painting-my-betterday:

“Not in the slightest, Mister Shepherd.” The painter mused with a small smirk on his lips as he pushed the door open finally, exposing the dark insides of his home - one hand reaching to flick on a light as his other hand pulled the Senator in tow behind him. Door closed and the light off again, Gabe lead the other man towards his bedroom, but this time there was no fumble to get each other undressed - this time Gabe let go of Holden’s hand and stepped away from him for a few moments to begin undressing himself before he climbed into the bed with just a shirt and his underwear on; odd socks still on, one half way up his own calf as the other pooled around his ankle. Pulling off his glasses and setting them on the night stand, the painter rolled so he was facing Holden and pulled the blankets up snug around himself.

Holden followed Gabe like a lost puppy. Sure, he'd been in Gabe's place before (many times) but never on these terms. The only time he'd really been in here was when it was for sex, and he hadn't been that interested in anything else. Not that he could look around much now - the place was dark - but it gave him a good feeling in his chest. One that made him nervous, but nonetheless a good one. At least he thought it was a good feeling. When the painter let go of his hand he swallowed and stood there awkwardly watching him, tilting his head slightly to the side.

He had to admit he was tempting... but the heaviness of Holden's eyes told him that doing anything right now was a very bad idea. He pulled out his phone and texted his assistant where he would need to be picked up in a few hours and pulled his blazer off of his shoulders, draping it over a nearby chair. He unbuttoned his shirt and let out a yawn as he pulled it off and hung it as well. He toed off his shoes as he undid his belt and let his slacks fall to the ground. Exhaling, he moved to the empty side of the bed and slid underneath the cool covers, reaching out so he could tentatively pull the other man closer to him. “This is nice,” he murmured. 

just stay ➣golden

painting-my-betterday:

At first when Holden pulled away, Gabe worried he’d said the wrong thing - it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d questioned himself when it came to the Senator but he also wouldn’t let his concern show. Opening his eyes he let his attention flicker over the other man’s face, a soft smile forming on his lips however as he tried to take him in how he looked in that moment - puzzled almost like a puppy, but it didn’t last very long.

“I’m positive. You can come inside, cuddle up in my bed and fall asleep for a little while then leave. We don’t need to have sex every time, even just sleeping next to you is enough for me.” As he spoke, Gabe’s hands went to cup either side of the other’s face as he leaned up a little more to press a kiss very softly to the Senator’s lips to end his own words before lowering and reaching behind himself to turn the handle on the door. 

“So…am I sleeping alone tonight?”

The idea was all around odd to Holden, but he could see the appeal to it. Falling asleep after sex with Gabe in his arms was one of his favorite things to do, so he supposed doing that without the former wouldn't be the worst thing. Blame him for never having a normal relationship, he supposed. Maybe that was why he liked Gabe so much.... he had this air of normalcy to him without being normal in the slightest. Biting his lip, he gave the other male a soft, small smile after he kissed him. "I don't think it'd be very gentlemanly of me to make you do that now, would it?" he tried, keeping one hand on the painter’s hip.

just stay ➣golden

painting-my-betterday:

A small pout formed into the kiss and Gabe’s glasses slipped a little lower down his nose only for the artist to reach up and push them back up the bridge with his index finger while his other hand still busied itself with Holden’s collar. “Not even for a little while?” No, he shouldn’t push. Yet all he could think about was laying in bed with his face buried in Holden’s chest drifting off into a warm sleep. 

Leaning back in, Gabe pressed another kiss to the man’s lips with every intent of bidding him fairwell but he held onto the kiss for a little longer, letting the taste of the other consume him for a few moments. Then he began to speak into the kiss, eyes still closed and words mumbled into the Senator’s mouth. “Why can’t you come in? We don’t even need to have sex, we can just lay together and fall asleep - it’ll be nice.” 

That was all gab really wanted - the sex was great but the feeling Holden gave him from just being around him was enough some days and the idea of falling asleep feeling so warm and peaceful was starting to sound more appealing than sex.

"I can't," Holden murmured against the other male's lips - not quite wanting to pull himself away from him yet. But god, three hours... and he had to give a defense speech... he was going to hate himself in the morning. He pulled him a little tighter against him and sealed his mouth over the painter's, humming out a contented noise through his nose.

However, when Gabe spoke, his eyebrows knit together and he found himself pulling back ever so slightly. "What?" he asked, confusion littered across his face. Call him daft, but that... that had never been a thing for Holden before. Spending the night? Without sex? Is that how these things... worked? "I, uh," he cleared his throat. "Are you sure? I have to leave in a few hours..."

just stay ➣golden

painting-my-betterday:

The date had been perfect, they always were perfect - light touches and caught out smiles, wrapping up with heated and rough bouts of sex. Perfect. Except for the fact that the minute it was over it was like the rose tint on the world shattered and Holden would leave. It seemed to be a pattern and Gabe couldn’t help but grow to expect that it was how their current evening was going to end. 

The taste of juice clinging to his own tongue as he swallowed, stepping up to his door finally and fumbling with his keys a little until he found the right one among all the keyrings of places he’d never been. Fake memories, hopes built on day dreams. 

“You want to come in? Stay the night maybe?”

He kept telling himself he wouldn’t push, that Holden would make that choice if and when he wanted to…but he couldn’t hold back the occasional nudge.

They shouldn't have stayed out as late as they had, but Holden found himself forgetting about the time throughout the night as he focused primarily on the man in his company. It wasn't like it was difficult to do so--he swore he was like a magnet to Gabe, constantly moving toward him and unable to stay away. He had no idea how he'd ended up in this sort of situation, or hell, how Gabe had ended up in this... set up of sorts with him, of all people. The painter and the senator, it sounded almost like the beginning of a bad joke.

He had a meeting the next day. Well, no, not the next day, in a few hours; hence the idea that they had stayed out too late. It was originally just going to be dinner to catch up after a week of not seeing the other, but then they'd had far too many glasses of wine and Holden was finding excuses that would prevent him from having to take the other male home. But yet here they were now, Holden sighing as they stepped up to Gabe's front door. He wanted to stay... he wanted to go in there and show the other man every reason why he'd made the right choice in him, but he just didn't have the time. If he were to be at his meeting in - he checked his watch - three hours, he was going to need to get a decent amount of sleep. And if he went inside, that most likely meant sex.

Stepping forward, he caught the other male's wrist and pulled it down to his side, shaking his head as he leaned forward and pressed his lips tentatively against the other male's as he wrapped his arms around his waist and tugged him a little closer to himself. "I wish I could, but not tonight," he murmured against his lips.

just stay ➣golden

painting-my-betterday:

It was a better reaction than he had expected at first, partly assuming the man would hint and prod at the idea but never act or really acknowledge the tangled mess they had become the night of the gallery opening. His arms still by his side, Gabe let one hand slip into the pocket of his paint stained jeans as they nervously fiddled with the soft lining within the denim- keeping his over all demeanour seeming cool, calm and collected. 

“Or dinner? One or the other? You’re making things hard on me, round two is tempting but…dinner…” He trailed off as he side glanced the other man with a half smile again before shifting his body slightly closer and giving a nod as his attention settled back on the painting. “Dinner it is, pick me up at 8?”

Holden cleared his throat and nodded. He wanted to say that he could have both, round two could happen right now and dinner could happen later, but he didn't want to sound too hasty or too needy. The other night was good--damn good--but Holden's pride was a little bit too strong. That and his attention was pulled away momentarily by someone new walking through the door. His gaze flickered from the couple that walked in down to Gabe's chest and he took a step forward, reaching up tentatively and running his knuckles along the painter's lower abdomen, the other male’s shirts bunching up and his pinky brushing ever so slightly against skin. His hues met the other male's and the corner of his lips twitched. "8 sharp," he stated with a short nod before stepping back and finding his way out of the gallery, hands in his pockets. 

signal ➣ golden

painting-my-betterday:

Gabe let a single brow arch above the rim of his glasses, a small knowing smile tugging at the very corners of his lips and causing them to arch upwards ever so. “You can’t break it down to an interpretation…” He began, moving to the senator’s other side like a cat admiring a shiny object it was considering smacking to the ground below to watch it shatter - except with more poise and grace (and less of a fondness to breaking things).

One hand rose and poked a single finer square into the middle of Holden’s chest, the brow still arched as he spoke while his glasses slid slightly down the bridge of his nose. “Your interpretation should come from in here, the first thought or feeling you have when you see it. Anger, frustration, hope…warmth. Anything.” His hand pulled back and the brunette feared the poke may have crossed a line but he didn’t let his concern show, never one to pander or fuss over his actions when it came to pleasing others.

“That’s how we should interpret all things - films, the weather, people…even moments.”

Leaning back so he was able to stand next to Holden, facing the painting the man was looking at, he paused for a long moment before speaking up again. “Out of all my paintings, I’d hope you wouldn’t have any trouble interpreting this one - it’s practically calling your name.”

“Hope, then, I... suppose,” he said with a swallow. The words fell from his lips before he could take them back, and he silently cursed the powers that be for letting that happen. He cleared his throat and looked down at the ground, nearly flushing. Holden Shepherd didn’t get embarrassed, what the hell was this all about? “I, ah.” He looked back up at the painting and squinted, attempting to look like he was concentrating but in all actuality just trying to gain his composure. He felt like a fifteen year old. 

“That’s how I interpret this, then, I guess.” Holden didn’t know art, he didn’t do art. He didn’t care about it, but for some reason a spark inside of him made him want to care about it, want to learn it. He finally turned to look at the other male. “Hope that maybe... a round two might be in store. Or dinner.” He immediately turned to look back at the painting, clearing his throat. “That is, if you want to.” 

signal ➣ golden

painting-my-betterday:

Since the gallery opening Gabe had found himself sitting in the back of his studio staring at the painting that had lead to the amazing sex against the walls of his most cherished place. He’d found himself stalling while working on a painting only to be drawn back in to the previous marvel he felt when he’d first painted it. He could feel a long dead muse rising once more, begging him to let it wake. 

And it was all Holden Shepherd’s fault.

Soon enough he got sick of feeling the painting mock him, he gave into the nagging muse and the hopeless feeling in his chest as it replaced a more moden piece in his front window with a tiny ‘for sale’ sign beside it. If that didn’t get attention he didn’t know what would, save for being less subtle than a sledgehammer which he doubted would be appreciated.

The slight click of the door made Gabe look up as he wasw discussing the inspiration behind a piece a couple seemed interested in for their living room, his words stalling when in broad daylight he saw the man - he’d only really thought about him in the dimly lit studio with champagne on his tongue. But in such natural light…well if the muse in his head could bang it’s drums any louder it would. Suddenly discussion about movement in colour changed to a closing subject as Gabe fund himself tying to usher the people to pay up and leave. Soon enough they did and the moment the door clicked again, the artist moved towards where he could see the taller man looking so out of place.

“See anything you like?”

Holden didn't know what he was supposed to do. He wasn't... an art person. He was a politics person. He was an intelligent conversation about economics, stocks and the downfall of big businesses person. He didn't understand art or the passion behind it; he didn't understand how someone could sit in front of a canvas for hours at a time and end up with something that looked like a four year old could have created and wind up selling it for thousands of dollars. There was no logic behind it--no statistics--which made it an anomaly to the senator. 

So he pretended he knew what he was doing--and Holden was good at pretending--looking around the room with his hands clamped together behind his back, observing the paintings around the gallery and acting like he knew what he was even looking for. He dared a few glances at the other male but every time he did he was looking away and talking to the couple who appeared to be buying something. He wouldn't bother him during a sale; if it was one thing Holden understood it was the importance of money. 

For a brief moment, he considered leaving. Fleeing before the other male saw him (had he seen him?) and decided to talk to him. And he was just about to turn and walk right out the door when he nearly walked straight into the smaller male. "Ah, ahem, I'm... not sure," he started, turning to look back at the painting he'd been previously looking at and folding his arms across his chest. "Not sure how to interpret this."

signal ➣ golden

signal ➣ golden

If it was one thing Holden Shepherd didn’t do, it was think twice. 

Everything he did was so matter-of-fact. Every thought he made had an endpoint, and he didn’t touch a subject again unless it was necessary. He was the epitome of progression, an ever moving, ever prospering continuum of advancing. 

So why in the hell did he find himself walking down the same street he’d been down two weeks ago for that god damn charity event? Right. The stupid dark haired artist that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. It didn’t make sense to him--typically, Holden fucked and moved on. He didn’t think about his one night stands after they happened; didn’t even remember their names the next day. But for some reason... he remembered Gabe’s. Maybe it was his fault for fucking the curator of the gallery that hosted his event, but something told him it wasn’t just that. 

As he got closer to the gallery, a familiar sight caught his eye. The entire reason that what happened on that night even, well, happened. Gabe had brought him into the back to show him his other pieces after he’d so rudely trashed his other abstract ones, and it was that specific painting that Holden had just felt... drawn to. He didn’t know why, but it sparked something in him that he couldn’t put to words. And soon after that he’d wound up shoving the other male into the wall, pulling his legs around him and plastering his mouth to his neck.

And there it was, right in the gallery’s window for the world to see, and Holden could have sworn it was some sort of sign. Maybe he was just nuts. Maybe he was overthinking things. But before he could even register what he was doing, he was pulling the door to the gallery open and stepping in, looking around for the other male. When he noted he was talking to a few people, he let out a breath and moved to look at the paintings around the room, trying to look nonchalant and disinterested which completely counteracted the extreme somersaults his stomach was doing. What was he even doing?