That asshole mechanic.
Jesse didn't even need the follow up to know exactly who the painter referenced, and it all suddenly clicked into place. What must have happened.
This was all his fault.
One short, offhand remark to Charles. All because he couldn't get a grip of his stupid emotions that night, butthurt over this guy right here, thinking of him with 'garbage' in the same sentence.
It had bothered him. Shit like that always bothered him, to be sure, but it bothered him that the artist pegged him for it, and he wasn't anyone who even grew up around here to already know.
He didn't want him to think of him that way.
What the fuck did Charles think he was playing at?
Why the hell would he do this?
Jesse hadn't asked him to do that!
If this man before him wasn't there in the flesh, Jesse would have rampaged down to the auto shop to have it out with the old man right then and there. Fortunately, the painter kept his attention. Grounded, captive. All this information could do was be filed to the back of his mind, to deal with another day, another time.
It wasn't like he could handle such opposing emotions right then anyway. His brain was honed in on this person, this person and everything he'd wanted to do to him since seeing him, weeks ago. Maybe he was just a simple man, but fact was, he was a man. As red-blooded as any other, with needs that hijacked his facilities. All of said facilities were screaming they wanted him, now.
If he followed Jesse in, there was no waiting.
Rather, when.
When he followed Jesse in.
Because if he couldn't hear the quick steps at his heels, the sound of the door clicking shut, then just the heated feel of eyes on his back would have said well enough.
It was like, the second that door closed, locking the two inside, a flip switched.
He turned in spot, grabbing for the artist by the hips;
Fingers hooked into the loops of this man's pants, reeling him in tight against him, until they were chest-to-chest and eye-to-eye. There was no way to hide the unbridled desire reflected in those starburst-colored eyes, nor that possessive caress up the artist's back. The need to just touch him, anywhere โ everywhere โ overwhelming. And then a hand found its way to cup the painter's face once more, much in the same way he'd done before, only sparing a couple seconds' worth of hesitation โ as if, still, he was giving the other man a chance to back out, shut this garbage down โ before his mouth found his.
It was, surprisingly, a gentle kiss.
A probing one.
But perhaps, even, considerate; his painter's bottom lip was busted up, after all. There was concern there, of agitating the wound, hurting the man. Maybe this kiss would make it all better, serve as silent apology, for having been the cause of it.
This was so unlike Jesse.
It'd been years, since he was this gentle with someone.
He wasn't like that anymore; had become rougher, calloused. Interested mostly in his own lust, content to take it wherever and whenever it was given.
Not now, not this time.
Jesse's heart kicked up in tempo, every cell screaming out for this other person; gooseflesh everywhere, a lick of fire going straight through. Soon it wasn't enough. Both hands now, cradled the other man's face as he drank him in, pushing against him until the counter must have been at the artist's back, because they couldn't go any farther. Mouth more demanding now that, clearly, the other wouldn't fall apart. Jesse kissed him deeply, soundly, until he quite literally had to part his lips for an intake of harsh breath, and a sudden croaking demand, "What's your name?" Hazel eyes opened, desperate and yearning, lips now begging against the painters, "I needโ fuck, I gotta.. I gotta know."
