This story was originally written for Zigster's birthday, and was posted along with a bunch of wonderful stories. You can find them here: www . fanfiction s/5934844/2/Happy_Birthday_Zigster go read and enjoy!
To my PF, my Pagan Fiance, I wish you the happiest of birthdays and many, many more returns. I love you so very much, and I hope that you, and everyone around you, know what a special, caring, and wonderful person you are. You are selfless, generous, and full of joy and happiness. You've even made me write fluff. Again. Damn it. You and YogaGal are going to ruin me.
So my darling PF, Happy Birthday. A little boy lovin' for you.
Thanks to Zeewriter for doing last minute beta work and cleaning it all up!
I sighed as I tugged at the tie around my neck, trying to loosen it a bit more.
"Edward! Leave it alone. You look perfect," Alice insisted as she swatted my hands away.
"Seriously, Alice? I look like, like . . . well, I don't look like me," I pouted.
"And thank god for that," she snarked.
"Hey what, Edward? Your 'usual' attire just won't cut it tonight, alright? This is an important night for me. This show always attracts a number of designers and agents, and if they like my stuff I might get an internship." She tightened up my tie again, practically choking me in the process. "Besides, you look good and there's somebody I want you to meet."
"Alice," I whined.
"Shut up, Edward. Rose is a great girl."
I huffed and shut up. I was sure Rose was a great girl, and right there was the problem—she was a girl. I hadn't come out to my sister yet, so Alice took every opportunity to try to fix me up with girls she thought would be right for me.
"Honestly, Edward. I don't understand you. You're so fickle. I'm not asking you to marry anyone yet, but at least go out, have some fun, get laid," she grumbled.
I grimaced. I really didn't want to discuss my sex life with Alice or, rather, my lack of a sex life. I wasn't a virgin, but the one night stands at the clubs inevitably left me unsatisfied. I'd even slept with a woman once, just to make sure. It was my high school girlfriend, Bella, and I spent most of the time looking at the poster of Leonardo DiCaprio she had above her bed and pretending I was fucking him. That pretty much sealed the deal for me. Bella and I remained friends after we broke up, and she was also the only person I'd come out to.
When I finally passed Alice's inspection we headed out the door. Our destination for the evening was her school. Alice was graduating from art college, and that night there was an exhibit for several of the graduates to showcase their work. The mediums were varied. Alice was a clothing designer, but she told me there would also be works by a couple of painters, a sculptor, and even a weaver.
I wasn't looking forward to it. I'd always found the shows Alice dragged me to pretentious, and usually didn't like the artwork either. I hated the way people milled about talking about the artist's "mood" or "influence," or how the painting "evoked" a visceral reaction in them, when all I could see was something that looked like a child finger painted.
Don't get me wrong, I was very proud of Alice, but I'd already seen all of her designs, and, by nature, I didn't mingle well. At the clubs it was different. I'd have a couple of drinks, the lighting was dim, the crowds were heavy, and I could lose myself in the anonymity. At events like Alice's, I had to actually stop and talk to people I didn't know, and discuss topics I had little interest in. All I wanted to do was stay home and work on my latest piece. My friend Tanya told me her dance company was looking for some new music, so I was writing something specifically for her, to showcase her abilities.
We arrived and Alice immediately began squealing with excitement, then she turned to me and warned, "This is important to me, Edward. Play nice."
I plastered a fake smile on my face, but under my breath I muttered, "Don't push your luck little one."
She stuck out her tongue at me before grinning, and I couldn't help the real smile that crept across my face. My sister may have been a pain in the ass at times, but I did love her. And since our parents died, we only had each other. So, I linked my arm through hers and we walked in. And it was . . . exactly as I'd imagined it. Pretentious artists, mingling with pretentious wannabe art critics and collectors, all while being preened over by the parents of said pretentious artists.
I grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter and made my way around as Alice detached herself from me to go check on her pieces. I looked across the room as she walked away, and nearly tripped and fell when my eyes landed on a thing of beauty. He was about six feet tall, had blond hair that fell across his forehead in lazy waves, and he was dressed casually—black pants that hung loose and low on his hips, a thin blue v-neck t-shirt, and a couple of necklaces completed his look. His face had a layer of scruff that gave him the look of someone who couldn't be bothered to shave that day, and instead of looking affected it made him look sexy as hell. But what riveted me were his eyes; they were a vivid blue that made me think of sunny islands and the feel of hands rubbing lotion on my skin. Lost in my ogling, it took me a moment to notice that his lovely mouth—and dear god, those lips of his—had quirked up in a smirk, and I flushed to the roots of my hair as I realized that I'd been caught staring.
I spun away, nearly spilling my drink in the process and quickly walked to one of the alcoves on the other side of the huge room, where a series of sculptures were on display. I downed the wine and grabbed another one as a server walked past me. I took a few deep breaths, and a few more sips of wine, and tried to put the smirking beauty out of my mind. I started to tour the exhibits.
The paintings were . . . interesting. No, not interesting, captivating—wild and yet, sensual.
"What do you think?" a male voice behind me asked; the southern inflection was unmistakable.
Without taking my eyes off the painting I told him what I thought and added, "The figures are anonymous, almost androgynous even, yet they exude such sensuality, and the brushstrokes are so big, so raw, it's almost . . ."
"Almost?" he egged.
"Almost like the artist was finger painting," I finished.
He moved closer and then his breath was against my ear as he whispered, "I was finger painting."
My breath hitched and my body froze. Could it be him? I wondered. Gathering my courage, I turned around slowly, but no one was there. My eyes darted around the room looking for him, but I didn't see him anywhere. My breathing started to come in pants and from across the room I could see Alice with a tall blond woman, and it was obvious she was looking for me. No way could I deal with meeting one of her friends at that moment. I turned and walked in the opposite direction, looking for somewhere to be alone for just a few minutes. I needed to collect myself, and I also realized that his low voice in my ear had me partially aroused. Jesus, if just a whisper from him could do that to me . . . I shuddered.
I found a small hallway with three closed doors. The first two were locked, but the third opened to a small storeroom. I sat down on a crate and loosened the stupid fucking tie Alice made me wear, then scrubbed my hands over my face before putting them on my knees. I leaned forward and just concentrated on my breathing. When I'd calmed a bit, I thought about him. He was stunning, and talented, but what game was he playing? Why tune me up and then walk away? Was he just messing with me? Straight guy making an ass out of the gay guy?
"What the fuck?" I groused.
"What the fuck, indeed," his low voice repeated.
I jumped from my perch on the crate and spun around; I never even heard the door. I found him leaning casually against it; legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed in front of his chest. Those impossibly blue eyes of his were regarding me like I was a curiosity, but there was something else there too, behind the studied gaze, something . . .
"I've been watching you all night," he drawled, and he pushed himself off the door and began walking toward me. "You're not like the others, the ones who come to make themselves feel more cultured."
I shook my head, but my mouth didn't seem to want to work. My heart began thumping hard in my chest, and my body felt like it was buzzing. He took another step toward me, and for some reason I took one back.
"You liked my paintings," he stated. Another step forward, another back.
"Yes," I whispered, but I couldn't take my eyes off his mouth. Two more steps and my back hit the shelving behind me. He kept moving forward until he was inches away from me. His right hand reached out and grabbed the shelf on my left, partially caging me.
"Why?" he asked.
When I didn't respond, he gripped my chin in his hand and lifted it, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Mmmm, there you are. Now answer the question, chère."
I gulped as I stared at him, his eyes pinning me in place. "Because they're so sensual, erotic, it's like you're painting the people themselves, making love to them with your brushes or fingers, even though I can't tell if they're men or women," I answered, ending on a whisper and a prayer.
His lush mouth stretched into a smirk as he leaned a little closer and said, "I am painting them, and I do make love to their forms as I paint, but I am also painting my lovers, and to answer your unasked question, some are women, some are men." He pulled back a bit and allowed his gaze to roam over my body. "I'd love to paint you," he said, his voice pitched low.
"But we're not lovers," I breathed.
"Well then, chère, we'll just have to remedy that, won't we?"
And then his mouth was on mine, commanding and insistent, and his lips were soft, full and warm, and when his tongue grazed me, seeking entrance, I moaned and opened to him, allowing him to explore and taste me. He pressed up against me, and I...
SORRY FOLKS, A VERY SAD, SMALL MINDED PERSON WITH WHAT APPEARS TO BE A VERY EMPTY AND BORING LIFE, HAS TAKEN IT UPON THEMSELVES TO GO AFTER ALL STORIES THEY BELIEVE ARE INAPPROPRIATE FOR THIS SITE AND REPORT, SO THE STORIES WILL BE TAKEN DOWN.
FINGER PAINTING WILL REMAIN HERE ON FFN. I WILL BE EDITING THE CHAPTERS, SO AS NOT TO OFFEND THE THOUGHT POLICE, AND BECAUSE I DO NOT WISH FOR ALL THE LOVELY WORDS OF ENCOURAGEMENT THAT HAVE BEEN OFFERED HERE OVER THE YEARS TO BE DELETED, BECAUSE THE OWNERS OF THIS SITE REMOVE EVERYTHING WHOLESALE, WITHOUT CHECKING ANYTHING OR WARNING TO THE AUTHORS. AFTER THE CUT THERE WILL BE ELLIPSES ... WHICH WILL INDICATE THAT THE REST OF THE CHAPTER HAS BEEN [EDITED] OUT, BECAUSE I AM NOT GOING TO SECOND GUESS WHAT WILL OFFEND THESE NINNIES ON ANY GIVEN DAY.
HOWEVER, ALL MY STORIES WILL REMAIN IN THEIR FULL, UNCENSORED FORMS ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN. SEE MY PROFILE FOR MORE INFORMATION.
...I flung the door open and stormed out.
What was it with the guy and disappearing? How did he know my name? And when could we do that again? Because I'd just had the best fuck of my life.
I stepped back into the exhibit room, my eyes scanning for the beautiful blond painter, when I heard Alice's shrill, "There you are, Edward!"
I closed my eyes and bit my tongue in frustration, but turned to face her. "Hey, Ali." To her left was the blond glamazon I'd seen earlier.
"Where have you been, Edward?"
"Sorry, I just had to step outside for a minute for some fresh air."
"Oh. I thought maybe you tried to sneak out without me," she grinned. "I know you hate coming to these. Anyway, Edward, this is my friend Rosalie, but you can call her Rose. Rose, this is my brother, Edward."
I extended my hand and shook hers, polite as ever. "A pleasure to meet you, Rose."
"Likewise," she said with the hint of a familiar accent. She moved slightly to the side and there he stood, in all his blond-haired, blue-eyed glory, a shit-eating-grin on his face. "This is my brother Jasper," she said. "His work is on display here tonight, too. He's wonderful," she cooed, obviously proud of him.
"J . . . Jasper," I stuttered, extending my hand to him and squeezing a bit harder than necessary.
He grinned wider. "A pleasure to meet you, Edward. Alice has told me so much about you," he returned.
I continued to grip his hand. "Why don't you show me your work, Jasper," I said with a slight snarl.
"Certainly," he replied, pulling me toward him and placing his arm around my shoulders like we were long time friends. He looked over his shoulder at Alice and Rose. "I'm just going to show Edward here my display. I'll have him back to you in a few minutes, chères."
I felt a shudder of desire course through me at the sound of that endearment. We walked back over to the spot we first "met," and I turned to face him. "You mind telling me what's going on here, Jasper?" I didn't know if I should feel angry, hurt, used, or flattered . . . the entire thing was kind of surreal, and yet my body still leaned toward his, hungry for more.
"I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't plan any of this, truly," he said as he brushed his hair off his forehead. "Alice talks about you so much, I almost feel like I know you, and when she met Rose and wanted to set you two up, I just assumed you were straight, and that was that. But after the eye-fucking you gave me earlier . . ." he took a breath. "Your family doesn't know you're gay, do they?"
I shook my head. "It's just me and Alice, and I haven't told her."
"It's not really my business, but why not? She's a pretty accepting person."
"I don't really know," I laughed. "I guess it's just not something you blurt out to your baby sister over your morning coffee." I shrugged. There really wasn't a good reason. It was just awkward and I was avoiding it.
"What about you?"
"Oh, my family knows about my 'proclivities,' as they call them. Only Rose gets it. Our parents seem to think I'll 'grow out of it' and settle down with a nice girl and give them lots of fat grand bébés."
I laughed at the image. He took a step toward me and ran his thumb along my mouth.
"You really are beautiful," he said. "Alice was right about that."
I blushed and tried to stammer a response.
"Hush now, chère. The only thing I want to know, is whether you want to get out of here with me right now?"
"Hell yes," I replied.
He smiled wide and beautiful, then grabbed me by the hand and dragged me back over to Alice and Rose.
"We're getting out of here," he said without preamble and began to pull me along.
Rose smirked at me, her eyes full of mirth, and I winked back.
"But . . . but . . . but Edward!" Alice sputtered, and chased after us. "What about Rose? You know I just want you to meet somebody nice."
I let go of Jasper's hand for a moment and hugged my sister tight before whispering in her ear, "I did sweetie. I did." I pulled back and placed my hand in Jasper's again, and watched as her eyes went wide with understanding. I laughed, and as Jasper and I walked away, I yelled over my shoulder, "Don't wait up!"