Snippet from The Slave
This is a wee snippet of writing from my current WIP tentatively called "The Slave." Work safe, character interaction moment I'm enjoying. M/M futuristic story.
Tom’s eyes snapped open and he smiled, slightly crooked, too many teeth...Jai stared.
“What?” Tom lifted a brow.
“Nothing... You’re just like the sun.”
“I’m like the sun? Is that an artist thing?”
Jai shook his head. “Never mind.”
Jai was conscious of Tom following him a second time. He got a robe, tossed one to Tom. “It’s easier if we get dressed.”
“For whom?”
Jai quirked a brow at Tom and they headed into the garden. They followed a pebbled path to a glass enclosed structure. Jai picked up a heavy iron key from under a mat and used it to open the door.
“Low tech.”
“I don’t allow technology in my most private space.”
Tom didn’t ask any questions, just followed Jai into his studio.
Canvases were scattered around the space, some with scratches from charcoal still evident like skeletons below the flesh of paint and pastel.
Shoving his hands in the pockets of his robe, Jai felt tension racket up his spine as Tom merely paced, studying his work. He paused beside a pastoral, then moved to an abstract with slashes of red and orange impatience. He knelt beside one done in grays, rain, it had been nothing but rain in that water color. “You were hopeless when you did this one.”
Jai cleared his throat. “We all have days when we feel that way.”
“Um. And you’ve been angry. A lot.”
“It’s easier to express myself here.”
“Easier to hide what you truly feel here.”
“I express myself in real life.”
“Really? So you’re with Cedric because...”
“I pick and choose where I’m bold.”
“Where you really live, too. And that’s here.” Tom walked to a nude, a man lying on the stone slabs of rock surrounding the baths, long tangled brown hair, frowning brows. “This me?”
Jai shifted, but why not admit it? “Yeah.”
“Thought so. I look pissed.”
“You often look that way.”
“Want to know what would put a smile on my face?”
His heart rate kicked off. “Not particularly.”
“Liar. You are such a liar, Jai, hiding all this passion in here. What good does it do?”
“Why must it do good?”
“I don’t know...” Tom scrubbed his jaw. “It just seems like it would be better if it were out there. If people could see it, share in the feeling.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re all human. That’s all. That’s what work like this says.”
“We’re all frail, flawed.”
“And occasionally illuminated.” Tom touched another abstract. Burning color, reds, siennas, bold blue. Jai remembered feeling something bursting inside of himself to get out and then it had. He didn’t fully understand the painting. Maybe that wasn’t necessary.
“Your experiences have made you more sensitive.”
Tom shrugged.
Jai felt that cacophony of odd, clashing sensations again. He didn’t like it. He was quickly becoming addicted to it. “I want to know more.”
Tom looked at him, merely looked.
“You think I don’t really want to.”
“Who would? It’s not a pretty story.”
“My father beat me. He said it was so I’d understand how to be in charge, to know how to break someone else. He nearly broke me.”
Tom didn’t make sympathetic noises. Didn’t move to touch Jai. He waited.
“I inherited enough power from my mother’s line to live here, to escape from him so I did. At first I was afraid to paint, to just let myself do it. I used to love to sketch things when I was a child; I was punished for doing it.”
“It’s hard going up against programming even when you know it’s flawed.”
“Yes. I was afraid to touch canvas, to use paint. Wasteful, indulgent, worthless.”
“Worthless. That had to hurt.”
Jai nodded. “That word still lives somewhere under my breastbone.”
Now Tom moved toward him. Jai tensed. Tom fell to his knees and pressed his mouth against Jai’s breastbone, through his robe. Jai hissed, feeling that touch like a torch to his skin. “Tom.” His voice broke on the name. “I’m afraid of you.”
“Because I make you feel.”
“Yes.”
Tom’s hands knotted in the robe. “Let me anyway.”
Jai opened his robe himself, took that step. He wanted Tom for his lover. He could dance around it, giving himself all these good and solid and sensible reasons why he should not do this but... Tom’s lips whispered poems against his skin, brought him to life so he sang inside himself. So he yearned, folding over Tom, letting brawny arms hold him as Tom feasted, taking a nipple into his mouth, owning it as Jai shivered.
Tom’s eyes snapped open and he smiled, slightly crooked, too many teeth...Jai stared.
“What?” Tom lifted a brow.
“Nothing... You’re just like the sun.”
“I’m like the sun? Is that an artist thing?”
Jai shook his head. “Never mind.”
Jai was conscious of Tom following him a second time. He got a robe, tossed one to Tom. “It’s easier if we get dressed.”
“For whom?”
Jai quirked a brow at Tom and they headed into the garden. They followed a pebbled path to a glass enclosed structure. Jai picked up a heavy iron key from under a mat and used it to open the door.
“Low tech.”
“I don’t allow technology in my most private space.”
Tom didn’t ask any questions, just followed Jai into his studio.
Canvases were scattered around the space, some with scratches from charcoal still evident like skeletons below the flesh of paint and pastel.
Shoving his hands in the pockets of his robe, Jai felt tension racket up his spine as Tom merely paced, studying his work. He paused beside a pastoral, then moved to an abstract with slashes of red and orange impatience. He knelt beside one done in grays, rain, it had been nothing but rain in that water color. “You were hopeless when you did this one.”
Jai cleared his throat. “We all have days when we feel that way.”
“Um. And you’ve been angry. A lot.”
“It’s easier to express myself here.”
“Easier to hide what you truly feel here.”
“I express myself in real life.”
“Really? So you’re with Cedric because...”
“I pick and choose where I’m bold.”
“Where you really live, too. And that’s here.” Tom walked to a nude, a man lying on the stone slabs of rock surrounding the baths, long tangled brown hair, frowning brows. “This me?”
Jai shifted, but why not admit it? “Yeah.”
“Thought so. I look pissed.”
“You often look that way.”
“Want to know what would put a smile on my face?”
His heart rate kicked off. “Not particularly.”
“Liar. You are such a liar, Jai, hiding all this passion in here. What good does it do?”
“Why must it do good?”
“I don’t know...” Tom scrubbed his jaw. “It just seems like it would be better if it were out there. If people could see it, share in the feeling.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re all human. That’s all. That’s what work like this says.”
“We’re all frail, flawed.”
“And occasionally illuminated.” Tom touched another abstract. Burning color, reds, siennas, bold blue. Jai remembered feeling something bursting inside of himself to get out and then it had. He didn’t fully understand the painting. Maybe that wasn’t necessary.
“Your experiences have made you more sensitive.”
Tom shrugged.
Jai felt that cacophony of odd, clashing sensations again. He didn’t like it. He was quickly becoming addicted to it. “I want to know more.”
Tom looked at him, merely looked.
“You think I don’t really want to.”
“Who would? It’s not a pretty story.”
“My father beat me. He said it was so I’d understand how to be in charge, to know how to break someone else. He nearly broke me.”
Tom didn’t make sympathetic noises. Didn’t move to touch Jai. He waited.
“I inherited enough power from my mother’s line to live here, to escape from him so I did. At first I was afraid to paint, to just let myself do it. I used to love to sketch things when I was a child; I was punished for doing it.”
“It’s hard going up against programming even when you know it’s flawed.”
“Yes. I was afraid to touch canvas, to use paint. Wasteful, indulgent, worthless.”
“Worthless. That had to hurt.”
Jai nodded. “That word still lives somewhere under my breastbone.”
Now Tom moved toward him. Jai tensed. Tom fell to his knees and pressed his mouth against Jai’s breastbone, through his robe. Jai hissed, feeling that touch like a torch to his skin. “Tom.” His voice broke on the name. “I’m afraid of you.”
“Because I make you feel.”
“Yes.”
Tom’s hands knotted in the robe. “Let me anyway.”
Jai opened his robe himself, took that step. He wanted Tom for his lover. He could dance around it, giving himself all these good and solid and sensible reasons why he should not do this but... Tom’s lips whispered poems against his skin, brought him to life so he sang inside himself. So he yearned, folding over Tom, letting brawny arms hold him as Tom feasted, taking a nipple into his mouth, owning it as Jai shivered.
No comments have been added yet.
