The Colors Between Us

by Kate Hawthorne

  “What was that about?” Donny asked after regaining his composure.

  “I’m not the things you say. I’m not an alcoholic. I’m not a fuck up.”

  Donny cocked an eyebrow at Roland’s last defense.

  “I just made a mistake.” Roland’s voice was quiet and his eyes were downcast. Donny’s cum dripped from his hand to the floor.

  “Yeah, me too.” Donny stepped around Roland and picked up his sketchbook from the floor. Donny flipped through it, looking for a specific sketch he’d done of Roland, and then he extended it toward him. Roland looked at Donny and took the sketchbook. Roland’s mouth scrunched up in the corner, and his eyebrows pressed together as he looked at the drawing. He tentatively raised a hand and traced the lines of the drawing with his pointer finger.

  Roland looked up from the page and locked his eyes on Donny’s chin, his own eyes shining with tears. He closed them in a long blink before he was able to look up and meet Donny’s stare.

  “That’s not who you see when you look in the mirror, is it?” Donny asked.

  Roland shook his head, extending his hand so he could return the book to Donny.

  “Roland.” Donny took a step closer and twined his fingers into Roland’s hair. Roland closed his eyes and sighed. Donny lifted onto his tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to Roland’s mouth. “That’s who I see. That’s who I deserve, Roland.” Donny kissed him one more time and lowered himself back to the ground.

  Roland opened his mouth and no sound came out. He bit his lips between his teeth and scratched at his beard.

  Donny gestured to the mess behind them. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Roland, but whatever it is, you gotta fix it. Not for me, but for you.” He tucked himself back into his pants and smoothed his hair with shaking hands.

  Donny walked out of the studio and found Pete asleep in the living room. He scooped him up gently and tucked him away in the cat carrier.

  “He’s not hurt, is he?” Roland was so close to him, Donny could feel Roland’s body heat against his back. Donny shook his head and turned, leaning his back against the kitchen counter so he could look up and see Roland’s face.

  Roland tried to hand Donny back his sketchbook, but Donny refused to take it, instead picking up Pete and walking to the door.

  “You keep it, Roland. When you see the man I see, call me.”

  Chapter 10

  Roland Gives Donny More

  Roland stared at his phone, turning it over and over in his hand. His palms were sweaty and the smooth plastic of the case was making it hard to hold on to. He set it on the couch next to his thigh and covered the screen with his hand. It had been three days since Donny had taken Pete and left. Three days since Roland had been in the studio. Two days since Roland had a drink of vodka, and seventeen minutes since he’d last looked at Donny’s sketchbook.

  The man in that book was definitely not him. Roland had stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself, then the drawing, then himself again for an entire bottle of vodka and still couldn’t see it. Not before the cap came off, and not by the time he’d taken the last drink.

  Roland felt more alone the last three days than he could remember being before. He wasn’t certain whether he was missing the emotions that filtered through him when Donny was around, or if he was just missing Donny’s cock, but he was missing something. He wasn’t inspired, he wasn’t drinking, he wasn’t happy. He was just alone. Existing. Barely.

  He knew what needed to be done. It was time to go.

  The only thing Roland hated more than just existing was waiting. He tapped his fingers on his thigh, his palms still sweaty.

  “Mr. Wilson?”

  Roland looked up. There was a nurse sticking half of her body out a cracked open door in the corner. She had his chart in her hand and a sympathetic smile on her face. Roland also hated sympathy.

  “The doctor will see you now, come on back.” She tilted her head toward the hallway behind her and pushed the door open wider. He stood and wiped his palms down the front of his jeans and followed her.

  “How are you doing today, Mr. Wilson?” she asked, pointing at a chair. He sat down and she closed a blood pressure cuff around his bicep and pushed a button. The cuff inflated, and Roland reflected on the last time he’d been to this office. The old nurse had used the stethoscope and had to pump the cuff manually to check his blood pressure.

  The cuff deflated and the machine beeped. “Obviously not super great, thanks,” he bit out through clenched teeth. She just smiled at him and wrote his blood pressure on a piece of paper then flipped his chart closed.

  “Dr. Constantin will be in to see you shortly.”

  Roland nodded, and the nurse left. He heard her drop his chart in the plastic slot outside the door before her footsteps retreated down the hall. The door to the exam room re-opened almost immediately, and his doctor entered, flipping Roland’s chart open.

  “It’s been awhile, Mr. Wilson,” he said, taking a seat in the chair across from Roland.

  “A year,” he supplied.

  “A little over, but it doesn’t matter. What can I do for you today?” Dr. Constantin flipped Roland’s chart closed and set it aside.

  Roland blinked at the doctor and opened his mouth, closed it, closed his eyes, opened his mouth again, closed it, opened his eyes. Dr. Constantin was looking at him with a soft look that toed the sympathy line without crossing it, and Roland appreciated that.

  “I need help,” he finally managed to whisper.

  “What can I help you with, Roland?”

  He narrowed his eyes into an accusatory glare. “Me.”

  The doctor chuckled, “I gathered as much.”

  “Are you going to make me spell it out?”

  The doctor’s smile shifted into something Roland thought looked a little sad, but still on the acceptable line of sympathetic, but he offered no verbal reply.

  “I can’t paint.” Roland stared at the floor. “It’s not… connecting. From here to here.” He gestured between his head and hands. “And I need to paint again. I get…depressed when I can’t paint, and not painting makes me more depressed, and then it just gets so fucking out of control.” The doctor nodded for Roland to continue. He licked his lips and was then aware of how dry his entire mouth was. “I just want to paint again,” he finished on a whisper.

  Roland’s doctor flipped his chart back open and scanned through his medical history before making some notes and looking up at him. “Let me ask you, Roland. Why did you stop your medication after the last visit?”

  “I didn’t think I needed them anymore.” He didn’t want to need them anymore. But at the time, he’d really thought he would be fine. He was in a good place with Cody, art was going well, life itself was enjoyable. He’d over estimated himself, obviously. Roland's cheeks colored as he thought about it, and he crunched the roll-out paper covering the exam table between his fingers. He’d get better this time, do better. He would just have to keep taking them this time— until he didn’t.

  “Well, let’s give it another go then.” Dr. Constantin pulled a pad out of his coat and scribbled down a prescription, handing the little blue slip of paper to Roland.

  He took the prescription, folded it in half, and shoved it in his back pocket.

  Dr. Constantin flipped through Roland’s chart again. “It’s been over a year since I’ve seen you. Do you want to pop into the lab and get your bloodwork done while you’re here? We can make sure everything is in order.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.” Roland and Donny hadn’t talked about getting tested and forgoing condoms—their relationship wasn’t even a proper relationship yet—but Roland wanted to hold onto this sliver of optimism in an otherwise shit life.

  “Sara can get you sorted with that then, and call the office if you have any problems, alright?” The doctor stood and held his hand out toward Roland. He wiped his sweaty palm down his pants, then begrudgingly took the doctors hand. Roland couldn’t look at
him.

  “Thank you,” Roland’s voice came out soft, and it cracked. The doctor squeezed his hand before releasing him.

  “You’ll be painting again in no time, Roland.”

  On the walk back to his car, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. His finger hovered over Donny’s name. He tapped out a text.

  Roland: Can I see you on Saturday?

  Donny: I don’t know, Roland.

  He stopped walking and looked up. It was a shitty day; the sky wasn’t particularly pretty and there was no sun. Gray clouds floated toward the horizon.

  Roland: Saturday makes a week. It’ll be different.

  Roland: Please.

  Far too much time passed. Roland stared at his phone and then gave up staring and walked to his car. He buckled himself in and checked his phone. He drove home, rode the elevator up to his penthouse, which seemed far too lonely, and still had no reply. Roland took a shower, and still no reply. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of vodka, swirling the liquid and ice cubes around. He set the glass on the counter and looked at it. A bead of condensation slid off the rim, and he picked the glass up and took a drink.

  It was like a glass of cold lemonade on a hot day. Roland felt good, even better after he finished his second glass. He was halfway through his third when his phone finally chirped.

  Donny: Alright.

  Roland: If it took you this long to say yes, you obviously don’t really want to come, so forget it.

  Donny: Stepping up your game, Roland. Throwing me out before I even get there.

  Donny: Have you been drinking again?

  Roland: Yes, Adonis, I'm drinking. I waited for your text, and it didn’t come, so I started drinking. Because I’m a fucking mess, and I used to just feel numb, but now I’ve met you, and you make me feel like shit, which is at least something. Everything just fucking hurts and I’m lonely, and I’m a grown ass man, so yes, I’m drinking.

  Roland: So just forget it, run away like I can tell you want to.

  Roland swallowed the rest of his drink in one go, slamming the glass down onto the counter with a crash. He glared at his phone, powered it off and walked away.

  He pulled his shirt over his head and kicked his jeans off, discarding them in the hallway before he entered the studio. He stumbled and re-arranged the pile of canvases that Donny had kicked over earlier in the week— the canvases Donny had come all over. Roland palmed his cock through his boxer briefs and picked up a tube of black paint.

  He picked up a broken piece of plate from the floor and squirted out some black paint. Roland found a brush on another easel and he stuck it in his mouth to moisten the bristles.

  He closed his eyes and felt. And God, he actually did feel something. Roland was angry. Angry with Donny, angry with himself. Why would Donny even bother responding to his text in the first place if he was going to wait all night to do it? Donny wasn’t any different from Stewart or Cody. Roland painted, and painted. He worked his way through the black and stepped back to look at what he’d done, and for the first time in longer than he could remember he didn’t hate what he saw.

  Roland deserved a drink. He dangled the paintbrush out of his mouth and walked to the kitchen, pouring a fresh glass of vodka. The glass was halfway to his lips when there was a banging at his front door. The cadence of the banging was familiar and he recognized it immediately. Roland glanced at his phone on the counter and powered it back on. His screen lit up with over half a dozen text messages from Donny and three missed calls. He set the phone and his paintbrush down and walked over and pulled his door open.

  Donny pushed past him, all white skin and angry eyes. Roland closed the door and turned, only catching the back of Donny’s head as he marched down the hallway to Roland’s bedroom. Roland followed.

  Donny was in the process of stripping out of his jeans when Roland walked in. Donny looked up, “Good, you’re almost naked.”

  Roland’s eyebrows shot up and Donny tossed a condom on the bed. He walked around to Roland’s bedside table and yanked the top drawer open, pulling out Roland’s lube and slamming the door closed.

  “How did you know I’d have lube?”

  Donny turned toward him and glared. “Everyone has fucking lube. Get on the bed.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” Roland challenged.

  “Then I’ll fuck you on the floor, I don’t care either way.” Donny dropped his briefs and stroked his cock while he stared at Roland and waited.

  Roland debated, his anger from earlier boiling down into a fiery lust, and he was just so appreciative that he could feel, he obliged and crawled onto the bed, positioning himself on his hands and knees.

  “Nuh-uh. On your back,” Donny demanded, tearing open the condom and rolling it down his now hard cock.

  Roland didn’t want to be on his back. He wasn’t ready.

  “You don’t need to fucking look at me, just get on your fucking back.”

  Oh.

  Roland rolled onto his back and eyed Donny cautiously as he situated himself between Roland’s legs. Donny curled his fingers around the waistband of Roland’s underwear and tugged them off, leaving Roland exposed.

  “Touch yourself,” Donny said, flipping open the lube and dribbling it down Roland’s hand and shaft. It slid down his balls, cold and slick, and Donny rubbed it around Roland’s hole before he stroked a wet hand over his own dick. “Close your eyes.”

  Roland didn’t know if he wanted to now. He saw his most recent painting in his mind and he was fairly sure if he could just watch the way the lines of Donny’s body moved and flexed that he could get it right.

  “Close your eyes, Roland,” Donny repeated. He didn’t wait for it though and pushed his cock into Roland’s tight hole.

  Roland threw his arm over his face and cried out, arching up as Donny filled him. Donny dug his fingers into Roland’s hips, pulling him further down the bed and impaling him deeper on his cock.

  “You make me so fucking angry, Roland.” Donny slammed his hips against Roland and fucked him unforgivingly. Roland couldn’t catch his breath, Donny’s cock was sliding along his prostate and Roland stroked himself furiously. Donny’s lip curled up in concentration and he dropped a hand between them and pressed his thumb against the tender skin below Roland’s balls.

  “Fuck,” Roland moaned, his head now banging into the headboard with every thrust Donny gave him. Donny had fucked him all the way up the bed and showed no signs of stopping.

  “You fucking come for me, Roland. You owe it to me.” Donny reached up and ripped Roland’s arm away from his face. His eyes shot open and the combination of lust and anger and utter confusion he saw on Donny’s face sent him over the edge. He cried out and pushed himself down as far as he could onto Donny’s cock as his dick twitched in his hand, shooting spurts of cum across his torso and chest.

  Donny continued his assault and shifted his weight and changed the angle of his thrusts, his cock now tagging Roland’s prostate on every stroke. Roland’s entire body quivered, and he fisted the sheets between his sticky fingers. The light in Donny’s eyes shifted, and the confusion was gone— replaced with determination as he relentlessly pounded his cock against Roland's prostate. Roland rolled his head back and forth across the pillow, his hair tangling and sticking in his mouth. His entire body thrashed and shook; he mumbled incoherent pleas that fell on deaf ears. Too much, too much, fuck, please, more.

  Donny raked a hand up Roland’s chest, dragging his nails against the sweaty flesh. He dug them in, leaving scratches in Roland’s skin. His hips bucked up toward Donny of their own volition, and Roland was tearing so hard at the sheets, they came loose from the mattress.

  “I know you have more for me,” Donny grunted, and he slammed one more time into Roland, his cock pulsing and throbbing. Roland cried out as another burst of cum shot out of his cock and landed in the dip of his throat.

  “God, yes,” Donny moaned as he came. Roland could fe
el Donny’s cock convulse inside of him. He folded his body over Roland’s and licked the cum off his throat before haphazardly moving Roland’s hair out of his face and pressing their lips together.

  Roland’s mouth opened, readily, and Donny kissed him— with much more tenderness than Roland expected. He could taste himself on Donny’s tongue and he kissed Donny back, tentatively sliding his hands up and down Donny’s sweat soaked skin.

  Donny broke the kiss, his breathing labored and loud. He pulled his cock free from Roland in one smooth movement and tied off the condom, tossing it on the floor.

  Roland was exhausted, utterly spent, physically and emotionally. He was covered in cum, and when he closed his eyes the room spun. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

  Last time we were here, you fucked it up, Roland. Don’t do it again, don’t do it again.

  Donny sat up on the bed and pulled his briefs back on, then stood up and tugged on his jeans. He picked up his shirt and walked out.

  Chapter 11

  Donny Sees Roland

  Donny stomped barefoot into the kitchen, picking up his shoes as he came through the hallway. He was furious. His muscles felt so tight he was afraid they might snap. He’d just had the best fucking orgasm of his life and he couldn’t enjoy it because his mind wouldn’t let him stop thinking about how fucking used he felt. Roland was using him as a crutch, as a blade, as a fucking human dildo, whatever the case may be, and Donny wanted none of it.

  Donny could find someone to fuck. It was hard, not impossible, and it was much less work than whatever this was with Roland. Donny didn’t mind work, though. He would gladly put in the work if he needed to— if that was what Roland needed. But the one thing Donny wouldn’t do was bang his face into a brick wall over and over again. He wasn’t sure yet if Roland was a brick wall or not.