The Red Strokes

Moonlight on canvas, midnight and wine

Two shadows starting to softly combine

The picture they're painting

Is one of the heart

And to those who have seen it

It's a true work of art

The grandfather clock against the wall struck midnight as the artist dipped his brush once again into the paint.

Red. The only color to use for this particular piece. He paid the chiming no head as the night wore on.

Moonlight poured through the exposed window, playing tricks on the paint covered canvas.

"Up late again, love?" The smooth, sultry voice of his lover cascaded over his senses, and his had to pause in mid stroke to shiver slightly. Warm hands landed on his shoulders, moving down along his arms until his hands were covered. His lovers chest had become flush with his back, two people now occupying the bench rather than one.

"You now how the inspiration works. I can't control it, I only try to paint it." He sighed contentedly with the heat now between them. The candles flickered slightly, the melding shadows on the wall fitting like a puzzle.

Oh, the red strokes

Passions un-caged

Thundering moments of tenderness rage

Oh, the red strokes, tempered and strong

Burning the night like the dawn

The dusky-skinned hand now resting atop his own moved with him, melding into one, as his lover guided their hands back over to the pile of paint to collect more.

Red.

In one movement they moved back to the canvas, breathing now almost the same, watching as the painting took on the life they poured into it.

"No one will believe we painted this, love." The husky voice melted into his neck.

"No one has to. This one will be ours," he whispered back, feeling as his heart became part of the picture, and his lover's as well. They could hear their blood pumping swiftly through their veins as the adrenaline rush grew.

He took another sip of his red wine with his spare hand, his lover doing likewise. Another stroke. Not too many more, the picture was almost complete. It was exciting. Anticipation and the reward of a masterpiece. A masterpiece that was made between him and the one that he loved.

Is breath caught in his throat as they removed the brush from the canvas surface. There. It was done. Gorgeous in its perfection, unflawed and raw like an untamed passion. A passion that should never be bridled.

"It's beautiful," he breathed. Had he started to paint this? Really? Had he taken the boundaries of love and beauty and desire and given it this much of life? This much vitality? He could see the touch that his lover had added, something he could have never done himself, but it made the picture that much more powerful.

"It reminds me of you," he stated. A soft hand petted his hair, turning his head until their smoldering eyes met. His lover's crimson colored eyes.

Red. Passions and love and burning brighter than bright.

He smiled, releasing a breath that he had been holding, relief flooding his system. He always felt like a burden had been lifted after completing a picture. It was becoming a high, the way he felt so light.

But this, this was different. This was stronger, deeper, holding everything he felt inside at the moment.

Soft, salty lips met his and the rest of the night melted away. The fires raging through him were still there, and still very active. They had to be released. The painting, instead of relieving it, only seemed to drive it on.

And he knew that his lover felt the exact same way.

Steam on the windows, salt in a kiss

Two hearts have never pounded like this

Inspired by a vision that they can't command

Erasing the borders with he brush of a hand

Oh, the red strokes

Passions un-caged

Thundering moments of tenderness rage

Oh, the red strokes, fearlessly drawn

Burning the night like the dawn

He felt his body lowered to the floor. They're hearts pounded erratically in their ears. It was always said the painting held thousands of emotions with each stroke of the brush. It was so very true. Passion and love and devotion, wild and free and alluring. Bright and smoldering and compelling.

Oh, the blues will be blue and the jealousies green

But when love picks a shade, it demands to be seen

The night gave out to the ways of two lovers declaring their passions. Hot and steaming and so bitterly sweet. They would burn up the night tonight, chase the storms and tame the winds.

So wildly enticing. They were breaking the molds and casting anew.

Butterfly kisses rained down his cherubic face, golden bangs falling into his lazy, half-lidded eyes. His lover's trembling body lay directly on top of his, exauhsted but still-smoldering red eyes pierced into his very soul. "I love you," he panted.

"Hmm," his lover sighed, nuzzling his cheek. "Mine," he said, a whisper as powerful as a shouted command.

Steam on the windows, salt in a kiss

Two hearts have never pounded like this

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