Page 59 of Changing the Play

“I don’t even have words, Parker. It’s… like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I can’t imagine why you’re self-conscious about your art.”

Darcy chuckles. “See, Park. Told you.”

I turn Darcy in my hold so I can look at the next painting. This one islabeledLove.

It’s soft. There’s red, like anger, but also not at all like anger. It’s bright. Cheerful. Hopeful. There are varying shades of pink throughout. Even little bits of gold. It’s… fucking otherworldly.

A light feeling settles in my chest as I stare at it.

“Wow,” Ben breathes. “This might be my favorite, Park.” The soft quality of his voice would have me smiling if not for the way my heart is pounding against my rib cage.

“I painted it in one sitting,” Parker says quietly, reaching out to touch the painting. There’s something a little off about their voice—almost a little wistful or sad, and I glance at them out of the corner of my eye to find their face matches the tone. “It’s the only one I did.”

Darcy leans into me, resting his head against me as I take in the painting. It’s… safe. Grounding. Like curling up in a cozy blanket and reading. Like falling into a book and escaping into another world. The warmth is so palpable from Parker’s brushstrokes, I’m almost convinced I can feel it inside myself. And the longer I stare at it, the more I’m sure Ican. Warmth—so much warmth—winding itself around my bones, settling in my heart, and seeping into my side where Darcy’s body is pressed against me.

It’s a realization. An exhaled breath. Clarity.

I think I’m falling in love with Darcy.

The thought is like lightning in my veins. Darcy pulls from my embrace, but twines his fingers through mine and leads me to the next painting. It’s gorgeous, but I’m so mindfucked from the last one that I barely even have room for anything else.

There’s just Darcy. The warmth of his hand in mine, the quirk of his lips as he glances at me over his shoulder, the soft murmur of his voice as he talks to Parker and Ben. We walk from exhibit to exhibit.There’s plenty of good art here. But nothing quite like Parker’s. They are so fucking talented. Theirs outshines all the other art here.

Or maybe the only reason I feel that way is because of the visceral reaction I had to their work. But then, if the other work was as good as Parker’s, wouldn’t it have caused the same reaction?

Darcy is talking quietly with Parker. But just like when he was trying to teach me the other day, the only thing I can focus on is his mouth and the way his lips move as each word passes through them. And suddenly, the urge to kiss him is overwhelming. Sharp and unrelenting. An ache in my chest. I’m a mess.

“Darcy,” I murmur, my voice hoarse.

He pauses mid-sentence, turning toward me with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah?”

I clear my throat. “Can you walk outside with me?”

Darcy glances around, confused. “Now?”

“Yes. Now. Please?”

He watches me for a second, his eyes searching mine. He nods slightly. “We’ll be right back,” he says, not taking his eyes off mine. Thank God.

He leads me right out the door, and the second we’re outside the building, I take over, walking into the alley.

Darcy turns to me, his mouth opening, likely to ask me what’s going on, but before he can get the words out, I’m cupping his face in my hands and bringing our lips together.

I think I intended for it to be gentle and light. It’s not. It’s a desperate attempt to make sense of my feelings. A desperate attempt to get him as close to me as possible. He gasps against my mouth, his hands landing on my stomach, sliding up my chest, and weaving around my neck.

I should stop. I know that. But I can’t. And truthfully, I don’t want to, so I back him up until he hits the brick wall with a grunt that’s muted against my mouth. I swallow the sound, sliding my fingers into his hair and tangling them around the silky strands.

He makes a noise. Something breathless, and it has my cock throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I press against him, blocking him in fully between the wall and my body.

He groans, tightening his grip around my neck and dragging me closer, even though there’s really no way Icanbe closer. His lips part under mine and I take advantage, slipping my tongue past his lips and savoring his taste.

His hips jerk forward, and the feel of his cock against me is almost my undoing. This is so fucking everything.Heis so fucking everything. I can’t stop kissing him. We kiss until my lungs are burning, but I don’t even want to stop for air. Who the fuck needs oxygen anyway?

I slip my hand to the back of his head, putting my knuckles between it and the hard wall, kissing him deeper, living for the shaky moans he’s feeding me. Finally, when I can’t ignore my need to breathe, I pull back, gasping for air as I rest my forehead against his.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Art really does it for you, huh?”

I let out a breathless chuckle. “Nah, baby.Youdo it for me.”

---