The sound was off.
JC played the chord again. And again, the sound was off. There was something wrong. Was it the piano? He’d just had it tuned…
The doorbell.
Laughing at himself, he rose from the piano and padded across his living room, opening the door.
“Hi.”
JC squinted against the sunlight, trying to make out the face of the figure in shadow. “Hello. Can I help you?”
The figure nodded. “I’m the painter.” The figure held up something long and strange looking. “You know. The painter?”
“Oh, yeah, the painter.” JC stepped aside and the painter into the hall. He shut the door, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and turned around.
Gulp.
The painter. He was gorgeous. Young, blonde, tanned, tall. This was not the man who’d come and given him an estimate last week. This was…JC shook his head. “Where’s the other guy?” he asked.
The painter smiled. “That’s my dad,” he explained. “He sorta had an accident, and asked me to fill in for him.” The painter twirled the brush in his hand. “Where…?”
“Oh, yeah.” JC brushed by, catching the scent of sun and sweat and coffee off of the painter, surprised at his raging hormones. It’s just been a long time, JC thought. You’ve been involved with writing, bu t yeah, he’s really pretty, so maybe…JC shook his head again. “In here,” he said, leading the painter to the living room.
Which was, to put it nicely, a mess. The painter’s father had put down drop clothes, but the rest of the room was a mess, covered with take out container and dirty laundry and filling the entire middle of the room, JC’s grand piano. Across the piano was sheet music and pens and coffee cups. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.”
“No problem,” the painter said, picking his way through and dropping his brush on the floor. “I’m going to get the rest of my supplies and get started.” The painter stopped next to JC. “By the way, Mr. Chasez, I’m Justin.” He held out a hand.
JC slipped his into Justin’s. A tingle, just like he’d knew he’d feel. “Not Mr. Chasez, please. I’m JC.”
Justin nodded. And smiled.
*
JC realized he was anxious. He kept looking up at the clock, noting the time, the stopping his playing, listening for the doorbell. The day before, he’d sat at his piano and watched Justin paint. And he watched. And watched. Justin was good, he guessed. Careful not to spill, taping the edges of the baseboard, things like that. The job was going well. Too well, in fact. JC realized that Justin would be done by tomorrow, and JC didn’t want him to be done. He hadn’t gotten up the courage to speak to him, save to offer him a bottle of water twice, and a beer at the end of the day. The one time Justin spoke to him, asking him if he liked the color of the room, he embarrassed himself by squeeking an yes. Him, a professional singer, squeeked!
JC heard a car door shut, and jumped up from the piano bench, rushing to the hall. Realizing how eager he must seem, he waiting until the doorbell rang twice before answering it. “Hey, Justin,” he said, straining to be causal.
“Hey, JC,” Justin replied, walking into the house and down into the living room. JC noticed his arms straining with the weight of the two cans of paint. “Sorry, I’m late, had to get more paint.” He lifted his arms a bit.
JC nodded, not knowing what to say. “How about some coffee before you start?” JC asked, wondering where he got the courage, wondering still why this boy made him so nervous.
Justin smiled. “Sure, that’d be great.”
JC felt Justin follow him into the kitchen. He’d spent a considerable amount of time this morning making sure the kitchen was clean and the coffee ready if he got up the nerve to ask Justin. There were fresh cups on the small table by the window, and Justin took the hint and sat down as JC pulled the carafe from the counter. He poured two cups, then sat at the table.
“So, do you, have you worked for you dad for long?” JC asked.
Justin shook his head. “I’m just helping out until he gets on his feet for now,” Justin explained.
“What do you do, normally?” JC inquired.
“I’m a painter.”
“You have your own business, then?”
Justin laughed. “No, I’m a painter. An artist.” He mimed using a brush. “Oils, mainly portraits for money, but other things for fun.”
“Oh, a painter,” JC said, feeling himself blush. “Are you any good?” The blush deepened.
“I like to think so,” Justin said. He cocked his head. “I could do you, if you want.”
JC choked on his sip of coffee.
“I’d better get to work,” Justin said, rising from the table. “Thanks for the coffee.”
JC watched him leave. “You’re welcome,” he whispered, banging his head on the table in abject misery.
*
Day three, and JC realized Justin was almost finished. He was temped to do something to the walls, to make Justin stay a few more days, but knew that would be childish and stupid, not to mention selfish. Justin had his own life, and he was only filling in for his father on JC’s job, and no, he wouldn’t throw this cup of coffee at the wall, he wouldn’t.
JC heard the car door slam, and then the bell ring, and rose from the piano bench. “Hello, Justin,” he said, leaving the other man at the door and walking back into the living room. “Last day, huh?” he asked, moving to sit at the piano, picking out a soft melody on the keys.
Justin nodded, opening up his can of paint. “Should be done by noon,” he said, loading up his brush and moving to the window pane. “I hope it hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience for you,” he said, stroking the paint along the frame.
JC shook his head. “No, not at all.” He continued to play, the music coming fast from him. The tune was quiet, melancholy, perfectly reflecting JC’s mood. “How’s your dad?” JC asked.
“Much better,” Justin said, squatting to finish a baseboard. JC groaned. “He apologizes again for not being able to do the job himself, feels really bad about it.”
“Tell him not to worry,” JC said, his fingers moving faster over the keys, the music getting sharper. “I’m just wondering if you’re life was interrupted. Doing this for him.”
Justin looked over his shoulder, smiling a bit. “It’s been no imposition on me, trust me on that.”
“Good.”
JC finished the piece, whatever it was he’d been playing, and rose for the bench. He couldn’t watch Justin paint anymore. He knew he’d be finished soon and he’d wussed out, coward that he was and he’d never see him again. God damn him for being such a pussy.
After a few hours, JC heard Justin call up the stairs to him. “What?” JC said, coming to the top of the stairs.
“I’m all done, JC,” Justin said. “Want to come see?”
JC walked down the stairs and into the living room. It was a changed place from three days ago. The walls had been expertly painted a warm cream, the moldings and woodwork bright white, casting a soft glow onto the entire room. The drop cloths were gone, and Justin had even moved JC’s furniture around, exactly where he’d planned for it to go. JC turned to Justin. “It’s. Amazing.”
“Thanks,” Justin said. “I’m all packed, so I’ll just say goodbye now.” Justin held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure working here, JC.”
JC shook Justin’s hand quickly. “Thank you.” He walked Justin to the door, opened it, and out Justin went. Out the door. Out of his life.
JC’s shoulders slumped as he walked back into his living room. He’d have to get it painted over again; now way could he live here, with this constant reminder of Justin and what might have been. He picked up the phone and the phone book, intent on getting someone here today when the doorbell rang. Walking with the phone in his hand, he opened the door.
“Were you really going to let me leave like that?”
Justin pushed inside, tossing the door shut and grabbing JC by the shoulders, pressing him up against the wall and slamming his mouth on top of JC’s. JC shuddered at the feel of Justin’s mouth, the feel of Justin’s body, the feel of Justin’s hard cock against his own. His arms came around Justin, his mouth opened under Justin’s, and his legs lifted and squeezed around Justin’s waist.
After a long and wet kiss, they parted, JC looking into Justin’s blue eyes with astonishment. “How, how did you know?”
Justin smiled. “You’re not very good at hiding your emotions, JC,” he said, shifting JC away from the wall and walking them both into the living room. At the couch, he dropped JC down and followed after him. Another long, wet kiss. “Thank God,” he sighed, slipping his mouth off JC’s and sucking at the sensitive skin under JC’s ear.
“And here I thought I was so cool about it,” JC said, slipping his hands down to clench Justin’s hips closer, luxuriating in the feel of Justin’s hardness, loving the fact that this man wanted him.
“Hardly cool,” Justin laughed, slipping a hand between them and fisting JC’s cock through his jeans. “But very, very hot.”
“So,” he squeeked. Fuck, squeeked! “Will you do me now?”
Justin lifted his head. “That’s the idea, JC,” he said.
“No, I mean paint me,” JC corrected.
Justin smiled softly. “That’s what I meant, too.”
JC smiled back, content to have his painter in his arms.