“Fuck,” he muttered, holding his palm out like he was going to leave the room and go wash it clean.
“Don’t go,” Roland said, reaching for Donny’s pants and flicking the button open, while he just stood there with his paint covered hand. Roland tugged Donny’s pants down and put his hand on his chest to press him against the wall. The blue paint transferred to Roland’s palm and he dragged his hands up and down the bare expanse of Donny’s porcelain thighs before he buried his face against the base of Donny’s cock.
“Oh fuck, Roland.” Donny’s hands instinctively reached to wrap around Roland’s face, smearing more paint across his skin. Roland felt the air against it, cool and crisp when Donny pulled his hand away.
He dropped his own pants and stepped in against Donny, their erections bumping against each other. Donny nibbled at a patch of clean skin on Roland’s chest and pulled back, his cheek covered in paint. Roland’s breathing accelerated, the blue was nearly perfect.
“Please, can we?” Roland vocalized, his mind not entirely sure what he was begging for, but his cock bounced to confirm what he meant with his plea.
“God, yes,” Donny stepped into Roland and pushed him across the room. He tripped, knocking into the table where Donny had set the paint. He darted a hand out to steady himself and slipped backward when his hand landed in the palette, smearing the blues and reds and purples together.
Donny seemed unaware as he leaned down and grabbed his wallet from his jeans, pulling out a condom and packet of lube before tossing his wallet behind him. He used his clean hand to roll the condom down his cock, before dripping the lube down his length.
“I’m so glad you inspire me to be prepared,” Donny said, using a hand to press Roland backward over the table and his other to slide two lube coated fingers into his ass.
“Fuck,” Roland grunted, relaxing back onto the table under Donny’s hand.
“We’re going to.” Donny fucked Roland’s ass with his fingers and leaned down, engulfing Roland’s cock with his mouth. He arched up into Donny’s mouth and his hands flew downward, his fingers digging into Donny’s scalp. Donny hummed and swallowed him deeper, continuing to press his fingers in and out of his hole.
Roland dragged Donny’s mouth off his cock so he could see his face. Donny’s cheeks were a darkening shade of potter’s pink, mixed with crimson, he thought, and the recognition of the color caused his cock to jump, bouncing against Donny’s chin. Donny darted his tongue out, dragging it across Roland’s leaking slit and lapping at the precum that pooled there.
Donny licked his lips and pulled his hand free, then tested the sturdiness of the table, crawling on top of it and then guiding his cock straight into Roland. Donny closed his eyes and dropped his head backward, rolling it from shoulder to shoulder while he dug his fingertips into the skin around Roland’s ribs. There was a bite of pain, and Roland was sure there would be bruises. He thought of what a beautiful violet his skin would be once he washed the paint off and sighed happily.
Donny rolled his head forward, his eyes open and intent on Roland. He slid his hands across Roland’s chest and smeared a landscape of color across his skin. He pulled out, then pressed himself back inside slowly, his chest heaving.
“There,” he breathed out, finding a rhythm and swirling his fingers through the paint on Roland’s chest, “now you’re not blue anymore.”
Roland squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open so he could see the man on top of him. Donny fucked him feverishly—he almost seemed panicked. His hands slid and gripped at Roland’s skin, smearing violet, and cerulean, and golden ochre. Roland reached for Donny and pulled him down, their chests connecting, and the colors between them sliding and mixing and blurring into something more than they’d been on their own.
“I need you to come, please,” Donny muttered into his neck, reaching down and hitching his legs up so he could slide deeper inside.
Roland reached between them and sealed a hand around his cock and jerked himself quicker than Donny was fucking him. He was close and he brought his other hand around and wrapped his fingers around the back of Donny’s head, holding his face against the crook of his neck, and he cried out and arched upward as he came.
Spurts of cum flew between them, and Roland’s hole clenched with the shocks of his orgasm, sending Donny barreling into his own. He cried out, a muffled sound into Roland’s neck, and Roland felt Donny’s cock pulse as he emptied himself into the condom. For the first time in his life, Roland hated condoms. He wanted to feel the wet heat of Donny’s orgasm fill him up and his entire body shuddered at the fantasy. He needed to follow up with his test results from the doctor.
“Fuck,” Donny grunted out, reaching down and pulling his cock from Roland, sliding the condom off and tossing it onto the floor. He climbed farther up Roland’s body, paint and cum mixing between them, and he rubbed their sated cocks against each other, his face still buried in the safety of Roland’s neck.
“It’s beautiful,” Donny finally muttered, rearranging himself on the large work table so he wasn’t completely on top of Roland. He brought a hand up and traced shapes that Roland couldn’t identify into the mixture of paint and cum on his stomach.
“What is?” Roland asked.
“The painting. You. Us. This,” Donny exhaled heavily and turned his attention back to the canvas.
“Do you know what it is?” Roland asked him, his voice hopeful and his fingers stroking casually through Donny’s hair.
Donny turned back and looked at him with what Roland assumed was meant to be a sarcastic look, but he was so exhausted, it easily turned into a hopeful smile.
“It’s a new day.”
Chapter 22
It Doesn't Matter What I Called Him
Donny stood in front of Roland, the spray from the shower directed over his head onto Roland’s chest. He scrubbed at Roland with a soaped up loofah then used his fingers to pick away flecks of dried paint that hadn’t rinsed away. A blue handprint across his chest, flecks of purple in his hair, all washed down the drain. He smoothed his hands down Roland’s ribs and settled them around the bones of his hips, tugging him in closer. Donny pressed a kiss to his sternum, then reached up to adjust the spray so he could clean himself.
Donny turned and Roland took he loofah without a word, placed his arms around Donny from behind and worked soapy circles around his chest. Donny closed his eyes and leaned back into Roland, enjoying the sensation.
The painting Roland had made was still visible to Donny, emblazoned across his eyelids every time he blinked. With his eyes closed in thought, he could recall nearly every detail he’d seen before he’d been overwhelmed with the need to possess Roland. The paintings Roland had done when Donny first met him were good, but they were flat and dull, made up only of grays and black, barely any splash of color.
The canvas he’d painted today looked as though it was alive. It was undoubtedly a sunrise— over the water, an array of blues topped with fiery orange fading up into purple and black at the top of the canvas. It was quite literally an exact portrayal of the moment day takes over from night. An early dawn when the moon and the sun share the sky, and you could see them both if you were in the right area. It was a time Donny used to relish, feeling like anything could be possible because a new day was just beginning. It was a feeling he hadn’t remembered or thought about in years. And Roland had painted it.
Roland scrubbed the loofah down his chest toward his cock, taking extra care to make sure the skin was clean and free of paint. Donny groaned and his knees wobbled when Roland wrapped his hand around his shaft. Roland released him and held his hand under the water.
“Just getting the paint off,” he said, his voice low and laced with laughter.
“You’re a jerk,” Donny grumbled. He turned in Roland’s arms and slid his hands up and down Roland’s chest. Their cocks bumped together and Roland inhaled a shaky breath. Donny chuckled, “I can’t go again right now, anyway.”
Don
ny turned the water off and stepped out of the shower to towel off. Roland followed and they ended up on the couch after Roland called for takeout. Pete snuggled up next to Roland and purred contentedly.
“You can bring the other two over, you know?”
“Jack and Jill?” Donny questioned, angling his head up to see Roland’s face.
Roland nodded, “I bet they get lonely.”
“They don’t get lonely. The two of them are as much cats as cats can be. And Siamese cats, too, so they’re assholes. Pete was always the odd man out.”
“Okay,” Roland said, “I just want you to know that you can.”
“Thank you.”
He liked this Roland— the mildly happy and generally accommodating version of him, who was obviously much more at ease when he could pick up a paintbrush without fear. Donny had suspected since the first time he saw Roland’s sunset paintings at Gabriel’s that they might be a trigger for Roland, but he never would have guessed how instantaneous the reaction would be. It was like a switch had been flipped, and all of a sudden the world had been rolled out at Roland’s feet in bright, vibrant color.
Donny traced a heart on the side of Roland’s knee.
“Can I ask you something?” He shifted his weight so he could see Roland’s face.
“You can. But I might not answer.” Roland chuckled.
“Oh, you’re cute.” Donny pinched his thigh.
“Ask me.”
“Are we? Is this…” Donny trailed off, “I don’t know. What is this, Roland?”
Roland stared at him and scrunched his nose up like he’d caught a whiff of a bad smell.
“Let me try again,” Donny said. He didn’t like the way this conversation was heading and it had barely started, but it had to happen. Donny had been patient and understanding with Roland, and in his way, Roland had reciprocated Donny’s affections and attention, but Donny couldn’t silence the voice in his head that perked up when he’d walked in the studio earlier.
He can paint again, he doesn’t need you.
Donny had told Roland in the beginning that he would make the decisions about what was best for him, that he would step back if things were too much, or not enough. He didn’t want things to ever reach a time where they were either of those things though. Donny was starting to care for Roland, but if he was going to end up being discarded, Donny would prefer to cut his losses now.
“Okay, try again,” Roland encouraged although his face seemed to indicate he wasn’t interested in the course of the conversation.
“You know my birthday is in a couple weeks, right?”
Roland nodded.
“Athena is having a little get together for me, and I’d like you to come.”
Roland nodded again.
“How am I supposed to introduce you?” Donny was getting exasperated with Roland’s avoidance.
“With my name, I’d assume.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I can’t introduce you as my friend, because that’s an understatement, isn’t it? Friends don’t fuck the way we do. So, are you my boyfriend, Roland?”
Roland wiggled out from under Donny and went into the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and poured himself a drink. He took a healthy swig before he returned to the couch and sat down on the opposite end from Donny. Roland took another drink and set the glass on the table. Thinking about being his boyfriend drove Roland to drinking? Donny felt like he was going to be sick.
“I don’t understand why anything needs to have titles. Can’t it just be what it is?” Roland picked the glass back up and took another drink, seemingly deciding at this point to just hang on to it instead of placing it back on the table. “Can’t I just be Roland?”
“Of course you can be Roland. You are Roland.”
“Then why is this an issue?”
Roland’s voice took on an accusatory edge that Donny hadn’t heard in weeks and he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, clamping down with his teeth.
“Have you been in a relationship before?”
“Of course,” Roland scoffed.
“Did you call him your boyfriend?”
Roland scratched his lip with the back of his thumb and his eyes took on a sort of glazed look Donny hadn’t seen before.
“It doesn’t matter what I called him.” His voice was quiet.
Donny realized there had to be a history here. Not to say that he’d believed Roland hadn’t ever had serious partners before— he was thirty-one, compared to Donny’s almost twenty-two—but Donny was getting the impression there had been damage done at some point. What he couldn’t get a read on was whether Roland had been the one damaged or the one doing the damaging. With what Donny knew of him, it could go either way with ease.
“Tell me his name.”
Roland’s eyes flicked up to lock onto Donny, and his face was still contorted in the same manner as when Donny had started the conversation. He was obviously uncomfortable, and Donny still felt sick.
“What does it matter?” Roland bit out.
Donny rolled his eyes. “If you won’t tell me whether you called him your boyfriend or not, you can at least give me a name.”
“Cody,” Roland’s voice managed to crack pushing out the two-syllable, four letter name.
“What happened with Cody?” Donny pressed.
Roland glared at him.
“Tell me what you called him, or tell me what happened. I don’t think I’m asking a lot from you right now.” Donny was trying hard to keep his own insecurities in check, but felt his control slipping away.
“He left me,” Roland said, opting to give up that piece of information more easily than whether he’d called him his boyfriend or not. Donny didn’t understand why the term was such a sticking point for Roland, nor was he familiar with this sliver of Roland who was so impacted by this Cody person.
“I’m sorry,” Donny offered, reaching a hand across the couch toward Roland.
Roland looked at Donny’s hand, then took a drink and set the glass on the table. He reached toward Donny and grabbed his fingers, swiping his thumb across his knuckles before dropping it back down to the couch.
“He deserved better than me,” Roland cocked his lip up into a patronizing smile.
“You sell yourself short.”
Roland snorted incredulously and barked out a laugh, “Okay.”
Donny sighed. “I wasn’t trying to do this with you.” He thought about his next words and weighed them before he spoke, “I just want to know if this thing between us feels as serious to you as it does to me. I just want to know if I could introduce you as my fucking boyfriend at my birthday party.”
There was a knock at the door, and Donny startled before he quickly pushed up from the couch and retreated out of the room to collect the delivery. He took the bag of food into the kitchen and set it on the counter, pulling the containers out and getting plates from the cabinet.
Exasperated by the turn of the conversation, he ran his hands through his hair then dropped them against the sink. He leaned over, bracing himself and forced deep breaths in and out. He tried to will himself to relax, but found he lacked the metal acuity to rein his emotions back under control. Donny had displayed what he considered to be valiant restraint in the living room with Roland. He didn’t want to push or pry, but he refused to operate in a nameless holding pattern. Donny had been patient. Donny would continue to be patient, but he needed something from Roland to let him know he wasn’t alone in this.
Roland walked into the kitchen and stood close to Donny, his hip propped against the refrigerator and his arms crossed over his chest. Donny turned his head sideways to look at Roland whose face was now marked with a level of concern that hadn’t been there before.
“I’m sorry,” Roland said softly. “Cody was my boyfriend, and I loved him very much. But he deserved better than me, and he left me. And you deserve better than me, and I don’t want you to leave me too. I think maybe if you were
n’t my boyfriend, it wouldn’t hurt as much when you did leave me. Because you will.”
“You can’t possibly know that.” Donny stood up straighter and turned to face Roland.
“I have a track record.”
“Not with me.” He tried to give Roland a sympathetic smile, but didn’t lose sight of the fact he still didn’t have an answer to his question.
“It’s a defense mechanism.”
“I know,” Donny acknowledged. And he did know. He understood. “Come on, let’s eat.” Donny plated their food and carried it into the living room. He set the plates on the coffee table and slid down with his back against the couch and waited for Roland to join him. They sat on the floor next to each other and ate, just as they had many nights before, but there was a heaviness between them now only Roland could eradicate.
When they were done and after Roland had finished another two glasses of vodka, Donny was debating whether he should go home or stay.
“I guess I’ll take off.” He settled on leaving and pushed back from the table to stand and collect his things.
“You’re leaving?” Roland seemed genuinely surprised.
Donny shrugged. “I don’t feel like you really want me here right now to be honest.”
“I do want you here.” Roland crawled up onto the couch and leaned over the back of it so he was eye level with Donny. “I do,” he repeated.
Donny searched Roland’s face and believed he meant what he was saying, but Donny didn’t feel right about it. He looked down at his feet. This felt like a pivotal moment. Part of him was worried if he walked away, things with Roland wouldn’t ever be the same again. And the other part of him didn’t think that was a bad thing because he didn’t want to turn into Roland’s doormat. He thought about the nights he’d stayed in spite of Roland’s coldness toward him, and he remembered how useful he felt being able to hold Roland through his darkness and wake up with him in the light of a better day.
The Colors Between Us Page 15