My Colours Are Your Touch

Frank hisses as Gerard's cold fingers trail up his bare chest. He shivers feeling the damp streaks of red Gerard's fingertips leave in their wake. Gerard dips, making Frank's flank tense, and he blows gently on the paint. His warm breath dances over the paint, turning the thick cool into a light, crusty sheen across Frank's skin. He feels the drying paint tug on the hairs of his stomach as his breathing increases with Gerard's eyes dragging across his body.

Gerard dips his finger into the small pot of red next to the bed and brings it up to his face, letting the pain drip over Frank's stomach as he smears it over his lips. The red dribbles down Gerard's chin, cascades along his neck and over his bare chest. He pushes down against Frank, making him squirm and mewl, as he drops forward his elbows resting either side of Frank's head.

Frank's breath hitches, catching in his throat as Gerard lips are against his. The cold of the paint smearing between their mouths as they kiss, passion and lust dripping from Gerard's mouth into Frank’s. He tastes the bitter, the harshness of the paint as his tongue is laced with the liquid, but mixed in is sweetness, with the gentle sting of nicotine that is Gerard's tongue. A flavour Frank's tasted too many times to forget.

Frank's desperate, his arms grabbing desperately onto Gerard's shoulders ignoring the harshness of the paint against his skin as he moves. His nails press into the soft flesh on Gerard's back, small crescent moons indenting and marking the skin. Frank's focus is on Gerard's tongue, his lips, still invading his mouth, mixing the paint around with saliva, filthy and addictive.

Gerard pulls away panting, red smeared over his mouth and nose. "Taste it, Frankie. The colour. Taste it," he whispers gathering more paint on his hand.

Frank arches when Gerard slaps his hand down on his chest, sending paint splattering across the bed and their naked bodies. "Feel it. Feel the colour Frankie." Frank feels his skin be coated with paint as Gerard moves his hand over his skin, covering every inch with red, painting his skin. "Beautiful Frank, so beautiful."

Gerard's hands dip into the lines of Frank's hips, pressing, kneading the skin with slippery fingers. Frank whines, as Gerard's slender fingers take hold of him. He gasps and throws his head back, his hair stiff in places where the paint has dried. Gerard's fingers are gentle, cool against his flushed skin, taking long, precise movements.

"Feel it, Frankie," he says building a rhythm and biting on Frank's neck. Tugging on the skin and pulling it away with his teeth, before letting it fall back into place, red and irritated.

Frank is a mess, a red painted canvas, writhing and moaning underneath Gerard. Gerard is enraptured, drugged with the sight of Frank as his canvas, as his art, unadulterated and raw, passionate and wild.

"People would pay for you, Frankie. To see you like this," he says.

Frank shivers, the feeling tingling along his skin beginning to ignite in his stomach. The tightness, the warmth, the need. "I can't Gerard, I can't."

Gerard hushes him, placing his free hand over Frank's face. He feels the paint, sticky and coagulating, on his cheeks and eyebrows. "Art has to be completed, Frank. It can't be left unfinished."

Gerard tightens his grip and Frank feels the warmth under his skin spread, a conflagration igniting and spreading along the hairs on his arms and legs. Frank's mouth surges forward, capturing Gerard's lips with his as he feels the blaze reach his fingertips, and the long drawls seep from his throat. Loud, long and dripping with desire.

He tastes it. He feels it. The red, everywhere, under his skin, in his mouth, behind his ribs, he feels it. He feels the paint on his skin melt and drip, running along and tickling the hairs, over sensitizing him, making him whisper and whimper.

Gerard smiles down at him, as Frank comes down from his high, the sensations easing across his skin.

"You're my best work yet."

Notes

hope you ejoyed xx