JC hummed as he worked on his painting. He counted his blessings in finding an inexpensive loft. Actually it was the upper floor of a converted house, but calling it a loft made it sound more arsty. Each of the two lower levels had two flats. JC hadn’t met his neighbors yet.
He could not only hear music coming from one of the lower flats, he could feel it thumping through his ceiling. First he smiled. Music was his other love. Art and music. If he wasn’t doing one, he was doing the other. On nice days, he often took a few of his paintings, his sketchbook, his notebook and his guitar to a nearby corner close to the coffee shop or to a local park on the weekends. There he would set up his artwork, play his music and write songs. If someone made him a decent offer for a painting, he took it. Other than that, he kept the money people tossed into his guitar case as he played.
Tonight he was working, because he hadn’t been able to sleep and his fingers were itching to bring a new idea to life on the canvas. But now the thumping of the music seeping through his floor was calling him. At two o’clock, he set down his paintbrushes and palette and decided to go introduce himself to his neighbors.
He didn’t bother changing. His jeans were old and worn, with a hole in one knee. His t-shirt was so old and faded that most of the color on it was from him wiping his paintbrushes onto it. The faded gray shirt was too short and often rode up to reveal his skin. JC slipped on his sandals before leaving his apartment.
It was obvious where the party was. It had overflowed into the stairwell and JC had to pick his way around several couples making out on the steps. The door was open, so he meandered in.
Halfway down the hallway, he bumped into someone. Once again he was paying attention to something other than where he was going. Before he could apologize, the man shoved him up against the wall and pressed his tongue into JC’s mouth.
When they parted he asked, “Who are you here with?”
“I live upstairs. I just came down to meet my neighbors.”
The man ran his hands through JC’s hair. “Hi neighbor. I’m Chris.”
Another man walked up behind Chris, smacking him. “You macking on the cute guy from upstairs?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m JC.”
“Yeah? I’m Joey. The other neighbor. What do you do JC?”
“Artist. I paint. And write songs. Play guitar.”
Joey and Chris both raised their eyebrows and locked eyes. “An artist? Too cool! Come on!”
Chris grabbed JC’s hand and dragged him into the bedroom. JC almost fainted. He couldn’t decipher the odor, but when a couple other people vacated the room, Chris shoved him close enough to the bed to see what was going on. One blond guy was laying across the bed on his stomach, while another blond was busy drawing on his back. Nearby were some small containers of what appeared to be ink and an odd machine and several needles. Sharp, pointy needles.
JC staggered and backed up right into Chris’ arms.
Chris touched JC's waist as he spoke. “Can you finish that drawing? Lance wants a bull tattoo, but Justin keeps fucking it up. I know how to work the machine, but no one around here can draw worth shit and Lance is picky about his tattoos.”
“I can’t stand needles,” he mumbled, still trying to reach the door.
“Aren’t you inked man?”
“No. No, I. Needles. Afraid of needles. I need some air.”
Joey laughed as he held onto JC’s arm. Chris rolled his eyes and tossed a towel over the needles. “Are you okay now? Can you do the drawing?”
After taking a deep, cleansing breath, JC walked over to the bed and sat down beside the man they called Lance. He had never drawn on human skin before, but figured if it got screwed up, it would be Chris’ fault for making it permanent. His hands trembled as he began, but he soon relaxed into his work. He decided he liked the smooth feel of Lance’s back.
The last thing he remembered, before waking up, was Chris starting to work on the tattoo. When he opened his eyes, he found that he had passed out on the bed beside Lance, who was still asleep on his stomach. JC gingerly pulled back the bandage to admire the work of art before him. When he looked up, he noticed Chris sitting across the room, smiling back at him.
“You do nice work. One day you'll have to do me” Chris noted with a wink.
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Work Of Art
Date: 2004-03-02 10:55 pm (UTC)He could not only hear music coming from one of the lower flats, he could feel it thumping through his ceiling. First he smiled. Music was his other love. Art and music. If he wasn’t doing one, he was doing the other. On nice days, he often took a few of his paintings, his sketchbook, his notebook and his guitar to a nearby corner close to the coffee shop or to a local park on the weekends. There he would set up his artwork, play his music and write songs. If someone made him a decent offer for a painting, he took it. Other than that, he kept the money people tossed into his guitar case as he played.
Tonight he was working, because he hadn’t been able to sleep and his fingers were itching to bring a new idea to life on the canvas. But now the thumping of the music seeping through his floor was calling him. At two o’clock, he set down his paintbrushes and palette and decided to go introduce himself to his neighbors.
He didn’t bother changing. His jeans were old and worn, with a hole in one knee. His t-shirt was so old and faded that most of the color on it was from him wiping his paintbrushes onto it. The faded gray shirt was too short and often rode up to reveal his skin. JC slipped on his sandals before leaving his apartment.
It was obvious where the party was. It had overflowed into the stairwell and JC had to pick his way around several couples making out on the steps. The door was open, so he meandered in.
Halfway down the hallway, he bumped into someone. Once again he was paying attention to something other than where he was going. Before he could apologize, the man shoved him up against the wall and pressed his tongue into JC’s mouth.
When they parted he asked, “Who are you here with?”
“I live upstairs. I just came down to meet my neighbors.”
The man ran his hands through JC’s hair. “Hi neighbor. I’m Chris.”
Another man walked up behind Chris, smacking him. “You macking on the cute guy from upstairs?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m JC.”
“Yeah? I’m Joey. The other neighbor. What do you do JC?”
“Artist. I paint. And write songs. Play guitar.”
Joey and Chris both raised their eyebrows and locked eyes. “An artist? Too cool! Come on!”
Chris grabbed JC’s hand and dragged him into the bedroom. JC almost fainted. He couldn’t decipher the odor, but when a couple other people vacated the room, Chris shoved him close enough to the bed to see what was going on. One blond guy was laying across the bed on his stomach, while another blond was busy drawing on his back. Nearby were some small containers of what appeared to be ink and an odd machine and several needles. Sharp, pointy needles.
JC staggered and backed up right into Chris’ arms.
Chris touched JC's waist as he spoke. “Can you finish that drawing? Lance wants a bull tattoo, but Justin keeps fucking it up. I know how to work the machine, but no one around here can draw worth shit and Lance is picky about his tattoos.”
“I can’t stand needles,” he mumbled, still trying to reach the door.
“Aren’t you inked man?”
“No. No, I. Needles. Afraid of needles. I need some air.”
Joey laughed as he held onto JC’s arm. Chris rolled his eyes and tossed a towel over the needles. “Are you okay now? Can you do the drawing?”
After taking a deep, cleansing breath, JC walked over to the bed and sat down beside the man they called Lance. He had never drawn on human skin before, but figured if it got screwed up, it would be Chris’ fault for making it permanent. His hands trembled as he began, but he soon relaxed into his work. He decided he liked the smooth feel of Lance’s back.
The last thing he remembered, before waking up, was Chris starting to work on the tattoo. When he opened his eyes, he found that he had passed out on the bed beside Lance, who was still asleep on his stomach. JC gingerly pulled back the bandage to admire the work of art before him. When he looked up, he noticed Chris sitting across the room, smiling back at him.
“You do nice work. One day you'll have to do me” Chris noted with a wink.