by Xavier Neal
The moment I enter, I hear Kellan's voice rush to end a call. “I appreciate you calling to let me know the results.”
Entire place looks like something you'd see in a movie right? A perfectly staged over-priced movie. For the most part, I don't mind the lack of color. The dark grays and the whites create an expected crisp modern vibe, but also make it impossible to hide any sort of spill. Hey, it's not like I'm Fred Sansford or something. It's just that sometimes getting a midnight snack while half sex stoned can get a little messy.
There's a short pause. “Mmm, you as well.”
Veering to the left where his small open kitchen is located, I carefully place the bags in the bar seat, and ask, “Was that a phone call about my surprise party?”
“No. It was my physician calling with my latest lab results. Apparently, I'm completely clean.” He wipes his hands with the dish towel before tossing it over his white t-shirt. “And it's not a surprise if you know, love.”
I helplessly smile. “My father let the cat out of the bag.”
Kellan immediately frowns.
“It's not his fault! He thought I knew!”
“What'd he call for?”
“Ask me about the cake...”
“I can handle the cake,” he huffs, planting his hands on the counter.
“I don't trust you with cake.”
“You don't trust me with cake?”
“Cheesecake is not cake.”
“It's in the name!”
“See.”
Kellan rolls his eyes. “Your parents don't need to bring anything. I've got it covered.”
“Well, they're bringing the good cake, so just accept it.”
“The good cake? Does that mean you won't eat whatever cake I ordered?”
I bob my head with a playful expression. “Depends. Does your cake include fruit substance of any kind?”
“No.”
“Then maybe.” He rolls his eyes again while I lightly laugh. “You do know....you don't have to throw me a party, right? I'm just doing something a normal person would've done like four to six years ago.”
His expression softens. “It's an accomplishment no matter how long it takes to finish, love. Enjoy it. You've earned it.”
I try to smile.
I know I have. I've put in the work to finish and the work to pay to finish. I guess part of me is still in disbelief it's happening.
My head nods towards the stove behind him. “Whatcha cookin' good lookin'?”
“Currently, a tomato cream sauce from scratch.”
Impressed, I fold my arms across my chest. “Scratch? Like cut the tomatoes yourself kinda scratch?”
“In deed.”
“Have you had to use the fire extinguisher yet?”
“That only happened twice!”
Cooking is definitely something neither of us are good at. However, he is more adamant about changing that than me. Kinda hope he never conquers it. Not sure I need him adding to the reasons he's already practically perfect.
“Wanna try it?” Kellan cautiously asks.
“Have you tried it yet?”
He slowly shakes his head.
“Let me get this straight. You wanna poison me to save yourself?”
“It's not poison.”
“Then you try it.”
“No.”
“You are trying to kill me. Seems like there are easier ways to break up than a murder, suicide situation.”
“Fine. We'll do it together.”
“Like a suicide pact?”
His head tilts at me in annoyed fashion.
Giggling, I make my way around to him and watch as he dips the wooden spoon in the pot. When he pulls it out, he gives it a long, slow blow before offering it. At the same time we lean forward and slurp the taste together. To my surprise it tastes fantastic.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “You made that?”
“Right?” He whispers back, his own disbelief prevalent. “Now let's hope the rest of the meal tastes equally as delicious.”
“Need me to do anything?”
“Set the table?”
I nod and make my way to the black round table that's closer to the front door. Normally, it's only home to the set of roses he buys me each week, but today it's completely covered in paperwork along with his computer.
Before touching anything, I ask, “Is there a certain way you want me to gather this stuff?”
“No. Just...try to keep it neatly stacked if possible.”
I helplessly prod, “What is all of this anyway?”
“Most of it is just expansion ideas for the current program, however a couple of those files contain the plans for the orphanage.”
Curiosity causes me to toss my head over my shoulder. “You're actually ready to open it?”
“No,” Kellan quickly answers, “but in case the day ever comes, it'll be nice to have everything in order.”
The hint of sadness in his tone tugs sharply in my chest.
You know, I have no clue what I wanna do with my life or where I wanna go or see, but Kellan knows exactly what he wants, who he wants to help, and can't make that happen. I think the only thing worse than not having a dream is having a dream that seems impossible to ever come true.
Once I've cleared the table of his work items, I reset it with dishes, silverware, and the wine. Kellan relocates the spinach salad, fresh baked bread, and the pasta dish he spent the afternoon working on. Our conversation unfolds as freely as it always does. We take turns recounting parts of our day and he of course has to include the portion of swimming laps after lunch, simply to watch the color in my face brighten in excitement at the thought of him naked.
You've seen him that way. If he wasn't a prince or a duke I'd say he should be an underwear model. They might have to cover up that lucky Ace tattoo on his ass that he got on a dare, but I'm sure they do that sort of thing all the time.
Our meal begins to wind down and Kellan leans back in his seat with his wine glass. “You nervous about meeting with your professor tomorrow?”
I do my best to hide the insecurity over the situation. “Not as nervous as I could be.”
His head tilts at me in question.
“I'm not a complete and total wreck. Doubt I'll sleep well tonight, but it could be worse.”
A sly smirk slides on his face. “I can help with that sleep thing. I have a number of proven methods that make it impossible for you to do anything else afterward.”
I squeeze my anxious thighs, refusing to let him see the desire his words always cause. “You mean like lecturing me for hours about lacrosse?”
He gives me a brief glare before he asks, “Have you given any more thought to what you want to do after graduation? I know we've discussed how you'll be taking off a couple of months to search for viable options but that's usually where you change the subject.”
“Like I want to now...” I mumble.
“Brie, you don't have to decide exactly where your life is going to go right this minute. I'm just curious as to where you want it to go? You don't seem to want to paint professionally and the idea of working in a gallery like Jovi seems to cause your face to wrinkle.”
I scrunch my nose at the fact he's noticed that. “I don't paint or draw for profit. I do it to help convey the things my brain has trouble expressing.”
Do you have an outlet like that? Does everyone?
“Art restoration? Perhaps an art administrator? Organizing events like the one we met at?”
A shrug escapes. “Maybe? I don't know. I like the idea of connecting with those in the community, bringing them bits of the industry they would've never been exposed to otherwise. Sometimes I toy with the idea of finding a way for youth to get better acquainted with artists other than the basics. Show them art is so much more than just pencil or paint on canvas. Maybe if you would've had a better art teacher when you were younger you wouldn't hate art so much as an adult.”
“Unlikely,” he denies with a croo
ked smirk. “But your optimism is admirable.” After I roll my eyes, Kellan puts down his glass and asks, “Do you mind if I see the final piece of your portfolio? You've shown me all the others-”
“Which you made fun of in your typical Kellan way,” I mock his body language and accent.
He shakes his head. “And I will make fun of your horrific acting skills next, if you don't distract me with something else like your final piece.”
“Fine, but....you have to promise me you'll take all those snide remarks you're known for and shove them so deep down no one is going to find them without a colonoscopy.”
Kellan winces, has another sip of his wine, and stands with discomfort on his face.
My imagery a little too much?
The two of us leave the table and relocate to the bar area by the kitchen where I left my bag. During the process of removing the hefty object from its case, I explain, “When I began to build this my art professor explained it was the easiest thing I would do in my time as an art student yet it would feel like the most difficult. His requirement was simple. You were to track where you began and where you ended during your time. Essentially adding pieces, semester by semester that expressed who you were at that time. What you were going through. What mattered most. He also explained how most students fail this simple task, inevitably postponing their future.” With it now open on the bar counter, I carefully move towards the last page, and Kellan appears over my shoulder. “I don't know if you remember the first piece-”
“It was an abstract painting. A weird mesh of muted colors. No idea what it was supposed to be or represent. I just remember thinking it looked like a sad take on the classic Pac-man board.”
I press my lips firmly together to stop from biting his head off.
Did he really just refer to my painting as an 80’s arcade game?
We finally land on the page, and I can feel my entire body tense. “My final piece is actually a pastel drawing.”
Together we study the picture of the single blue eye. I proudly stare at the lines I studied for months while he slept, while he ate, while he yelled at sports on the couch beside me. I committed every detail to memory until it felt as if I could draw them with my eyes sewn shut. I studied the different hues of his eye in various lighting, in various situations, and then spent hours mixing colors in an attempt to capture it.
At one point I'm fairly certain I was reciting color compounding in my sleep.
It takes longer than anticipated for Kellan to speak. “That's....That's my eye.”
“You're quick,” I tease, still staring at the drawing, too terrified to face him.
“The final piece of your portfolio...is me.” Despite my reluctance, he shifts my body to allow our eyes to meet. “Explain it.” When I don't start talking, he sweetly adds, “Please.”
A deep sigh seeps free. “This is where I am in life. The colors are bold and bright and deep because for the first time I can remember that's how I feel. You have this way of making all of those things pop out of me. When you're around I stand a little taller. Feel a little smarter. Hell, believe I'm more...beautiful than I ever could've imagined. I chose your eye because they're a metaphor for the place I've finally reached. In this particular shade, they're accepting of an unfamiliar situation and eager to understand their changing surroundings. I chose you as the subject of my final piece because in a way...I guess I feel like you’re bridging the gap between the end of my days as a run of the mill art student and whatever the next step in my life is going to be.”
Did that sound okay? God I hope so. It's more or less the speech I plan to give my professor if he requires it.
To my surprise, Kellan's mouth is agape.
Feeling beyond exposed and painfully vulnerable, I playfully state, “You can pick your jaw up off the floor, narcissist. I highly doubt I'm the first person to ever make some sort of portrait of you.”
There's no hesitation in his response. “You're the only one who matters to me.”
Before I can shy away, Kellan's lips descend on mine with such ferocity, I stumble backwards into the empty bar stool. Rather than sweep me away with his typical dominating demands, he slowly rolls his tongue around mine conveying something unexpected. One hand anchors itself to my cheek while the other wraps around me to draw me closer. With every soft push, he reciprocates his own surrender of self, allowing me to be the judge and jury in the one aspect of his life he's never shared with anyone else.
His mouth falls from mine to whisper, “I'm going to show you how much you matter...”
Incapable of a well thought out reply, I simply shut my eyes when his mouth returns to my skin. The heat of his tongue blazes a trail down my neck that has me panting in anticipation for what's to come. Kellan sends his hands on a mission to undress me while his mouth unhurriedly devotes itself to praising each exposed portion. My body eagerly pushes itself towards him, anxious for more than the teasing tastes of pleasure being presented. Once my clothes have been banished from the situation, he lifts me up to sit on the edge of the bar stool and tugs one of my nipples between his teeth, toying with it mercilessly before repeating the action on the other. Despite my whimpers and pleads to lower his efforts, he laps at the hardened areas while my pussy aches in envy. His fingertips take turns assisting in his torturous efforts by lightly grazing the wet lips between my hips and smearing the discovered treat onto my nipples for his tongue to taste. Just as my body begins to tremble in desperation, his mouth latches onto my pussy tightly, trapping my clit against his tongue's tireless efforts to have the teetering orgasm tear ruthlessly through me. Kellan savagely sucks while my shaky fingers strain for leverage in his hair. Every twirl, every thrust, every brush elicits an earth shattering cry that makes me thankful he doesn't have close neighbors. Suddenly, my breath becomes shallow and my bottom lip slides between teeth. Knowing this warning sign, he devours harder and faster until the quivering in my legs, which are over his shoulders, engulfs my entire body. My orgasm erupts and his mouth locks in place as if he's swallowed the key to my pussy's freedom with no intention of ever releasing it. The moment my mind threatens to stop spinning, Kellan slowly allows his tongue to return for seconds. His earlier declarations intertwine in a powerful echo inside my head.
At this rate, I can't imagine I'll have any trouble sleeping...If a night filled with endless orgasms doesn't knock me out then nothing will. More importantly, regardless of my sleep situation later, Kellan's relentless efforts to prove his love still get him an A plus in the boyfriend department.
Kellan
“You're serious? You're actually going to ask her?”
I turn my attention away from Brie, who has her head thrown back in laughter at something her sister has said. “Tonight. When we get home.”
Hugh puts down his pint. “What if she says no?”
God I'm praying she doesn't say no.
“Then she says no.” I casually shrug. “It doesn't change how I feel about her.”
He arches his eyebrows in an impressed nature. “Wow. That's really mature of you. Gotta admit, I'm amazed Brie managed to make you grow up. I thought for sure you'd never shake your Peter Pan syndrome.”
With a cocky smirk, I deny, “I wouldn't say I've grown up quite yet. Just last night we had an ice cream party.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Though in all fairness, it did contain a different type of nuts than you're probably imagining.”
Hugh groans and I chuckle profusely.
It gave an entirely new meaning to chocolate, vanilla swirl.
“Speaking of desserts, it's time we serve them.” I summon one of the waitresses helping with the party to let her know we're ready for the next portion. She quickly nods and scurries away while I make my way over to where my girlfriend is mingling with her family.
Watching her walk across the stage a few hours ago was surreal. I'd never been so proud of an individual in my entire life. Perhaps it was because I knew exactly what she ha
d endured these past few months. Stayed up late helping her study ancient methods on sculpting. Spending hours on a Saturday in the art store after spending hours replenishing my wardrobe. Whatever the reason, seeing her stroll across it swelled my chest with so much happiness, I could barely breathe. Had her sister not nudged me to start clapping I would've completely missed the opportunity to join in the applause.
My arm slides around her waist. “Hate to interrupt, but it is time for dessert.”