Art House

by Charley Descoteaux

  Chapter Seven

  CHASE HAD spent three days after his conversation with Jess obsessively checking his phone and jumping at every sound. Even though everyone he wanted to talk to had his number, Chase started going out a few times a day just to walk around. He even took a pedicab out. On that third day he quit the pedicab job for good. It broke his heart to pedal around the Pearl and Northeast neighborhoods and see Garrett’s tags when he couldn’t see Garrett. The kittens were bad enough—they reminded Chase of the times when they’d gone out together in the early hours of the morning and left happy little pictures for kids to see the next day on their way to school. Those happened in the early days of their relationship, before the first time he’d woken to find Garrett gone. Almost five years of bliss.

  Five years wasn’t long, but that seemed like something that had happened to another man. A man who thought he’d found his Happily Ever After, as unlikely as that was in reality.

  But when Chase saw Garrett’s signature tag the first time in the Pearl, he’d almost crashed the pedicab. Seeing it unexpectedly like that made him feel so many things it was unreal—Garrett’s profile with dandelion fluff blowing away instead of hair. It chilled and excited him at the same time. Chilled because in his current emotional state, it looked to Chase like a picture of someone who’d had the back of their head blown away; excited because it was obviously put there for him. He didn’t think Garrett would do that, leave such a public warning if he intended to harm himself, but he couldn’t know for certain.

  After further thought, Chase had to admit he didn’t know what it meant. Was it for him at all? Was it even Garrett? It wouldn’t be the first time two artists had coincidentally come up with the same idea without having any interaction beforehand. Chase almost texted Garrett to ask. More than once or twice.

  But I’m a chickenshit, so I haven’t.

  He tossed his brush into the jar, and as soon as it hit, he winced at his carelessness. He wasn’t destitute but couldn’t afford to ruin a perfectly good brush for no reason. After giving it a thorough, careful cleaning he flopped onto the bed on his back. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to just let his mind wander in its current state, but it was day four post-Jess, and he couldn’t help himself. He missed Garrett so badly he could barely work, barely think. Chase told himself it was the not knowing that was the worst, but that wasn’t true. The worst was wondering if Garrett would come back, not when.

  It felt as sappy as it sounded, but Chase played a montage of their relationship in his head while he stared vacantly at the blank ceiling. He thought about the night they’d met, when he found a lovely wisp of a young guy looking deeply at his favorite painting and been at his mercy ever since. The nights Garrett took him out to do his guerilla street art—tags so beautiful and sweet they often weren’t painted over the next morning, if ever. A few still remained, faded as they were, on overpasses and bridge supports throughout the city.

  Chase’s memories moved to the exquisitely painful subject of Garrett’s body, the way he made love, as though it were important to get everything just right.

  I don’t deserve him.

  From basking in the good times to wallowing in the shit in three steps. That’s why I don’t deserve him. I bring him down when all I want to do is make him happy.

  Chase worried he was too old for Garrett, too worn out and jaded. Seventeen years was a long time, a big difference when it came to age. Garrett had been a baby when Chase had moved out of his dad’s house, maybe not even old enough to talk yet. And he worried that since Garrett was an adult now—and damn smart—that he knew Chase was too old for him. Back when they’d first started, when Garrett was a starry-eyed seventeen-year-old caught up in the idea he was getting a serious artist….

  Don’t go there, man.

  A soft knock on the bedroom door startled a sound from Chase. Whoever it was would probably think he was asleep and leave him alone. Not many people it could be. My life is small and only getting smaller.

  Regardless, he had no plans to give up his comfortable wallowing to try and be social. He wasn’t dressed to answer the door anyway, wearing only a faded pair of green plaid boxers—a pair Garrett had bought one year around the holidays. He did his best work without any clothes on at all but didn’t have the heart to be fully nude when he was so lonely.

  I haven’t done my best work in years. No great loss.

  When the doorknob turned, Chase sat up. When the door opened and Garrett peeked in, it took Chase’s breath away.

  “Hey. Did I wake you?”

  “No.” He wasn’t sure Garrett heard; he barely heard himself. “It’s good to see you.”

  Wow, great line.

  Also, the understatement of the week. Chase wanted to apologize, to throw himself at Garrett’s feet and beg his forgiveness for being so stupid, but couldn’t seem to move. He still sat with his legs over the far side of the bed, twisted to look at the vision stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. It almost felt like he was dreaming, but he’d never ached so badly from a dream before, so hopefully it was real.

  It had to be real, because it was happening differently. If he were dreaming, things would be happening the way they had in the past. Chase hadn’t gotten a call first, and Garrett for sure didn’t look tentative or the least bit upset. He looked amazing—confident and relaxed, even with the shadows of bruises still on his face. He had shaved, and Chase missed the facial hair, but Garrett could never be anything short of gorgeous in his eyes.

  Garrett moved closer to the bed, breaking the spell Chase was under. He stood and closed all but one step of the distance between them.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Garrett shook his head, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay if I—”

  Before he could finish the one thing that was playing out the same as it always did—Okay if I stay?—Chase leaned forward and kissed him. Softly, only enough to stop him from finishing that sentence. If everything played out differently this time, then maybe it would be the last time they spent days—or weeks—apart, the last time he drove away the love of his life with careless words or boneheaded actions.

  The kiss was short, and when Garrett pulled back he was smiling. “I guess that’s a yes.” He reached out and rubbed his thumb over a splotch of green paint near Chase’s left nipple. “Were you working?”

  “Taking a break.”

  “Want to take a longer break?”

  “I really do.”

  Garrett gripped Chase’s upper arms and pulled him close. Still a little stunned, Chase didn’t move. He sighed when Garrett wrapped both arms around him and squeezed tightly. “I missed you.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Chase embraced him and squeezed, burying his face in Garrett’s soft auburn hair. He moaned when Garrett slid both hands past the waistband of his boxers and pushed them to the floor. A twinge of embarrassment made it past the relief and desire flooding his mind when Garrett grasped his cock and it didn’t even say hello back.

  It did, eventually, and Chase welcomed Garrett home the way he always did.

  CHASE WOKE a half hour later feeling more rested than he had in the past two weeks of nights. And then realized he was alone in the large bed. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Garrett wasn’t lying beside him. His throat constricted, and in that moment, he thought he experienced true despair.

  He rolled toward Garrett’s side of the bed, the sheet that might still smell like him, depending on how long ago he’d gone, and saw him. Garrett was sitting on the floor beside his easel, curled into a ball, hugging his legs and drawing on the wall near the floor. Beautifully nude. Garrett must have heard the rustle of the bed because his hand stopped.

  “Are you tagging the bedroom wall?”

  Garrett turned his head and rested his cheek on his knee. His smile warmed Chase to the marrow of his bones. “Sorry.”

  “Finish it? I love watching
you work.”

  Garrett’s smile turned a touch shy and he resumed his work, not quite turning away to do so. Chase meant what he said about watching, but at the moment he couldn’t spare much energy for the actual content of said work. He was happy to lounge on the bed and watch the fine muscles in Garrett’s arm and shoulder, to draw his gaze down his lean torso and the curve of his delectable ass.

  “You’re the most talented artist I’ve ever seen.”

  “Am not,” Garrett answered quickly, with a smile in his voice. “You’re better.”

  Chase sputtered out something that passed for laughter. “What? That’s crazy. I paint the equivalent of hipster advertisements. Corporate art.” Chase waved at the canvases in the corner nearest the door—views of Mt. Hood and Multnomah Falls and the Japanese Gardens in various stages of completion. He’d had more trouble than usual keeping his mind on a single canvas, but it didn’t matter much when the paintings were destined to hang in Puddle Jumper’s dining room to replace the ones purchased by tourists. He did like the two versions of the Portland Oregon sign, though: he’d replaced the words “Portland Oregon” on the iconic sign with the name of a local band on one, and a popular microbrewery on the other. At least they’re different.

  “Just because you do that, doesn’t mean that’s all you can do.”

  Chase scooted to the edge of the bed, arm hanging over the side. To get a better look, to watch Garrett work. At first his drawing had looked like the kittens, and they were at or below child height. But that’s not what they were. Garrett was drawing two men having sex. At least that’s what it looked like before he scooted in front of it. The smile he flashed back at Chase was wonderfully naughty, so it might be.

  “Don’t look at it.”

  “Are you getting up?”

  Garrett nodded without checking to see that Chase was watching.

  “Okay.” It didn’t take much effort to keep his eyes away from the wall. Not when Garrett stood and turned around. Every time Chase saw Garrett’s nude body he was blown away by his clear, fair skin, the dark auburn hair on his chest, stomach, and legs, his perfectly proportioned and uncut cock. Many times he’d bitten his tongue to keep from asking why Garrett hadn’t been circumcised, whether it was for the same reason he hadn’t been. Chase wanted to know but also didn’t, about equally. Sure, the seesaw tilted in either direction on different days, but never far enough to prompt the question. He didn’t want to know if Garrett had also been too sick when he was born for anyone to worry about something as insignificant as a circumcision, any more than he wanted to field the same question turned back on himself. More because of what it might lead to than the actual content of the answer.

  Chase thought Garrett would come back to bed, but he went toward the easel.

  “Is this what I do to you?” Garrett’s voice sounded clogged with emotion. Not all of it sad, but enough.

  “No. What? It’s—”

  “It is.” Garrett turned and looked at Chase for a long moment. After a quick glance back at the canvas, he knelt beside the bed at Chase’s head. “It’s beautiful, but it flays me. I don’t want to make you sad.”

  Chase had been watching Garrett’s mouth—he loved Garrett’s mouth, the perfect asymmetry of it, with his full bottom lip and thinner, bowed top lip, not quite a Cupid’s bow but close—but when a tear skated past one corner, he looked up into the beloved smoky hazel gaze. He wanted to protest but couldn’t find his voice the first time he tried. He extended a hand to Garrett, an invitation to return to bed. “It’s only a landscape.”

  “I know you’re not trying to tell me a landscape can’t be sad.”

  “No.”

  Garrett crawled up onto the bed and on top of him. As he came, Chase rolled onto his back, reveling in the familiarity of Garrett’s movements and the confidence behind each one.

  “You make me feel everything. Before I met you, that would have been a desert.”

  “You’re exaggerating.” Garrett stretched out on top of Chase, kissing his collarbone and his throat, rubbing their bodies together gently, almost reverently. “Your work was so evocative.”

  “No. It’s true. I thought I felt things, but the moment I saw you, I knew it had all been a lie. A fake.” Chase forced himself to stop. Even if it were true—and it was; before he met Garrett he hadn’t known what it felt like to love someone so hard their happiness, their life, was more important than his own—he didn’t want to seem pathetic. He pulled Garrett into a hug, and they just lay in each other’s arms for a long moment.

  He wasn’t sure if he should break the spell they were under but knew there was something he needed to say. Before he could let himself chicken out.

  “I talked with Jess.”

  Garrett squeezed his arm around Chase’s waist and snuggled against his chest. “I know. She told me. I’m glad you told me too.” He tensed for a second and then relaxed again. Mostly. “She didn’t say anything that made you not want to have sex with me?”

  “No. Why? We just—”

  “Okay. Just checking.”

  Chase eased Garrett onto the bed beside him and held his cheek in the palm of his hand. “The words that would make me not want to touch you, to make love to you, they don’t exist.”

  “Okay.” He looked a touch unsure, even after Chase kissed him.

  “I need more time, that’s all.” Garrett relaxed completely at that and allowed Chase to pull him close. Chase felt slightly nauseous at the reminder of everything that was between them, how young Garrett was and how young he wasn’t. Not to mention all the IQ points separating them. Garrett was ready to go again, and Chase had no clue how long it would be until he felt the same.

  “Oh. I left some Chinese in the fridge. Are you hungry?”

  “No.” He was, but didn’t want to release Garrett, didn’t want to let him outside his arms’ reach.

  “I’ll get it after.” Garrett slid down Chase’s body, kissing and caressing, and by the time he reached his dick, it was waiting.

  When Chase woke up from his second power nap after his second orgasm, Garrett was sitting cross-legged beside him on the bed. He was eating some kind of noodles from a to-go container, his cheeks tinged a light pink. “That smells great.”

  “Tastes even better.” Garrett kissed him with sweet-and-sour sauce on his lips. “We should go dancing tonight.”

  Chapter Eight

  GARRETT HADN’T had so much fun in so long… he couldn’t remember the last time. He’d suggested the place where Chase would feel the most comfortable—the bar he went to with the guys before Garrett had even met him, his favorite dive, which hadn’t been redecorated since the early seventies. Should be called The Gay House of Kitsch.

  Luckily it wasn’t too crowded or too deserted. Enough men danced so he knew Chase wouldn’t feel like he was on display, but not so much that they were squeezed against strangers. Even back when they danced a few times a week they didn’t know everyone, and that had been years ago. The crowd changed—men rotated in and out as they found love or moved away, and new guys turned twenty-one all the time.

  He was so happy dancing he almost worried he was manic. So far, he hadn’t had any truly manic episodes, so he told himself not to even think about it. It wasn’t often that Chase was comfortable enough to kiss and grope him in public, and Garrett loved it. He understood why Chase felt the way he did—twenty or so years ago, it was much more dangerous to be perceived as gay, even in “liberal” Portland—but he wished Chase could move past the feeling of impending doom he seemed to get from the mere idea of a public display of affection. Not that he would ever admit to feeling something like that—too dramatic. Until then, Garrett would take whatever he could get, whenever and wherever he could get it.

  When Chase started to look tired, Garrett took him back to the table and pulled Kyle out onto the floor. Kyle and Bran had been sitting at the booth they claimed at the beginning of the evening, barely moving except to grab another round or an appe
tizer or two. They looked happy, but they always did while gazing rapturously into each other’s eyes and making out hard enough to attract attention even at a gay bar.

  Kyle started to shoot longing looks toward the table, so Garrett went easy on him and let him get back where he really wanted to be: with Bran’s hands all over him. That thought sent a shiver through Garrett’s body as they walked off the dance floor.

  “You okay?” Kyle asked.

  Garrett laughed. “Yeah.” He would not be telling Kyle about walking into the kitchen in the buff and finding Bran there, nor about the slow and appraising look Bran took before focusing on his face. Purely innocent, yes—who wouldn’t check out a naked guy in their own kitchen—but Garrett still felt his face heat at the memory. If he’d thought they weren’t alone in the condo, he would have at least pulled jeans on before leaving the bedroom to get food.

  “Are you blushing?”

  “Ha, no. It’s just warm in here.”

  Kyle slowly raised one eyebrow and grinned. Obviously he knew that was a lie, but Garrett didn’t think he’d call him on it, and he didn’t. Still, Garrett’s plans to get Bran out onto the dance floor evaporated. He could still barely look him in the face, and every time he did, Garrett imagined Bran was picturing him nude. Unlikely, yes, but instead of suggesting Bran join him on the dance floor, he excused himself to the men’s room.

  Feeling self-conscious, Garrett laughed at himself even as he ducked into a stall. As he impatiently did what he was there to do, Garrett felt a little light-headedness overtake him, a familiar fuzzy feeling that made his gut clench and his heart twist in his chest. Barely finished, he braced his hands against both sides of the stall and tried to ride the dizziness out on his feet. Slowly the spinning sensation gained strength until he felt like the whole room spun around him, trying to throw him to the ground. Sweat prickled his skin, and it was all he could do not to moan aloud as he pressed his right shoulder against the wall in a futile attempt to steady himself. Closing his eyes never helped, and often made it worse, so Garrett focused on the circular button on the flushing mechanism and tried to breathe evenly.