AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dropping the can to the ground, I bend down and uncap another can. With one hand, I hold a strip of cardboard, holding it to the wall, spraying in quick sweeping motions across the brick. Creating sharp lines and edges within the scenery. As the contrasting colors back up to one another, the images begin to pop in such an eye catching, breathtaking manner.
I keep working, rotating through colors and shades, sponges, palette knives, and other tools. Breathing life into the images that float through my head.
An image that represents everything I want that hangs so far out of reach. One that I’ll be able to look at every day. Even if it all goes belly up, and I ruin everything. Despite the voice in the back of my head telling me that I’m absolutely insane, something tells me I won’t ruin anything. Something tells me it’s what we all need. To give in to our impulses, lighting up the dark places we have all existed in for way too long.
But this is what art is for me. My wildest dreams, my deepest emotions, exsanguinated from my veins onto paper, canvas, walls, whatever medium I can get my hands on. No one really knows this side of me. Not even Spencer. I mean, she knows I’m into art, but not like this. Not that it’s the reason I breathe.
My art is for me. It’s the only way I know how to let myself really feel, and express those feelings without fear. I’ve bottled up who I am nearly my entire life, but with a blank canvas, the story is mine to manipulate and mold. Mine to create, to give life to, and to end any which way I choose.
As I sweep the last thin vaporized layer of white across the pink and purple skyline, I drop the can and take a few steps backward. Gripping the bandana, I pull it down from my mouth, leaving it hanging around my neck while I take in the scene. The beautifully broken backdrop of a city, ready for the next steps.
What the hell is the next step though?
Pleased with my work, I begin to strip my paint splattered clothing off as I turn and walk to the bathroom. Twisting the knob in the shower, I let the water splash across my hand until the temperature warms up to just below molten lava temperatures. As I step inside and close the frosted glass door, I close my eyes and tilt my head up to the ceiling, drenching my hair in the stream.
Washing my hair, I reflect on the past few nights. All of the interactions I’ve had with Riot and the few I’ve had with Zeke. I know I’m not just making these things up in my head, I know they feel something too. I also know that things aren’t exactly black and white. They already have each other, and that leaves no room for me. Right?
Rinsing the suds from my hair, I look down at my forearm, letting the water cascade down my face. Tracing the faded ink with my fingertips, I recall the way it felt when Zeke touched me. He was warm and soft, and his confidence radiated off of him in waves. I popped his phone number into my phone as soon as he was out of sight, but still, part of me doesn’t want to rinse this away.
The first marks on a blank canvas.
I’m suddenly painfully aware that my dick is hard as a rock, aching for some sort of release. It’s been months since I’ve had sex with anyone or even fooled around. It’s not like the opportunities aren’t there, but I’m not interested. I never used to have a problem with casual sex, in fact it’s always kind of been my thing, men, women, it didn’t really matter. But my mind is occupied lately.
From the moment Riot and Zeke began spending more time around the bar, I knew I didn’t want anyone else. So instead I live for the small moments.
Moments bursting with small touches. Brushing against one another accidentally. Subtle flirting. Catching one another’s gaze from across a room. Moments alone, in the shower, where I grip my cock, stroking it slowly, imagining it’s one of their hands and not my own.
Running one hand down my chest, I slide it down to my dick, and tease the head with my fingertips. Shifting my piercing back and forth while swirling the leaking pre-cum around the tip as it separates beneath the stream of hot water. Sliding my palm over my engorged head, I spit then wrap my hand tightly around the shaft. Moving slowly, I close my eyes and Riot’s baby blues are staring back at me. On his knees, mouth open, his tongue slips out just as I guide myself down his throat.
Only this time instead of just Riot, sucking me softly, moaning around my erection, Zeke is standing behind me. Running his hands around my waist, his breath flutters across the crook of my neck as he leans in, kissing my skin. Grazing his teeth ever so softly up my neck flicking his tongue lightly across my earlobe.
Between the vibrations from Riot’s hums as he chokes on my dick, and the softness of Zeke’s lips, I’m coming undone quickly.
“That’s it my little heathen,” I whisper, looking into Riot’s eyes and he whimpers around my dick just as I feel Zeke’s fingers parting my cheeks, circling my tight hole. As he presses his fingers slowly inside of me I groan and grow weak at the knees.
All of my senses are exploding, like pouring an entire packet of pop rocks into my mouth everything fizzes and pops, except instead of in my mouth, it’s beneath my skin. I feel so fucking alive as Zeke swipes his fingers and Riot hollows out his cheeks. I can’t hold back any longer and when Zeke moans into my ear, I explode down Riot’s throat. Falling forward, I catch myself with one hand on the tile wall of my shower.
The cool ceramic of the tiles zaps my skin, making my eyes fly open, just as I release all over the shower wall.
What the hell was in that weed?
Chapter eight
Zeke
Stepping out of the bathroom, I finish rubbing my hair dry with a towel as I make my way to the bureau. Opening the middle drawer, I pull out a pair of black sweatpants and toss my towel into the basket in the corner. As I step into the sweatpants, my brain wanders back to earlier this evening. I’m not really sure what I was doing, but it dawns on me that it felt dangerously like flirting. Flirting with someone who isn’t Riot, and the notion alone is messing with my head.
I’ve noticed the way Cole looks at me though, and I’m intrigued. I’ve also noticed the way he looks at Riot, and the way Riot looks back at him.
I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel about any of that, but I do know my feelings are complicated as hell. I’m ass over head for Riot, but I won’t let myself have him. I’m feeling these things about Cole that defy all common sense, because I’d never let myself go there either. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the way Cole looks at me makes me a little nervous. If I didn’t admit that when his skin touched mine there was an indescribable electrical charge coursing between us.
Striding into the kitchen, I flick the light on, as I make my way over to the refrigerator. Yanking it open, I grab a beer from the back and find myself lost in thoughts of what it would be like to watch Cole with Riot, loving him in all the ways that I can’t. Is that so crazy? Is it selfish of me? Knowing I can’t fully give myself over to anyone, yet expecting two of them to hold each other together, that way I can be half in, half out?
Twisting the top off, I bring the bottle to my lips just as the door to my studio apartment swings open. Glancing to the side, I watch as Riot strides in, blood spatter on his neck and cheeks, and not a care in the world.
“You got a little…” I point at his face, making a small motion with my hand, bringing attention to the smudges of blood that he did a piss poor job of cleaning off of his face, and he smiles. Shaking my head, I grab a cloth from the drawer next to the kitchen sink, run it under the faucet and toss it in his direction.
He catches it in one hand and shrugs off his leather jacket, tossing it onto one of the bar stools at my kitchen counter.
