| |
"Get on your knees."
West's head snapped up. He glared at Noah. "Why?"
His answer was a sweet smile as Noah tilted his head to the side. The look was all innocence. Pure as snow. His camera dangled from one hand while he circled, looking for his shot.
West folded his arms over his chest and tried to pretend that he wasn't overly aware of every single inch of bare skin he was showing. Aware... and enjoying it? He hadn't been sure at first. But that energy bubbling in his veins seemed like pleasure. Running over his skin like fingers. To be standing here in this sunlit room in nearly nothing while Noah eyed every inch of him again. Watching the shift between dark interest and clinical scrutiny in his eyes. It was like being watched by two separate people. And after a month of meeting up for these photography sessions, West was getting better at catching the flip. One minute business. The next hungry. He was getting better at inspiring it too. Sometimes it only took a soft, throaty groan. A touch. A slow blink while meeting Noah's eyes. Then down came the shutters and in its place: fire. There was power there. Near limitless power. And West was enjoying this.
Before this, if anyone had asked, West wouldn't have been able to name a single thing that he'd ever cared about all that much. Things he liked, sure. Things he did out of habit. But there wasn't anything that thrilled him half as much as the blissful look on Noah's face right now while they worked and knowing West had inspired it.
Noah's eyes devoured him. "You're very contrary."
West didn't deny it. He didn't get on his knees either.
Noah sighed.
They'd done a series of shots already. West against a wall. Standing posed and draped with one of the sheets Noah had pulled from his trunk of supplies. West beside a window, head tipped back. West with his back turned. West facing forward. West, West, West. West was already getting tired of himself when Noah offered this new command.
The drape had gone back into the trunk and he faced Noah in only the flesh toned briefs he'd been asked to wear for shooting— "it's the illusion of nudity for the discreet" —and his chest and arms were streaked with black and white paint. The pull against his skin was a different kind of exposure. Every breath a fresh reminder that he was on display.
"It's really too bad you said I couldn't use your face because the look you've got right now..." Noah shook his head. Strolled closer. His eyes darkened.
West stiffened on impulse and made himself relax again, waiting for the inevitable brush of fingers along his arms and neck while Noah posed him. At first he'd tried telling West what to do and how, but usually it was easier this way rather than the endless guessing game of which way and how far and which angle that had been their first sessions. Surprisingly he didn't mind being treated like a living mannequin. The careful touches anchored him, reminding him that he didn't have to be himself in this place. He didn't have to be in complete control. He only had to be present and Noah would take care of the rest. But this time instead of pokes and prods, Noah's hand rested against West's cheek, thumb just beside his mouth, within easy reach, as he met West's glare.
What did he look like in Noah's eyes? How much did West want him to see?
Everything.
The answer came unbidden and for a moment West couldn't breathe around the truth of it.
I don't even like him. He clung desperately to every source of irritation between them. How Noah laughed at his own inane jokes. The way he spoke without thinking. His frequent lateness. Inability to sit still, to be quiet, to be calm. His complete and total refusal to fit in any box West tried to place him in. The list was nearly endless. There were so many reasons to dislike him that West barely had to search.
But Noah's hand on his cheek. Their eyes meeting. Nothing else mattered more than this. The energy in the room when they stood this way with both Noahs looking out from behind his single pair of eyes.
It felt—
"Why me?" West hadn't meant to ask. Not now. Maybe not ever. Asking left him raw. It was an admission of curiosity. But the question had buzzed around his head for weeks now, ever since the first time he had stepped through the door of the studio and known he would stay there. He wanted to know. Even with the rawness. His body was already bared to Noah. Baring the rest of himself was such a small step.
"Hmm?" Noah blinked like he was waking up. He took a step back.
"Why did you ask me? To do this. When we were at the coffee shop that day, why me?"
"Truth?"
"Truth."
"Because when you're in a room, you're the only thing I want to look at."
West got on his knees.
*****
THE WATER COMING OUT of the tap in the ancient and closet sized bathroom was frigid as West scrubbed at the paint clinging stubbornly to his skin. It was everywhere. On his chest. His neck. Gluing his arm hair into spiky peaks. And it wasn't going to come off. Not before he lost feeling in two-thirds of his body and rubbed his skin raw.
From outside the bathroom, Noah called, "I told you. You're probably going to need to shower it off. Give it a scrub with some warm water and it should be fine."
"I can't go home like this," West snapped back. The brown paper towel in his hands slowly turned into shreds and fell apart.
"It's dry. It won't get on your clothes. I promise."
"And how would you know?"
"I tested it out. Obviously. Pulled like a bastard when I got a clot in my hair too, but it eventually came out. And as you may have noted, I don't have a bald spot so no harm, no foul."
"Somehow none of that comforts me."
Another paper towel died and he still looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. West tore the door open. On the other side, Noah flinched back. He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and shrugged.
"This is all your fault."
"True. But those shots were great so I'm having a hard time being sorry." Noah's eyes flicked away and back again before they met his. There was still a spark there, hidden so deep West might have missed it if he hadn't been looking so intently. Almost desperately. "Buy you dinner as an apology? Is that glare a no or is it a yes? It's hard to tell with you."
"I'm not dressed for dinner."
Noah sucked at his lower lip. "It's not glamorous, but I can order in. No one even needs to know you're half naked."
West flushed, awareness flooding through him all over again. He'd pulled on his jeans and nothing else before going to clean up. Now shirtless and with hair mussed he was virtually indistinguishable from a hookup, despite the hallway of locked studio doors. The paint swirled over him in peeling patches only added to the debauched air. None of it was like him. Or maybe it was exactly like him. A him that had been buried so deep he'd forgotten it existed. He'd crossed over from anything familiar and into new territory. He could be anyone there. If he wanted. And Noah made him want to want things.
"All right."
*****
THEY SAT CROSS LEGGED on a folded sheet Noah had laid out to cushion the bare floorboards. He still felt iced over after his trek outside to retrieve their food from the delivery person and the only thing keeping him from pulling another drape out to use as a cape was the suspicion that West would use it against him later. Better to suffer in silence and keep his dignity. Open and half eaten boxes of food were arrayed around them. He cradled one in his hands just to warm them before setting it aside again. West had contained himself to the lo mein, only breaking off to primly collect his share of the dumplings from Noah. He nibbled at them like a squirrel, holding them between careful fingers, pinky extended as he gave each a one-two dunk in the sauce. No double dipping. He dropped nothing. The paper napkin spread over his lap showed not even a dot of oil.
And his eyes followed Noah everywhere he went. It was like being stalked by a lion. A very hot but mercurial lion.
Every tick of silence felt like needles on Noah's skin. "You're not still mad about the paint, are you?" he asked finally.
"I'm not mad."
"You sure? Because you look mad. Your face is doing" —he waved a hand— "a thing." West's face was like a color field painting; searching for meaning in it was complicated at best. Noah took another bite, chewing quickly and swallowing. Maybe this had been a bad idea.
"I'm not mad."
"You're not talking."
"I'm eating." A beat of silence. "It's very good. Thank you."
Noah chuckled. "You're welcome."
West had pulled his shirt back on but left it half buttoned and the fruits of Noah's paint job were still visible on his skin. A curl of paint had found its way up his neck, curving along his jaw in the path that Noah's hands might take if they kissed, cradling his face. All the attempts to wash off the paint had missed that spot. It was just as crisp and stark as it had been when Noah painted it. His eyes returned to it over and over again. He'd claimed that little patch of skin. Just for tonight.
"You did well today," Noah said. "A few more sessions like this and I'll have everything I need."
He expected relief. A grateful sigh. Maybe even a smile at the early release from this photographic torment. Not stunned silence.
West froze with the chopsticks hovering in front of his mouth. He lowered his hand back into his lap. "Oh. So soon?"
That couldn't be disappointment. That was like asking a rainbow to shower gold coins. Fantasy. So whatever he saw on West's face, it wasn't what it looked like. Couldn't be. "I'm always in the market for another model if you're interested. But for this show, yeah." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and returned to his food. "I figured you would be happy."
"I am," West said a little too quickly. "Happy. I'll need the extra time soon for classes anyway."
"Perfect timing."
"Yeah. When?"
"What?"
"When? How soon? Will you be done?" he clarified.
Noah scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not sure exactly." He took another bite while he thought. "Two weeks? Maybe less? I could make do with less."
"I don't want to rush your work. Are you sure that's enough time?"
"I guess we'll see." Noah set the takeout box down again and dropped onto his back, eyes trained on the ceiling, hands on his stomach. Something about feeling it rise and fall with his breathing always soothed him.
But the silence still prickled every time it fell. He couldn't resist filling it.
"So, what is it you study exactly? I've been trying to guess for days and I've still got no clue. You read but you don't strike me as a Lit major."
If he tilted his head back, West was barely visible out of the corner of his eye. From this angle, he looked larger than life. Amazing and untouchable. His hair hung around his cheeks, the shadows left by the single desk light giving them a starkness they didn't have during the day. Without his lamps and the sun shining through the window, the studio was dim and intimate. It might almost have been cozy, but the space heater couldn't quite dispel the bite to the air, especially when they were sitting on the floor.
And if he tilted his head the other way, the window reflected the view back at him, everything beyond it a hazy evening blue. He couldn't see the moon. All he could see was West captured in the glass. And himself, one arm bent to cushion his head, watching himself watching West. Being charmed by him.
Noah sat back up.
"You're not actually interested in my classes," West said dryly.
"Sure I am." Noah could only hold out under his stare for a minute before he blinked. "Okay, I'm probably not interested in them, but I'm still curious. You're a mystery. I know next to nothing about you besides the fact that you look good covered in paint and you eat dumplings with your little fingers out like it's a tea party."
"You know my name."
"And I know your name," he agreed. "But I got that from your sister. Who is adorable by the way and I mean that in a completely non-creepy way because I just realized how that might sound. She's perky though. You should bring her by sometime. I'll give her another drawing lesson."
West had dropped his chopsticks back into his takeout box and now his hands rested on his knees. His stare turned so intense Noah could feel his hair singeing.
"Not here," Noah added. Sighing. "The coffee shop or something. Shit. Sometimes you act like I'm trying to lure you into my murder basement. You forget, I've already had plenty of chances to have my wicked way with you if that was what I wanted and you're—remarkably—still alive. And in one piece. Behold the fucking miracle." He started closing up boxes, putting tabs into slots, and shoving them back into the bag.
"I wasn't—" West blew out a breath. "Accounting."
"What?"
"I'm studying accounting."
Noah frowned at him, more confused than ever. If they were being friendly, he wished someone would notify him so he knew how to act. "Was that so hard?"
"Yes." West's lips twitched into a playful smile. Noah didn't even know he could do that, but he wanted more of it. "I'm not good at this. At small talk," he explained. "I don't usually talk about myself. And I do not eat dumplings like it's a tea party."
"You absolutely do. You had fancy pinkies." He lifted one in illustration.
West grimaced, those lips of his pressing flat. "Did not."
"Please, don't stop on my account. It was cute." He'd buy West all the dumplings just to watch them be eaten that way, with careful fingers and soft lips. His mouth was one of the great wonders of the world.
Their eyes met. Surely West could read everything he was thinking. Like how good Noah thought he looked so relaxed, just talking. Still thorny but gradually opening, unfurling to reveal his beautiful silky soft center. Noah had never cared for roses, but this one might be an exception.
He was saved from dropping any deeper into that ridiculous metaphor by West's next question. "What did you major in?"
It was probably rude to laugh in his face, but Noah was too tired to stop the guffaw that popped out of his mouth. He didn't stop laughing until his stomach hurt. Tears prickled his eyes. "Oh, sweetheart. I barely made it a year in college. Art school is fucking expensive and I've got no other marketable skills aside from my fabulous looks. I had a good time while it lasted. Met some people. Margot especially. She's amazing. I'll introduce you sometime. A lot of the rest of them were fucking dicks though. I spent half the time trying not to punch them in their pretentious little trustfunded faces. You're not special for oversaturating a few photos, Alton. Good riddance. I can be annoyed by people and hopelessly in debt on my own."
"Fabulous looks?"
"Of course that's the part you have a problem with." He shook his head. "I said what I said. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."
"You're incredibly full of yourself." That smile played over his lips again. Noah wanted to capture it in a jar like fireflies.
"Damn straight. I worked hard to get this way. Credit where credit is due. Anyway, now you know the terrible truth. I'm a conceited college drop out. And I work in retail. That part you knew already. But I'm happier now than I ever was in school. I work for myself and only myself and it's good."
"And that's important?"
"Spoken like a true outsider." He shrugged, shoving down the Ghost of Anxieties Past. "The work is all I ever wanted. Not the degree or the fame. No one is getting rich like this. Or at least, no one I know is. I just... can't imagine my life without art in it. I can't not do this. Things are... emptier, I guess. Flatter. Don't you have something like that?"
He glanced at West just in time to see a shadow cross his face.
"No. Not really." The words came out slow, covering volumes more than those four little syllables. "I can't even imagine it."
There was an openness in that statement that Noah hadn't seen before. It made him choose his next words more carefully. "Maybe your thing is out there waiting for you to find it."
"Maybe."
"So I take it accounting isn't your passion."
West snorted. "No."
"You don't go home and dream about putting numbers into columns and figuring out percentages?" Noah teased.
"God no. It's just a job—a good job. I can't even complain because my uncle already has a place for me when I graduate. Most people don't have that. So I'll probably go there unless I find something else. And that's my life. All wrapped up in a neat little bow."
"No offense but that sounds kind of..." There was really no polite way to finish that sentence so Noah let the silence hang.
West nodded. He looked down, losing himself in the act of picking through his box of lo mein. "I envy you. Doing what you want to do."
"We all make sacrifices to get what we want, right? I'm no different. Sometimes I wish I'd stayed in school." He satisfied the need to move by picking at a loose stitch on the leg of his jeans. He hadn't meant to turn the mood so glum. "But it was not to be."
"I thought you wanted to leave."
There he went again, cutting Noah right down to the bone without even knowing the knife was in his hand. "I mean, yes? Sort of? It's complicated."
"Meaning?" He'd set aside the box. All of his attention was focused on Noah again.
He blew out a breath. "Art is where I've always put the thoughts that are too big for my head. See a great sunset, turn it into art. Have a bad day, turn it into art. When things are pinned down—in a photo or a drawing or what have you—I can step out of that feeling. I don't need to carry it anymore. It'll be there waiting if I need it, but the bad shit—the really bad feelings—those little shits are toothless. And that keeps me steady. It makes me fucking powerful. Being in school though? Suddenly I wasn't doing for myself anymore. No catharsis. It was performance and everyone was watching me fucking fail. You know what it's like to love something that much and lose it? Just poof. Gone. I dug and I dug, trying to find it again, absolutely desperate for it, and all I ended up with was a big fucking hole. And me, there, at the bottom of it. You may have noticed that I don't work well under pressure, or judgment, whatever you want to call it."
He shot West a wry look. "The whole time at school, I was a panic attack wrapped in a depressive spiral. I hated myself for wanting to go to school and then I hated myself for wanting to quit. For needing to quit, because there really was no other way around it. I was barely even myself anymore. So, leaving was the right choice. It was a stepping stone. It took me where I needed to go. And now I've met you and we're doing amazing work together and I can't ask for more than that. I'm happy where I am. Mostly. I wouldn't say no to a bucket of money landing in my lap. I still have bills to pay."
He glanced to the side, suddenly aware of how long he'd been speaking and how long West had been silent. Somehow West had gotten closer. Much closer.
"What?"
"I just wanted to see something." West's smile was dangerous.
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"You." He licked his lips. Their eyes met.
Every hair on Noah's body stood at attention, shivers starting at the base of his neck and working their way down his spine.
A hand grazed his thigh as West shifted closer. And that was definitely West's nose brushing against his as he leaned in. West's lips pressing to his. They weren't cruel now. They were warm.
Noah's world shattered and reformed itself around this new fact. He lived in a world where West kissed him with slick lips and a hunger he hadn't known existed. A world where West... kissed him at all.
A world where Noah's every good intention shattered as he kissed him back.
But fuck it, it had been a long time since anyone had kissed him and he didn't want it to stop. He didn't want West to stop. Now that he knew what that mouth felt like on his he never wanted to feel anything else. Just those lips. That tongue. The sharp edge of teeth.
They tipped over, West onto his back and Noah over him, crushing a fortune cookie on the way down. The bag popped. West laughed against him. "Oops."
"You kissed me." Noah pressed a kiss to one corner of his mouth and then the other.
"Is that a problem?"
"It depends. Are you going to do it again?"
"Come here and find out."
What he wanted was one thing and what he should do was something else, but it was hard to tell them apart while West pinned him with those heavy-lidded eyes, one hand hooked in Noah's belt loop like he owned him. Noah wanted to be owned. To belong right here in this moment. To have no greater purpose than kissing his way along West's body.
He'd once wondered how far down West's blushes went. Maybe he should find out.
"I was trying to be a gentleman." He let West pull him in for another kiss. It tasted faintly of ginger. "But I'm sensing you don't want that."
"How'd you guess?"
"Master of deduction. But you're gonna have to give me a minute to catch up here. I wasn't expecting this."
West kissed him again. The hands he dug into Noah's back were firm and possessive, the tongue sweeping into his mouth even more so. The boy could kiss. Another surprise. "We could stop."
"Oh fuck no. That's the last thing we should do."
Their next kiss was peppered with laughs and West's hungry growls. Like he was starving. Noah understood. He'd been feeling the same way since the day they met.
He traced the line of West's jaw with his lips before moving down in search of that curl of paint he'd been eyeing earlier. His marker. He brushed a kiss over it. Biting would have been better. Longer lasting.
West lifted his head off the floor. "I'm still covered in paint."
"It's nontoxic. I checked that too." He tugged at the buttons of West's shirt, meeting his eye in silent question before he undid them.
West nodded. "Of course you did."
"I believe in being prepared." West's fingers moved up into his hair, clenching into fists as Noah pulled a nipple into his mouth and bit. The prickle against his scalp was the perfect amount of pain. "Do that again."
This time when West did, he used the leverage to pull Noah's head back up, his mouth to his. The kiss devoured Noah and he went oh so willingly. Each time West moaned felt like a grand achievement. He had done that. Every groan. Every sigh.
"I want to make you feel good." Noah's tongue flicked against his ear and West shuddered. "Can I?" His hand rested on West's stomach, fingers in easy reach of his fly. He only needed the word.
"God yes." He lifted his hips so Noah could tug down his briefs, shoving them and his jeans out of the way.
Noah stroked West's length, the heat perfect against his palm, kissing along his neck as West arched up into the touch.
West wasn't talking now, but this silence was okay. Instead of words it was filled with breathy gasps and bitten off cries. Noah smiled against his skin, trailing kisses down his chest. "Don't be shy. We're alone. Let me hear when you like it. Show me."
Delicate fingers dragged over West's balls earned a knife-sharp inhale.
"You like?"
West choked.
"That a yes?" Noah did it again, claiming West's mouth with a kiss so he could taste the gasps and groans when his touch danced circles over the soft skin. "Tell me what you want."
West's legs parted a little further. He nodded.
Oh he was going to enjoy playing this game so much. Taking turns between massaging and squeezing until each of West's breaths matched the rhythm he was setting. Fingers dug into his shoulders when Noah finally stroked him with one long slow pull. So slow. So slow that he was aching for it too. He needed the release. All sparks and sunlight filling him up from head to toe. Noah could play this teasing game for hours, but not now. He wanted to see what West looked like when he came apart. "Talk to me."
West's groan seemed to come from the very bottom of his soul. "More. Faster."
Noah obliged, matching to the thrust of West's hips and the rush of his breath. He was breathing just as hard. So fast he was seeing stars. West's back arched, neck stretched long and exposed in perfect invitation. Noah licked and sucked his way along it the same way he wanted to do with his cock.
"Do you taste as good as you look?"
Another moan. Teeth tugging at Noah's ear. He would be covered with bruises from the way West clawed at him come morning. That was good too.
Noah raised his head, pushing West onto his back again and sliding lower. He blew a breath over his abdomen, bit his mark into that little indentation at West's hip, still stroking. "Should I find out?"
"Stop talking and do it," West bit out.
He couldn't help it. He laughed, a loud belly laugh as he crawled back up West's body for one more kiss from that vicious mouth. West's tongue slid between his lips, filling him, forceful to match his words, his hands hard on the back of Noah's head. Needy and urgent. Cradling him close. Noah could have sunk into that kiss and stayed there forever like a sailor lost to the sea. No one would ever hear from him again. That didn't sound like such a bad way to go.
And he did go. Down, down, down. Following the line of hair from chest to abdomen like a treasure map. West's blushes stopped well before he got there but that was okay. What he found was just as good.
West's hands fisted against the floor as Noah took West's cock into his mouth, tongue swirling along the underside. Painting pleasure on him like he'd done with a brush earlier. A mark for a mark. When he took him deeper, West moaned so low that Noah felt it in the floor under his palm.
"Oh God."
Oh, sweetheart, he thought. We've barely even begun.