Page 20 of Jonathon, After All

He had been painting white Mondial roses when Leo had joined him. Leo claimed to be “passing through” on his way to the library—on the other side of the castle—and had stopped by to see how progress was going on the piece in the conservatory.

“Sabine caught me with a stack of reports and surveys and ran me out of the study,” he complained, crossing his ankles and slouching against one of the marble columns. Jonathon ached to paint him, if he thought there was a chance Leo would stand still long enough… Jonathon would keep that one for himself, an impossibly handsome reminder that the perfect man did indeed exist.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’d rather have another ulcer, honestly,” Leo said as he pushed off and strolled toward Jonathon. “I’ve never been good at being idle or indoors.” He cast a scowl at the windows and the damp, dreary day outside.

“If you’re trying to be gloomier than the weather, you’re succeeding,” Jonathon teased, glancing around the easel at Leo.

He winced apologetically, pressing a hand against his chest as he bowed. “My apologies. My mood has improved since coming in here,” he said as he straightened and came around the canvas.

“I don’t mind. I like gloomy.” Jonathon smiled and turned to ask what he thought of the roses but Leo was staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing!” Leo gave himself a shake and forced his eyes to the painting. “It’s beautiful. I particularly like the way you…made them white,” Leo had said, making Jonathon laugh.

“I think you’ve run out of compliments, sir. What other color would I use?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “I merely meant…” but his attention had dropped to Jonathon’s lips. “I meant…” Leo licked his as he swayed closer.

“I know what you meant,” Jonathon had panted as he leaned in and his neck stretched.

“Jonathon, I…” Leo’s head lowered and their lips brushed, sending a jolt of heat down Jonathon’s body and creating goosebumps.

“Yes,” Jonathon whispered as he held onto the lapel of Leo’s coat, his legs trembling as their breaths mingled.

“Jonathon… I can’t!” Leo choked out as he took a large step back.

“Why? I want you to—” Jonathon attempted but Leo held him off.

“No. You are too young and I can’t be in a relationship right now. I’m about to?—”

This time, Jonathon interrupted Leo, giggling and waving for him to stop. “Calm down! It was just a kiss. We don’t know if it would have been good enough to get you past first base. And no one said anything about a relationship.”

“True,” Leo conceded as he turned and headed for the path back to the conservatory’s door. “Take my word for it, I’d be well past first base if I had kissed you. I believe I’d be sliding home right now, if I understand the game and the metaphor correctly.”

“Yup. That’s right,” Jonathon had croaked, picturing Leo over him as they fucked on the conservatory floor between the roses and the lilies.

Leo had intended for that to be the end of the matter and had kept a respectable distance for the rest of the day, but Jonathon couldn’t think about anything other than their almost kiss and Leo “sliding home.”

He had planned to tempt Leo into another kiss and thought the painting of the roses was the perfect excuse to visit the study later that evening. Jonathon had hurried across the castle before it had even dried, planning to suggest a kiss as a reward for finishing it.

The coast appeared to be clear when Jonathon leaned through the doorway and Leo waved him in, but Sabine had arrived a moment later.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Mr. Hawthorne’s just completed this. Take a look!” Leo said and gestured for her to join them.

“Oh, my!” She pressed a hand to her chest and swung back to Jonathon. “It’s beautiful!” She sounded surprised and gave him another once over before turning back to the painting. “I love it,” she told Leo and he nodded while beaming at the roses.

“I think I’ll hang it in here,” Leo decided as he continued to admire it.

“If you want.” Jonathon pretended his heart wasn’t beating like it had wings and his feet weren’t coming off the ground. “It’s not my best work but you’ll have others by the time we leave.”

Leo shook his head but hadn’t taken his eyes off the painting. “It’s marvelous. Don’t you think, Sabine?” he asked her excitedly.

“It’s breathtaking,” she said as she nodded and leaned in. “The colors are soft—he’s achieved the lightness of a watercolor—yet vibrant and warm. Which you wouldn’t expect from white roses.”

“I agree. Would you believe he says he’s more of a portraitist,” Leo informed her with a dubious snort, making her chuckle.

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