“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 stoodin 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.”
Donny 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.”
