the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

eight +

eight +

It was a full weeks later when Michael's gallery came up. Luke was freaking out on so many levels. It was held at a ballroom, with a teal blue rotunda ceiling and golden tiles. People have describe it as a palace, but, of course, Luke has never seen it.

"Does this look okay?" Luke asked, turning around in the full-length mirror hanging on their bedroom wall. He pulled at the black skinny jeans before fixing the white button down once more. Fuck, he thought, are they going to think I'm a waiter? "I need to change, don't I? Hell, Ashton, what am I'm going to do?" He rambled.

Ash rolled his eyes and stood up from his bed. The sheets fell off his tired body, and Luke felt bad for keeping him up. "First, let's roll up those sleeves. We wanted lover boy to see you and want to pin you up against the wall." Ashen helped him cuff the sleeves, the material becoming tighter on his thin forearms.

"Less waiter-looking?"

Man bun nodded, "Definitely." He turned his back, and Luke looked away to stop himself from staring at his strong muscles. He came back with a black belt, looping it through Luke's jeans before he could protest. "This just puts it together, makes you look ten times hotter."

Luke stood taller in the mirror, his eyes drifting over his lean body. He could do this, he had to keep telling himself that he needs to just get through the night, then he can go home and sleep off the embarrassment.

He didn't really like social events.

Michael, though, loved social events. He stood a few feet from the entrance, his hand strongly shaking important people. He was dressed to the top, a full suit lining his sloped body.

With a fake smile inked upon his shaking soul, he was ready for the night.

Luke came thirty minutes after the door open. He never liked to be the first at galleries, he would much rather avoid the awkward tension of being the first handful of people. The blonde preferred to stay in the shadows, looking at the art silently.

He found Michael's section, each painting framed to pristine. Luke's eyes filled with envy as he looked at Mike's name written in such beautiful calligraphy. Michael was good, he deserved this, probably. Luke didn't think he was that good though. He messed up the simplest things. His paintings weren't properly spaced, the main focus off center but not in thirds. It's the tiniest things about his paintings that annoyed the blonde boy quite a lot.

Michael didn't like any of these people. He didn't like the way they looked at Luke. Their eyes would glance at the older boy, judging everything about him. But, hell, he knew more about art than anyone in the entire building.

Mike knew he was an art genius, he could see it by the way Luke's blue eyes scanned each brush stroke, each pen mark. It made him sweat when Luke stood at his section in the gallery for an entire hour. He didn't move, not a single muscle.

Michael drew Luke, he drew Luke a lot. Luke knew it, he fucking knew it. Luke looked at the main painting, a large canvas. It was a boy, his features all prominent and fairly similar to the twenty-eight-year-old. Lines were drawn through him, triangles being formed over his lovely skin. Everything was a different color, all radiated hues of pinks and purples.

Arms wrapped around Luke's hips, pulling him out of his daze. He looked down, recognizing the tattooed fingers. "Hey," he said, "I love it."

"Thanks," Mike responded. He rested his chin on Luke's shoulder. "I appreciate you coming. You're making me quite nervous, though."

Luke laughed. "Good."

Michael swayed back and forth with his eyes rested shut. He liked being engulfed over Luke like this.