Street Artis

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 1

Aidan swept the remains of his last customer’s lunch into the plastic tub balanced precariously on a chair. The tub started to slide to the floor, but he caught it with his thigh. A steady grating noise caught his attention. Looking over the wrought iron fence that separated the sidewalk café from the city sidewalk, he stopped a minute to watch the muscles of the street artist flex and stretch under his thin T-shirt. He was sculpting today, extracting something only he could see from what appeared to a block of cement, used construction material maybe. Some days it was sculpture, some painting, some sketching. He was a man of many talents. The young man straightened, brushing his damp curls back from his face. He was looking forward to the cooler fall weather. It had been an unusually scorching summer. Propping the tub on his hip, he headed for the kitchen and a cool drink. His eyes were drawn to the side one final time to linger on the handsome blonde vigorously working on his latest masterpiece. He couldn’t possibly make a living selling his art on the downtown street corner, could he? Shaking his head, Aidan got back to work. Two more hours and he could go home. Wiping his hand across his brow, Jackson watched the young waiter head inside the pub. He’d been watching the young man for some time, attracted at first by his striking looks – the lithe body topped by the face of a seraph would make a perfect subject for any artist. Not that he would presume that way – it was too intimate, somehow, but he wasn’t above appreciating the aesthetic appeal. It was one reason he had set up his studio in front of the pub’s sidewalk patio for the last several weeks. The tips from the sometimes inebriated patrons didn’t hurt either, but he was honest enough to admit they weren’t the main consideration.

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 2 The young man’s appearance may have been the original draw, but watching him interact with his customers, Jackson had been struck by his warm smile, his genuine friendliness. He tugged at his sweat-soaked T-shirt, the repetitive pull of the rasp making it cling and chafe as he worked on the detail of his latest carving. He hoped to finish it before he’d have to take another construction gig to earn some cash, but the face emerging from this particular block of granite wasn’t one he particularly liked – it looked too much like his ex-wife, he thought with a wry grin. Putting down his tool, he squatted down in front of a new piece of stone he’d scavenged from his last job site, running a callused hand over its striated surface, trying to sense the potential inside it. Inside the cool and empty bar, Aidan leaned his hip against a table and laughed with Lily, one of the long time waitresses. It was always slow this time of day. The lunch crowd had dispersed about an hour ago and the after-work group wouldn’t be in until five. He downed the last of his soda, feeling much better than he had out in the strong sun. An image of the handsome artist sprang to mind uninvited. Aidan hadn’t seen a water bottle or thermos among the sculpting tools and crates the artist used to transport the few finished works that he displayed and his supplies. Reaching for a disposable cup, he filled it with ice and lemonade, refusing to question his charitable impulse. He was just being neighborly. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way the artist’s jeans stretched across his tight backside as he bent over his work or the broad shoulders that pulled the cotton of his shirt until it was almost translucent. Walking out onto the patio, Aidan approached the older man slowly, not sure how his gesture would be received. Pausing, he waited for a potential customer who had stopped to admire one of the sensuous sculptures to move on. Stepping around the barrier, he stopped a couple of feet from the artist. Unsure if the man was aware of his presence, he cleared his throat, offering the cup. “I … I thought you might be thirsty.”

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 3 Jackson looked up into the face that had haunted his imagination. He’d never been this close to the young man before, and the sunlit brown depths of his eyes drew him in so intensely that for a moment he forgot to breathe. The waiter’s warm smile and lyrically-accented voice were giving him ideas he had no right to indulge in. Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet and accepted the cup, ignoring the frisson of awareness that flashed through him in the brief moment when their hands met. “Thanks, man,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice husky from thirst and the powdery dust thrown off the stone as he worked. He took a long drink of the cool liquid, his throat working as he swallowed. The waiter stood watching him, his dark eyes never leaving the artist’s face. Jackson wondered if he was waiting to take back the empty cup when he’d finished. Looking for any way to keep him standing there a little longer, the artist offered a rusty smile. “Doesn’t seem like this heat will ever break, does it? I’m Jackson, by the way.” He held out his hand, realizing as he did that it was covered in the fine dust. He drew it back, wiping it on the thigh of his frayed jeans before extending it again. Something low in Aidan’s gut clenched as he watched the innocuous act of drinking, almost moaning when the artist’s tongue snaked out to catch an escaping drop of liquid. He just stood there, lost in clear blue eyes surrounded by deeply tanned skin. He had to force himself to move when the man introduced himself and extended his hand, glad for the extra second reprieve when the obviously embarrassed man wiped the dust away. Shaking off the hypnotic trance he had seemed to sink into while watching Jackson drink, he clasped the hand firmly, flushing slightly as their fingers lingered, his trailing intimately against Jackson’s palm as he withdrew. The man was going to think he was a shameless hussy or trying to pick him up. Which wasn’t far from the truth, Aidan realized. He’d like to get to know Jackson better – a lot better.

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 4 Belatedly, he remembered that Jackson had asked him a question. “Oh … yeah, the heat’s been a bitch. Especially for you, I’d guess, out here and all. I’m Aidan and apparently in the mood to babble this afternoon,” he finished. “Hey, babble all you want,” Jackson answered, trying to ignore the heat in his groin at the feel of Aidan’s fingers sliding over his palm. “I don’t get a lot of conversation while I’m working. A few people will ask a question once in a while, but most of the time it’s pretty quiet – getting to talk with someone else is a nice change.” He hoped that didn’t sound too much like he was begging for the younger man to stay and talk with him. Aidan laughed. “I just want people to shut up so I can do my job and you want people to interrupt you – that’s ironic.” The vague feelings of attraction he had felt towards Jackson for the weeks that he watched him work were amplified ten-fold by actually talking to him … touching him. “I get off in about an hour,” Aidan offered. “Would you be interested in having dinner with me?” “Fu– yeah, sure, that would be great,” Jackson broke off awkwardly, mentally counting the few bills left in his wallet. “Uh, would you like to come by my place? I’m a pretty decent cook, I could whip up some pasta or an omelet or something,” he offered, running through the contents of his cupboard and refrigerator. “I’ve got a little studio just up the street. It’s not much but it’s mostly clean,” he added, wondering if he was making the biggest mistake of his life. Daydreaming about the handsome young waiter was one thing – inviting him to his tiny apartment was something else. Jackson had never much cared where he lived – as long as he had a roof over his head and a place to store his tools and materials, he didn’t need anything else, but he wondered what Aidan would think of his decidedly non-upscale living space. A sudden image of Aidan naked in his bed flashed through his mind, and his cock hardened in his jeans. “Or, well, maybe you’d rather go out somewhere, we can do whatever you want,” he trailed off. He could always call Keith

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 5 and see if there was an opening on one of his crews for a stonemason if he spent the rest of his rent money on dinner with Aidan. “Actually, I was kind of inviting you back to my place for dinner,” Aidan blurted. “I get really sick of eating out and I’m a pretty decent cook.” He scuffed his trainer against the sidewalk, his shoulders and head curled down, revealing his unease with the offer. He wanted to have dinner with Jackson. He wanted Jackson to fuck him against the nearest available surface, but something about asking Jackson to come back to his apartment made him feel incredibly vulnerable. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He was far from a monk and his friends actually teased him about his ease at picking up men when they went out clubbing, but with Jackson, it felt different, like more was at stake than a night of great fucking. “Your place is fine, Aidan,” Jackson answered, thinking that was probably for the best. Maybe at Aidan’s he’d be less likely to drag the younger man into his bedroom, tear off his clothes and explore every inch of that fucking delectable body with his hands and lips the way he longed to. The flare of desire that licked at him was so intense, he was tempted to dump the remaining contents of the cup over his head to see if it could cool him down. He settled for draining it in a single gulp, handing it back to the waiter with a wry smile. “It’ll take me a little while to lug all this stuff back to my place,” the artist continued. “How about I meet you back here in an hour? That’ll give me some time to clean up, too. I must smell pretty ripe after working out here all day.” And maybe jerking off in the shower will let me get through dinner without jumping you, Jackson added mentally. Aidan agreed and scooted back inside to wrap up his tasks so he’d be ready to go when the artist returned. As it turned out, Lily tossed him out the door with instructions to ‘get some for her’, so Aidan was perched on the concrete planter outside the restaurant when Jackson came back up the street.

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 6 The artist’s hair was still damp from his shower and was curling at the collar of his shirt. Aidan watched him stride down the sidewalk, mentally willing his racing pulse back under control. This was ridiculous. He felt like a teenager on his first date. Hopping to his feet, he waved to Jackson. “Hey, ready?” “Yeah, I wanted bring a bottle of wine or something, but I didn’t have anything around the apartment.” Jackson had pulled three different shirts out of his closet before finding one that didn’t have paint stains. The jeans had white spatters on them, but they were the best he could do. He normally paid little attention to his appearance, but it seemed important to look his best for Aidan. “No problem, I’ve got wine, beer and a couple of bottles of something left over from my last party. Is walking okay or do you want to hop the trolley?” Aidan asked, falling into step with the artist and allowing their arms to brush. It took a lot of control not to give in and wind their fingers together, but he didn’t want to scare the man off before he had a proper chance to get to know him. Aidan had always trusted his first impressions of people, but he knew not everyone ‘leaped before they looked’ like he did. "Walking's great," Jackson answered, wishing he could wrap his arm around Aidan's waist and pull him closer, imagining their hips brushing against each other with each step. His cock hardened at the thought – obviously even his self-indulgent fantasy in the shower hadn't been enough to inure him to the potent attraction of being this close to the beautiful younger man. "I'd much rather be outside than crammed in a stuffy box with all those other people – probably why I've never been able to manage an office job for more than a few weeks," Jackson continued, though the though of being wedged against Aidan's body by the press of commuters in the trolley was enough to make his jeans start to feel really uncomfortable. Fuck, was everything going to make him think about making love to Aidan?

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 7 “Great,” Aidan proclaimed, speeding up to his normal walking pace. When you live in a city like Toronto, walk to work, and are perpetually late getting up, you learn to set a decent pace. “So do you set up at different places around town? You’ll be outside the café for a few weeks and then gone.” Jackson debated whether to admit that he hadn't set up anywhere other than in front of the café for months. At one time he'd enjoyed moving to different spots around the area – he'd always gotten restless staying in one place for too long – but since the first day he'd seen Aidan, precariously balancing a tray full of drinks with an infectious smile, he'd found that patch of sidewalk the perfect spot. "Nah, when money starts to run low, I take a job working construction," he admitted. "Can't make much of a living on sculpting, y'know?" “I’ve seen how many people stop and admire your work. You just need the proper place to show it. I bet a gallery could get thousands more than what you ask,” Aidan proclaimed, almost knocking an old woman off her feet as he turned to look at Jackson. "A gallery?" Jackson scoffed. "Not much chance of that ever happening. I don't fit in very well with the wine and cheese and designer clothes crowd." He waved a hand at his paint-spattered jeans and wellworn shirt. "This is about the fanciest outfit I own, Aidan – can you imagine me in some high-end gallery, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous?" “Yes, actually I can. Artists are allowed … even expected to be eccentric and your work is good. A lot better than most of the drivel out there. It’s powerful. Some of your pieces make me hurt just looking at them and others make me want to cry or laugh out loud.” Aidan was so wound up in his argument that he almost walked past his front door. “Ooops,” he laughed, “this is it.”

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 8 Something tightened in Jackson's chest at Aidan's passionate response. He felt a sudden urge to take him into his arms and swing him around, just to keep that musical laughter going. He settled for placing a hand on Aidan's back as he followed him up the stairs. "Well, I've got the eccentric part down, anyway," he grinned. “This conversation isn’t over,” Aidan warned, then ducked his head sheepishly. “I’m a real idiot, aren’t I? I invite you to dinner and then lecture you about how you should live your life. If I’m not careful, you’re going to decide I’m crazy and run screaming into the night. I like that, by the way,” he added as almost an afterthought, skipping easily from one topic to another with no transition, expecting Jackson to keep up. Unlocking the door, he tossed his keys on a small table and flipped on the lights. "Like what?" Jackson blinked at the sudden veer in Aidan's conversation as they entered the small apartment. It wasn't much different from his own small studio, but somehow it seemed brighter, more inviting, or maybe that was just the effect being around Aidan had on him. “Oh.” Aidan flushed slightly and stepped into Jackson’s body so that their legs and torsos were touching lightly, only the angle preventing them from being in a full embrace. “Your hands on my body.” His eyes flicked down to where their bodies touched and then back up into Jackson’s astonished blue eyes. His mouth curved in an impish grin. Aidan's words were the permission Jackson hadn't realized he was waiting for. Shifting forward, he brought their bodies into full alignment, his arms drifting downward to clasp loosely around slender hips. "I like it, too," he murmured, his voice raspy with desire. "I like it a whole lot." The vibration in Jackson’s voice made Aidan instantly hard and all thoughts of dinner fly out the window. Swallowing the tightness that had developed in his throat, the waiter nudged at Jackson’s jaw with his nose,

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 9 rubbing their cheeks together. “You’re going to think I’m an incredible slut if I kiss you before I even give you a chance to sit down, aren’t you?” "Nah, but I'll think you're an incredible tease if you stop with one kiss," Jackson husked. His arms tightened around Aidan's hips, pressing the evidence of his arousal against a firm thigh and discovering that Aidan was just as hard. He licked his lips and stared into Aidan's dancing sienna eyes, his own darkening with the hunger he'd been fighting all afternoon. A chill shivered up Aidan’s spine and he pressed into Jackson, a soft, needy sound escaping before he could bite it back. “I’m no saint, but I’m not normally this easy. You just do something to me,” he admitted, curling around Jackson’s body and ghosting kisses along Jackson’s jaw. Jackson's hips hitched until he stood between Aidan's long legs, sparks of heat kindling at every point their bodies touched. He'd never in his life felt the instant surge of need that consumed him at the moist touch of Aidan's lips to his face. His hands cupped the cheeks of Aidan's ass, pulling him even closer as he turned his head to seek the younger man’s lips with his own. His tongue ghosted over the smooth, wet skin, painting them with his saliva before dipping inside the warm pool of Aidan’s mouth. At the first taste of mint and cola and sweet, sweet Aidan, Jackson knew that one kiss, one fuck, one night would never be enough. “Want you,” he moaned against Aidan’s lips before plunging back inside, mating his tongue to Aidan’s hungrily. Aidan sucked greedily on the artist’s tongue, melting against the solid body and winding his arms tight around his neck. Pulling back with a gasp, he jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom. “I promise … to feed you later … but right now … take me to bed,” he panted. Trusting that Aidan had gestured in the direction of the bedroom, Jackson began walking them backward, still feasting on the banquet of Aidan's kisses. His cock rubbed against Aidan's with each step, and when

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 10 they bumped up into the doorframe he stopped, groaning as the impact thrust Aidan's hips into his. If it felt this amazing through two layers of clothes, he'd incinerate by the time they both got naked. Instinctively, Aidan’s leg lifted, wrapping around Jackson’s hip and pulling the artist tight into the cradle of his thighs, rocking against him wantonly. If they didn’t get naked soon, he was going to come just from the grinding. His hands pulled carelessly at Jackson’s shirt, quickly stripping the man to the waist as they stumbled into his bedroom. He had a second to wish that he’d made his bed before the back of his knees collided with the edge of the mattress, causing him to sit and putting him eye level with an impressive erection. He mouthed the outlined head through the soft denim, grazing his teeth up and down the length, his fingers working feverishly on the buttons. "Oh, fuck, Aidan," Jackson cursed as his soon-to-be-lover's mouth covered him. Only the urgent need to get out of his jeans could have made him slide his hands from where Aidan's ass had trapped them against the mattress. He kicked off his shoes and slid the denim off feverishly, pulling Aidan's shirt over his head and pushing him back flat against the bedding, trailing his mouth down the smooth honey-toned torso until it closed over a toffee colored nipple. “Ah … fuck,” Aidan swore, back arching off the bed as Jackson teased his nipples. He had seriously sensitive nipples and it felt like his lovers never paid enough attention to them. Kicking off his shoes, he scrambled with his own jeans until he got them loose enough to wiggle out of them, pulling Jackson between his bare thighs with a throaty moan. He could have sworn he heard an audible click as their bodies fit together. Nothing had ever felt so right … so perfect … and yet not enough. Later, he promised himself. Later there would be time for slow explorations. “Fuck me, Jackson. Make me yours,” he pleaded, his words ending with a whimper as the artist’s teeth nipped at the swollen nubs on his chest.

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 11 As much as he hungered to bury himself inside Aidan's enticing heat, Jackson continued to lap and nibble at Aidan's chest, loving the wanton sounds he was coaxing with his attentions. He gripped the younger man's hips as he undulated beneath him, rocking erratically and moving his head from one side of Aidan's chest to the other, worrying both nipples to hardened peaks. "So good," he panted, arching his back to follow the wispy line of hair down Aidan's abdomen, sliding a hand beneath him to lift the waiter into his mouth, "so fucking delicious..." Aidan screamed, his fingers twisting painfully in the sheets as Jackson’s mouth surrounded the head of his erection. “Ah … fuck … Jackson! You can’t … I can’t….” Words became completely beyond his grasp as he lapsed into incoherent babbling, the artist’s tongue finding every single tender and sensitive place on his cock. Raising a hand to tangle in the sun-streaked hair, he tugged ineffectually. “Gotta stop. I’m gonna come….” The warning came too late as Aidan exploded down Jackson’s throat, the world shattering behind his closed eyelids into shards of brilliant light. Jackson had never had a lover as responsive as the young man who convulsed in his arms. He swallowed around Aidan's pulsing cock, the intensity of his reaction making Jackson feel like he could conquer the world as long as he could come home to this every night. The sudden thought startled him – since his divorce, he'd never had or wanted anything more than infrequent one-night stands, but he wanted Aidan for as long as the younger man would have him. When his lover's cock began to soften, he slid both hands under Aidan's ass, lifting the slender hips and dragging his mouth over the fragile skin behind his balls. His tongue rasped over the puckered opening, savoring the dusky taste as much as he did Aidan's renewed mewls of pleasure. Aidan was dragged back from the blissful fog of his climax by the rasp of Jackson’s tongue over his balls. Oh God … he wasn’t … “Oh fuck, Jackson!” Grasping his knees, he spread himself wide, not caring the picture he was presenting. Aftershocks wracked his body as Jackson’s

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 12 tongue teased and plundered. He could feel his cock twitching against his belly. Dragging Jackson’s head up from between his legs, Aidan kissed him, the taste of his body on Jackson’s tongue driving him crazy. Circling the artist’s waist with his legs, he thrust his hips against Jackson’s erection, trying to convince the man to fuck him without having to surrender his lips and ask. Aidan's legs wrapping around his waist and his tongue fucking his mouth were driving Jackson crazy with the need to lose himself in his lover's body. A sudden thrust bumped the head of his cock against Aidan's entrance, and he nearly started to push inside before he came to his senses. Tearing away from the ravenous kiss, he pushed up on one arm, the other hand holding Aidan's hips down when they tried to follow him. "Lube," he gasped, his chest heaving. "Condom. I don't ... I didn't...." Aidan swore, his arm flying up to the shelf above the bed and sweeping a clutter of stuff onto the bed. He snatched up a small tube and silver packet. Tearing it open, he batted Jackson’s hands away, rolling it efficiently over the thick length. Pouring a puddle of liquid into his palm, he massaged the latex covered length, indulging himself as he explored its texture and girth. "Don't, babe." Jackson stopped Aidan's caress, the endearment slipping out without his even realizing it. He was too focused on holding back the orgasm that threatened at just the touch of Aidan's hands lubing him up. "Want to come inside you," he groaned. Squeezing a dollop of slippery gel onto his fingers, he pressed inside, hissing at the pressure that closed around him as he worked to open Aidan before laying claim to him. He was going to love him so completely that Aidan would realize this was more than just another fuck, so much more. Aidan fell back onto the pillows, his body tingling with every thrust of Jackson’s fingers, feeling slightly guilty that he was once again passively letting his partner pleasure him. All linear thought vanished

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 13 when callused fingertips brushed his prostate. His hips flew off the bed, his teeth drawing blood. Locking his fingers around Jackson’s wrist, he caught Jackson’s gaze. “No more. Make love to me.” There were no doubts in his choice of words. He wanted Jackson to know that this was more than a casual once-off fuck to him. Jackson was so lost in Aidan's warm ocher gaze that he couldn't respond to the words, but every move of his body as he slid his fingers free of the clinging sheath and fit the head of his slicked cock in their place demonstrated his agreement. Leaning forward, he reclaimed Aidan's lips, his arms wrapping around his back to support him, urging him upward as the delicious friction enveloped him. Chest to chest, he rocked against Aidan with short thrusts of his hips, begrudging every instant their bodies were apart. Urging Jackson deeper and deeper into his body with his heels, Aidan hummed his approval into their kiss. His hand tunneled between Jackson’s hand and the mattress to link their fingers, wanting to be joined to the man over him in every way possible. Their bodies moved in concert like long-time lovers. He whimpered at the loss of the artist’s lips as Jackson straightened his arms, sinking even further into his body. He tried to maintain eye contact, but every delicious brush of Jackson’s cock against his prostate caused his eyelids to flutter closed as intense sensation flooded his body. As much as he wanted to draw out the intoxication of loving Aidan, the spiraling sensations grew too overwhelming to resist. Clutching Aidan to him convulsively, Jackson sank his tongue into his lover's mouth as he thrust as deeply inside as he could, trying to meld them into a single being. He froze as the wave of ecstasy swept through him, shaking him with its intensity, leaving him trembling as he gave all he had, body and spirit, into Aidan's keeping. Aidan felt Jackson’s body surrender, the intensity of the artist’s climax dragging at him like a strong undertow. His muscles trembled as

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 14 his body poised on the brink of freefall. He could feel Jackson pulsing inside of him and see the ecstasy passing over his face. Torn between wanting to freeze the moment and joining his lover in the blissful plummet, Aidan’s body took over, his hand reaching between their bodies, grasping the hot shaft of his arousal and sending him spiraling into his own climax with several strong, fast strokes. Drained by the intensity of his release, Jackson sagged to the mattress, carrying Aidan with him. Still joined to his lover he rolled onto his side, holding Aidan to his chest and tangling their legs together, keeping their bodies touching every way he could. He tucked a hand beneath his head and settled the other possessively on Aidan's hip, leaning in to press a lingering kiss into the tousled brown curls. A sense of such profound peace enveloped him that his eyes drifted closed as his breathing evened out and he slid into sleep. Aidan propped his head on his hand and stared down at his sleeping lover. His complaining stomach informed him that dinner was still needed at some point, but he felt no urgency to leave Jackson’s side. Their legs were still entwined and the artist’s hand was resting possessively on his hip. He suspected that, even in sleep, it would tighten and hold him close if he tried to move away and the thought caused a warm ball of satisfaction to expand in his chest. He’d never experienced sex like what he’d just shared with Jackson. If he was honest, it hadn’t even just been the sex. Everything felt different with him, walking down the street, kissing, just having the artist in his home. A year ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of love at first sight, but now he was seriously reconsidering. Maybe that was the way it always was. You couldn’t understand something until you experienced it and having experienced it, Aidan knew it was something that only happened once in a lifetime. Carefully, the young man extracted himself from his lover’s grasp, smiling when Jackson did try and hold him close. Slipping on his jeans, he picked Jackson’s up off the floor, shaking them before laying them over

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 15 the back of a chair. A small white card dropped to the floor and Aidan reached down to pick it up. ‘Patrick Whitley, Acquisitions Manager, Studio 9 Gallery, Toronto, Ontario’ Aidan frowned, slipping the card in his pocket to ask Jackson about later. ### Aidan wandered in and out of the elegantly displayed sculptures. Many of them, he’d seen displayed on upside down crates on the sidewalk outside the café at a fraction of the price. It was all in the presentation, he thought idly, his eyes searching for Jackson. He found his artist, trapped against the wall by an overzealous society matron with a ring for every finger and enough hairspray to make her a fire hazard. He smiled as his lover nodded attentively, his eyes searching wildly for an escape. Striding forward purposefully, Aidan laid a hand on Jackson’s arm. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Murphy, but there is a question about one of your pieces.” He gave the woman one of his most charming smiles as he led Jackson away, moving smoothly in and out of the clusters of patrons without making enough eye contact to be stopped. When they reached the cool, dim hallway he’d found earlier in the evening, he pressed his lover back against the wall, sealing their lips together in an intense kiss. “If I had known how many people I was going to have to battle for your attention, I wouldn’t have encouraged you to call Mr. Whitley back,” he muttered against Jackson’s throat. Jackson laughed, pulling his lover’s mouth up for another kiss. “Your idea, not mine. I should have thrown the damn card away. Then we could be making love in our bed instead of here hobnobbing and

Street Artist by Rhianne Aile & Nicki Bennett 16 making small talk. I don’t do small talk,” Jackson said, his voice rising slightly in panic. Aidan grinned, sinking his fingers into the soft hair on either side of his lover’s face and resting their foreheads together. “The price of being a success. Think of all the months of carefree creating and loving you’re buying with these few hours of ‘small talk’. You’re a success. Tonight’s your first gallery opening and Patrick’s already talking about your next show.” “I still can’t believe it,” Jackson admitted. “If it weren’t for you, I’d still be hawking my stuff on a sidewalk somewhere, hoping to sell a piece a year and working for Keith when I had to pay the rent.” He pressed a slow, loving kiss to Aidan’s lips, still amazed by the way they’d managed to find each other. “I’d never be here without you.” “Well maybe not trapped up against the wall in a dark hallway getting mauled by a pervy fan, but your talent was going to be discovered. Patrick told me that the card I found was the fifth one he had given you.” Aidan smiled indulgently as Jackson flushed. “You just needed the right motivation to take him up on his offer.” He blinked innocently, remembering tying Jackson to his bed and teasing him to the brink of climax for over two hours to get him to make that call. “I almost wish you needed some more persuasion,” he purred. Jackson's voice deepened with emotion. "You could convince me to move in with you," he suggested half afraid of his lover's reaction, but needing to know if they were going to be together. Aidan’s eyes danced with mischief. “I think you need to persuade me,” he said, his smile leaving no doubt what his answer would be.

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