Date: Sat, 8 Sep 2007 15:57:25 -0700 (PDT)
From: rock_on_summer@yahoo.com
Subject: His body is my universe 1

This is my first story, so please, please, please comment, good or bad to
rock_on_Summer@yahoo.com. I'm not a native speaker, so I'm sorry for any
misspellings, grammar mistakes or whatever mistakes I might have made. Tell
me if you liked it and I might post a second chapter ;P

Disclaimer: I wrote this, don't copy it unless you ask. This is fiction. If
there are people who are similar to people in the story or have the same
name, I didn't intend it. Beware, gay sex! Don't like that -> don't enter,
you have been warned. If you like, you're welcome to proceed (even though
there won't be sex just yet).



"Hey Weirdo."

"Hi hunny-bunny! And I'm not that weird!"

"Sure you're not! You've got paint on your nose."

I wiped my nose.

"Gone?"

He stepped closer.

"Hm, no."

I rubbed my nose harder.

"Now?"

"Still not."

"Shut up! I don't even have paint on my nose, do I?"

"O, you're right. It's a big pimple! Gee, how could I mistake it for
paint?"

"Fuck you! I do not have pimples either!"

And I didn't! I was a blond curly-haired, fair-skinned boy in my early
twenties (ok, mid-twenties) and even when puberty hit I had never had the
curse of acne. And Case knew it, he just wanted to annoy me.

"You've got the prettiest pimples I've ever seen." He said, kissing me on
the nose.

"Let me finish my painting before I beat you up."

And I turned around to my canvas that was set up in the middle of our
living-room. Along with the white long-sleeved, oversized, knee-long dress
shirt that was splattered with paint it was probably the cause for being
called "weirdo" earlier.

I heard him rummage around in the kitchen area, hopefully trying to fix us
dinner.

"Hun?"

"Painting, remember?"

"Do we, like, not have butter?" He asked as he looked in from the kitchen
with an empty butter container in his hand.

"Hm, I might have, like, used it all up."

I tried hard to concentrate on my painting. A painting of him, I might add,
even though, you wouldn't recognize it yet, because it was just his
eyes. The whole canvas was black with little bright spots, so that it
looked like the night-sky. There was a round black circle in the middle,
that was even darker then the rest and was supposed to be his iris. It had
a silver sickle, like a half-moon in it that was supposed to be the spark
in his eyes. I wasn't satisfied yet, even though it was almost done. Case
is of Asiatic heritage and has dark, very pretty, expressive eyes, so that
it was especially hard to capture them just right. Case is overall very
pretty, but don't tell him, he prefers handsome.

I know pretty when I see it though. I had painted his hair a while ago. I
made it a dark blue, almost black, ocean with a little foam on it to
resemble the shininess in his hair. He wore it medium long and in careful
disarray, a little bit like a character you'd see in a manga.  He had
light-brown skin, like latte macchiato after moving the spoon, and a lean,
nicely defined but not overly so, body.

I always loved his siluette, it was elegant and it was perfect for painting
it naked, playing with light and shadow. I had painted many pictures of
him, most of them naked. I had sold a few of him dressed, not very
willingly, but I had kept all of the ones of him naked. I didn't like
selling my paintings; I rather just gave them away as a present whenever I
felt a painting felt "right" for somebody, like it would belong there.

Case made me sell some every once in a while, because I can't hold a real
job for more then a week it seems, but I somehow have to make money,
too. His job pays well, but the house we just got is expansive. I don't
really know much about the figures though. Case handles the money. Does a
much better job at it then I ever would.

After a while of job-hopping he figured, he should just let me be a painter
for a living and stop finding me stupid jobs that got me stressed out and
depressed. We had fought a lot on the issue. It was a horrible time that I
don't like to remember. So I won't, and I'll concentrate on the space, that
was his eyes in the canvas in front of me.

"Lucy?"

Would have liked to, that is.

"Hm."

Little to no response is the best way to get rid of people.

"Since you started being a painter it feels like you have less time then
when you were, for example, a marketing director."

"Didn't start being a painter, was born that way. Never been a marketing
director either." I mumbled.

He sat on the one of our beige couches behind me with a glass of wine in
his hand. I hated when people sat behind me while I painted, it made me
feel like I was back in sixth grade when the math teacher would walk around
to see if you were solving your problems right. Mine were always wrong and
whenever the teacher was right behind me I couldn't think and I'd just stop
what I was doing and the teacher would ask me if I ever even did in math
what I was supposed to do.

You see, I'm traumatized.

And I knew Case was using it against me. I didn't like it, but I knew Case
would make me stop painting, and this was just one of his less-effective
weapons. No shame in surrendering early.

So I dropped the paintbrush in its glass and looked at my painting.

"Done." I announced.

"Cool!" He grinned at me, got up and hugged me against him from behind. He
was slightly taller then I was and looked over my shoulder at the
unfinished painting.

"Almost done, isn't it?"

"Almost."

"I've never seen a painting with so much black in it that still doesn't
look threatening or depressive, but, I don't know, happy isn't the right
word."

Well, happy wasn't what I was feeling towards him and this painting was
about him after all.

He nuzzled my shoulder and then the bastard bit my neck. Hard. And then he
started tickling me, which had me boxing his abs and squealing like a
baby-piggy.

"Case you dick-head. Stop it!!! Stop!!!" I squealed and begged.

He threw me on the couch and finally let go of me, so I could catch my
breath.

I fake-glared at him.

"Look at your shirt! Now you got painting on it."

"O no. Really? This is my best shirt!"

"No, not really. It's a pimple."

"Haha. How do you spell humour?"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Stop hosing around and make me dinner,
bitch! It's your turn!"

"I'll feed you dinner!" He got up and grabbed his crotch.

O boy.

Then he removed his shirt and tossed it at me.

"You can do the laundry while I'll get us something to eat!"

I tossed it right back at him (in the hopes he wouldn't put it back on)




"This is cheating Case!"

"Why? You told me to get you food, I got you food."

"You dialled the delivery service."

"Stop bitching and be grateful for what the Lord has prepared for you!" he
mumbled around a fork of spaghetti.

"I don't get bitchy, I'm no girl I'm a guy. Guys get snippy, and I wasn't
getting that either."

"Keep it up and you won't be getting any."

"At least I CAN keep it up."

I knew he could too, but I wanted to annoy him so he'd prove it. He stuck
his tongue out. How mature.

"Back to the cooking."

"That you never do."

"And that you're going to do next week for my boss, his wife und us."

"I am?"

I was really surprised here. Case usually didn't invite people he worked
with to our place. He worked at this marketing, investment advice-giving
thingy, don't really know what it's called but he tells clueless
businesspeople how to run their company. Fancy people that wear Armani
suits (like him by the way) and that have wives with pearl necklaces, fur
coats and three pink poodles - okay scratch the poodles but you get the
picture.

It would be weird having people like that in our home. I really loved our
house the way it was and I knew Case did too. But it was kind of^Å like a
backpacker's hostel.

The living room was big but half of it was occupied with paint-stained
wooden easels, one with the painting of his eyes on it, paintings were
lined-up leaning against the wall in various sizes. The floor was rough,
paint-splattered wood and had four big beige cotton couches on it (some of
them with paint-stains and small cigarette burns), that were set up on the
other side of the living room, where the floor was two steps higher and
that we used as a stage when we held parties at our place.

In other words: it was chaotic and they wouldn't like it

"It would be nice if you could."

I looked around me. We were sitting in the "dining room" that was a lot
nicer then the living room and the kitchen, but wasn't for show either. We
had a divan in it, black leather with cherry wood feet, next to a small
red-brick fireplace, a small round antic table and four matching chairs,
made of polished cherry wood, with little Chinese dragons carved in them, a
present from Case's grandmother. Quite stylish actually. Case kept this
room neat and my clutter wasn't allowed in here ("you've got five other
rooms that you can store your crap (he wanted to say art) in, get this
stuff out or I'll burn it!")

So far so good, but I had been allowed to decorate the walls and shelves,
that were build into the walls. The walls had three paintings of Case on
them, all in black frames. It was a series in dark and pale colours and I
made the paintings as large as live. One showed him naked in obscure light,
with the arms of another unrecognizable men (me of course) holding him from
behind, the other picture showed him from behind, exposing his perfect
little butt while looking over his shoulder, my hands were on his hip and
shoulder in this painting and in the third painting you saw him kissing
somebody standing in the shadows with curly hair (me).  Very classy
paintings (and I'm usually very self-critical), but not something you
necessarily wanted your boss to see.

I was just glad he wouldn't get to see the bedroom with the
larger-then-live erotic/pornographic paintings (partly with close ups) that
I drew on the wall.

"You really want to take them here?" I said sceptically.

"My boss wanted to get to know me better, see how I live."

"You think he can take it?"

"I don't know. It makes you uncomfortable right?"

"A little."

"I think if we clean up the living room a little and if you could maybe
finish early that day, oh and of course, if you don't burn dinner, things
should be fine." Ass. I never burned dinner. The only reason I couldn't
maintain my job as a cook was that I could never get up in time. Even
though some people think 11am isn't all that early. Which made me think.

"It is nothing you could lose your job over, right?"

"No, not really. He might think I'm weird, but our customers go for the
unconventional solutions that I offer. It's kind of my unique selling
point. He already likes me though and we get along good. He's really nice,
you'll see. But maybe if we don't seem as much like the chaotic whacos that
we are, he'll promote me earlier and you would have to sell less stuff."

"Ok. I'll cook. I'll prepare the rooms. I'll even polish our silverware if
you want me to."

"Babe, we don't have silverware."

"I could get some. Haven't you always wanted silverware? And porcelain, I
could get classy porcelain too"

"No. I like our cheap dishes that I can throw at you without having a bad
conscious. And I like our cluttered, messy living room and" he said, liking
my ear "I like you."

"Really?" I whispered.

"No, not really, I'm just saying that to get you to sleep with me."

I knew I would be ashamed to have to eat in this room with his boss after
what we did on the dining table that night.