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 stompedbarefoot 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 fuckingusedhe 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 whateverthiswas 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.
He propped his weight on the counter and put his shoes on, eyes landing on a half full bottle of vodka. Donny’s blood boiled. He rounded the counter and opened the bottle and held it upside down over the sink, listening with a tainted type of pleasure as the liquid glug-glugged down the drain. He dropped the empty bottle in the sink and the sound of glass against porcelain ricocheted around the otherwise quiet kitchen. Donny opened the freezer and he stuck his hand inside, pulling out an unopened bottle— the only contents, he noted—then unscrewed the cap and dumped it down the sink.
Donny was aware that this might be crossing a line. Roland wasn’t his boyfriend, wasn’t his obligation, and this vodka wasn’t bought with his money, but he couldn’t stop himself. He braced himself with one hand against the sink while the vodka slid out of the bottle and down the drain. The whole kitchen reeked of booze, and it made Donny’s stomach roil. He dropped the bottle in the sink once it was empty and cracked the fridge. It looked just like it had when he’d been here last and had put the leftover Chinese food away on the middle shelf.
He closed the fridge, then opened it again. Why did he even fucking care what Roland ate or drank? It shouldn’t be his concern or his problem. Donny grabbed the leftovers and threw them in the trash, slamming the lid to the can and the door to the fridge closed. He was upset. He needed to calm down.
Donny pulled his phone out of his pocket and the screen indicated it was nearly nine at night. He’d been working all day, running deliveries because Lawrence was out sick, and he hadn’t eaten since the morning when he’d had brunch with Athena. As if on cue, his stomach grumbled, but then revolted when he caught another whiff of the vodka. He needed to get out of there. He needed to eat something.
Rolandneeded to eat something.
That thought bounced across his head, not as unwelcome as he’d expected it to be. Donny decided to run down to the deli on the corner and grab some snacks. He would calm down, come back, and figure out what the fuck Roland’s deal was.
Once Donny made it to the street, he called his sister.
“Hey, Donny,” she answered in a surprisingly sing-song tone.
“You sound happy,” he observed, heading down the street.
“Do I? Maybe. Anyway, what do you want? I’m sort of in the middle of something.” Donny heard muffled noises in the background.
“I don’t know,” Donny answered, realizing he wasn’t sure why he’d called Athena to begin with. He didn’t know how to explain Roland, or who Roland was to him, or could be, or anything.
“Well, that’s super helpful, brother. Is it about a gentleman caller?” There were more muffled noises and what sounded like a slap.
“Yeah.”
“If you’re calling about a boy and you don’t even know what to ask or say, the answer to your unasked question is you need to figure it out, because your heart is already invested. Okay? I’m gonna go now.”
“What?” Donny asked.
“Figure it out. Bye, Donny.” And Athena ended the call.
Donny stared at his phone, rolling his sister’s words around in his head. His heart wasn’t invested. His cock, maybe, but his heart? He pondered the implausibility of the concept while he filled a wire basket with chips, sandwiches, bananas, and some milk. Donny tossed in a few candy bars for good measure and went to the register. He debated buying a bottle of vodka to make up for the ones he’d dumped but decided against it.
He was still thinking about what Athena had said when he made it back to the penthouse. He’d left the door unlocked when he stepped out, so he knocked only as a courtesy and then let himself in. Donny set the bag of food on the counter, put the milk in the fridge and opened a pre-made sandwich. He took a bite, and then another, letting the food settle in his empty stomach before seeking out Roland.
Donny toed off his sneakers and padded down the hall toward the bedroom, to find it empty. The lights in the bathroom were off, and the bed was a mess, much like he’d left it. Donny turned on his heel and walked toward the other end of the house with a feeling Roland would be in the studio.
He thought about the last time he’d seen Roland, and his cock thought about the last time he’d been in the studio. Donny set his half-eaten sandwich on the counter and picked up the sealed sandwich he’d gotten for Roland and walked down the hall.
Roland was, as expected, in the studio. He had on a clean looking pair of tight, black boxer briefs that were exposed underneath the undone fly of a pair of loose fit jeans. Even though the room was surprisingly dark, Donny could see Roland’s hair was wild, all browns with gold tangled through the strands like he was bathed in sunlight. Donny wishedhewas a painter because he understood, in that moment, he’d spend his entire life trying to capture and detail the light and the shadows that seemed to constantly surround Roland.
Donny leaned his weight against the doorframe and watched Roland. He wished he had his sketchbook so he could draw out the sinewy lines of Roland’s arms as his hand danced across the canvas. Roland was all barely restrained tension, anger, andgrace. He looked more himself when he was painting, and Donny felt like an intruder, stealing this moment for his memory.
He wanted to reach out and touch Roland in the worst way and his hand clenched around the sandwich container, causing the plastic to crinkle. Roland’s eyes shot up to the door when he heard the sound, and then narrowed when he saw Donny.
“What are you doing here? Did you come to empty out more of my booze, or stick your dick in me again?” Roland half asked, half accused.
