So David kissed him again. Fully there. Fully in the moment. Fully committed.
He only pulled out of the kiss when Aras shoved a plastic champagne flute into his hand and leaned in to whisper, “You’ll have plenty of time for that. Don’t scare the straights.” He poured what was clearly not enough champagne into the flute and winked. “We redid your whole house so you’d have a place to bone, so make use of it.”
“Goodbye,Aras.” Mason waved him along, then locked eyes with David. “Not that I disagree with him.” He ran his free hand up and down David’s arm, not even trying to put any distance between them. “You know, I really feel like…I don’t know. Is it wrong to call this kismet? It’s a tie back to my hometown, to our past. The crossovers are just too much to ignore.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t believe that I’mthe one standing here talking about this like the universe has some kind of plan or whatever, but—”
“Maybe it is the universe. Maybe it’s just that you did good work and got a show and I happened to apply.” David leaned in so their foreheads were pressed together. “I don’t care how it happened. I’m just glad it did.”
They pecked lips, and then everyone was gathered up. The rest of the building residents were clustered off to the side, but when David moved to join them, Mason didn’t let him leave. He was kept in the circle, and once they got the nod from Vince, all of them raised their glasses in a toast.
The sunset played through the cheap plastic, and David couldn’t think of a better wrap to filming.
Chapter thirty-nine
Mason
“You’resurethisisn’tan imposition?” Mason really didn’t want to overstay his welcome so soon. “I can bunk with one of the guys back at the hotel.”
“The only imposition is that you’re still wearing your clothes.”
Mason was ready to make a snide remark, but when he turned toward the approaching voice, his words caught in his throat. David stood in the doorway of the master bedroom wearing nothing but a tiny—very tiny—pair of black briefs. His hair was tied up into a messy bun and he smiled wide.
“I said I wanted to paint you. Let’s get into the studio and get nude-io.”
Mason finally managed to get his mouth to work. “The fact that you made that joke and I’m still attracted to you has to be proof that this is real.” Mason looked to the bed, where he’d been fluffing up the pillows and rearranging the bedding. Thenhe looked back to David, all lithe muscles and tawny skin, and headed out into the hallway, pulling his shirt up over his head as he walked. He tossed it aside and started tripping his way out of his jeans. He chucked those onto the couch, staring at David’s ass as he headed into what used to be the guest bedroom. It had been converted into a studio where David could do as much art as he wanted, whatever type he wanted…and Jake had installed a Murphy bed, just in case he ever did need to host someone.
A pang of embarrassment sliced through Mason, but he battered it back. It didn’t matter what Mason thought about his body. It would be great if he loved the way he looked and had no perceivable flaws, but who was that lucky?
Itreallymattered what David thought. It wasn’t like Mason was going to throw all his self-worth into what someone else thought of him, but in that moment, Davidwantedto see him naked, wanted to paint him…and presumably do more than that. So Mason stopped just outside the door to the studio and stripped out of his boxer-briefs so he was totally exposed. Then he stepped in.
David looked him up and down and his smile widened. “God damn. I don’t know if I’m going to make it all the way to painting.”
Mason stepped to him and cupped David’s bulge, squeezing and kneading at it. “You’re going to paint. And then we’re going to get that upholstery all dirty again.” It was agony, but he stepped away and spread out his arms. “So, where do you want me?”
David pulled off his briefs and flung them out the door, then went for the canvas, which was already on the easel.He was planning this.He started sorting through tubes of oil paint while he spoke. “Can I ask you for something…different?”
“I’m naked and trying not to pound into you for the next hour straight. You can basically ask for anything.”
David smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t give me that kind of power.”
“Too late. You already have it.”
David looked at him like a starving animal, his gaze raking up and down Mason’s body. He opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head. “I have a plan. I don’t need to deviate. This time.” Pink feathered up his neck and into his cheeks, but his gaze was unfaltering. “Can you jerk off for me? I…the main emotion I’m trying to capture is intimacy, and I don’t think there’s anything more intimate than watching someone pleasure themselves.”
Heat raced from Mason’s belly up to his face. Thatdidseem intimate. But he should have expected that. Every one of the paintings got more and more explicit each time.
Mason looked into his eyes, not at his body. His hand slid down his body almost of its own accord. He wrapped his fingers around his shaft and, as he sank into the familiar sensation of his own hand, David grabbed a palette knife and began putting black streaks on the canvas. It was angled so that Mason couldn’t see it, so he didn’t bother trying to watch or figure anything out. He just stroked his shaft up and down, and he didn’t even realize it when his eyes closed. He never quite felt like he was alone, always aware of the presence of David to the side, but he still slipped into the pleasure of his own touch.
Up, down, up, down. He didn’t stroke quickly, but kept up a steady pressure in his grip. His calves tensed and relaxed, knees growing weaker as ecstasy filtered through him. He felt the electric sensation moving through his thighs, his hips, tightening his ass, up his spine, and out of his mouth as moaning and panting. His free hand played over his chest, scraping against his nipples, pert from the slight chill of just being naked.
When he heard some shuffling to the side, he almost didn’t bother to open his eyes. Yet when he did, he was glad for it.David was hunched over the easel, splatters of black, red, and green already sprayed across his bare chest and arms. A tiny peek of pink tongue stuck out between his teeth as he stared at the canvas. He held a brush now, the palette knife on a wad of newspaper on the floor, and he slashed it across the canvas. There was a light in his dark eyes that couldn’t be accounted for by the wall sconces.
His other hand wasn’t braced anywhere, instead between his legs, tugging and massaging his shaft, which shot a bolt of lightning straight through Mason and twitched precum out of the tip of his cock. David was there, creating, lost in an image of Mason, and that made him horny enough he had to jack off.
Chapter forty
David
Thefervorfrombeforesuffused every inch of David as he sat at the canvas. He had to get Mason captured correctly. He wasn’t even fully aware of moving his brush, switching colors, any of it. He onlybarelynoticed when Mason opened his eyes and glanced over, and didn’t have the presence of moment to acknowledge it at all. He was in a fugue, a trance, a creative storm that couldn’t let him go, and it was the most glorious thing David had felt in far too long.Thiswas the high that he chased after, that he switched projects over and over again trying to pin down.
