Other Colors - Ch. 17 - Sex Stories

Other Colors - Ch. 17

... painting for Dmitri. I wasn’t just seeing him. I was living with him now. I was his. And I had not the slightest shred of an idea of what I could say for myself. Still, I owed him at least the simulacrum of an explanation. And if I couldn’t give him that, then I owed him, at least, a ‘hello’. I crossed my arms, and started inching down the aisle to the foot of his ladder. It was a little hard to look at him. The flame of his torch was like a flash of lightning. “…Hey stranger,” I called up sheepishly, shielding my eyes. He turned off his torch, and flipped his mask up, “Pens?” I nodded. He stared. I watched him tug off his gloves, and climb down to greet me. His clothes were filthy, and his curls sopping wet with sweat. I hugged him anyways. “I like the leaves. Sort of Julio Gonzalez-y…” with my toe, I tapped the box beside the ladder, “…What’s the concept?” “Titania’s forest,” he answered me distantly, still staring. “Oh. They’re doing The Dream ?” I drew my lips to one side, “Ashton, or Balanchine?” “They’re doing The Shrew ,” he wiped his brow, “And it’s Cranko, but they’re mixing scores. The whole thing’s kind of a mess, really,” he leaned back against the ladder, “I’m not convinced Renault knows where he’s going with it. He's more concerned with puns than continuity.” Still, he was staring. I felt my skin begin to warm. “What’s wrong?” I murmured. “Did I mix up my eyeliner and lipstick again?” “I’m sorry,” he shook his head, “I’m just—I’m really surprised you’re here.” ...

... He tossed a rag over his shoulder, “I heard you shacked up with Comrade Caine.” I lowered my eyes, “So. You already know, then…” I bit my lip, “I’m sorry you didn’t hear it from me first.” “Whatever, Pens. It’s fine,” his face was tense as he looked me over. “That’s a sharp outfit he’s got you in,” he sniffed. “Does he pick out your knickers too?” I flushed scarlet, and glowered at the floor, “Please. Don’t do that.” “Honestly,” he stepped closer, his voice heated, “I’m amazed he let you out of your cage long enough to come down here.” “Stop it,” I stamped my foot, and I glared at him. “Just stop it, Peter. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Bull. I’ve heard the stories,” he muttered. “I just—I can't believe he roped you into it, Pens. I really thought you had more respect for yourself,” he scratched his head roughly. “I know I did.” His words nearly knocked the wind out of me. I’d given Peter ample occasion to be miffed at me before, but he'd never been cruel. My jaw clenched. I opened my mouth to snarl something at him, but I was so angry and embarrassed that every syllable just turned to steam on my lips. And just who the hell does he think he is—Sir Galahad? My nostrils flared. Seriously. Sleeping with his models, leaving their panties strewn all over his studio… I felt a few tears begin to burn at the corners of my eyes, and I crushed them beneath my eyelids. I could have cursed myself for crying. He stepped away, allowing me some space. “I’m sorry,” his scowl ...