True Colors

by Clare London

  This is how it’s always going to be… isn’t it?

  Miles groaned above him. Inside Zeke, his cock throbbed suddenly, swelling and heralding its imminent climax. Zeke tightened himself, pressing himself back into the harbor of his lover’s body. Miles slid a hand under Zeke’s stomach, grasped at Zeke’s cock, and began to pump him. Zeke knew he wouldn’t last long. His climax already threatened, his cock jutting out from his groin, thick, hot, and heavy. The muscles across his belly were taut; his whole body was as tight as a wire with the thrill and the need for Miles. He wanted to call to his lover; he wanted to tell him how he felt. To ask him to join in the amusement and the joy.

  For once, he couldn’t find the words. Instead, he clenched his muscles again around Miles’ cock and allowed the waves of ecstasy to flood his nerves. The floor creaked very slightly underneath them. There was the sound of sweaty, slapping flesh as Miles thrust in and out, and Zeke felt the muscles in his calves straining in protest as he held himself up for their best comfort.

  “Shit, Miles….” And then his climax ripped through him, bursting out of his cock and spilling over Miles’ strong hand, the come sending its steamy, thick trail over his fingers and splattering down onto the bare boards of the floor. Zeke shook under the other man’s body, his limbs jerking with the force of the reaction. There was a sharp, sweet urgency to this coming—not that he hadn’t been desperate before, many other times. But there was an emotion much deeper this time; much more than just the passion and lust. His chest was too tight, his limbs too weak. There was a pain inside that felt like heartache, the suspicion of tears springing to his eyes.

  Miles shuddered above him, his hips slamming tightly up against Zeke’s buttocks. He gave a deep, guttural groan of satisfaction as he also came, and the muscles of his torso tightened fiercely against Zeke’s supporting back. His arm clutched tightly at Zeke’s body, anchoring them both in the sensation.

  Don’t leave me. Zeke could hear the thread of a new desperation in the words in his head. He didn’t want Miles to hear him; he didn’t dare say it aloud, as he seemed to have little control over his voice tonight. But he couldn’t stop the emotion itself. The anguish came from nowhere and consumed him.

  Don’t ever leave me, Miles.

  MILES drew out of Zeke as carefully as he could, but Zeke’s legs still buckled underneath him. He slumped down to sit on his ass on the cold boards. Miles tried to help him down but his hands were shaking too much. He felt like months of need and desire had just been released. Instead, he turned his back to the wall and slid down to the floor beside Zeke.

  For a while, they sat there, panting, trying to regain their normal breathing. Zeke was completely naked. Miles still had his pants on, but they were open and snagging halfway down his hips. He dragged a handkerchief from his pocket and pulled off the condom with a deep sigh.

  Zeke gave a soft chuckle. Miles sneaked a look at him out of the corner of his eye. He looked so good. He looked flushed, and his chest heaved a little after the exertions, but he looked damned happy. Physically satisfied; content. Zeke glanced back over and caught his gaze. His tongue licked out and moistened his dry lips.

  Miles shivered happily. “Want some water?” he murmured.

  They both stared over to the opposite corner of the gallery, where the light glinted off the edge of the water cooler. Then they both looked back at each other—propped against the wall, their breathing harsh in the still air, their bodies shining with sweat. There were clothes in a heap beside them and their critical muscles were probably still screaming complaints. Miles smiled.

  Neither of us looks as if we’ll be moving any time soon.

  “I’m not bothered,” said Zeke, lightly. “Can’t make the distance yet, to be honest.”

  They both laughed. Miles thought it had a relaxed but weary sound. “Remember, Zeke, you said you fucked with plenty of enthusiasm?”

  Zeke flinched a little beside him.

  “Love the enthusiasm,” Miles murmured. He leaned his head back against the wall and let his hands fall limply to his sides.

  A grin broke out over Zeke’s face and his eyes sparkled. “Welcome back, Miles,” he teased.

  Miles grinned back. It was a companionable feeling, sitting here with Zeke, in the afterglow of fantastic sex. Of course, the evening hadn’t exactly started out very promisingly. He needed to speak to Zeke about that. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and his foot knocked against the cart, causing one of its wheels to squeak. “Look. What you said earlier, Zeke….”

  Zeke grimaced. “It was shit,” he said, sharply. “Forget it. I was out of order, okay?”

  Miles ignored him. “Everything has gone, you said. Everything that matters to you. I want to know if you meant it. What you meant.”

  Zeke rolled his eyes. He rested his head back against the wall as well. “I don’t know what the fuck I meant, Miles. I don’t know what to think, half the time. It’s all just words to me: matters; cares; wants. Just words. I haven’t got time to talk it all out.”

  Miles kept silent.

  Zeke made a sound of frustration. “I’ve had a couple of bad nights, you know? Cut me some slack. I just… look, I’m just talking crap. While you were away I brooded, I suppose. Me; you; the gallery. Stuff. But whatever I think, I can’t get away from the crap. I’m nothing on my own. I’ve nothing to offer. Things just don’t work for me.”

  “No. Listen to me.”

  Zeke sighed. He wasn’t listening. “I wanted to be different from Jacky, you know? Loved him… but I didn’t want to make the same mistakes. Wanted to be different.”

  “You are,” whispered Miles. “You’re so much more than nothing that I can’t find the words to describe it.” Zeke was shaking his head, but Miles continued. “You’re bright and bold and you speak your mind, even—”

  “If it’s bullshit?” Zeke frowned.

  Miles tsked. “You’re honest and talented and you’ve worked damned hard for something that you’ve committed to.” Sounds like me. Who’d said something like that to him recently? Are we that alike after all?

  There was a short silence. Miles felt one of his calves cramping up and his ass felt numb from sitting on the floor. He forced himself to speak again. “Do you want to leave, then? Do you want to finish this? If that’s part of the problem—if it’s causing you such grief—I… I can let you go from the job.”

  Zeke’s head was dropped to his chest, staring at his own lap. He didn’t want to meet Miles’ eyes, did he? What did he fear? What would he say? “You’d do that? Let me give it up?”

  What? Let you go from the job? From me? Miles felt nauseous. His words felt like hot, dry sand in his mouth. “If that’s what you want. No point in having a hostile employee….”

  “I’m an executive, I’ll have you know.”

  “Yeah,” smiled Miles, a little sadly. “So you are.” There was another silence.

  “Okay,” Miles said. He slid his legs out in front of him and let loose a small groan as a joint creaked. “I’m going to say this, whether you listen or not. I didn’t mean to take everything from you. It was never meant that way. I just saw the gallery deal. It was a business matter. I saw what I wanted.”

  “I know that,” grumbled Zeke. “You didn’t take it away from me; of course you didn’t. I acted like a spoiled kid earlier. You just bought it. It was me who gave it away.”

  “So take it back.”

  “Huh?” Zeke stared at him, startled.

  “Take back the gallery,” said Miles, sharply. “It can be yours again. All of it.”

  “Don’t be fucking stupid,” protested Zeke. “I can’t ever afford that, even at the stupid rates you pay. And there’s no other way I could take anything off you.”

  They glared at each other for a moment. Then Zeke grunted and reached out for his crumpled shorts.

  Miles felt the warmth of Zeke’s body rolling away. His gut cramped. He felt the withdrawal even more deeply than that physical s
ign. Zeke wriggled his shorts onto his ankles and knelt, pulling them back up to cover himself.

  Miles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m finding this difficult, Zeke—carrying on like this. I don’t want to, but it’s the way I am. It’s hard… never knowing how you’ll be. Never knowing how you feel toward me.”

  “You’re… we’re great, of course.” Zeke’s voice sounded hollow. “Anything else is just more words, isn’t it?”

  “No,” said Miles, deliberately. “There should be more, I think. That’s the problem. More than just this overwhelming lust….”

  “Nothing wrong with lust,” Zeke muttered. “Damn sight more reliable than all that love and devotion stuff.”

  Miles smiled. Tonight, he didn’t seem to be able to do that without sadness. “You may be right, of course. But I care for you as well, Zeke. I care a hell of a lot.” Not just words, but feelings. That’s what overwhelms me. Zeke’s disapproving silence was like a fist around his windpipe, throttling him. He was determined to speak, though, even if it were the last time he had the chance. “You’ve changed me, Zeke—just meeting you; just being with you. I can’t describe it, because it’s been a revelation to me, and I haven’t really got my head around it yet. And that’s half the problem, isn’t it?” He laughed, self-consciously. “My difficulties in handling this properly, trying to offer you what you want. But it’s been magnificent. I want you to know that.”

  Zeke was staring down at him. His hand paused at the waistband of his shorts and he sat back on his heels. His eyes were wide and fixed on Miles’ mouth, like he was trying to understand words in an alien language. He looked stricken.

  Miles struggled on. “You see, I don’t want to be always hiding away in the gallery, meeting only at night, fucking in the dark. You know, just as we have been. It’s exciting—God, it’s exciting—but I don’t want that to be all there is. Getting off on the conflict; ignoring everything else for the sake of fabulous sex.” Hadn’t Zeke said that to him once, that he didn’t want the intimacy to be good for the wrong reasons? Had all that been forgotten?

  “Zeke, I want to spend the days with you, as well. As a couple.” He thought he’d forgotten how to breathe properly, because his chest was hurting so much. “I want to be with you. Openly. Publicly.” Zeke shifted again beside him, and Miles realized how hot he felt. The pulse inside his head hammered strongly. “I know you’re not looking for that, Zeke, but it’s something I have to say for my own peace of mind. I’ve never known anyone like you—I’ve never had anything like this before. Hell, I don’t want anything like this again. At least, not with anyone else. I want to spend months learning more about you….” Years. “I’ve never felt this passion before.” His voice was softening further and further; he’d never had such trouble trying to find projection. “The color-blindness extended to more than my sight. I never saw such colors in life—never saw the things you show me now.” He couldn’t find any more words. He thought he should probably get up and make his way home now, before Zeke had to ask him to.

  But it was Zeke who spoke next, his voice suspiciously quiet. “You’re astonishing, Miles Winter. You’re… I never met anyone like you. You say I’ve changed you. I doubt it, man. I’m just a bit of experimentation for you. Something a bit different.”

  “No,” replied Miles. The pain in his chest was even sharper now. “You misunderstand. You have no idea of my experiences before you met me, and I’d thank you not to assume you do. That’s not what I meant at all. I know what I want, but I understand that you don’t necessarily feel the same.”

  Zeke flinched. Miles thought that maybe his words had been harsh—but then, Zeke’s had been patronizing.

  “Sure. Okay. You understand. Yeah, of course you do. I can’t give you more than this, Miles. I guess that’s what I’ve been trying to say all this time.”

  Miles’ pain was still acute, but he felt quite calm now. He felt a great relief for having spoken his true feelings. He knew that he wouldn’t get the same from Zeke—and he’d make sure he didn’t ask again. He could live with the misery, he thought. For a while, anyway. It was all about managing his expectations, wasn’t it?

  He’d wanted to tell Zeke that he’d take whatever was on offer, for as long as it was on offer. His feelings didn’t really matter; it’d be enough for him. But he knew that was a lie—just as he’d known that his pride wouldn’t let him do that. But he didn’t know where to go from here.

  Zeke’s words were almost a whisper now. “I wish I knew what I wanted… I wish I were you, Miles.”

  “Stupid idea,” Miles snapped. “Stupid ambition too.”

  Zeke was still musing aloud. “Your confidence; your assurance. It’s fucking attractive. I wish other things too—other stupid things. I want you to know what I really think, rather than I open my mouth every time and out comes more crap. Like I wish you had something else of mine other than those two old pictures. Wish I could give you something else….”

  “I don’t want anything like that from you, Zeke.” Miles sighed. “Though I’d like to share my collection with you sometime, see your reactions to it. See what artistic tastes we may have in common.”

  “After the show, then,” said Zeke, so softly that Miles almost missed it.

  “You want to see it?”

  “Sure.”

  Miles wanted to shout. I want to show it to you. I want to show you how I feel, show you how I really am. He didn’t. He rather thought he’d spoken more than his fair share already; if he said any more, he thought he’d run the risk of breaking everything up completely. He still hadn’t got a definite response from Zeke about whether he wanted to leave his job or not. Dammit, he didn’t want to hear!

  Zeke turned away from Miles again, groaning slightly as he struggled to his feet, pulling up his shorts properly and wincing at the returning circulation to his legs. “Got to go now, anyway. Got to get some last things ready for tomorrow. You’d better go home tonight. I don’t need any more distraction.” He smiled gently as he spoke, obviously trying to relieve the harshness of the words. “Leave me to finish up here, Miles.”

  Miles stared back at him, wondering if the ambiguity in Zeke’s words was deliberate or not.

  “It’s been a hell of a night, hasn’t it?” said Zeke. It sounded like a plea.

  “You’re damned right it has,” replied Miles, softly. He got carefully to his feet, scooping up his creased shirt and zipping up his pants.

  “I… need to think things through, Miles. You know?”

  “I know,” said Miles. “So do I.” He looked up at Zeke, whose hand was on the apartment door, ready to open it wider and go through. He didn’t say anything to try to stop him.

  Zeke sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, okay?”

  And then, before Miles could say anything else, he closed the door very quietly behind him.

  Chapter 10

  ZEKE stood a foot away from the far wall of the gallery, a cleaning cloth in his right hand and a roll of masking tape around his left wrist. He sighed. Difficult with the pen in his teeth, but what the hell.

  His shoulders were covered with dust and he’d caught his unbound curls a couple of times on the edge of the displays, tangling them painfully. His sweats had almost worn through one knee because he’d spent the afternoon kneeling down and scrabbling across the floor as he set out the exhibition to his liking.

  It had to be past five o’clock, because the light outside the gallery was fading gradually. He didn’t know what time it was exactly. Mind you, he didn’t know when he’d last had a watch, or where he’d left the one he did. It never used to bother him.

  There was a tentative voice behind him—Tony’s. “The staff are on their way for the final run-through, Zeke. And the caterers, and the preview photographers.”

  “And?” growled Zeke. He reached out and shifted one of the paintings slightly to the right.

  “You’ve been here since 5 a.m., Zeke,” came Malia’s voice, from
behind Tony. “We’re all here now. You can hand it over to us and get yourself ready.”

  “It’s okay,” he mumbled, not really listening. “I didn’t sleep well, anyway. Easier to get up and do some work down here.” There was a draft from the front door as it opened, and his head snapped up. It wasn’t like he was expecting someone. Not yet.

  “It’s the catalogs, the last two boxes,” called Tony, dashing over to accept the delivery.

  Zeke let his head drop back down. The muscles across his shoulders had tightened up instinctively.

  Unexpectedly, Malia put a hand on his arm. “Zeke,” she said gently. “Have you heard anything I said? It’s almost six p.m. now, and you need to get ready, unless you’re greeting your public in those.” He glanced at her elegant skirt suit and carefully made-up face, and then down at his own sweats and mottled blue T-shirt. He grinned.

  “Sweetie,” she said, wrinkling her nose slightly. “Unless masking tape is the new accessory and dust an artistic statement, you’d better shower and get dressed to kill.”

  “There’s plenty of time….” But she was gently pushing him toward the door of his apartment. He yawned, and moved a little sluggishly.

  “I’ll send for more coffee,” said Tony, even before Malia had to suggest it.

  “Is it okay, though, Malia?” asked Zeke, abruptly. His eyes flew over everything, seeing it all, focusing on nothing.

  “The show? Of course it is. There’s no doubt, you know? It’s going to be a riot, Zeke—an absolute success. Like last time, but better. Dammit, but haven’t you done it again? Just look at this room.”

  “I don’t know….”

  Malia made an unladylike snort. “Get the hell upstairs and make yourself the enfant terrible again, okay?” She softened her voice. “Zeke, honey, we’re proud of you. We’re proud of what we’re doing here. Please let us help you out.”