“Then fucking hire one.”
Spencer stood and walked close, looking up into his eyes. Somehow, he seemed sober, or at least, maybe hadn’t drunk yet.
“I’d be grateful if you sat with your shirt off… for me… would save a lot of trouble… like hiring a model and waiting for them.” He squeezed Duncan’s bicep through his shirt. “Some nice muscles here…” He batted his eyelashes. “Please?”
Duncan’s lips parted, but somehow, he got lost in those dark eyes, his gentle pleading.Fuck this.“Alright.”
Cursing inwardly, but Spencer’s eyes had lit up, almost not believing him.
Duncan’s hands went to his buttons. “Just the top.”
“Correct.”
Somehow, he wouldn’t look away, couldn’t maybe, and their eyes met as Duncan slipped the shirt down his shoulders, down his arms. He put it on a chair, feeling like a virgin maiden on his first night.Or lad?Fuck.
Spencer’s eyes ate him up, even if he had seen him in a T-shirt, this was different. A bit mad that it made his stomach clench. “Thank you… Just sit there…” He gestured at a stool behind the canvas.
Duncan walked there, almost thinking better of it because it felt awkward as fuck, but he sat, and looked at Spencer who had sat too. “And how do you want me to sit?”
“Comfortable. Just relax. Like you would sit.”
Duncan sighed and leaned his elbows on his thighs, lacing his hands together.Fucking shit.
“Perfect…” That signature mocking smile, he flung his hair back and reached for a palette that seemed straight out of hell. Brushes, a dirty rag.
Dipping his fingers in the paint, mixing it on the palette, he seemed transfixed, somehow, something Duncan had never seen, and he kept watching him, what he could see from the canvas. Who was the model now? Almost smiling, he relaxed though, but as soon as Spencer looked up, and his eyes glided on him, he almost blushed.Shit.
Spencer traced his finger on the canvas, his hand, smearing the paint on it, gliding Duncan’s outline on that blank, virgin canvas… Gliding down his jaw, his neck, the curve on his back, the ridges of his muscles. A warmth there he had never known, as if he was caressing that body, feeling that skin in all that warm paint. Breathing softly, dead scared of his own feelings, he glanced at him, sometimes catching his eyes too. Eyes… dipping his finger into another color, that grey… eyes… nose, mouth, lips… playing a bit, to catch that bitter smile, match that bitter light in his eyes. Hair… brushing his fingers into that thick paint, like silk. Transfixed, as if he would live under his hand. Waist, that dip made his mouth water on his lower back. Ass, thighs, gliding down, he had to close his eyes for a moment, breathe abit better. More. Down is arms, that left arm… blotches for the tattoo, an armor, down to his arm. Letters.
His voice came, soft. “What’s ‘semper fi’?”
“Always faithful… or loyal. It’s Latin.”
“I figured…” His lips curled up, but he traced those letters on that painted arm. “Marine?” His eyes met Duncan’s.
Duncan shrugged. “Your little investigation didn’t lead anywhere?”
Spencer smiled, picking a brush up. “I didn’t pursue it.”
“Why do you want to know? It shouldn’t matter.”
Spencer looked at him. “Why not? It’s top secret?”
“No.”
“You’re super secretive, so I’m thinking Seal?” Grinning at Duncan’s silence. “Don’t worry, I won’t dig.”
“I don’t trust you.” And it was true, even if he had no idea if Spencer could find anything.
“I’m a bit reassured that you’re not fully incompetent after all.”
Duncan scoffed. “Thanks.”
Tracing his scars, on his arms, his chest. Painting them, gliding his fingers in them. His tongue poked out between his lips as he got lost, and Duncan became one with the canvas, with that man taking shape under his hands and fingers. Wondering how his skin felt, a bit mad at his own skin and chest burning with a soft fire he had never known.No matter. Finish this.Bold movements, his eyes guiding his hands, his heart hammering… the eyes, last, and above that bitter light, something else. A dab of paint, he had to catch his eyes several times, noticing that light… leaning a bit back, a bit out of breath as sweat broke out on his back. Looking into his eyes. They seemed alive; the whole man transposed on that canvas. A masterpiece. Somehow, Spencer knew that he had never painted anything like this.I need a drink… maybe two…that fright there. He jolted at Duncan’s voice.
“You’re unwell?”
Spencer blinked at him, and wiped off his forehead with his arm, smearing some paint on it. “No… come and see… needs a bit of polishing but it looks ok…”
