead, and his mouth fell open, dry and feeling like it’d been stuffed full of cotton. He had a fleeting memory of Donny’s tongue licking a stripe up his spine, collecting their mingled sweat, and it sent him over the edge. He came with a grunt, shooting all over his hand and chest like the night before.

  The edges of Roland’s vision went dark, and his focus blurred. His heart rate spiked and felt like it was trying to beat out of his fucking chest. Roland sucked in a breath, and then everything went black.

  Something was vibrating. There was a loud banging, and something was vibrating. Roland rolled onto his back, his hair matted to his face, dried cum stuck to his stomach and the trail of hair below his navel— his cock in his hand, limp and sticky. He peeled his fingers off his shaft and shoved his hand into the pocket of his pants, digging out his phone to stop the vibrating. The banging didn’t stop when he slid the decline option on his phone.

  “Roland!”

  Roland heard his name being shouted violently from somewhere far away. He blinked his eyes and attempted to smooth his hair out of his face.

  “You open this goddamn door right now and give me back my fucking cat!”

  Cat? What cat?

  Oh, fuck. Pete.

  Donny.

  Donny.

  Adonis.

  Roland’s phone vibrated again and he accepted the call, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Wilson, there is a Mr. Smith who has been trying to get in to see you for the past fifteen minutes. We sent him up per your earlier instructions, but he returned and said you weren’t answering the door. Are you not home, sir?” It was the doorman.

  “No, I’m here. I was just asleep.” Roland sat up and tucked his dick into his pants.

  “Can you please let Mr. Smith in, sir? The other residents are complaining.”

  “Yeah, sorry.” Roland hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed.

  Louder banging.

  Roland pushed himself off the bed and pulled his shirt down. He swerved through the hallway and pulled the front door open and found himself in front of a furious and red-faced Donny.

  Donny slammed both of his hands into Roland’s chest, hard, and pushed his way into the penthouse.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Donny’s eyes were angry, a shade of blue much darker than normal. All Roland could think of was how he wanted to bottle it and paint a sunset full of purples, and reds, and this specific blue.

  Roland stumbled backward into the kitchen, catching himself on the counter and toppling the vodka bottle from earlier onto its side. Thankfully, it didn’t break, and Roland reached out to right it, his hand shaking violently.

  “I was asleep, sorry,” Roland mumbled, finally getting the bottle to stand.

  “Jesus, are you fucking drunk? You were asleep? It’s 3:30 in the afternoon, Roland.”

  “I’m not drunk.” Roland stepped back and turned away from Donny.

  “Yeah? Your vodka breath tells another story.” Donny pulled a messenger bag over his head and set it on the kitchen counter, shaking his head. “Where’s Pete?”

  Roland glanced around the living area, unable to locate Pete, and shrugged his shoulders. “Probably in the studio again.”

  Donny glared at Roland and stalked off toward the long hallway. Roland lingered in the kitchen, toying with the cap on the vodka.

  “Roland!” Donny’s voice echoed down the hallway. Roland twisted the cap closed and rubbed the back of his neck, following the sound of his name. Roland stepped into his studio and was assaulted with memories from earlier in the day. The worthless art, the broken bottle, the destruction, the failure.

  Pete was sitting on a shattered plate in a puddle of brown paint, actively chewing at the bandage on his paw. Donny looked up at Roland and his eyes were on fire. He gestured to the paint covered kitten and the destroyed bandage. Donny’s jaw ticked, and he spoke through clenched teeth, “Did you at least give him his medicine?”

  Roland looked down at his feet and scratched his cheek, shaking his head. Donny let out a strangled grunt of frustration before he picked up Pete and stomped out of the studio. Roland stayed and listened to the sound of the kitchen faucet turn on. He heard Pete’s mewls of protest and Donny’s voice soothing the injured kitten. The water turned off, and Roland heard Donny fumbling through a plastic bag. More protest from the cat, and then Velcro.

  Roland looked around his studio at the felled canvas and the earlier ones that had also fallen short that he’d propped in the corner. He wanted a drink but didn’t dare go back into the kitchen. He heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Donny storm back into the studio.

  Donny threw a black notebook at him and kicked the pile of canvases onto their edge.

  “You had one fucking job, Roland. I didn’t even ask you to do it. You fucking volunteered to watch Pete, and you couldn’t even manage it. You got drunk and fell asleep. What the actual fuck?” Donny kicked the canvases again.

  “I did watch Pete,” Roland protested meekly.

  “Bullshit,” Donny seethed, “My cat was sitting on a broken plate, covered in paint, eating away his fucking bandage. Fuck you, Roland.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck you, no, you’re not.” Donny looked down at the canvases he’d been kicking and his head tilted in a silent question. He looked up at Roland, eyes still fucking furious.

  “Well, what then? Just take your cat and go if it’s such an issue for you.” Roland grabbed for the black notebook and extended it toward Donny.

  Donny scoffed, “That’s two things you’re fucking good at, Roland. Drinking and throwing me out."

  “I don’t have a drinking problem,” Roland protested, still holding out the sketchbook.

  “That’s debatable.”

  Roland made a sound of disbelief deep in his
throat, and Donny’s eyes widened.

  “You make me want to fuck the attitude right out of you, you know that?” Donny snatched the notebook from Roland and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and fell open on the floor. Roland glanced at it, seeing pencil sketches on the two open pages that looked very much comparable to what he’d been trying to paint earlier.

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  Donny was quick, wrapping his fingers around Roland’s arm before he slammed his chest into the wall. Donny pressed one arm against Roland’s shoulder blades and used the other to tear his pants to his knees. Donny fumbled his own pants loose and thrust his semi-erect cock between Roland’s asscheeks.

  Roland dropped his forehead against the wall and Donny speared his hand through Roland’s hair and pulled his head backward. “No, you’re going to be here for this.”

  Chapter 9

  Roland Kissed Him Back

  Donny was furious. He should have known better. Roland was a stranger and Donny had been thinking with his ravenous dick when he said Pete could stay the day. And then Donny showed up at the penthouse to discover a drunken Roland had neglected Pete for so long he’d managed to bite his way almost all the way through the bandage on his paw. Donny was thankful Pete didn’t cut himself worse on the broken plate he’d been sitting on.

  Donny tugged Roland’s hair back harder and sank his teeth into the tight skin of Roland’s neck. “Don’t fucking move,” Donny ordered, moving his shoulder off Roland’s back to dig a condom out of his pocket. He tore it open with his teeth and rolled it down his cock, then spit in his hand and stroked down his length. He spit again and dragged his fingers down the length of Roland’s crack before the fingernails of his other hand dug into Roland’s shoulder.

  “Bend your knees.” Donny pressed harder into Roland’s shoulder until Roland did as he’d been told. When he was at the right height, Donny forced his cock inside Roland’s ass and thrust. Roland grunted and rolled his forehead back and forth on the wall.

  Donny pulled a packet of lube out of his pocket and dripped it over his shaft when he pulled out, tossed the empty packet over his shoulder and then fucked back into Roland’s tight hole. He gripped Roland’s hair and tugged his head back from the wall,

  “I said you were going to be here for this, Roland.” Donny grunted, wrapping his fingers around Roland’s throat and testing the hold. He fucked Roland against the wall until his calves started to cramp. He pulled out and pressed a hand between Roland’s shoulder blades, shoving him down to the floor.

  Roland landed on his hands and knees with a thud, and Donny grabbed his head and pressed his face into the stack of canvases that Donny had kicked over earlier. He slammed his dick back inside and seized Roland’s hip with his hand.

  “Were you trying to paint this, Roland?” Donny fucked him harder. “Was it not fucking memorable enough, or were you too drunk to remember it?”

  “Harder,” Roland grunted, forcing his head to the side, out of Donny’s hold. There was a blue smear of paint across his cheek.

  “Yeah, you say that a lot.” Donny pulled out. “Roll over.”

  Roland didn’t move.

  “Roll the fuck over.” Donny pushed until he’d flipped over onto his back and then pressed back inside of Roland. “Fuck.” Donny dropped his chin and gripped Roland’s knees, bending his legs back. Roland lolled his head to the side and he reached up to pull Donny’s sketchbook out from underneath his hair.

  Donny had brought his sketchbook over because he’d been eager to show Roland his sketches. He wasn’t a professional artist like Roland, but he was good. He’d wanted to show Roland what he’d been working on, tell him how inspired he’d been. Explain the way he struggled to find a descriptor vivid enough to detail the depths of Roland’s eyes.

  Donny grabbed his sketchbook from Roland’s hand and threw it across the room. “We’ll talk about that later. I’m not fucking done yet.” Donny reached down and grabbed Roland’s jaw between his fingers, forcing him to look up. He snaked his other hand between them and roughly jerked Roland’s cock.

  Roland arched up and Donny’s cock grazed his prostate.

  “Fuck,” Roland yelled out as he came, covering Donny’s hand with streams of cum. Roland’s channel convulsed around Donny’s cock, choking it with every tremor of his orgasm. The constriction around his dick triggered his own release, and he slammed himself deep inside of Roland before pulling out, tearing the condom off and standing up. Donny stood over Roland, with his cock in his hand and pointed straight for the stack of canvases he’d kicked over earlier and, with a groan, he painted them himself with spurts of hot, white cum.

  “Fuck you, Roland,” Donny spat though clenched teeth, milking the last drops of cum from his flagging erection and then tucking his cock back inside his pants and buttoned up. He picked his sketchbook up from where it had fallen earlier and dropped it on Roland’s chest. Roland pushed himself to a sitting position and opened the notebook. Roland seemed very interested in avoiding eye contact with Donny as he flipped through the pages.

  “You didn’t answer me.” Donny leaned against the wall as far away from Roland as he could manage. “Were you too drunk to remember last night?”

  Roland did finally look up when he reached the last page, and Donny knew exactly what he’d seen. Donny could have drawn it over and over again from muscle memory alone. The way the tendons in his legs tightened and shuddered as he’d seated himself fully inside of the beautiful man beneath him. The silky feel of Roland’s hair as it shifted through Donny’s fingers when they kissed.

  He’d been present.

  He remembered everything, including the demands Roland made, and the brush off he was given.

  “I wasn’t drunk,” Roland shot back, his fingers unwittingly tracing the lines Donny had drawn in his book.

  “But you can’t remember it enough to paint it less than twenty-four hours later?” Donny was angry, his voice tempestuous. He was worth more than this. He deserved better.

  “It’s not that I don’t remember it.” Roland threw the sketchbook across the room and it bounced off the wall by Donny’s head. “It just won’t fucking come out. There’s something wrong between here,” Roland pointed at his head as his voice grew louder. “And here.” He waved his hands around.

  “Bullshit.” Donny snorted a laugh while he bent down to pick up his sketchbook. “You’re Roland fucking Wilson. You think I don’t know who you are?”

  “Yeah? Who am I?” Roland advanced on Donny.

  “A successful fucking artist, to start with. And a functioning alcoholic probably, while we’re on the subject.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.” Roland fisted his hands and glared at Donny.

  “Well, that’s not really my fault now, is it?”

  They stood toe-to-toe, Donny glaring up at Roland and Roland shooting daggers back at him. Donny could feel his body shaking with anger and arousal and he couldn’t decide which was the more overpowering feeling..

  “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing to know, anyway.” Roland’s attitude shifted in the blink of an eye and he stepped backward, giving Donny space to breathe.

  “No way, don’t you fucking dare check out on me again.” Donny launched himself forward, slamming his lips against Roland’s and forcing his tongue into Roland’s mouth. Roland wrapped his fingers around Donny’s waist and walked him backward into the wall, pushing his shoulder blades into the plaster with a thud.

  Donny oomphed out a rush of air from the impact and grabbed Roland’s face in his hands so he couldn’t pull away from the kiss. Donny explored Roland’s mouth with his tongue and kept his face secure in his hands, unwilling to allow an inch of space between them. He separated their mouths briefly, to take a breath.

  “You infuriate me, Roland.” Donny pressed his lips back against Roland’s, a little bit softer, but just as insistent.

  “I’m sorry,” Roland apologized into his mouth.

&n
bsp; Donny groaned.

  Roland skirted his fingertips along the waistband of Donny’s jeans and Donny’s cock pulsed with renewed pleasure. He arched into Roland’s touch and Roland’s fingers delved inside the band of his briefs, grazing the base of Donny’s cock.

  Donny closed his eyes, gasping into Roland’s mouth, “Please.”

  Roland popped the button on Donny’s jeans and tentatively explored the length of Donny’s cock with his fingers. Roland fondled and stroked him from base to tip. Donny separated their mouths and his eyes rolled back in his head. He let go of Roland’s face and pressed his palms flat against the wall.

  “Fuck yes, Roland. Please.” Donny wasn’t above begging. He was still mad, but the arousal was winning, and Roland was touching him, and Donny could have died happy in that moment.

  Roland jerked Donny’s cock and Donny met every thrust with a press of his hips. Roland’s eyes were closed, his hair hanging around his face like a shield.

  “Look at me,” Donny pleaded, reaching up to brush Roland’s hair behind his ears. “Please, Roland. Look at me.”

  Roland shook his head slightly, causing his hair to obscure his entire face before he opened his eyes. Donny moved Roland’s hair aside and the feelings that flamed behind his eyes could have set them both on fire. Roland wanted this, but he hated that he wanted it. That felt like a breakthrough, as far as Donny was concerned. Roland snaked another hand between them and cupped Donny’s balls, offering them a light squeeze.

  “Oh, fuck,” Donny moaned, and he grabbed Roland by the neck, pulling him down and sealing their mouths together. Roland kissed him back, and Donny’s cock exploded, coating Roland’s hand with cum. Roland stroked him, using his cum for lube, and continued the motion until Donny was trembling and pushing back into the wall to get away.

  Roland released him and held his hand up between them. Donny grabbed Roland around the wrist and raised his palm to his mouth, licking a stripe from his wrist to fingers, filling his mouth with his own cum. Donny thumped his head back against the wall and licked his lips, dropping Roland’s hand.