His Vision of Art

Bonus Scene:

Tarq:

I wake up late, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I sit up, and I realize that Uriah isn't next to me.
I spin around quickly, sunlight pouring in.
I push my hair back, swinging my legs out of bed and dragging myself to the next room.

I'm greeted with breakfast and a smiling Uriah.

"Hey." He says grabbing me and shoving me down into a chair before serving me a plate of eggs and bacon.

"What's this for?" I ask watching him pour me a cup of coffee.

He sets the mug down, but I catch his wrist, kissing the platinum band on his left hand.

"Nothing." Uriah says grinning and snatching his hand back. I frown but he ruffles my hair, "eat up." Is all he says.

He takes his own seat, drinking orange juice and reading an article in the newspaper.

I quickly eat, finishing off the last of my coffee before speaking again.
"Want to practice?" I ask

Uriah sets his paper down, smirking.

"I my name is Uriah Westfall, I'm married to Tarq Westfall."
He pauses, the gears in his brain grasping for his words to flow out.
"I'm 29 years old. You're 33 years old. I'll be 30 in a month."
He takes a sip from his coffee, standing up and walking around the table. I scoot my chair back and he sits on my lap, his arms wrapping around my neck.

"You're not at work. So it's Saturday or Sunday." He says pleased with himself.

I press a kiss to the edge of his jaw.
"Saturday or Sunday?" I ask against him.

A long pause.

"Saturday?"

"Sunday." I whisper along his neck.

"Damn."

I laugh softly. "You know I stayed up all night last night. We have that painting due tomorrow and you wouldn't help me."

Another pause before Uriah rolls his eyes.

I kiss the corner of his mouth.
Uriah got back into painting, and ever since we always worked together.
I still teach classes at the art center, and Uriah even stops by every so often to have lunch with me.

Uriah doesn't work, he likes staying home and cleaning and painting in our studio. Plus we just got a third cat.
I wasn't a huge fan of getting animals because I was afraid that they'd walk over our artwork but Uriah kept pleading and I couldn't say no to him.

The cats walk on our artwork.

Uriah curls up against me, sighing. But his painter hands suggestively press against my chest and neck.

"We could go back to work..." he whispers.

I've swung Uriah up into my arms, and Uriah barely cries out in surprise before I've got him in our studio pressed against the wall.

His legs instinctively wrap around my waist, and his hands claw along my back, nails digging in painfully.
I kiss him like I've always wanted to when I saw him, our lips sealed together with something deep and burning inside. Something promising, something new and scary and reckless.
My hips press hard against Uriah's, and I swallow his moan quickly before pulling back and gently wrestling him to the ground.
He lays back nicely, his slim body stretched out beautifully. I kiss the hollow of his neck, reaching out to grab my paint pallet.

"I'm a sick person, aren't I?" I ask grabbing a paintbrush and dipping it into the paint.

There's a split moment before Uriah connects my words, and he laughs, his head thrown back and his head pressing against the wooden floor.
I smile, leaning over him and running the tip along his exposed neck.