Seven.
Six.
Donny wiped the brush again and dipped it into the red, well aware by this point what they were painting. He lifted both their hands and hovered the brush in front of the canvas without touching it.
“Show me,” Donny murmured, and Roland pressed the brush against the canvas, painting dozens of red blooms atop the stems. They used a new brush for orange, and layered the colors over the red.
“Drop it,” Roland instructed, and Donny opened his fingers, letting the brush clatter to the floor. Roland moved Donny’s fingers to a larger brush and swiped it through the blue. “The background, now.”
Donny filled in the space around the blooms and stems as best he could with Roland’s assistance. He was aware that Donny hadn’t stopped shaking, his entire body vibrating with every pass of the brush. He’d lost track of time, unsure of how long they’d been there, and unwilling to stop and check. It didn’t matter anyway. They were here, together, in this perfect fucking moment, and if this was the last one he got, Roland would hold it tight forever.
“New brush,” he whispered.
Donny dropped the brush he’d been holding and it fell to the ground. He reached for a clean brush and as his fingers gripped the handle, Roland released his hand. Donny turned his face so his cheek lay angled against Roland’s shoulder, and he tilted his head up but stopped short of making eye contact. Roland easily made out the dried tear tracks that laced their way down Donny’s cheeks.
“Why’d you stop?” Donny questioned.
“White,” Roland replied, and Donny dipped the brush on his own, then tentatively raised it toward the empty stems in the front of the vase. He reached a hand around Donny’s front and pressed his hand flat against his chest, closed his eyes, and felt the pressure of Donny’s heartbeat thump against his palm. “The white has always been you,” he admitted.
Donny turned his attention back to the canvas and lowered the brush, painting the first daisy with relative ease.
“Daisies represent innocence,” Roland whispered as Donny moved onto the second bloom. “They are pure,” he added. “You are pure.”
Donny pulled his hand away from the canvas, shaking his head, but Roland gripped the brush and placed it back against the canvas before letting go.
“No, I’m not,” Donny said; his voice sounded thick.
“You are to me. You’re a good thing in a sea of not good things.”
Donny was painting, so Roland kept talking, his hand still firm against Donny’s heart. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve let my depression get the better of me. It’s hard to fight my own brain. And I’m not saying that being with you fixes it, because it doesn’t.” Donny dipped the brush in more paint and continued painting. “But where you’re involved, there’s so much more color than before.” Roland pressed a kiss to the side of Donny’s head.
“Roland.”
“Don’t quit now. See it through,” Roland encouraged, even though he wasn’t sure if he meant the painting or their relationship.
Donny’s heart accelerated, Roland could feel it under his hand, and Donny picked up some more white and returned the brush to the canvas, painting the remaining daisies. Roland slid both his arms around Donny and lowered them, resting his palms flat against his shirt, barely above the waistband of his pants. Donny made a noise that sounded like resigned need before he finished the last bloom and let the brush fall to the ground. He pressed himself back against Roland and lifted onto his tiptoes so Roland’s hands would skate lower toward his groin.
Donny raised his arms over his head, twining his fingers together behind Roland’s neck. Roland lowered his face into Donny’s neck and sucked his lips around the skin above his shoulder, intending to leave a mark. Donny gasped and bucked forward against his hands.
“Please,” he begged, and Roland undid the button of his jeans and slowly slid the zipper down. He glanced down Donny’s body and watched his cock try to press out through the opened zipper, but remain constrained by Donny’s briefs. His own erection pressed against Donny’s back, and Roland palmed Donny’s cock in his hand through the damp fabric, while Donny thrust himself forward and groaned.
“Tell me what you need,” Roland whispered softly into Donny’s ear. He curled his fingers around Donny’s covered dick and tested a teasing stroke up the protruding length. Donny let out a strangled groan.
Donny slid his hands into Roland’s hair as he looked upward, then pressed Roland’s head down so they were nearly touching. “Take me to bed,” Donny demanded, before slanting his mouth across Roland’s in a blistering and possessive kiss.
Chapter 32
It's Ours Now
Roland slidhis hands down Donny’s body, gripped under his thighs and lifted him up. Donny wrapped his legs around Roland’s waist, unwilling to allow their bodies to part. Roland felt strong and sturdy, and Donny wanted to melt into him. He was desperate to quiet his mind enough to trust Roland, enough to be here in this moment.
Roland pushed the bedroom door open and carried Donny inside, lowering him down gently. He kissed his way across Donny’s cheek to his ear so he could whisper, “Tell me what you need.”
Donny’s senses were on overload. Not only was he here with Roland kissing him, touching him,feelinghim, but Roland had initiated it. Every touch tonight had been instigated by him. Roland rubbed their bodies together, cocks bumping through the fabric of their pants. Donny arched his back and groaned, “You.”
It was a heavy answer for a loaded question. Roland’s entire body stilled over his. Donny dragged his hands up Roland’s sides, pulling the material of his shirt up as he went. “I just need you.” He arched upward again to make his point clear.
Roland leaned back and pulled his shirt over his head, and quickly grabbed Donny’s and tugged it off before he lowered back down and pressed their heated skin together. He sealed their lips, darting his tongue into Donny’s mouth and tangling his fingers into his hair to hold his head in place.
