#i cannot believe i just wrote another thing in this verse and they're so gross™

[jadedbirch]

Would you please: 5. and / or 8 - pairing of your own choice and/or 17- silverhamilton obviously I know I am greedy. :-)) ♥Thanks♥

Thanks Olina!  Well, first of all, I had to make DECISIONS here.  So I chose 8 (being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward) with the “pairing of my choice” aka Pirate Disgustoids.  And I don’t know how you feel about the Penis PJ Verse, but it makes me very happy, and I’ve been sick for over a week, so HERE WE ARE.  Gross™.

Silver lay on his stomach, right on the rug, in the middle of the predominantly empty room that he intended to turn into Flint’s new work space, his finger idly swiping across his iPad as he browsed through yet another furniture catalog.  

“I need to get you some shelves,” Silver said without looking up.  “You have shelves in your studio. I know this, because I have spent a fairly respectable amount of time in your studio, like the adoring and attentive boyfriend that I am.”

“Yeah, on your knees,” Flint called back from the corner by the window, where he had already set up a canvas and was busy mixing his unrecognizable palette.  He certainly was working outside the realm of his usual hues and it made him pause and doubt himself even more than usual in the process.

“Vulgar,” Silver muttered to himself and continued his exploration.  “If you don’t help me pick these out, I’ll just do it myself, and then you’re going to whine about how they’re not absolutely perfect because you like your plebby shit from the consignment store that smells like yesteryear’s grandma.”

“Who’s being vulgar now?” Flint chuckled.  He stroked his brush over the canvas, adding depth lovingly to the image before him.  If only he could do it justice so that everyone who would look at the painting in the future understood what an unstoppable force it was: this new ocean he’d been painting.

“What about chrome?” Silver called out from the floor and Flint wrinkled his nose.  “Nevermind, I can tell you hate it by the way you clench your ass.”

“Stop staring at my ass then.”

“You’re the absolute definition of an ingrate.”

“No, I’m the absolute definition of a person who doesn’t want you to buy him shit.”  Flint smiled as he spoke, casting a look behind him at Silver.  His hair spilled like a waterfall over both sides of his face, hiding him from sight like a mystical curtain.  Flint looked back at his canvas and wondered what it was missing.

Silver managed to be quiet for a few more minutes, flipping through the images on his screen as if hypnotized by the shapes and colors.  “I just want you to be comfortable,” he finally sighed, pushing the iPad away and sprawling onto his back, eyes fixed firmly on the blank ceiling.  

“Then you should get us a couch,” Flint suggested as he let his eyes take in Silver’s form, limbs loose and lax on the floor, his palm turned upwards in a soft and unconscious invitation.  “For those moments when I’m tired of painting and would like to relax with you,” he added.

“Oh, so the floor and the wall are no longer good enough for you, old man?” Silver laughed and rolled over to the side, propping his head up with his arm.  “How quickly they get used to lavish comforts,” he teased.

Flint found himself staring, disappointingly at a loss for a clever come back.  Sometimes his lover had that effect on him, he rendered him suddenly speechless.  Silver licked his own lips, while his eyes slowly traveled behind Flint and landed on the canvas.

“What have you painted?” Silver asked, squinting from the floor.

“Well,” Flint mumbled, suddenly shy, “new locale, new subject matter…”

“Let me see,” Silver said, rising from the floor like some modern version of Aphrodite rising from the sea.  Flint could picture it all very clearly now, the way seafoam would hiss and drip from Silver’s perfectly smooth skin while the winds ruffled his hair. He almost forgot to block his path, Silver was moving towards him with such determination.

“It’s not finished,” he said, placing his hand gently against Silver’s threadbare, loose t-shirt.  His fingers left a brown print on it and Flint swore.  “Fuck… sorry.”

“It’s just a shirt,” Silver said, dismissing Flint with a soft kiss on his unshaven cheek.

Helpless to stand in his way, Flint moved to the side, allowing Silver to have full view of his latest work.  Before Silver lay an ocean of waves, but it was unlike any ocean he’d seen before.  It was dark, overrun with shades of mahogany and ebony, and textured in cascades and vortices, it spilled over pale rocks and hung suspended in ringlets, like no droplets of water would ever do.  In the middle of the dark ocean was an unfinished figure of a tiny white ship, its sail tossed upon the waves.

Silver took a few steps back from the canvas, to get a different perspective.  “Is this…  hair?” Somehow in the curve of the pale rocks beneath the deep, dark sea, Silver had recognized the bend of his own arm.  The chestnut ringlets dangled over the precipice of his elbow.  “My hair?”

Flint swallowed.  “Yeah?”

“And the ship is in there because… it’s full of secrets?” Silver asked as his lips spread in a wide crescent, his smile reach all the way up to his eyes, crinkling the corners.

“Just…” Flint muttered, unable to meet his twinkling gaze. “One step at a time, okay? I can’t just… not put a ship in there.”

Silver’s hands were around Flint’s waist and his nose was already nuzzling against the curve of Flint’s jaw.  “You can put as many ships as you want in there,” Silver breathed out against his lips.

“Don’t tease me. We artists are very sensitive creatures.”

“You can put ships all over me.”  His hand fisted in Flint’s hair as his mouth, so warm and soft, pressed insistently against Flint’s lips.  Flint gasped, inhaling Silver’s probing tongue along with the sudden intake of air.  His eyes fell closed and his hips jutted forward, melding against Silver’s body which pressed into him with urgent insistence.  Their lips moved like the waves, a soft and steady ebb and flow of the kiss rocking Flint into a heavy and pleasant stupor, the bite of Silver’s teeth an answering sign of equalled passion when Flint’s fingers bit into the perfect globes of his ass.  Silver’s mouth was a cradle, his kiss was a lullaby.  

Flint couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes as Silver finally let him go.  His lips hummed like the beating of dragonfly wings and he brought his fingers to his mouth, chasing the warmth that was there a moment ago.

“Now you have paint on your face,” Silver whispered into his ear and Flint finally blinked his eyes open.

“So, you like it then?” Flint asked, fully aware of the blush that had crept up his neck as he spoke.

Silver leaned into Flint’s body, bringing all that heat and welcome weight back, his head tucked into the curve of Flint’s neck, curls tickling his skin.  “Like it?  I love it.  You know I love it.”

Flint turned his head to place a kiss into the middle of that sea of dark waves.  “I love it too,” he said, with just enough smugness to sell it.