The Colors Between Us

by Kate Hawthorne

  “Will you look at me?” Roland whispered, raising his hands to untangle Pete and lower him to the ground. Pete hobbled across the concrete toward Donny, his bandaged foot sliding out from underneath him as he went.

  Donny looked up, his eyes sharp and appraising. Roland stepped closer, extending his hand toward him, but stopping before he was close enough to touch. Donny’s breath caught in his chest as he stood only inches away from Roland. His head barely reached Roland’s shoulder and he sucked in a gasp when he felt Roland’s exhaled breath blow across the top of his head.

  Roland’s chest was broad, his shoulders far wider than Donny’s. He thought how nice it would be to tuck himself against Roland’s heaving chest and feel Roland’s arms wrap around his back and hold him. Roland would be far warmer than a body pillow and his arms would hold him in return. Roland’s hips would buck…

  Donny blinked, forcing himself out of that thought. He was not trying to get a fucking boner in front of his sexiest client. He wanted to save that for when he was home alone later and could do something about it.

  Roland grazed his finger across the top of Donny’s collarbone, to his shoulder, and down his arm. His touch was feather-light, like he wasn’t sure if he should allow himself the indulgence of touching someone else’s skin.

  “Can I take you to dinner sometime?” Donny blurted out as he watched the rise and fall of Roland’s chest.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Roland replied, his breath ghosting across Donny’s ear.

  “Why not?” He raised a hand and gently grazed his fingers across Roland’s exposed forearm.

  Roland stepped back, severing their connection. “You don’t know me.”

  Donny raised his eyes to see a look of utter misery cross Roland’s face just as the moment was shattered by the sound of boxes clattering to the ground. They both looked down to see a box of paintbrushes come open and watched the contents roll across the polished floor toward an upside down Pete, who was half hidden under a blank canvas.

  “I’m sorry, he’s a handful,” Donny apologized, dropping to his knees to collect the brushes so he could organize them back into the box. Roland picked up the ones that had rolled farther away and handed them to Donny, connecting their skin once more. Donny yanked his hand away, unable to quell the increasingly deviant thoughts in his head when he was in actual contact with Roland.

  “How are you going to watch him if you have to work? You can’t cart him all over the city with you.” Roland took the box of brushes from Donny and set them on the windowsill, near two containers of paint.

  “I’m off tomorrow, and he can manage the drive for a day or two after that.” Donny side-eyed Pete, not entirely convinced that Pete wouldn’t drive him insane wreaking havoc on all of his deliveries. He just didn’t trust Pete at home with Jack and Jill until the bandage was gone.

  “He can stay with me,” Roland offered, and Donny chuckled.

  “I don’t even know you.”

  Roland took a step closer, then hesitated and stepped back. Donny glanced downward, skated his gaze over the torn of fabric of his sneakers and across the space to Roland’s bare feet. He had long feet and pale, slender toes. Donny couldn’t help but notice how soft Roland’s skin looked, and then couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how badly he wanted to touch it.

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow, then we’ll know each other.” Donny propositioned, looking up, and Roland stared at him like a deer in headlights.

  “I don’t—” Roland started to protest

  Donny smiled and took a step closer. “No, stop. Let me make it easy for you. I’ll bring you dinner. We can eat here. No stress, no pressure. I’ll bring Pete and he can get the lay of the land. Then, when I’m convinced you’re not a serial killer, Pete can stay.”

  Roland nodded. “Alright. What time?”

  Donny smiled. “I’ll be here at six.”

  “Six,” Roland repeated, sounding unsure.

  “Is there anything you won’t eat?”

  “I haven’t eaten much lately,” Roland answered, his voice soft.

  “Well, is there anything you’d like to eat, or do I get to choose?”

  “You choose.”

  Donny nodded. Roland was staring at him again, with those same bottomless green eyes, and Donny felt the muscles in his chest tighten along with the fabric of his pants.

  “I will.”

  Roland’s eyes darted around the room, and Donny felt the energy of their encounter shift. He wanted to learn about Roland, but he felt like he was treacherously close to overstaying his current welcome.

  “So, six then. Can you just sign? I shouldn’t be making dates on the clock, but I couldn’t help myself.” Donny smiled, rubbing the back of his neck while he waited for Roland to sign the paperwork.

  “Oh. Sure, sure thing.” Roland picked up the clipboard, signing and initialing where needed before he set it down on the cart and stepped back.

  Donny moved away from Roland, feeling like they both could use the space, and he clasped his fingers securely around the push handle on the cart so he didn’t do something ridiculous like grab a cock. Either his or Roland’s.

  “So, I’ll see you at six then,” Donny affirmed. Roland nodded, his eyes darting from Donny’s face to the art supplies and back to Donny’s face.

  “At six.”

  Donny wheeled the cart out of the room and Roland followed behind him with Pete a close third. Once they were back in the kitchen, Donny felt somewhat more capable of managing his emotions, and he was thankful for that. He popped the door on the carrier open and scooped Pete up, tucking him safely inside. Pete let out a needy sounding meow and stabbed a paw out through the front of the cage. Donny gently guided it back inside.

  “You’re fine, little dude, we’re on the way home now.”

  He was halfway to the door when Roland called out to him, “Wait a second.”

  Donny stopped and looked back. Roland was a few paces behind him.

  “I just realized I don’t even know your name.” Roland chuckled and looked at the ground before returning his eyes to Donny’s face.

  Donny smiled at the absurdity of this entire scenario before he replied, “I’m Donny.”

  “Donny? Is that short for something?”

  “Adonis,” Donny provided, trying to hide the embarrassment of his given name.

  “Adonis,” Roland repeated back, and it sounded like velvet rolling off his tongue. Donny couldn’t think of a sound he’d ever liked as much.

  Chapter 6

  Water and Vodka

  It was quarter to six and Roland was nervous. His mouth was dry but his palms were not. He’d changed clothes no less than three times before he'd finally settled on jeans and one of the few t-shirts he owned that wasn’t stained with paint. The careful selection hadn’t ended up mattering anyway, because as soon as he was dressed, Roland was back in the studio painting. He’d gone through both containers of blue and made himself at least three more to match. He had canvases washed in nothing but the perfect blue he now recognized as Donny’s eyes.

  He had meant to stop painting in time to clean himself up, but for the first time in months he felt something stirring inside him and it was near painful to be away from his art.

  He hadn’t slept much since agreeing to dinner, either. Accounting partially to the fact he’d slept the entire day prior, and also that he had a message he urgently needed to get onto a canvas. The first thing he’d painted was simply solid blue. Like a giant magnifying glass held up to Donny’s eye. The next canvas, another solid blue, and one more. It was the most beautiful color Roland had ever seen.

  He stopped to mix more paint around two in the morning and struggled to match it the way he wanted. The next four canvases were awkward attempts and blends of dark and light trying to find the right combination. By the eighth canvas, he’d found the color he was looking for and outlined a figure that matched the Donny he saw in his mind. It was all lanky l
imbs and unruly black hair and those goddamn perfect eyes.

  Close to five in the morning, he’d reopened the bottle of vodka he’d taken out right before Donny arrived, and then tossed it empty in the trash before noon. The Donnys he’d been painting in the afternoon devolved into a tangle of abstract limbs and hair, mixed with waves of muted brown and dull yellow-gold that effectively washed out the brightness of his original subject.

  Near three, Roland fell asleep, or passed out, and woke with a headache and a sore neck just before five. He showered, dressed, and his nervousness had forced him back into his studio by way of his kitchen. He’d actually poured some vodka into a glass this time because he wanted to make a good impression when Donny finally arrived. Roland was sure that suitable partners didn’t drink from the bottle. Not that Roland fancied himself to be a prospective, or suitable, partner for anyone, but he needed to see Donny for long enough again so he could paint him better.

  There was a knock at the front door and he set down the paintbrush, rubbing his hands down his chest to dry them off and inadvertently smeared his shirt with paint.

  This was a terrible idea.

  Roland finished his glass of vodka and stuffed the bottle into the freezer before he opened the front door. Donny stood there, as expected. All five-foot-six of him poured into tight red jeans and white v-neck tee. His black hair, like Roland’s earlier paintings, looked like a planned mess, halfway covering one of his perfect blue eyes.

  Roland swallowed, his mouth tasting like bile and vodka.

  “Can I come in?” Donny questioned, tilting his head and lifting his arms which were laden with bags of food.

  “Sorry, yeah. Of course.” He stepped back to let Donny inside. Donny brushed past him, smelling like Chinese food and a subtle hint of cologne.

  “Can you grab Pete?” Donny asked over his shoulder. Roland leaned down and picked up the car carrier, bringing it to the kitchen and setting it down on the island. Donny was pulling containers out of the bag and stacking them side by side on the counter.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a little bit of everything. Some Mongolian beef, kung pao chicken, some crispy shrimp, uhm— egg fried rice and some chow mein. Oh, and it looks like they gave me steamed rice anyway. So, there’s your starch.” Donny chuckled and popped all the containers open. “Do you have plates, or do you want to eat out of the containers?”

  “I can get plates.” Roland clicked the latch on Pete’s carrier and let him out, setting him carefully on the floor before rounding the island to pull plates from a cabinet near the sink. He set them on the counter next to Donny, then pulled two forks out and placed them down as well.

  Donny scooped food onto each plate and grabbed them both, gesturing toward the living room. “Please tell me you eat at the coffee table.” Donny grinned at him, and he nodded. “Did you want to grab drinks, Roland?”

  “Oh, sure. What did you want?” Roland asked, backtracking to the fridge.

  “What do you have?” Donny set the plates on the coffee table and sat on the floor, his back against the couch, and extended his legs in front of him.

  Roland cracked his fridge door open. It was expectedly empty.

  “Water and vodka.”

  Donny laughed, so loud it echoed around the living area like a gunshot. “Do you have any mixers?” Donny pushed off the floor and leaned over the back of the couch to meet Roland’s eyes.

  “No mixers.”

  Donny raised an eyebrow and let out a low whistle.

  “Water is fine then.”

  He poured Donny a glass of water and opened the freezer. He stared at the bottle of vodka. He grabbed a handful of ice and dropped it into Donny’s glass, then a handful of ice into his own glass. Roland’s head throbbed from his hangover, but he pulled the vodka from the freezer and topped off his glass anyway. He joined Donny in the living room, setting both glasses down on the table.

  “Damn, Roland. You don’t fuck around, do you?” Donny gestured to Roland’s completely full glass of booze.

  He shrugged, “It’s just vodka.”

  “Yeah, but everything in moderation. You’ve heard that before, right?” Donny took a bite of Mongolian beef and chewed thoughtfully, watching Roland from the corner of his eye. Roland’s cheeks heated under his beard and he immediately turned defensive.

  “I don’t think you know me well enough to judge my drinking habits, Adonis.” Roland’s voice spewed from his mouth like fire. He took a large swallow of his vodka, setting it back down on the table with a dramatic flourish.

  Donny swallowed and raised an eyebrow. Roland met his stare with angry eyes.

  “Well, that’s the first thing I’ve learned about you.”

  “What? That I drink? Lots of people drink.” Roland picked up his fork and gripped it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  Donny shook his head, “That you don’t like to have your motivations called into question.” He took another bite of food, this time the chicken. “I like the chicken better than the beef, what about you?” Donny asked, effectively changing the subject, and the look on his face challenged Roland to try and backtrack to his argument.

  Roland stabbed his fork into the chicken. This, right here, was why he hadn’t dated anyone after Cody. It was too much work. There was always so much posturing, and speculation, and conversation, and judgement. No one was interested in just letting Roland be.

  When he’d been involved with Cody, he’d tried to find a medication that worked. Something that let him sleep, but not too much, and didn’t make him lose his appetite, or conversely, want to eat his way through an all-you-can-eat buffet twice. Then, just when Roland was starting to feel normal again, Cody left him.

  Cody left, just like Stewart had left, and Roland tossed the meds in a trash can for good. If he was going to be alone, it would be on his terms. He didn’t need medication to help him. He was fine. He’d be fine. And he was fine, he’d been fine, until a few months ago when he stopped being able to make art.

  “Roland?”

  Roland’s mind snapped back to the present, and he was sitting on the floor of his penthouse, inches away from Donny, who was staring expectantly at the piece of chicken dangling from Roland’s fork. Roland shoved the piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed. It tasted bland to him, but he didn’t taste much these days. Even the vodka went down like water.

  “It’s good,” he said to Donny, forcing a smile. Donny squinted, and his face showed a clear indicator he didn’t believe Roland, but thankfully he let it slide.

  “So, what do you do, Roland? Are you a painter?” Donny took a bite of chicken and tilted his head backward toward the hallway that led to Roland’s studio.

  “I am. Although I was finding myself rather uninspired until recently.” Roland took a long swallow of his drink, trying to find the flavor of the liquor before it all slid down his throat, but he failed.

  Donny’s eyes tracked the level of vodka in the glass as Roland set it back down on the table.

  “And you’re a delivery boy?” Roland pushed the rice around his plate.

  “Why, do you have dirty fantasies about taking advantage of your innocent local delivery boy?”

  “You need to spend less time on Porn Hub.” Roland managed to get a chunk of white rice into his mouth. It tasted exactly like the chicken as far as he could tell.

  “That’s probably a fair observation,” Donny acknowledged, “but I haven’t found anyone I’ve been interested in until very recently.”

  Roland wiped the condensation off his glass and licked it off his finger, then traced his fingertip along the outer rim. He didn’t realize how sexual of a thing it was until Donny sucked in a stilted breath beside him and dropped his fork. Donny lowered a hand and tried to adjust himself under the coffee table, but Roland noticed and it took all his willpower to not audibly scoff. Donny must have been hard up if he was getting turned on watching Roland trace his finger around the rim of a drinking glass.


  “You tease,” Donny managed to choke out on a laugh, taking a drink of water and placing the glass back down on the table. His hand was shaking, Roland observed.

  “What?” Roland asked, his voice and his face conveying his shock.

  “Come on, Roland, we’re adults here.”

  Roland squinted his eyes, his brow furrowed in confusion.

  “You really don’t get how much I want to be inside of you right now?” Donny tilted his head inquisitively. “I like to think we’re both at the age where we wouldn’t say yes to a date with someone we didn’t want to have sex with, aren’t we?”

  Roland flexed his hands into fists, unsure of what to say or do.

  “Stop me if it’s too much, okay?” Donny exhaled the words as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Roland’s. Roland gasped, and his lips parted. Donny darted his tongue inside briefly before pulling it back, as if asking for approval. He brought his hands up and slid them into Roland’s hair, fanning out the strands as his fingers made their way to Roland’s scalp. Donny held Roland’s head in his hands and kissed him. It was soft and exploratory. Roland enjoyed it and his tongue swirled cautiously with Donny’s as Donny leaned his weight further into him.

  He leveled his hands on Donny’s hips, and shifted him over so Donny was on top of him. Donny moved Roland’s hair to the side and kissed a line from his temple to his chin and back to his ear. He sucked Roland’s earlobe into his mouth, and Roland bucked up against Donny, their cocks grazing through the fabric of their pants.

  “Tell me I can fuck you,” Donny groaned into Roland’s ear and pushed down, grinding against Roland’s erection. He pushed Donny’s t-shirt up just enough so his fingers could dig into Donny’s skin. Roland pulled their mouths apart and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Yes,” he whispered against Donny’s lips.

  “Take me to a bed.”

  Chapter 7