The Pretty Painter

Characters: Brice, Trela
Origin: Of the Shadow World: Madness (WIP)
Advent Day: Day 25 (December 21st)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,888


"Look, Brice! Her skirt looks like petals. Flowers dancing and twirling..."

Keeping Trela still and quiet during any artistic performance was always a challenge, but with Trela's brother, Ranae, dancing on the stage, Brice had finally resigned himself to the fact that it was an impossibility. Trela had shifted to the edge of his seat when Ranae entered and refused to sit back until he exited the stage. He had also given Brice his version of the storyline in whispers since the very first number. While the story that spun itself in Trela's mind was fractured and sometimes nonsensical, Brice couldn't help but be pulled in by Trela's view of the dancers. When Trela would speak so fervently and whisper into his ear, he couldn't help but be inspired, and it was as if the dancers in front of him transformed under that inspiration.

In truth, it was a hallucination, one of many that Trela had been the source of since their lives had started to balance one another out, finding the middle ground between mundane reality and true insanity. Trela couldn't help but spark such things in Brice, and Brice had finally given in, letting Trela's power as a muse transform the world around him for short periods of time. It meant he spent a bit of time crazed, teetering on the edge of insanity, but it also meant Trela became more lucid, able to share hours—sometimes even days—with him and not be pulled back into the haze at a moment's notice.

It was a compromise. As Trela had once said, their roots were now entwined. He was a part of Trela, and Trela was a part of him. Brice no longer worried about going on dates with Trela, taking his lover out, bringing him to meet his folks. He loved Trela, and he'd be damned if he was ever going to be ashamed of that love—and of who he loved—again.

"Yes," Brice whispered, letting Trela's vision of the ballet fill his mind. "The music is like colors, isn't it? Pink and blue and swirly red."

"Like candy for your ears," Trela chuckled. "All sugary and tasty. Cotton candy and sugar plums and snowflakes. The dark music swirls and sticks, and the darkness makes the other colors all the brighter. They dance, all elegance and skill."

Brice all but moaned at Trela's words. "On their toes, they dance for us."

Trela giggled, cuddling as close as he could while still being in his seat. "Up on their tippy-toes."

"God, baby, nothing is simple with you. Nothing is normal," Brice whispered.

"Because nothing is ever normal," Trela purred. "All depends how you look at it, how you see it, how you read into it. Like a book. Between the lines. Between the dancers."

"Between them?" Brice murmured, and when Trela nuzzled his neck, his eyelashes fluttered, blurring his view of the dancers and the stage.

"Mmm... the spaces between. They're just as full of life, full of meaning and color. Arms move, legs move, and the spaces between envelop them, always changing."

Brice shuddered in his seat. Trela's voice was deep near his ear, his words moist to his senses. "Trela..."

"You're all red and swirly inside." Trela was as close as he could be while remaining out of his lap. "Heart pittering like the dancers on the stage."

"It's because you're close," Brice breathed. "It makes me want you."

Trela stared at him for a moment before grinning. "Okay."

He started to move around the armrest, climbing into Brice's lap, and Brice laughed softly, pushing him back. "Not here! Trela, we can't here!"

Trela huffed, and made the most adorable expression he'd ever seen on the redheaded imp. "Why not?" he asked, and the mumbles and choking noises from people clearing their throats made him look around at the people near them and just grin.

"We're in public," Brice whispered, trying not to bother the people around them anymore than they had. "I've told you, making love in public isn't something people like."

Trela pouted, but before he could open his mouth, Brice motioned for him to whisper. Trela leaned close and whispered obediently. "They're silly. Making love is happy. Everyone should be happy everywhere."

"I think so, too, but right now, everyone wants to watch the stage, the pretty dancers, listen to the colors. You like doing that, too." Trela murmured his agreement, which just made Brice grin. "You still have to tell me what the next few scenes are like. Look! Here comes Ranae again!"

Trela gasped, cuddled close again, and watched Ranae twirl around the stage. It was just a distraction, and it didn't last too terribly long. Before Ranae was finished on stage, Trela was whispering in his ear again, filling his mind with images that made The Nutcracker so much more than a two-act ballet with music by Tchaikovsky.


"Baby," Brice moaned, his hands tight on Trela's hips. The limo bumped over a pothole on their way back to the apartment, and Trela squirmed on his lap. He had been aroused for hours, sometimes intensely, sometimes it was a low burn. But it had all been Trela's doing, and now they were alone in the limo. "God, you're driving me crazy."

"You said later. You said not in public. We're not in any public now. We're in a car with dark glass. We see out, but no one sees in." Trela whined softly and nipped at his lower lip, shifting in his lap.

It was as private as they could get without waiting until they made it through traffic back to their loft, but with the way he could feel Trela's erection pressing against his, he knew neither of them could wait that long. "Baby, are you sure you want me now?"

"Please," Trela breathed against his lips. "Want to paint the colors... make love... with you. While the sounds and visions are fresh and pretty behind your eyes."

Brice moaned, rubbed against Trela. "Okay," he panted. "We'll paint the colors here... now." They could make love again when they got home, something deeper and slower than what the backseat of a limo offered.

Trela all but bounced in his lap. "The colors!"

"Pants off." Brice was glad he'd brought the little tube of lube with him tonight. He could never trust what Trela would want where. He gave Trela's ass a bit of a smack. "Do you want to push into me, or me into you?"

Trela bit his lower lip as he leaned forward so he could shimmy out of his pants. "I want to take you."

It was a statement of startling clarity for Trela, and it made Brice shudder. He still tended to take Trela most of the time, but now that they were starting to balance out one another's craziness, Trela had been taking him more often. God, he just loved it when Trela took the lead with him. "All right. You inside me," he groaned, kissing Trela's neck. Trela's fingers moved to the seat of his pants, and he groaned, shifting until he was able to guide them to the button and zipper.

"I know you like it when I take you," Trela purred against his lips. "I can feel your mind go all happy and bright when I do it."

Brice pushed his slacks down, and then his boxers. They could keep their shirts on, but the pants had to go. "I do," he admitted. "I just didn't know you liked it as much as I did. Do you want me to ride you? On my knees? On my back?" There was enough room in the limo to accommodate any position Trela might like.

Trela looked around, and from the look on his face, it was as if he didn't see the surfaces of the limo as seats. He must have seen something completely different. As he followed Trela's gaze, it was as if he could see himself on every surface: bent over the side seat, on his knees on the floor, lying across the back seat with his legs spread wide. Trela's lips were suddenly at his ear, and he shivered.

"What do you see?" Trela breathed.

Brice moaned, kicking his slacks and boxers off with his shoes. "Possibilities."

Trela inhaled deeply next to his ear, and it was like the visions cleared up a little. It took him a couple seconds to realize Trela was feeding, sipping from his insanity. Trela trembled against him, moaning as he kissed Brice and pointed to the back seat of the limo. "I like that one best."

"You want to take me with my legs spread wide for you?"

"Yes," Trela breathed, drawing him into another kiss. Trela tasted of strawberry Pop Rocks, sweet and fizzy against Brice's tongue. His flavor was ever-changing, a swirl of sugar and spice that depended wholly on his mood.

Brice couldn't stop kissing Trela. It meant he didn't move from the seat, only arched up against Trela. He couldn't help it. All he wanted was to feel Trela, to drown in the sweet flavor of him. It was so good, too good, and he moaned, hands smoothing over Trela's pale skin, gripping at his ass. Making love fled his mind, and when Trela tried to pull back, Brice cried out, panting. "Baby—"

"I want to make the colors," Trela said in that sweet, loving way. Innocence and lust rolled into one. "Make love with me. I want to push inside."

"Yes," Brice breathed. He got up from the seat they were on and went to the one Trela had pointed out. He snatched the lube from his slacks pocket, knelt on the seat, and lubed up his fingers. Brice glanced to Trela, and then pressed his fingers to his own hole, rubbed against it with a moan, and then eased two inside. "Trela..."

"Demon," Trela corrected playfully, kissing his way up to the edge of Brice's shirt. When he reached the fabric, he skipped up to Brice's lips. Whispers of red hair tickled his stubble and ears as they kissed, and he felt Trela's hands pull at his fingers, shooing them away from his hole. He groaned and quickly grabbed a handful of lube, reaching out and stroking Trela before Trela could push inside unaided. That touch alone pulled the sweetest moan from Trela's lips, and when he opened his eyes, Trela was like a being made of light, as if someone shined a warm light through a million precious stones, and all the iridescent glints had been gathered together to form a face, lips, fiery hair, and eyes like the clearest emeralds. He gasped, staring up at Trela. He knew it was a hallucination, something brought on by Trela's closeness, but God, it was so beautiful, like his lover had been transformed into the angel of his imaginings. "Trela..."

A bright smile lit up Trela's face, and he watched as Trela closed his eyes and sighed. "You see me."

"I see only you, baby," Brice moaned, squirming to the edge of the limo's seat and guiding Trela's cock to his entrance. Those eyes opened again, and a soft moan escaped Trela before Trela took hold of his hips and pushed forward. Trela wasn't too long or too thick; he was perfect, just perfect for Brice, and feeling their bodies press flush against one another pulled a deep sound from his chest.

Brice slid his hands up Trela's chest, down his sides, and around to his ass. He held Trela tightly to him, relishing the pleasure of being filled by his lover. "Feels so good. Tingles through my senses."

Trela made a soft, high-pitched sound in the back of his throat. His hips shifted, squirmed, and he moved a little within Brice. "Pretty painter," Trela trilled. "Can't make colors if you keep me still."

"Just for a moment, baby," Brice panted, slowly opening his eyes to stare up at his glorious muse. After a moment, he released his hold on Trela, hands gently cupping Trela's hips. "You can move," he whispered. "I want to feel you fly."

"Already flying," Trela moaned. "Every moment I'm with you."

The pace was wonderful, not too fast or too slow, and with just enough power to rock Brice into the leather-covered cushions. Trela's hair was a curtain around them, flashing brightly with the passing lights outside, and to Brice's eyes, he was even more luminous. Trela moaned and held him close, and nothing had ever seemed more erotic than the way Trela's hands stroked up and down every inch of him, clothed or unclothed.

Brice arched up against Trela, his hands clutching to the waifish muse. There was nothing like when they made love. It was never hard. Never rushed. To rush with Trela was a terrible sin, in Brice's opinion. Trela deserved only the most gentle of touches, the sweetest moments of pleasure. And when he gave himself to Trela, Trela treated him with the same love and affection. He stared up through the haze of pleasure and hallucination, gasping Trela's name. His cock strained between them, aching for a touch, and he finally wrapped his hand around himself. Trela didn't have the best coordination for jacking him off while taking him.

"Love you, baby," Brice gasped, stroking himself in the same moderate, perfect pace Trela's cock fucked him.

Trela opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the limo veered, taking a sharp turn a little too fast. Trela flailed for a moment and gripped Brice, but all it did was ensure they both toppled over. The world spun for a moment, the lights and colors making him dizzy as they rearranged. When the car corrected itself, it jostled them again, and Brice ended up on top of Trela. Trela laughed, and the awkwardness of the moment disappeared. That shimmering laughter made everything right in Brice's world, and he shifted them into a more comfortable position, sitting astride his red-headed muse. Trela reached up and tugged him down into a kiss, laying tender claim to his mouth.

"Love... you, too... pretty painter," Trela purred up against his lips between kisses. A soft moan replaced words as he began to rise and fall on Trela's lap, picking up where they had left off. His own pace was just a little faster than Trela's, still unhurried. Trela touched him all over, and Brice chuckled, knowing how Trela liked to have his hands free.

Trela gave a long, low moan when Brice made a particularly deep thrust, and one of those elegant, pale hands moved down to his cock, closing around him and stroking. "Trela," he groaned, loving the way Trela's hands played along his flesh, twisting, pulling, pressing him in all the right places. "Baby, I'm close."

"Close... close, like the wind in the leaves," Trela whispered. He whimpered, a plaintive, high-pitched sound that went right to Brice's cock. "Close, too. Close as breath."

Brice kissed Trela, hungry for his lover's mouth as Trela's hands brought him to the very edge of release. He bucked in Trela's lap, took him as deeply as possible, and groaned into their kiss. He came over Trela's hands, tasting Trela's mouth throughout, and the world spun in the most wonderful of ways as pleasure pulsed through him.

Trela gasped and shuddered beneath him, and the hand on his cock tightened painfully for a couple seconds as Trela cried out. He felt the heat of Trela's release inside him, and in his mind, it was like a burst of light filling him up. Some of Trela's brightness transferred over, making him as divine and beautiful as Trela always was to him. It left him panting dizzily, his breath mingling with Trela's, and Brice smiled. "Close... as breath..."

Trela laughed softly, panting and kissing him. Trela squirmed beneath him and wiped his hands down the front of Brice's shirt. It drew his attention down, and he felt his cheeks heat up.

"We've made a mess," Trela giggled.

Brice licked Trela's lower lip, pulling another moan from his lovely muse. "Just another splash of color, baby. You like colors."

"I love your colors," Trela purred, settling beneath him and tugging his hair until he gave in and dipped down for yet another kiss. He took a chance, drawing his index finger through a line of his come and offering it to Trela. He shivered when Trela extended his tongue and licked the bit of fluid from his fingertip. "Mmm... you taste fizzle-pop."

"God, you're so sexy and innocent. You make me hard while still feeling just a little dirty for loving you like I do," Brice murmured between languid, wet kisses.

"You're not dirty," Trela insisted, smiling against his lips. "Messy, not dirty. Full of color and life and dancing sugarplums. I've been everywhere, been muse to many, but you... You're my painter. You'll always be my pretty painter."

Brice nuzzled Trela's cheek. "Always," he promised, and something inside him—that odd place that had come into being when he'd first made love with Trela—knew it was a fact. He was Trela's, their roots entwined, bound together, bringing balance and longevity. He'd keep Trela sane-ish, and Trela would keep him young.

He couldn't think of a better arrangement: love, insanity, and endless color.

All works contained here are copyrighted to K. Piet. No reproduction or usage is permitted without written, express consent by the author.