Page 111 of Refraction

He climbed up into the loft, tossed his still-damp suit in a corner, and started fiddling with Tucker’s iPod and the cool tiny speakers. He passed over the Nine Inch Nails playlist and Christina Aguilera—God, not her again—and settled on Maroon 5 on shuffle before climbing into the sheets.

Tucker came up with a little tackle box and a jar of water, eyes twinkling in the light. “Mmm. Look at you. Playing canvas for me.”

“Uh-huh.” He stretched and rolled onto his stomach. “Any way you want me.” God, Tucker was irresistible when he had a little mischief in those bright blue eyes. And nothing was sexier than seeing his lover happy, inspired.

“Uhn. Okay. I’ll start back here, because look at all that skin, but I want to finish up front.”

“Start, finish, take a break, start again. I have all night,” he teased. Maybe he’d return the favor. Give Tucker a pretty pink-glittery backside.

“Perfect.”

The touch of the brush on the small of his back made him shiver. This might be as good as their first night up here—the night Tucker did that lovely blue series. God, that night. “Please tell me you brought a mirror so I can see?”

“I’ll run down and grab one, yeah. You’re so fine.” Tucker dipped the brush into a bright dark blue. “Are you ready for the paint? Or should I get the mirror first?”

“No, you go ahead. I can look when you’re done. Hang on.” He thought about asking what Tucker was painting, but he decided he’d wait and see. He shifted and made sure he’d be comfy for a while. “Okay, I’m good.”

“Thank you for letting me play, honey. It means a lot.” The swipe was cold and wet and erotic as fuck.

“You’re welcome. But you make it sound like I’m not getting anything out of this. Do you know what that feels like?” He couldn’t see, and he couldn’t even twist around to try, so he just dropped his head onto his forearms and closed his eyes. He’d just feel. Focus on the paint warming on his skin and the bristles of Tucker’s brush.

“I do. I’ve painted myself before. I knew you’d like it. I have a lot of brushes.” The next swipe curled up and around his shoulder blade.

“That one’s soft, feels like it’s just gliding.” As soon as Tucker picked the brush up off his skin, he broke out in goose bumps and shivered again. “Mmm.”

“Mm-hmm. Oh, this is going to become my new favorite hobby.” A circle decorated the back of his neck, the brush almost rough.

“Do you want to describe what you’re painting, or should it be a total surprise?” He could sort of see which colors Tucker was choosing, but a big swirl around his shoulder and a circle at his neck didn’t tell him much else.

“I’m just decorating, exploring your lines. They’re fascinating.”

“Thank you. It’s great that you have those weights so I can keep up the muscle.” He did it for work at first, but now he just liked how it felt. He liked feeling strong.

Tucker stroked his shoulder blades, digging in with his thumbs, then reaching for more paint and repeating the gesture. He never doubted for a second that Tucker was paying attention to him, was watching him, was into him.

Their capacity for conversation faded, and after a bit he felt himself drift a little, not in a sleepy way, but floating, like meditation. He was following Tucker’s touch, soft and hard, brushes both gentle and powerful, and let that little high just fill his mind. Tucker hummed deep in his chest, painting his ass, his inner thighs, and then a soft fanned brush stroked his balls.

One leg bent up a little all on its own, baring more sensitive skin to Tucker. His breath was trapped in his chest for a second, and then he let it out with a soft moan that was completely uncensored and truthful. It felt good. He wanted Tucker to know.

“So good.” This brush was tiny, almost sharp but not, and when Tucker used it, it made his toes curl.

He inhaled, hissing through his teeth. “Yeah. I like that one.” He loved this space he was in. He felt warm, aroused, so completely into what Tucker was doing he wasn’t aware of anything else. Not even the music he’d chosen.

“I do too. I can get in close. Details are important.”

“Mmm. I’m a fan of the details, baby.” Tucker’s patience was impressive. Tiny brush, something like twenty square feet of bare skin… this could be a blissfully long, lovely night.

“I am too.” Tucker started in on his legs, the long, careful lines making his eyes go wide.

It became a challenge not to move when Tucker drew his brushes over the back of his knees and around his ankles. “Ticklish. Don’t forget.” Most people outgrew the whole ticklish thing, didn’t they? Well, not him. Calvin gasped and tensed as Tucker zigzagged a brush across the back of his knee on purpose. “Tiger!”

“Uh-huh. You make the paint smell like heaven. I want…. Can I touch you with the paint here? Please?” The words were so careful, but the fingers on his hole were confident.

He lifted his head and nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered on a breath. Literally a breath, he couldn’t quite get his voice under it. It felt like every nerve was firing at once.

“Oh, thank you.” The paint was cool, silky, and utterly foreign, but so right.

“Mmm.” He wanted to tell Tucker how good his hands felt, how much he was enjoying this peculiar kind of contact, but the thoughts spun around in his mind and refused to form themselves into anything resembling words.

---