darling - [ joshler ]

(photo: etsy)

—

brendon laughs at him too.

"but he's a whore!" the dark-haired boy exclaims, throwing his arms up in a little cafe down in town, no remorse for who might hear them. "you can't be in love with a whore."

"i am not in love," joshua insists, a little embarrassment warming his cheeks. "i only want to paint him, is that bad?"

"do you know how many boys touch that body you want to paint? so many, josh. what do you see in that?"

"the same thing you see in the idea of them all having sex with him out in the open," josh replies. "something beautiful, i suppose."

brendon fixes him with a smirk.

"what?" joshua asks.

"you're french enough already," he says as he laughs. "all sappy and in love."

"i'm not in love." josh looks down to his coffee.

"okay, josh. whatever you say."

—

joshua is at brendon's college house more. they spend fridays and weekends there, occasionally weekdays after class. sometimes joshua stays and crashes in a spare bedroom because he's too drunk to get home on his own. some boys live there permanently. one boy in particular that joshua always sees is the one from art class. joshua learns quickly that he wears nothing but that robe, and that the boys in the house can take him anywhere and anytime they want. joshua will see him on couches and in bedrooms, on his knees or on his back, always some submissive position or with his face buried between legs. one morning, the little brunet walked by joshua and they held eyes for a moment. he had been holding another boy's hand, one of the sandy-haired twins, pulling him along through the house, and guessing by their movements, going to do something rather explicit. the twin had smiled at joshua. bonjour, he said. bonjour, joshua said back, taping a smile to his lips. but when he looked at the boy, the one he almost knew, there was no smile.

joshua memorizes details so he can go home and paint them. there's not nearly enough canvas in his apartment to satisfy all his compulsion. on his afternoons after class, joshua rides his bike down to a little art store front on rue de granges. the woman who owns it has a son who loves to hear joshua's american accent and is delighted when he comes in. he buys his canvas and talks in french to the little boy, but soon, understands that this is all getting very expensive. the next time he's in, the woman proposes him a sketchbook instead. and so it makes sense. he comes out of the store that day with a little black book and two pencils. one, a fine point mechanical, the other, a thick and heavy stub of graphite.

it's something to get used to, but joshua finds a way for graphite soon enough. he practices by drawing the boy: his brown eyes, wild eyebrows, the long eyelashes. lips quiet and soft in pencil but harsh in french. joshua especially likes to draw his side profile, imagining the gentle curves in france's country with the slope of his nose. this tiny book is easier to carry around, and it's possible now for joshua to take it to the house and draw the boy as he sees him. joshua is careful to be discreet about it, and enjoys the tiny moments that the boy isn't with someone. when he sits on a couch or a table and the other boys simply talk with him instead. he has a beautiful smile. joshua watches him, and buries his attention to his sketchbook, scribbling away harsh lines and mending them later as he has time. no one seems to care for the american artist, or for what he's doing between those pages. the boy he draws doesn't even so much as glance at him. he prefers it this way.

one night, joshua is walking through the house and thinking. he does this sometimes in the quiet nothings of night when everyone is passed out and the walls are silent. he passes by a door parted open a bit, and he sees the boy inside, in the dark. he lays on his back among a tangle of naked and sleeping bodies. but he remains awake, twirling a finger around pieces of hair as he stares at the ceiling. joshua doesn't think of what the boy had been doing, only of what he does now, and what he thinks about.

joshua widens the door a bit and steps in quietly. the boy looks up. he takes his fingers from his hair. no embarrassment crosses his faces for the way he lays now, among all the aftermath of an orgy. joshua approaches him, only so far as he can go before he'll touch another body. then he crouches down, and reaches out to the boy in the middle. he holds out his black notebook. the boy's expression is blank, but his eyes, they're always so keen. joshua likes looking at them, and to have them look back at him. the boy takes the notebook.

"you are someone to be painted," joshua whispers.

the boy blinks back at him. he doesn't move. 

joshua stands, and looks at him a last bit more before leaving. then he closes the door behind him, but not all the way, just back to the way it was.