Page 49 of Refraction

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God, itwas cold.

Calvin groped around and found the comforter by his feet. He reached down to haul it up over his frozen tush and noticed the spotlights were still on and smiled. Tucker must have fallen asleep too.

He rolled over looking for Tucker’s comforting body heat, but his hand went right off the edge of the bed and never found him. He blinked his eyes open.

Tucker was standing, stark naked, in the center of the room, working on a huge canvas, face a study in exhaustion and worry. The muscled body was streaked with paint and sweat as Tucker panted. The sheets proved Tucker had been in and out of bed at least once, there was a black handprint on the center of the mattress.

Calvin sat up and started to get out of bed but thought better of it just before his feet hit the floor. He was in Tucker’s space tonight, and the man wasn’t just off in his head distracted or daydreaming. Tucker was working. He needed to at least try to respect that.

Reluctantly Calvin settled into the mattress again, pulled his knees to his chest, and tucked the comforter around him. The wall he leaned against was chilly against his back. He fought with the piece of him that needed to offer Tucker something—comfort, kisses, anything—and kept his eyes on his lover.

The canvas seemed to be pure black—almost like a hole—but Tucker had a tiny knife and was carving things in the thick paint. Hundreds of birds or men maybe, just writhing and tortured in this soup of pigment. The whole thing was dizzying, in the amount of work in the time, if nothing else.

To ease his own worry, he tried to let himself experience the entire event instead of focusing in on the tension in Tucker’s shoulders or the darkness on the canvas. Stepping back that way, taking in the sharp lighting and the streaks of paint on the floor let him breathe at least.

Fuck, Tucker was handsome. His tanned bare skin stood out against the black of the canvas, the sweat making his shoulders shine and paint highlighting the line of muscle in his thigh. He moved a little frantically, but his stained fingers were skillful and sure. There was actually something beautiful about all of it.

Suddenly, shockingly, Tucker stopped, swooped down, and picked up a handful of crimson paint, slicing the red through the shiny black.

He had to gasp, the sight, the action incredibly sexual, deliberate, screaming with confidence.

Then Tucker sat down on the floor with an audible plop.

Calvin felt like a child staring at a toy he’d been told he couldn’t have. He fidgeted, toes curling, one knee bouncing, fingers tapping against his thighs.

Fuck it.

“Tiger.” He tossed the comforter aside and flew out of bed to land on his knees next to Tucker.

“Calvin.” Tucker groaned and grabbed him, the man’s hands fiery hot on his skin. He was hauled into Tucker’s lap, held like he was necessary.

Relief and something that felt like victory made him soar. He took Tucker’s face in his hands and kissed his lover, the artist, with all of that energy.

This groan tore from Tucker as they kissed, like Tucker’s chest was about to crack open or something, and then Tucker opened for him and let him in.

I’ve got you, he thought, not wanting to break the kiss to speak just yet. He shifted to straddle Tucker’s thighs and thrust his tongue past hungry lips.I’m right here.

The paint was sticky on his skin, dragging just the barest bit where Tucker’s hands slid on him, hiccupping along his spine. Painting him.

“Give me your eyes, Tucker. Right here,” Calvin whispered finally, taking Tucker by the chin. “Look at me.”

That bright blue rolled, then settled on him, focusing, watching him like there was no one else on earth. “Did I wake you up, honey?”

“No, I got cold. I sat and watched you for a little bit.”

“It’s cold now. Crazy. It’s not under the lights. Kiss me again.” Tucker leaned in and brought their lips together.

He could do that. He could do that all night. He kissed Tucker, more curious this time, tasting and testing.

Tucker’s lips were salty, and his mouth had a strong flavor, something more than the beer he’d had with dinner. It made Calvin a little dizzy.

Tucker began to relax, the tight muscles shaking and trembling against him. No matter what, Tucker watched him, stayed with him.

He loved that he could do this for Tucker. Calvin kept close contact, sliding his hands over his lover’s cooling skin to soothe the shaking, the part of him that had wanted to do this all along finally going quiet as well. Sometimes the way they weaved into each other felt impossible to him, the way they could be exactly what the other needed just naturally—it was a gift from somewhere make-believe. Somewhere that could not possibly exist, but was real to them anyway.

He didn’t think Tucker would find that odd at all.

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