Roland took one last glance at Donny, then retreated down the hallway toward the studio. Pete was inside, mewling around the legs of the easel and he swished his tail around when Roland shooed him away.
“Go play with your Daddy. I don’t want to get you messy,” Roland told the cat, ushering him out the door and closing it.
Roland propped a clean canvas on an easel, pulled his shirt over his head, then opened the curtains to let the light in. He pulled out tubes of cerulean blue and cobalt— he dug out raw umber and permanent rose. Without much thought, he squeezed the color out and mixed the shades he’d seen in his mind and began to paint.
Roland felt good. It had been so long since he’d truly wanted to paint. He’d spent years forcing it and ending up with less than stellar results. It was as if he’d spent the past year trying to paint in colors that only registered as different shades of gray, and someone had finally handed him a palette full of every vibrant hue on the spectrum. It had been more gradual than that though, just gray, and gray, and gray, then gray with that fucking blue of Donny’s eyes, then gray and blue and that beautiful crimson of Donny’s straining cock. But then a switch flipped when Roland was in the hallway at Gabriel’s and everything lit up like a sunrise.
And so, he painted.
Roland looked up when he heard the door open. Donny stuck his head in, a small smile dancing across his lips.
“You doing okay?”
Roland wiped a hand across his face and nodded.
“You’ve been in here for hours. I thought you might want a snack.” Donny dangled a bag of chips in front of him.
“Hours?” Roland felt revitalized, like he’d just gotten started. He looked over his shoulder and saw the sun had set. He looked back to Donny, then at the canvas he’d been painting. Roland took a breath and set the paintbrush down.
“Hours.” Donny crossed the room toward him, and placed the chips down on Roland’s stool, then trailed his finger through a smudge of blue paint on Roland’s chest. “You’re a mess. You’re blue.”
Donny stood beside the canvas, but wouldn’t look at it. He just stared up at Roland with those fucking perfect eyes of his, the ghost of a smile flirting across his lips.
“Hours.” Roland swallowed. “You can look.”
Donny shifted his eyes to the side before he turned his face. He gasped audibly when he allowed himself to look at the canvas. Roland loved that he’d waited for permission. He loved the easy way Donny understood him and accepted him, faults and all— grays and all.
“It’s…” Donny trailed off, then turned to look back at Roland. He reached up and pressed his hand against Roland’s chest. He looked at the painting again, then back to Roland. Donny’s eyes glittered like sunshine was reflecting through his irises. Roland stared at them, then looked at what he’d painted.
It was a near perfect match.
Donny slid his hand over the errant paint on Roland’s skin, the sweat from his clammy hands causing the color to spread.
“It’s?” Roland questioned in a low voice.
Donny shook his head, then grabbed the ends of Roland’s hair and tugged his face down, pressing their mouths together. Donny sank his teeth into Roland’s bottom lip and moaned when his mouth opened. Roland slid his hands around Donny’s waist and deepened the kiss, pressing their bodies closer together.
“Take this off,” Roland begged, pulling at the fabric of Donny’s shirt. They managed to get it over Donny’s head and quickly fused their mouths together. The paint from Roland’s chest smeared across Donny’s skin, and he pushed Roland against the wall, knocking over the stool, the chips, and the palette Roland had mixed his paint on.
Donny separated their mouths and darted his hand out to catch the palette so it didn’t topple, inadvertently smearing purples and reds across his palm. He propped it on a table by the easel and glanced down at his hand.
“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.
