Chapter Text
Glam peered at his reflection in the trailer home's grimy hubcap, turning his face side to side as he assessed himself with a critical eye: Bowtie straight, hair neatly slicked back, and daisy still tucked smartly in his breast pocket, by all appearances he looked ready for the date of his life.
But something wasn't quite right.
Placing his portfolio case on the ground, he slipped his bowtie loose and pocketed it before untucking his shirt. Nah, too much. He tucked it back in again, frowned, and settled on a half-tuck. Running a hand through his hair a few times, he tousled it free until it fell loose and whimsy. After tugging a few unruly locks into place and giving himself a final once-over, he nodded. Perfect.
Straightening, he huffed into his cupped palm and sniffed. Satisfied with the results, he pulled back his shoulders and knocked on the trailer door.
From inside came the sound of movement, the thud of excited footsteps approaching. A moment later, Ches answered the door with a smile. "Hey, Glam. Right on time. I just finished cleaning up." Leaning against the frame, he gave him an appreciative up-and-down. "You're looking good."
"Uh, y-you too," Glam stammered, blushing at the sight of Ches.
Shirtless and wearing a pair of work gloves, a gold bead necklace twinkled at his sweat-sheened chest. When he raised an arm to wipe at his brow, a droplet rippled down his bare abs, snagging in the happy trail that disappeared beneath his low-slung jeans. Ches's smile broadened, no doubt noticing Glam's wandering gaze.
He plucked the daisy from his front pocket and spun it by the stem. "Well, are you just gonna stand there or..." Stepping aside, he motioned him in. But not before demanding a kiss for entry.
Short but sweet, it supplanted Glam's nervousness with a heady exhilaration. A wave of goosebumps sprang up across his body, starting from his toes and reaching all the way to his scalp, making every hair stand on end until a golden puff cloud wafted around his head.
It was their first kiss in broad daylight, and the significance of that small fact was enough to make him forget what he'd come for in the first place. Caught up in the thrill of it, Glam crowded Ches back against the entryway as they locked lips, heart fluttering at the feel of having him in his arms. The door had just clicked shut behind them when Ches slipped free like water through his fingers.
"Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. What's the rush? You're acting like we didn’t just see each other yesterday," he teased.
It was true Ches had been booked at the conservatory right up until the last day of the semester. The course had finished in a flurry, the students too distracted with wrapping up their work to offer much more than a mumbled word of thanks. Only Glam had celebrated the occasion with a bit more spirit, and they'd shared a peach cobbler from the dining hall for their lunchtime rendezvous. Sure, they'd seen each other but—
"It's not the same."
"Yeah. I know. But, c'mon, there'll be time for that later. Remember there's some stuff we wanted to do first." He chuckled at Glam's obvious disappointment and patted his wild nest of hair. "By the way, does your hair only get like that when you kiss?"
"Mm? I wouldn't know," Glam hummed, positively twitterpated as he floated after him.
It was several degrees warmer inside the trailer, and he was glad he'd ditched his bowtie. He shrugged off his suit jacket, folding it over his arm as he looked around.
The room was much tidier than last time. Smelled nicer too. Two large, black garbage bags, filled to bursting, were waiting by the entrance, and a lazy ceiling fan helped to circulate the humid mid-morning air. Cleared of all the trash and bottles, the trailer actually felt...homey.
He glanced at the empty armchair as they passed it. "How's your mother?"
"Fine. She made it to her appointment about an hour ago. They said they'd have her back by 5."
Just as they'd arranged.
"Good. That's good," Glam answered distractedly, following Ches to the door at the rear of the trailer. Plastered in colorful posters and framed by crowded shelves and boxes full of who-knew-what, Glam hadn't noticed it the first time he'd been here. Now it was all he could focus on.
"How's your old man?" Ches countered.
"He thinks I'm with the rest of the class over at the Kovaleva."
This too had been arranged.
"And Hans?" Ches paused, hand on the door handle.
"As far as he's concerned, I'm at the studio, spending time on my final piece."
Ches looked back at Glam and the portfolio case tucked beneath his arm, waggling his brows at the inadvertent innuendo. "Well, like they say, the best lies are half-truths."
Their conversation may have seemed innocent, perfunctory even, but something far more alluring slunk just beneath the surface, and a wicked grin crossed Glam's lips at the unspoken truth they were both tiptoeing around:
They would have the entire day to spend together. Here, in Ches's home, soon his bedroom. Uninterrupted.
Glam swallowed.
Still, part of him wondered if he should be more unnerved by the ease with which the lies had come. The old him would have balked at the mere suggestion of lying to his teacher, let alone Father. But that was the old him. The new him had no trouble planting the seeds of deception all week that had culminated in today's visit.
It hadn't been all that hard, really.
A streak of good behavior on his part had gone a long way toward convincing Father that he had "seen the light" after his last disciplining. Glam came straight home after class each day, performed his lessons with mechanical efficiency, and even took out the trash for Roft. He kept his nose out of trouble, just as Father had ordered, and was rewarded that morning with a stoic nod and a $100 bill of spending money for the field trip.
Professor Hans had been even easier. Already eager to see his star pupil complete his final, he'd been only too happy to have Herr Sebastian forgo the field trip in favor of more time at the easel. As long as Glam was in the studio by the time the class returned, no one would know he had ever been missing.
The plan had gone off without a hitch.
"Anyway." Ches's cheerful voice yanked him from his thoughts. "This is where the magic happens," he announced, pushing open the door to his room.
Glam lifted a dubious brow, dodging a hanging net of dirty laundry as he stepped inside. Ches had mentioned wanting to show him something, but calling it "magic"? He hid a roll of his eyes. Then he looked up. And froze.
Circles.
The room was filled with dozens and dozens of circles.
Small as buttons and large as dinner plates, they were painted on canvases and sketchpad paper, even directly onto the walls and ceiling of the room itself: a million unblinking eyes that gazed down curiously at Glam as he turned in place to take them all in.
These weren't the stark, nightmarish circles of Hell that he slaved over at Father's command. Within their crisp black outlines, rainbow mosaics were arranged in mystifying, radial patterns that swirled with color.
Color was all around him.
The room, he realized, was more studio than bedroom. A paint-splattered drop cloth covered the floor, and canvases featuring even more circles at varying states of completion crowded the foot of a narrow bed in the corner. Beside it was a beat-up wardrobe, one door hanging off its hinges, and the cracked mirror inside reflecting two equally surprised-looking Glams.
He wandered over to the rickety desk set across from the bed. Old pickle jars were filled with paintbrushes that bore the abuses of an overly enthusiastic artist. Most were missing chunks of their bristles; others, frayed beyond repair. A color wheel had been painted on the desk's chipped surface, and Glam traced it with his fingertips. "You're self-taught," he said with no small amount of awe.
"Yeah, didn't exactly have the money for classes." Ches had slipped off his gloves and tossed them onto the desk before stepping behind a large easel in the middle of the room. "But hey, at least with art modeling, I get paid to attend the country's top conservatory. Not a bad deal, huh?" He threw him a grin, tongue peeking out between his tooth gap. "And you thought I wasn't the 'art type.'"
"Yeah, guess I was wrong about that." Yet another surprise, he mused, wondering if he'd ever know all there was to his best friend.
"Actually, Glam, I've got this one piece that needs a few finishing touches. You mind?"
"Hm? Not at all," Glam said, draping his jacket over the back of the desk chair. The room was even stuffier than the rest of the trailer, bright sunlight pouring in through the large window above the bed. He was about to continue his tour of Ches's room, when Ches spoke up again:
"Great. If you could just sit right there."
Glam squinted back at him. "Sit?" Then he looked between the chair and artist, gradually putting two and two together. "Wait. You want me...to model for you?"
"Mm-hm," Ches grunted around a brush between his teeth as he adjusted the easel's height.
Glam blinked at him, cheeks flushed red with flattery. "Uh, okay. Sure, yeah. That'd be—that'd be fine," he said, slowly warming to the idea. Ches had modeled for him so many times already, it was only fair. Right? And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious to see what he could do.
Leaning the portfolio case against the bed, he pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down, hands fisted on his lap, back straight. Almost at once, he jumped up and tried a different position. Then another.
At Ches's unimpressed look, he shrugged. "Fine. You tell me what you want."
Ches picked up a paper plate with several globs of acrylic on it in one hand, a yellow-tipped brush in the other. He tilted his head in consideration before meeting Glam's eyes. "Just do what comes natural."
Natural? Knowing Ches, he supposed he had some idea of what he meant. Glam licked his lips. Hesitantly, he put his hand to his shirt collar, watching Ches's eyes follow the movement. He unfastened the first button. This earned him an arched brow.
Keeping his breath steady, he unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt before wriggling out of the sleeves and laying it atop his jacket. So far, so good. Next, he slipped off his shoes and socks, the drop cloth cool beneath his toes. That was better. Much better, in fact. It felt good to be free of the starch-stiff fabric, and he breathed easier. He put his hands on his belt and paused.
Ches's hooded eyes were sharp with focus—and dark with intrigue. "Natural," he said again, his voice husky and heavy with meaning.
Off went his belt, pants, and lastly briefs. They joined the growing pile of clothes, providing a cushy backrest as he tried to find a pose. He was going for a mix between conservative and casual and eventually drew on Ches's pose from class for inspiration. Before long, the tension seeped from his limbs, and he relaxed. Things settled into place.
Hips set at a slant, one leg was tucked while the other stretched out as he slouched in his seat. His head canted to the side to offset the tilt of his shoulders, and one hand looped loosely around the other wrist where it was slung over the chairback. Every part of him eased into a natural equilibrium of flexion and extension, rigid and loose, engaged and passive.
"Contrapposto," Ches murmured around a smile. He was already painting, glancing quickly between Glam and the canvas. "Good choice." He ducked back behind the easel, adding, "And remember, you can talk. There's no reason to be all formal."
Glam relaxed another inch, eyes flitting about the room from one colorful ring to another. "So what are these things anyway?"
"Mandalas," Ches answered without looking up. He stepped back for a moment, head cocked as he eyed the canvas with the kind of scrutiny only an artist reserves for his work. "It's an East Asian religion thing. Buddhism mostly."
Glam thought of the majestic stained-glass windows from church and their visual portrayals of scripture. So it was that kind of thing.
"They work sorta like a map," Ches continued, dashing Glam's comparison to pieces.
"A map?" So maybe it wasn't that kind of thing after all.
"Yeah, a mental map. Each one's supposed to be unique, representing your spiritual journey." He gestured around himself with his paintbrush, indicating the array of different mandalas. "All these shapes, lines, and colors—they symbolize something, a step in that journey."
Glam nodded slowly, not quite understanding but fascinated all the same. "I've never heard of this kind of artwork before."
"That's cuz they're not just artwork. Think of them as like—" He twisted his lips in thought. "—meditation tools. Y'know, for focusing the mind."
Now, why did that sound familiar? A memory of their time together on the yoga mat blossomed to life, of being guided by breath and music as he emptied his mind and explored new planes of consciousness. Glam was sensing a connection.
"You look at the mandala, and it's, like, there's a ring along the outside edge of it, right? See, that's supposed to represent the cyclical nature of life. Makes sense. Then there's all this chaotic universe energy stuff going on inside it. Wild and unpredictable, just all over the place. Kinda like life. But the closer you get to the center—boom!" He clacked the handle of his paintbrush against the canvas's edge loud enough to make them both startle, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Smack dab in the middle? That's the heart. It's the smallest but most important part of the mandala," he said, voice pulled tight as though he were struggling to explain some deeper meaning he needed Glam to understand. "The bindu. The focal point."
Glam was quiet for a moment. "Nice," he finally managed. He jiggled his foot, not sure where to look or what to say next. "That's, uh, really interesting." Feeling out of his depth and eager to lighten the mood, he went with the first thought he had: "They must make quite the impression when you show them to people.”
"What?" Ches looked up sharply. "No way, uh-uh. I make this stuff for me. No one else gets to see it without my say-so."
Glam wrinkled his nose. The idea sat at odds with everything he believed. It was an artist's duty to create art that was to be seen, consumed. Evaluated. Judged. Otherwise, it might as well not exist at all. Wasn't that what the whole "if a tree falls in a forest" thing was about?
"But what's the point of making art," he asked delicately, "if no one gets to see it?"
"I guess—" Ches paused before starting again. "The thing is, I love the idea of sharing my work, but when I do, sometimes it feels wrong. Like people are...peeking into my very essence, y'know? Like I'm sharing too much, something too private. Because I put a part of myself into what I create. So when it's out in the open, it feels like people can see everything. And that—" A self-effacing smile curved his lips. "That can be pretty terrifying."
It seemed incongruous with Ches's character that he should ever be terrified of being seen. He was so much like an open book, ready to bare it all—both physically and emotionally—without a moment's hesitation. For him to feel this way must mean he really had something personal in his art. It was no wonder, considering Ches had just been talking about spiritual journeys and maps of the mind: something intensely intimate and straight from the heart.
Glam thought about his own works by comparison. They were nothing like that. Technically proficient and regarded as skillful by any who saw them, when all was said and done, what he created were no more than trophies: pretty things designed to dazzle the viewer. Glittering on the outside but ultimately hollow within.
Except, Glam thought. Except for one.
"There's nothing wrong with art being private," Ches was saying. "It's just up to me who I choose to share it with." He threw a wink at Glam. "And speaking of which..." He stepped out from behind the easel. "It's finished. Wanna see?"
Glam straightened. "Oh! Yes, please." He'd just stood when Ches flipped the canvas around. "I'd love...to..."
Words deserted him, as he stared.
Where he'd expected to see a human figure, there was only a mandala.
A massive mandala.
Standing at half his height, this one was far more ornate than the others, far more intricate. He stepped forward from the chair, drawn toward it like a parched man to an oasis, wanting to peer even closer at this marvel. The interwoven lines and colors may have seemed arbitrary to the average viewer, but Glam could read its message as easily as if it had been written in a letter addressed just to him:
There was a trail of water droplets and a moonlit smile.
There was a serenade by window ledge and a world blanketed by steam.
There was a loop of gold coins and dazzling lights.
There was a rakish tilt of hips and a frenzied Morse code.
There was an exotic songbird and a sunbaked beach.
There was a spine arching in a delicate C and a fern leaf unfurling in the sun.
There was a spray of freckles on cherubic cheeks and a king upon a throne.
There was a melody unchained and an enigmatic smile.
There was a boy in a robe with chestnut hair.
Glam saw every exchange, every moment they'd shared, immortalized in art: the story of how they'd met.
At the center of the mandala was a dot. It was a small and humble thing, easy to miss if one weren't searching for it: a symbol free of dimensions, the beginning of transformation, a devotion to the divine.
The perfectly round, blue egg of a wandering thrush within a nest of gold.
That's...me.
"Careful there, Glam. It's still wet."
Ches's voice tore him from his trance. He shook his head, having to take a judicious step back from where he'd had his face practically pressed to the canvas. He scrubbed at his nose, suppressing the bizarre urge to sneeze. His eyes pricked with moisture. "Sorry, I was—Ches, it's really...beautiful."
"Thanks." Ches cuffed a hand across his cheek, looking pleased. "I think it might be my finest work yet."
That had to be the understatement of the century. They said a picture was worth a thousand words, but Glam couldn't think of a single one that did it justice. Far more than a piece of pretty wall art, there was a hypnotic quality to the painting, capable of making the viewer lose himself within its elaborate patterns, worlds upon worlds revealing themselves in layers, while his awareness was drawn inward.
To meet the soul painted within it.
Ches elbowed Glam playfully, as if he hadn't just been shaken to the core. "Hey. Now that I've shown you mine, isn't it time you showed me yours?" He indicated Glam's portfolio case on the floor with a jut of his chin, smirking at his double entendre.
"Right. O-of course." Moving on automatic, Glam crouched to open the flap. He pulled the painting halfway out, flicking his gaze back up as Ches placed his own canvas aside. "You swear you haven't already seen it during class?"
Ches closed his eyes and raised three fingers solemnly. "Scout's honor. A good art model never peeks without being invited to. We're sorta like vampires that way." He finished his vow with a howl.
Not sure what to make of his joke, Glam stole a quick look at the painting in his hands. He hesitated, mouth suddenly going dry. "And you're sure you want to see it—"
"Glam, quit kidding around. You didn't honestly bring it all this way just to bail on me now, did you?" He gave a disarming smile, brows pleated with concern. Looping Glam's wrist with his hand, he gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle. I'm sure it's not that bad."
"It's...it's not that." If anything, the painting was too good.
He wavered where he stood, feeling as if he were teetering on the end of the highest diving board on a blistering summer day. Below, the water looked inviting. He wanted so badly to take the plunge but dreaded the fall. It was a long way down.
Ches took the canvas gently from his limp hands and placed it on the easel. They both looked at it.
A full minute of silence passed.
"Wow, Glam."
Glam winced, shoulders braced and eyes squeezed shut, losing his nerve.
He'd been too brazen, he knew that now. Too vulgar in his desire. Too open. There was much more than just his talent in the painting. Just like Ches had talked about, he had let a part of himself sneak inside it too: his very heart. He might as well have gouged it out from his chest and nailed the bleeding organ to the canvas.
If art was supposed to send a message, then Glam's couldn't have been clearer.
"Do you really?" Ches turned to him, voice quiet with wonder.
Glam nodded. A hand slid up from his wrist to his shoulder, to his nape, fingers burying into the hair at the back of his head. He shivered at the touch, feeling himself take a step closer to the edge. Say you do too.
"For how long?"
"Since the first moment...I saw you." Say I wasn't the only one.
"And you're sure. I mean...me?"
"And no one else." He looked down at the water twinkling up at him. Say you feel the same.
Ches fell silent.
"I don't know what to say," he finally whispered, pressing their foreheads together so that Glam had no choice but to take that final step off the board.
"Say 'yes.'" The words sighed past his lips with his last lungful of air.
And he submerged.
What Glam felt for Ches crossed all lines, all boundaries. And it would still never be enough. Ches was so much more than his model. He was his muse. His best friend. His guide. His first.
His forever.
Glam bent his head to kiss him tenderly, and it felt like all the jagged pieces of the world slotted into place. What they'd told each other last time, in his bed, had been too innocent, too simple. Glam liked this or liked that. But with Ches, it was different. It was everything.
At the press of Ches's body against his, he retreated until the backs of his knees bumped the edge of the bed. He sat down abruptly, but Ches was already crawling onto him so that not a second passed where their mouths weren't connected. The mattress's tired springs creaked as Ches knelt on either side of Glam's bare hips.
Tongues slid over gums and the smooth edge of teeth, and their wanton moans fed the fire at his core that had always been there—manifesting as hard heat in his lap.
His touch turned impatient, desperate to make up for so much lost time. The kiss dissolved into something wilder as his lips slipped south of Ches's to mouth hungrily at his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Mark him, said a voice inside him. His hands smoothed down Ches's back to the top of his jeans, snuck beneath the waistband, and cupped his ass. No underwear. All skin.
Take him.
He squeezed.
Make him yours.
Something sparked in his brain like a struck match at Ches's gasp.
Without conscious thought, he grabbed Ches roughly and flipped him over so that he was pinned beneath him in the center of the bed. They blinked, wide-eyed, at each other.
But if Ches's sly smile was anything to go by, then he was more impressed than scared, as though he'd just been invited to a game, one he was very eager to play. "Glam." He pulled him close to whisper, "I still have something else for you." He lifted Glam's hands and placed them on his hips. "For us."
Beneath his fingers, Glam could feel something small and hard in the left front pocket. He took it out. It was a bottle of lube.
"Oh, fuck." He screwed his eyes shut, clutching the bottle in his fist.
"Yeah, that's sorta the idea," Ches purred in his ear.
Glam moaned into their next kiss, grinding his hips into the juncture between Ches's thighs where the denim was tented. Even the slightest brush of his clothed erection against his cock added more fuel to the fire. Braced on one forearm, he fumbled with the top of Ches's jeans with his other hand, wanting to feel even more of him. Now. But he couldn't get past the first button.
Eventually giving up with a frustrated huff, he pulled back, head hanging between his shoulders. "I—" He gulped like a fish out of water. "I don't know what I'm doing." His voice trembled, not with dread but with overwhelm.
Ches's fingers slid over Glam's to pry free the bottle. "If I'm gonna take you—" He glanced down meaningfully at Glam's cock. "—then I'm gonna need to get ready."
"Ready...?" The last of Glam's blood drained out from his brain when the meaning finally clicked, and he was able to do little else but watch dumbly as Ches popped open the bottle's cap and dribbled a dollop of the clear liquid into Glam's cupped palm. He looked at its glistening surface. "So do I? Or...do you?"
"Both," Ches answered, guiding Glam's hand down. "Touch yourself."
Glam didn't need to be told twice. Eyes shut and brow bunched in concentration, he closed his fist around himself. His cock immediately jumped in his slick hand. He hissed out a curse, before diving in for another kiss.
He'd have to be careful. Within seconds, the lube had warmed to match his body temperature, and the scandalous, wet sounds were heightening his arousal to a fiery blaze. It felt incredible, too incredible, and he was certain he'd cum in no time if he didn't will his libido into submission.
Thankfully, Ches had no intention of making him wait long anyway.
He heard the slide of a zipper and rasp of fabric as Ches shimmied out of his jeans. Hot thighs—and an even hotter cock—made contact with his own. There was another click of the bottle's lid, a burble of liquid being squeezed from it, and then Ches was squirming under him as he—well, Glam couldn't tell at first, but there was a rhythmic squelching, and Ches's thighs kept tensing at the same pace where they framed Glam's hips.
Tongues dueling lazily, he snuck a peek down through the fan of his lashes to see Ches's fingers disappearing behind his own balls. Penetrating himself. Preparing himself. For him.
My God. His soul nearly left him then and there, and his eyes rolled heavenward, sending a silent prayer of thanks for whatever he'd done right to deserve this.
Leaving Ches with one last, long kiss, he sat back on his heels to drink in the sight of him in all his glory: Kiss-bruised lips, pupils blown wide, and hair stuck with sweat, Ches was that perfect art.
Glam's fingers traced the elegant line of his body, following the shape of his limbs. His form arched beneath Glam's touch, every corner of space taken up by his splendor. Color lit his cheeks, rich with value. And Glam relished the silky texture of his cock as he traded his hold on himself for Ches instead.
Ches bucked up into Glam's hand, half-snarled whimpers telling their own story of his crumbling self-control as his fingers drove in faster. "Yeah," he huffed between clenched teeth. "Just like that."
Glam put a hand on one knee, pushing it open further, wanting to see Ches finger himself. Wanting simply to see more.
Of course Ches accommodated easily, tucking his knee all the way to his shoulder until he was spread completely open. His fingers slipped free from inside him, and a drop of lube oozed out from the fist of pink flesh.
Glam's hand on Ches's cock slowed to a stop, heart pounding so hard it felt like someone was slamming his chest with a mallet. He looked up at Ches for guidance.
"Do I—" Glam swallowed. "Now?"
"Yes, now."
"But I've never done this bef—"
"Neither have I."
Just the tip touched Ches's hole, and Glam shook his head, not believing this was happening. Not believing it would possibly fit. "What if I hurt you?"
"Look, I've topped enough times to get a sense of how it works. I'll be fine." Ches husked, eyes glazed by lust. "You've got this, Glam." He wrapped his fingers around Glam's cock and welcomed him to his entrance. "And I've got you."
Flesh clenched, puckered tight, wanting but not yet ready to succumb. A grunt of discomfort nearly made Glam stop, but Ches urged him on.
"No. It's okay. It's okay. Just—" He shifted his hips to meet him at a different angle. "Keep going."
Ches took a steadying breath, and Glam could feel him relax around him. The hand clutching his bicep weakened, and his thighs rolled open.
Glam pressed forward. He met a moment's resistance. Another moment, and it gave, slowly, slowly, slowly. His breath caught in his throat as he stared, torn between watching Ches's face and down lower where the crown of his cock was disappearing inside him. Then the ring of muscle at last yielded, and there was only—
"Sweet Mother, have mercy."
Hotter than summer, wetter than sweat. Glam's mouth fell open around a cracked gasp as sparks sizzled along his cock where he was sheathed within this slick embrace.
He had merely wanted before, but this—Ches's inner walls pulsing tight and heavenly around him—this was what he needed.
His hand fell from Ches's cock as he tumbled forward, bracing himself on the bed. It was taking everything he had just to keep from completely falling apart.
He gazed down at Ches, his face somehow as tranquil as Glam's was wrecked. He was beautiful. So, so beautiful. Glam had tried to capture that beauty in his art, but no amount of skill could articulate the utter exquisiteness that was Ches.
This boy had bared his body, his heart, and now his soul to him. Glam needed to look no further than the dazzling choir of mandalas around them to see it, as vibrant and alive as their maker.
Like God, Ches had created them from nothingness. If creativity was next to godliness, then maybe there was God in this boy.
If so, then maybe there was God in himself as well.
A fine line creased Ches's brow as he peeked his eyes open, blinking slowly. "C'mon, Glam. I've been waiting long enough for this." He lifted his legs and wrapped them around Glam's waist.
Glam slipped forward another inch, and his arousal flared. "W-wait—" He reared back, trying to disentangle himself, but he was locked in place.
"I want you, Glam. All of you." Ches's arms were reaching for him, thighs flexing to draw him under like an unyielding tide.
Another inch. No, no, no! Everything was happening too fast. Another. Twisted to full blast, the flames roared, hot and hungry. Not yet! He wedged his eyes shut.
Ches was still reeling him in. "Focus on me."
"I can't, I can't—Ches!" Every sensation was already funneling down to where Ches was wrapped around him. He choked on a moan, the fire gobbling up any available air and robbing him of his breath. His hips snapped once, Ches cried out.
And that was all it took.
The bomb blast went off inside him, an explosion of pleasure knocking out his vision and making his brain whirl. Seed pulsed from him in three heavy beats, hips stuttering after in token pursuit, but he could go no further. He was already buried up to the hilt. Unintelligible gibberish tumbled from his lips.
Maybe he was saying Ches's name, maybe he was saying God's.
Slapped in the face by the crashing surf of his orgasm, Glam was sent tumbling head over heels, the world having gone topsy-turvy. Just as quickly as it had come, it ebbed, departed, leaving him dazed and uncoordinated, until he at last washed up on the shore in an ungainly heap. Limbs sturdy as a sand castle, he collapsed onto Ches's chest, panting.
Everything was still.
Birdsong wafted in through the window while field mice scurried in the dry tussocks beneath the trailer home. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm was going off.
Ches gave a small hiss of pain, and Glam shuffled groggily onto his elbows. A thread of drool broke between them as he wiped at his chin. "I...I'm sorry."
"No. Dude, it's cool. Just—hang on." With another grunt, Ches wriggled under him, sweat-slicked skin cooling where they parted. Finding a comfortable position, he eased Glam down again, arms wrapped around his back. "You were sorta pinching one of my balls."
"I’m sorry," Glam said again, his afterglow tempered by self-reproach.
That was pathetic! He hadn't known what sex was supposed to be like, but he knew it wasn't supposed to be like that! A fast and sudden sucker punch to the senses that was over and done in less than a minute?
He'd meant to last longer, had even put in the effort this week to prepare for it: nightly practice spent panting and feverish in bed, a leaking cock in his fist. But it turned out nothing could have prepared him for the real thing.
His cock throbbed weakly in agreement where it was still nestled inside of Ches, and he fidgeted in place. Was he supposed to get up? Suggest they take a shower? What did you do next?
The graze of Ches's fingertips down his back lulled his whirring thoughts. "Don't worry about it. You were perfect."
"Perfect?" Glam nearly snorted. He lifted himself up until he could look Ches in the face. "How can you say that? You didn't even..." He trailed off, feeling Ches's hard-on sandwiched between their bellies.
Ches shrugged. "Hey, it was your first time. Mine too, don't forget. And having you go all jackhammer on me would have been the last thing I needed. Trust me, you did me a favor. So, yeah, I'd say you were perfect." He bopped him playfully on the nose. "Perfect for me."
Glam's breath caught on the tenderness of those words.
His whole life, he had been chasing the idea of perfection. It had been drilled into him since a young age, a lofty ideal that was held up like some unattainable prize. He thought he could find it in scathing critiques and harsh scrutiny. But he realized now that he had been looking in all the wrong places.
Perfection wasn't something to be granted by someone else, something to suffer for and get twisted into knots over. He'd had it within himself all along. And it had taken knowing Ches—loving him—to find it.
They couldn't have been more different. But they still fit together in all the ways that mattered. If he was perfect for Ches, then Ches was perfect for him—that integral counterbalance, the contrapposto of his life.
Love gushed forth like a spring, filling Glam's heart to brimming. He swept in low to claim Ches's lips as breathy giggles deepened into something rumbling and delirious. They rose up to meet each other like the rolling sea, legs and arms and tongues entwining, two spirits becoming one, inseparable.
Did all lovers feel like they were creating something new? Surely what they shared was the first of its kind, a love to define all loves. The sureness of that notion glowed in Glam's chest, warm and invigorating as the rising sun—calling him to stir. Awaken. Take action.
He felt himself harden inside Ches again, and his fingers made themselves at home around Ches's waiting cock, earning him a gratified moan. There was a reason Glam had always been at the top of his class: he never left any task incomplete, and he wasn’t about to start now.
It was still early, summer days were long.
And there was still so much for them to learn.
***
Glam lay with his arms folded behind his head, looking up at a mandala painted on the ceiling directly above him. This one was done in all the shades of a sunset; at its center, the darkest blues ringed a celestial yin-yang. He took in a deep breath through his nose and let it out in a contented sigh around the wide grin that split his face.
Splayed out on his stomach next to him, Ches was still trying to catch his breath.
Rolling onto his side, Glam draped an arm and leg over him in lazy possessiveness. He nuzzled at a spot behind his ear, breathing in Ches's scent as much as his own. Every inch of him was covered in it, Glam having marked him thoroughly both inside and out. His dick gave an interested twitch at the reminder. "Hey. Ches." Another kiss. "Ready to go again?"
Ches shuddered and tried to shuffle away, face buried in the pillow, but Glam only followed after, settling over his back. His cock slid suggestively across his dripping hole. "Glam," he groaned. "Jesus Christ, can't we take a break? We've done it, like—"
"Seven times," Glam finished for him. "Let's make it an even eight."
"Holy shit, I've created a monster." Ches hitched his shoulders, too exhausted to fend off Glam's advances. With a growl, he locked his legs together and clenched his ass tight enough to make the cheeks dimple. Pillow clutched to his chest, he warned, "Stick it in me again, Glam, and I will snap it off."
Glam's smile never wavered as he bent low to mouth a path down Ches's spine to his tailbone. He nipped at his ass. "I thought you were a lover, not a fighter."
Ches wriggled his butt, smothering a gasp when Glam ran his tongue down the crevice. "At least get me a glass of water first. I swear to God, I'm about to die of dehydration."
Glam chuckled, leaving a final parting kiss before he peeled himself away. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat upright for the first time in hours. The room spun, and he had to shake his head to clear his vision. Maybe he'd grab himself something to drink too.
Plucking a tissue from the box on the floor, he pinched the tip of his foreskin and wiped it clean. He crumpled the used tissue and tossed it onto the overflowing trash bin. A sore muscle twinged as he stretched. Sore but satisfied.
They'd been at it all day, and now the sun was well on its way toward the horizon. By his calculations, they still had another hour before he'd need to start heading out. More than enough time for another go.
Each round had been better than the last, stamina making up for his inexperience and allowing them to try a variety of positions and techniques. Far from the work of experts, they'd still enjoyed themselves, as the salty taste of Ches on his tongue could attest to. He'd spent himself no fewer times than Ches had.
He'd just gotten to his feet when his eyes fell on the painting still placed on the easel. He paused. It really was perfect.
"I really can't show this at the gallery opening," he said aloud.
Ches looked over his shoulder and pouted. "You sure? After you worked so hard on it, seems like a waste."
"It's not a waste." Glam looked away from the imitation on the canvas back to the real thing currently sprawled out on the rumpled sheets, sweaty and disheveled. And his. "I've already said everything I need to say with it." Now that the artwork had fulfilled its purpose, it would not need to perform for anyone else.
No, he had no more use for it.
"Well, you gotta submit something tomorrow, or else Hans will throw a fit."
Glam considered this for a moment before an idea struck him. "You're right." Picking up a brush, he turned to the picture. "But it still needs one last finishing touch."
***
The forecast had called for foul weather the following evening, but it was evidently shaping up to be a full-fledged storm. Rain pelted the windows of the conservatory's main hall, and the first rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance.
Inside, the gallery opening hummed with sophisticated conversation, champagne glasses clinked, and a hired string quartet played Bach's Gavotte en Rondeau, as the city's art aficionados mingled with conservatory staff and families of the fine arts department.
Wealth sparkled within the large exhibition space, men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns chatting amiably over hors d'oeuvres or perusing the art pieces on display. Impressive sculptures done by famed alumni sat on stone plinths, and dramatic wall lighting showcased the advanced students' final pieces. Waiters in white uniforms carrying silver trays laden with drinks wove deftly through the crowds.
"Excusez-moi, monsieur. Care for a refreshment?"
Glam turned to the waiter who had approached him. He was holding out a tray topped with non-alcoholic beverages for those not yet old enough to drink. Smiling graciously, Glam selected a chilled glass of lemonade and thanked the server before turning back to the painting he was admiring.
Lemons and Vase; Oil on canvas read the plaque next to it. It was one of the smaller works in the collection, easily overlooked by many. Glam had stared at it all semester when it'd hung inside the studio, but only now could he appreciate how masterfully it had been done. No longer just paint on canvas, the lemons were liquid sunshine, their sourness rivaling that of the drink in his hand; the flowers, as fragrant as any bouquet.
Tulips had been a fitting choice really, when one considered the language of flowers: perfect and deep love.
The other attendees hovered around him, drawing close enough to recognize the son of Gustav Shwagenwagens but keeping their distance. They contented themselves with judgmental looks and snide remarks hidden behind their cupped hands as they tutted over his appearance.
Like the rest of them, he was dressed in his Sunday best. His black loafers were polished to shining and his tuxedo was tailor-made. His hair, however, was wild and unkempt, and his manic grin left onlookers more than a little unnerved.
They scurried away as a young woman stepped up beside him.
"You really did a splendid job, Vanessa," he said without turning to her.
"Why, thank you," Vanessa responded cordially, sipping her drink. "Herr Sebastian."
He chuckled at the outdated name. "I'm honestly ashamed I didn't recognize it sooner." Gone was any sense of competition. They were merely two peers speaking on equal terms. "Now I can see why you made such an impression before."
Vanessa hummed indifferently, assessing her piece. Whatever allure Glam found in it no longer captivated the artist herself; it too had fulfilled its purpose months ago.
Just then came a roar from across the gallery:
"Sebastian!"
Swirling her drink in her hand, Vanessa tipped her head in the direction of the commotion. "Looks like I'm not the only one making an impression tonight."
"I'm afraid my father is calling." Glam gave an apologetic bow. "If you'll excuse me."
He strode confidently over to where a crowd had gathered in front of one particular painting. They buzzed like a swarm of agitated bees, their stunned gasps and sounds of dismay filling the air. At Glam's approach, they parted like a curtain to reveal his highly anticipated pièce de résistance:
Untitled. Oil and sumi ink on canvas.
The painting featured a young male model in the nude reclined atop a spread of tasseled cushions. He was facing the viewer, limbs arranged elegantly in a relaxed pose, a soft smile on his face, and a bouquet of tulips behind his head. At first blush, it looked very much like the many other renditions that filled the exhibition.
But there was one notable difference. Scrawled across the canvas in large, jagged letters read the words:
LOOK UPON ME AND KNOW MY WORTH
The sumi ink dripped like black blood down Glam's delicate brushwork, smearing his impeccable color palette, spoiling his seamless balance of warm and cool tones, and defiling his immaculate grasp of anatomy.
The painting was utterly ruined.
Glam had never been prouder.
In front of it stood his father. Fists clenched at his sides, a quiet rage seethed from him as he glared at it.
"Herr Shwagenwagens, I assure you I'm as appalled as you are!" Professor Hans's voice was a full octave higher as he flitted about him, his face the very epitome of bewilderment and shock. "I have no idea how a vandal managed to deface your son's work!"
Catching sight of Glam, Gustav turned, pinning him with his icy blue eyes. "You! You did this, didn't you?"
Glam met his gaze, unflinching, even as he stormed up to him. A flash of lightning lit up the sky outside, throwing everything into stark relief.
"Are you trying to make a fool out of me, boy? By dishonoring yourself? Dishonoring me?"
Professor Hans intercepted smoothly, hands raised in supplication. "Please, I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Herr Sebastian would never do such a thing. Why, just yesterday he was hard at work right here in the studio, putting the final touches on—"
"Yesterday?" Gustav rounded on him, his voice a menacing growl.
Hans sputtered, "W-well, yes, Herr Shwagenwagens. I thought you knew. He said he had your permission to—"
"Enough! I'll deal with you later. And as for you!" Snarling, Gustav grabbed Glam by the wrist and wrenched him to his side. "We're going home, Sebastian, this instant. You're going to sit down and tell me everything. About how your class field trip went, where you actually disappeared to yesterday, and who you spent it with." He threw another disparaging look at the painting—and saw something that made him go still.
"No, Father." Glam slipped his hand free while Gustav was distracted, his smile leaving him for the first time that evening. "I'm not going."
If Gustav heard him, he gave little indication, his mask of rage splintering to reveal a man who feared much more than he let on. Because even the great art virtuoso Gustav Shwagenwagens was not without a heart, and he could read the true, deeper meaning within the piece. He saw past the graffiti, past even the skilled painterliness—all the way to the confession of his only son who had fallen in love with a boy.
Shaken but knowing better than to make a scene, Gustav straightened his suit and slicked back his hair which had fallen into disarray during his outburst. Thunder boomed outside, and tension crackled in the air. "So," he said evenly. "This is what you chose, Sebastian? This...trash?" He could barely look at the damning piece. "Shwagenwagens Manor is no longer your home, and I am not your father..."
A wave of serenity washed over Glam as he continued speaking, every threat cleansing as a summer rain.
"Do you hear me, Sebastian?"
He raised his head and stared at the man who had stifled him for so long, blue eyes pulsing with energy. His lips lifted in another ear-to-ear grin as he said calmly, "My name is Glam."
Gustav left without another word. Professor Hans followed him out—but not before trying to wheedle one more word of explanation from his star pupil. Or, more accurately, former star pupil. But Glam would give him nothing.
He sat alone on the bench in front of the painting, beads of condensation gathering on the glass of lemonade in his hands. More gallery attendees came and went as the evening wore on, swirling around him like eddies in a river. Many sneered at the piece in blatant disapproval, sharing hushed jeers of "deplorable," "despicable," and even "pretentious." Some were moved by the artist's sheer audacity.
Glam didn't care about them or their opinions.
Having reached its peak, the storm outside abated, leaving the air cool and moist in its wake. Along with the departing peals of thunder, the crowds dwindled to nothing. Glam stayed.
After a time, the same server from before sat down beside him. His uniform was untucked, and his hair stood in scruffy, untamed tufts. He leaned back, placing his hand next to Glam's on the bench. Their pinkies brushed.
"Sorry you never got an invite," Glam said.
"Yeah." Ches rolled his eyes. "Not cool. I model my butt off for weeks and they can't even let me into their hoity-toity gallery opening?" He scoffed. "What a buncha cheapskates. Same goes for their security. It's bogus how easy it was to sneak in here."
"Agreed." Glam offered him the rest of his lemonade which he happily accepted.
They sat together in quiet contemplation, both looking at the painting.
"These yuppies wouldn't know what good art was if it came up and bit them in the butt. For what it's worth, I think it's pretty rad. Glamcevski would be proud." He drummed his heels on the floor a few times, then finally turned to Glam. "So, you hungry? I know a burger joint that's still open. It's not far from here."
"I've never had a burger before."
"Well then, my man, you've been seriously missing out." Ches hopped to his feet, brushing off his pants. "You'll love 'em." He held out his hand to Glam who took it.
Glam stood. "We're going? Already?" Excitement flickered across his heart, the future full of as many promises as unknowns.
"Yup. Just let me ditch the monkey suit and we'll head out." Ches's smile glowed bright as the full moon, chasing off the lingering shadows of doubt and fear. "Sound good?"
"Yeah." Glam smiled back, giving one final look at his magnum opus, before leaving it all behind. "That sounds perfect."