by Lynn Stark
Deacon made his choices from the showcase, paid for them, then picked up the stacked boxes. He hadn’t been able to stop at the chocolate cake. There was fudge and eclairs, too. As he walked outside and onto the sidewalk, he happened to glance to the right and saw a small figure bundled up in a parka that would have been more fitting for minus fifty-degree weather rather than the chilly but otherwise pleasant evening.
His eyebrows shot up when he saw the yellow ducky slippers, and he had to admit curiosity got the better of him. Deacon had no clue who the person was. After placing the boxes on the hood of the SUV, he headed toward the drugstore, where the person had gone into. It only took a moment to locate the figure. Deacon was tall enough to see over the shelves in every aisle. Spotting the top of the hood two aisles over, he moved in order to head him off.
When he did so, he was shocked. “Neville!” Misery-filled, watery eyes looked up at him. The tip of his small, pointed nose was red, and he wiped at it with a tissue. “What are you doing here, buddy? I thought I left you to sleep.”
“You did, but I couldn’t.” Neville sniffed again. It wasn’t a good sound. “I feel ten times worse than when you were there, what, an hour ago?” Deacon nodded. “I have to get something to make me feel better. I feel like I got run over.”
Deacon could believe it. If the man felt half as bad as he looked, he felt like crap. “Okay. Have you been to a doctor yet?” Neville shook his head. “Well, this is what’s going to happen, and I don’t want any lip from you. After I drop some food off at the sheriff’s station, I’m taking you to the clinic to get checked out.” Neville looked at the floor and mumbled something. “What was that?”
Neville tipped his head back so Deacon could see past the hood with the faux wolf fur trim. “I hate doctors. They always seem to want to stick a needle in me.”
“I think you’re beyond the needle-sticking phase of your illness. Did you get a flu shot this year?”
The hood fell back as Neville shook his head. He grimaced, his plump lips twisting. “No. I’ve been so busy I forgot to get one. Looks like it might have found me.”
“Maybe. Let’s let a doctor determine that.”
A half hour later a doctor was doing just that. Neville was wearing only his ducky slippers, bright green leggings, and a purple, pink, and white tie-dye fleece shirt as he sat on the examination table. Under the bright lights, Deacon was tempted to put on his sunglasses, which were in his right pocket. The man certainly loved color. He looked like a rainbow.
“I’m afraid you have the flu, young man. If you work, or go to school, you will just have to forgo those activities. There’s no point in spreading this illness to others.”
“I can do that. But I want to feel better now.”
The man gave him a gentle smile. “That’s going to take a few days. I want you to eat light, but eat, drink a lot of fluids, and get plenty of rest. I’ll give you a prescription for the sinus infection. At least I can help with that.” He turned to the laptop open on a small table nearby and tapped the information into it. “All you have to do is stop at the clinic’s pharmacy before you leave. It shouldn’t take long for it to be filled.”
Neville hopped off the table. The duck slippers quacked. “Thank you, doctor.”
“You’re quite welcome, Neville. I hope you feel better soon. By the way, I like your slippers. I have a pair, but they’re frogs.” Deacon and Neville both looked at the doctor as if he had just grown a second head. He laughed at them. “They were a gift from my four-year-old grandson.” He moved toward the door. “Don’t forget to pick up your prescriptions before you leave.”
“I won’t.”
Once the doctor left, Deacon picked up Neville’s coat and reached for his hand. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you out of here and back in bed.”
“You know, there was a time when hearing a hot guy like you say something like that would have turned me to mush, but I’m already mush and all I want to do is sleep.”
Chuckling, Deacon led Neville through the clinic to the pharmacy. There was a glass booth behind a locked door. The only way to get to the drugs was to find a way through bulletproof glass and a lock that could keep a velociraptor out. The pharmacist waved to them, and they soon had the prescriptions and were on their way. By the time they reached Neville’s apartment, he was clearly wiped out. Neville’s hand was so shaky he could barely get the key in the lock.
Neville visited the bathroom after shedding his parka. Once he was in his bed, he pulled the blankets over him and appeared to be on the verge of realizing his dearest dream at the moment. Sleep.
“Nuh-uh,” Deacon said as he held pills in his one hand and a glass of water in the other. “You have to take your medicine first. Then you can rest while I go make you something light to eat.”
“You don’t have to.” His voice was muffled by the blankets over his head. “I can take care of myself. Thank you for taking me to the clinic.”
“You’re welcome, but I’m still making something for you to eat. After that, I’ll leave and let you get your rest.”
Neville sat up, but didn’t look happy about it. He took the pills and water, swallowing them down, before handing the glass back to Deacon. “Thank you. I have some ham and pea soup. Could you make that?”
Repressing his shudder, Deacon nodded. “Sure thing. Would you like some bread or crackers with that?”
“Nothing but soup, thank you.”
It didn’t take long to prepare the soup. It looked nasty, and it was all Deacon could do to not throw up. He used to love it, until his brothers decided to make fake puke with it one April Fool’s day. They had even added something to it to make it smell horrible. After that, there was no way he could be coaxed or bribed to eat it, and his mother had tried both those things.
Once Neville had eaten and fallen asleep, Deacon cleaned up and left the apartment. He had left his card on the counter. His personal phone number was scrawled on it, and he hoped Neville would call him.
The blue-haired cutie was the first man to interest Deacon in a long time, and he wasn’t about to let an opportunity pass him by without discovering if there was a chance Neville might be interested in Deacon.
Chapter Two
Neville all but skipped along the sidewalk as he headed to the art supply store off the main square. He was eager to get back to his projects, but he needed a few tubes of paint. Once he had those, he could get back to work. He was experimenting with a new technique and wanted to see the end result. To do that, however, he would need at least a tube of titanium white, ultramarine blue, and, well, he hadn’t quite decided which orange he wanted. He was still on the fence about that.
“You’re looking much better.”
He had been so lost in the swirl of colors in his mind that he hadn’t seen Deacon approaching him on the sidewalk. It wasn’t unusual for him. Neville often got lost in his work, completely losing track of time and the world around him. It was one of the reasons why he’d never had a successful relationship. His art consumed so much of his time and attention. Neville knew he had replaced one addiction with another, but this one was so much better for him than drugs.
Neville tried to look Deacon over without appearing to do so. How he would love to paint the guy. He didn’t need to see Deacon without his clothes to know he was a sculpted masterpiece beneath them. It was too bad his sculpting skills were rudimentary at best. Bringing stone or clay to life was a wonderful thing, but Neville needed color as he worked, both intense and subtle, and the ability to add that tiny speck or swipe of a loaded brush, to give his painting life.
A smile curved his mouth. “Thanks. I feel better. Nine days of hell. It was nice of you to have people come check on me.”
“Well, it was either that or be there myself and kill you with kindness.”
“You’re the smothering kind?”
“My mother says I will make a great father because I’m a natural nurturer.”
That made Neville ch
uckle. He nodded. “I can see that. Well, thanks for being so considerate. You aren’t feeling like you’re getting sick or anything, are you?” he asked with concern, looking Deacon from head to toe. It was like fifteen degrees out, and the man wasn’t wearing a coat. Insulated underwear peeked above the collar of the gray, cable-knit sweater he was wearing. Keeping it casual, or wearing his uniform, Deacon was sexy. “I’d feel guilty as hell if you got the flu.”
“There’s no need to worry. I got my shot, so the chances that I’ll catch it are reduced.” He winked. “I tend to be very healthy.”
That wink caused Neville’s heart to beat a little faster. Blood began to fill his dick. “That’s good to know.” His voice was all croaky. He cleared his throat as one of Deacon’s eyebrows rose. “I should get in here to get my paint. Thanks again.”
Neville watched as Deacon’s large hand moved past him to grip the door’s handle. “Don’t rush off. Since you’re out and about, would you like to have lunch with me? It’s my day off, and I generally hang out around town for a few hours. I like to watch all the visitors to Silver. Living alone isn’t always as much fun as I thought it would be when I was a kid.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Neville only gave the invitation a moment’s thought. It would do him good to get into new habits. Closing himself up in the tiny studio space he had rented, so he would have somewhere to do his painting, wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He had promised his parents he would take care of himself. They had stuck by him even when he had been in the grips of drug addiction. “Sometimes I don’t like it,” he told Deacon as they walked along the aisles of the store and he chose those things he needed. The budget was tight, so he couldn’t go as crazy as he would have liked. “When I started the first phase of the program back in Virginia, I lived in a group home, where they had common areas like the living room and the kitchen. I know I didn’t like that. Basically, I’m not an easy person to please,” he added jokingly. Changing the subject, he asked, “Are you part of a large family?”
He stopped at the display for acrylic paints and felt his pulse race. Lust for Deacon was forgotten, replaced by a lust for the tools of his trade. In the past, he’d had friends addicted to office supplies, particularly colorful markers, so they completely understood each other.
“Yes, I have several brothers and sisters. I don’t see much of them. Most have lives elsewhere. One brother lives in Hong Kong, and I have a sister who lives in Copenhagen.”
“Wow, really? That’s cool. I’ve always wanted to travel. Hong Kong would be very interesting. I’m sure Copenhagen is, too.”
Mentally recounting the money in his pocket, he made his choices carefully, moving on to the next aisle. New brushes would be nice, but he found the one he needed the most and headed toward the front where the cash register was located. Neville loved the old, preserved buildings in Silver. They had such rich character. This one retained as much character as any of them could, with ridiculously high ceilings covered in stamped tin. There were hanging fans and lights, and incredible wood moldings around doors and windows. The front window had a lovely display of art books arranged in a sort of winter wonderland with snowmen peering inside.
“I was there for a visit last year. It’s an incredible place.”
Neville turned to stare up at Deacon. “You’ve been to Hong Kong?”
“Yes, to visit my brother and his family.”
Envy ran through him. It wasn’t something he was used to because he didn’t often feel jealous of what others possessed or did. This time, however, he felt a twinge. Other than his art, there were few things he wanted to do as much. Painting incredible places wasn’t new, not by a long shot, but it was something he could do for himself. As others would use a camera, he would use his brush, putting his memories on canvas. He smiled. He was going to need a very large house to display them all.
“I bet you had fun.”
“I did.”
Turning back, Neville crossed the last few feet of polished marble floor to reach the counter. The clerk behind it was wearing a paint-splattered T-shirt and ragged jeans. They smiled at each other like longtime friends.
“Will that be all?”
“For today. I’m a little short of cash.”
Renting his studio space took up much of the money he earned working. Then there were groceries and other necessities. Fortunately, the program which had brought him to Silver provided a place to live and covered the utilities. They also gave him a small allowance, but it wasn’t enough to cover everything. Participants in the program were encouraged to support themselves. Neville pulled folded bills out of his pocket and counted, handing them over with several coins.
Deacon cleared his throat. “Neville, if you need to borrow…”
Neville held up a hand. He looked at Deacon and gave him a warm smile. “Thanks, but I have what I need. Things I want can be gotten later.” The clerk handed his purchases to him in a reusable tote with a picture of Leonardo da Vinci on it.
The smile Deacon gave him warmed him all the way to his toes. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go get lunch.”
They said good-bye to the friendly clerk and went out onto the sidewalk. The afternoon crowd was growing. The visitors Deacon had come to watch were out to shop. Silver now boasted some of the best skiing in the region, and people were flocking there to enjoy their favorite winter sport. But skiing wasn’t the only draw to the town. Many came simply to enjoy the breathtaking scenery and the charm the town continued to exude.
Deacon and Neville were lucky to get a small table near the front window of the restaurant. There were red tablecloths and white coffee mugs turned upside down on saucers and silverware wrapped in green linen napkins. It was all very festive. Christmas wasn’t that far away. Thanksgiving had passed, and that’s when Silver seemed to change overnight. One moment it was only white lights decorating the trees in the square. The next, every building was decorated with thousands of lights. Even the trees had gotten an upgrade. Tiny golden lights now glittered in every tree, wound around trunks and branches, making for a grand spectacle. He loved it all. Once he began to feel better, he had walked to the square to stare in amazement at the thousands of lights and decorations. The charming Victorian town was breathtaking.
Neville put the bag with his purchases on the floor, between his foot and the wall. His coat was now hanging beside Deacon’s on the long rack close to the door. Tantalizing scents wafted to his nose, and he inhaled deeply. During his illness he had kept his meals simple. Soup had been a mainstay. Now he wanted something more substantial. Neville chose meat loaf and mashed potatoes and peas.
After giving the server his order, Neville turned to look out the window. As he often did, he turned the scene into a painting, choosing a focal point, and then colors, the light, and dozens of other details. He got lost in doing it. His fingers itched to sketch it all out as his brain made decisions.
“Hello, Neville, are you there?”
Deacon’s rich, smooth voice sent a shiver of pleasure down Neville’s spine. A blush, however, rose in his cheeks at his obvious rudeness. “I’m sorry. I do that a lot. It’s nothing personal.” He looked at Deacon. There was amusement on his handsome face. “Would you let me paint you sometime?”
The question came out of nowhere. Although he had thought about how much he would like to paint this living Adonis, he had not considered actually asking Deacon if he would pose. How many men would be willing to do that?
The surprise on Deacon’s face was not unexpected. Then he appeared to think about the question. After a moment he smiled. “Sure. Sounds interesting. I’ve never done it before. Will I be naked?”
With his breath whooshing out of his lungs, Neville went up in flames on his side of the small table, as he imagined Deacon stretched out on a bed, appearing as if he had just spent a long night with a passionate lover. Debauched. Yes, that was it. His dark hair would be tousled, as if his lover had run their fingers through it many times. The ex
pression in his heavy-lidded eyes would be filled with desire. And the man’s body, from the heavily muscled arm bent above his head, his wrist resting upon it, to the wide chest tapering down to his waist and beyond, to the nest of dark curls where a semi-hard penis rested against his thickly muscled thigh. Neville would use shadow and light to emphasize all of these things. Golden light and a canopy bed with bronze silk flowing around the private love nest.
“Neville?”
His name was spoken gently, and he blinked, realizing he had done it again. His face was so hot he could have sworn it was about to combust. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, baby. I hated to interrupt, but our food is here.”
The scent hit him then. Looking down, Neville saw that the plate of food had been placed on the table in front of him. Steam rose from the meat loaf and potatoes covered in brown gravy, sweet peas on the side. After days of soup and water, it was like heaven on a plate.
“Deacon, I’m sorry.” He was sorry, too. This wonderful man was generous with his time, sharing it with Neville, and all he could do was fall into one of his multicolored fantasies. He picked up his fork and began poking at the meat loaf. “I don’t mean to do that.”
“I know, but don’t worry about offending me. I’m not that sensitive or egotistical, that I need your undivided attention. Besides, I like watching your face. You’re a dreamer. You see things differently than I do. When I look at a tree, I see something with brown bark and green leaves. But I bet you don’t see either of those things, do you?”
Neville had to laugh at that. He nodded. “Pretty much. Thank you for understanding. My parents do, but not many others. That’s why I tend to keep to myself.”
The tines of the fork sliced down over the corner of the meat loaf. Neville pushed it toward the potatoes, sliding it through gravy as he did so. He didn’t mention past lovers to Deacon. There hadn’t been many, but his lack of attentiveness to their needs had made them short-lived relationships. Deacon seemed to have a better grasp on Neville’s personality. It caused him to frown as he began to eat.
