“Is there anything you won’t eat?”
“I haven’t eaten much lately,” Roland answered, his voice soft.
“Well, is there anything you’d like to eat, or do I get to choose?”
“You choose.”
Donny nodded. Roland was staring at him again, with those same bottomless green eyes, and Donny felt the muscles in his chest tighten along with the fabric of his pants.
“I will.”
Roland’s eyes darted around the room, and Donny felt the energy of their encounter shift. He wanted to learn about Roland, but he felt like he was treacherously close to overstaying his current welcome.
“So, six then. Can you just sign? I shouldn’t be making dates on the clock, but I couldn’t help myself.” Donny smiled, rubbing the back of his neck while he waited for Roland to sign the paperwork.
“Oh. Sure, sure thing.” Roland picked up the clipboard, signing and initialing where needed before he set it down on the cart and stepped back.
Donny moved away from Roland, feeling like they both could use the space, and he clasped his fingers securely around the push handle on the cart so he didn’t do something ridiculous like grab a cock. Either his or Roland’s.
“So, I’ll see you at six then,” Donny affirmed. Roland nodded, his eyes darting from Donny’s face to the art supplies and back to Donny’s face.
“At six.”
Donny wheeled the cart out of the room and Roland followed behind him with Pete a close third. Once they were back in the kitchen, Donny felt somewhat more capable of managing his emotions, and he was thankful for that. He popped the door on the carrier open and scooped Pete up, tucking him safely inside. Pete let out a needy sounding meow and stabbed a paw out through the front of the cage. Donny gently guided it back inside.
“You’re fine, little dude, we’re on the way home now.”
He was halfway to the door when Roland called out to him, “Wait a second.”
Donny stopped and looked back. Roland was a few paces behind him.
“I just realized I don’t even knowyourname.” Roland chuckled and looked at the ground before returning his eyes to Donny’s face.
Donny smiled at the absurdity of this entire scenario before he replied, “I’m Donny.”
“Donny? Is that short for something?”
“Adonis,” Donny provided, trying to hide the embarrassment of his given name.
“Adonis,” Roland repeated back, and it sounded like velvet rolling off his tongue. Donny couldn’t think of a sound he’d ever liked as much.
Chapter 6
Water and Vodka
It wasquarter to six and Roland was nervous. His mouth was dry but his palms were not. He’d changed clothes no less than three times before he'd finally settled on jeans and one of the few t-shirts he owned that wasn’t stained with paint. The careful selection hadn’t ended up mattering anyway, because as soon as he was dressed, Roland was back in the studio painting. He’d gone through both containers of blue and made himself at least three more to match. He had canvases washed in nothing but the perfect blue he now recognized as Donny’s eyes.
He had meant to stop painting in time to clean himself up, but for the first time in months he felt something stirring inside him and it was near painful to be away from his art.
He hadn’t slept much since agreeing to dinner, either. Accounting partially to the fact he’d slept the entire day prior, and also that he had a message he urgently needed to get onto a canvas. The first thing he’d painted was simply solid blue. Like a giant magnifying glass held up to Donny’s eye. The next canvas, another solid blue, and one more. It was the most beautiful color Roland had ever seen.
He stopped to mix more paint around two in the morning and struggled to match it the way he wanted. The next four canvases were awkward attempts and blends of dark and light trying to find the right combination. By the eighth canvas, he’d found the color he was looking for and outlined a figure that matched the Donny he saw in his mind. It was all lanky limbs and unruly black hair and those goddamn perfect eyes.
Close to five in the morning, he’d reopened the bottle of vodka he’d taken out right before Donny arrived, and then tossed it empty in the trash before noon. The Donnys he’d been painting in the afternoon devolved into a tangle of abstract limbs and hair, mixed with waves of muted brown and dull yellow-gold that effectively washed out the brightness of his original subject.
Near three, Roland fell asleep, or passed out, and woke with a headache and a sore neck just before five. He showered, dressed, and his nervousness had forced him back into his studio by way of his kitchen. He’d actually poured some vodka into a glass this time because he wanted to make a good impression when Donny finally arrived. Roland was sure that suitable partners didn’t drink from the bottle. Not that Roland fancied himself to be a prospective, or suitable, partner for anyone, but he needed to see Donny for long enough again so he could paint him better.
There was a knock at the front door and he set down the paintbrush, rubbing his hands down his chest to dry them off and inadvertently smeared his shirt with paint.
