the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

thirteen

thirteen

Michael mentally sneers at the ugly environment. He steps out of his car, quickly locking the doors. There are homeless-looking people across the street, judging Mike up and down. He would never be here if it weren't for Luke.

The young man walked up to Luke's complex door, knocking quickly three times. He kept looking behind him, making sure none of the creepy-looking men were following him or breaking into his car or anything.

Mike didn't like living in the city.

A roommate with bright blue hair opened the door. He looked tired, or maybe hungover. "Yeah?"

"Er, hi, I'm here for Luke." Michael licked over his dry lips as a nervous tick.

The man moved out of the way, letting Mike come in. He was left alone in their dirty foyer. He kicked of his shoes, shrugging his denim jacket off of his shoulders and onto a wooden chair. Everyone had that chair, it's the chair where all the random shit goes.

He stepped further into their small apartment, trying to figure out where his blondie could be. There was a small kitchen in the corner, a man with skunk-hair reaching above their stained fridge to grab more heavy vodka.

Their breakfast table had scratches and marker upon it. The blue-haired man was sitting on top of the table, laughing at something the other said.

The walls were framed with paintings, every available space was something Luke did. That made Michael smile. He liked seeing his artwork cared for like that.

He made it to the other end, which was only a few steps. There were three wooden doors, he stood in the middle, not sure which to knock on.

Michael turned around, waiting to make eye contact with one of the roommates. Skunk-hair noticed him, he batted his eyelashes and titled his head. "Not sure you can get lost in here, kid."

Mike swallowed nervously, "Uh, I'm not sure which room is Luke's."

The older, tan man laughed, even though no one said anything funny. He waltzed over next to Michael, his heavy cologne filling Mike's senses in the most beautiful way. He started walking towards the far right door before suddenly stopping. He turned around, holding out his hand, "I'm Jack," he said, "Jack Barakat."

Mike smiled softly, "Michael, Michael Clifford."

Jack's eyes went wide and he covered his mouth with his hands. "Oh, my God. You're Michael." He called the other roommate, "Why didn't you tell me this was Luke's boy-toy?!"

"I didn't know!" The other called. Michael watched him swing back his head, taking another shot of their heavy alcohol.

Mike hasn't ever been drunk. He often wondered what it felt like, he wanted to know how it would affect his body. He just wants to let everything go, just for one night.

Jack turned around once more, going straight into Luke and Ashton's bedroom. He flicked on the light switch, just in time to trip over a trash can. He fell to the floor, spilling his cup of beer on the cheap wood. "Fuck, Luke," he whined.

Michael was already overwhelmed. He looked at the two beds pressed against the wall, Luke's sleeping body curled into the twin size mattress. "I think I can handle it from here."

"Good luck waking him up," Jack said. He patted Michael on the back before leaving quickly. The door slammed behind him, but Luke stayed sound asleep.

Mike looked at the crowded environment Luke lived in, and suddenly understood why the older boy loved Michael's studio so much. An easel was pressed only inches from Luke's bed, a wooden stool crammed into the available space.

Dozens of canvases—some new, some old—were pressed tight against the wall. Ashton has no space, the over-flowing closet they shared was filled with a bookshelf of art supplies.

Luke stirred awake, his eyes fuzzy with confusion.

Michael looked at the many small self portraits hung above Luke's head. They were so dark, so gloomy, so perfect. Everything Luke managed to do came out to perfection.

The blonde jumped, scaring Michael enough to jump as well. Unluckily for both of them, Mike jumped into a stacked pile of books, knocking them to the floor.

"Fuck, what time is it?" Luke asked, he shielded his bare body with the rough blankets wrapped around his waist.

"It's a few minutes after five," Mike answered. He stared to re-stack the books, except in color order this time. He stood up straight, smiling at the sleepy boy. His hair was a mess, his eyes sunken low.

Luke's tired eyes looked Michael up and down. He was rather dressed up, at least for Michael-standards. "Oh, we were supposed to go to that event at the art museum, weren't we?"

"Well, we still have a few minutes, but we can just stay here if you want." He sat down on the end of Luke's bed. Michael was still eyeing all the beautiful artwork lining the dirty walls. He liked it. After a few minutes of taking everything in, Michael decided he liked the environment Luke lived in.

Luke nodded, "I have a headache." He ran his hands through his hair, brushing the flat strands out o this face.

Michael stood up on his knees, scooting over until he was closer to Luke. He placed two hands on Luke's chest, pushing him back into bed. The blonde giggled, a shining smile radiating off of his face. He placed his hands on Michael's cheeks, rubbing over the freshly-shaven skin.

Mike straddled his waist, fixing Luke's hair with his own hands. "Did you sleep all day?"

Luke nodded as he closed his eyes. Michael's hands felt so good running over his scalp. "I was painting until," Luke yawned, "I don't know. Whenever Ashton left."

"What does Man Bun even do?" Michael pushed his body down, laying his head on Luke's chest. He liked the way his body fell up and down with every breath the older boy took.

"I think he's a pornstar," Luke answered. His face was straight, his hands laying on Michael's shirt-clad back.

The younger boy broke out laughing, his bellowing laughter shaking both of their bodies. "Are you serious?"

Luke laughed with him, "Yes! I'm seriously ninety percent positive about this. I have an entire thesis on this."

"You're telling me you've lived with him for ten years, and you've never asked about his job?"

"I didn't even know his name until a few months ago," he confessed. Luke kicked his knees up, Michael readjusted his body until his hips laid on Luke's crotch. "I still don't know the other two roommates names."

"Luke, are you kidding me? It's Jack and Alex, even I know that."

"What the hell? How do you know that?"

Michael sat up, a giggle leaving his permanent smile. "I just met them as you slept the day away."

He stayed sitting at the end of Luke, the lanky legs resting on his upper thighs. Michael looked up at the paintings, then down at the blonde. Luke was pretty much a painting.

Luke rested a hand below his head, his own eyes scanning Michael's face. "You like them?"

"The art?"

The blonde nodded, not really feeling like making a dick-joke. It was too early in his day to make sexual jokes.

"It's amazing. You're like Van Gogh. You're my little Van Gogh."

Luke cringed as Mike said his last name, "It's pronounced like cock, you cock."

Michael raised his eyebrows, "Oh, I'll show you a gogh." He laughed with every word as he attacked Luke with kisses.

Luke screamed out with laughter as his boy toy peppered him with kisses, his fingers tickling Luke's sides. "Stop. Oh, my God, stop!" Luke was ticklish, like four-year-old child type of ticklish.

Michael sat up, out of breath from laughing. Luke made him so happy, he couldn't be sad around such a beautiful character like Luke. "You're a nerd."

"Do you wanna fuck?"

"Yeah." Michael leant back down, his hands wandering Luke's body in all the right places.