
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/926944.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Boy_Meets_Boy_-_David_Levithan
  Relationship:
      Noah/Paul_(Boy_Meets_Boy)
  Character:
      Paul_(Boy_Meets_Boy), Noah_(Boy_Meets_Boy)
  Additional Tags:
      Painting, Romance, First_Time, Canon_Compliant, Shameless_Smut, Mutual
      Masturbation, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Explicit_Consent, Safer_Sex, Developing
      Relationship, Canon_Gay_Relationship, Canon_Gay_Character, Birthday_Sex,
      Post-Canon, Healthy_Relationships, canon_narrative_style, Podfic, Podfic
      Length:_10-20_Minutes
  Collections:
      Podfic_Library
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-03-20 Words: 3187
****** Painting Music [+podfic] ******
by picascribit
Summary
     A few weeks after the Dowager Dance, Noah and I are in his studio,
     painting music. I don't spend all my free time with him (I'm not
     about to make that mistake after the fiasco with Joni), but now that
     we're together, I make a point of spending at least a few hours with
     him almost every day.
     Today, though, Noah doesn't seem as into his art as usual. We've been
     working side by side for a couple of hours, but right now, he's just
     standing there, staring at the canvas, cheeks flushed and eyes
     unfocussed, with the paint drying on his brush. I put the finishing
     touches on my own painting -- an abstract piece of the two of us
     dancing, the sky behind us a mixture of the color of his eyes and
     mine -- and go over to see what he's been working on.
Notes
     Edited April 2014
     Podfic
     Duration: 19 min 01 sec
     Size: 17.4 MB
     Download: mp3_@_Dropbox
A few weeks after the Dowager Dance, Noah and I are in his studio, painting
music. I don't spend all my free time with him (I'm not about to make that
mistake after the fiasco with Joni), but now that we're together, I make a
point of spending at least a few hours with him almost every day.
Today, though, Noah doesn't seem as into his art as usual. We've been working
side by side for a couple of hours, but right now, he's just standing there,
staring at the canvas, cheeks flushed and eyes unfocussed, with the paint
drying on his brush. I put the finishing touches on my own painting -- an
abstract piece of the two of us dancing, the sky behind us a mixture of the
color of his eyes and mine -- and go over to see what he's been working on.
He is clearly Elsewhere, and doesn't notice me right away. His painting is a
wild jumble, with swathes and slashes of red, edged in a dark, mysterious
purple. I think I see two overlapping shadowy pairs of lips hidden amid the
storm of feeling.
I put a hand on his arm, and Noah comes back to earth with a start.
"Sorry," I say. "What is it?"
His eyes turn away from the painting to find mine. "It's what it feels like,
kissing you," he says quietly. His eyes are very green, and his expression is
intense. "But I can't get it quite right. Help me?"
Entranced by his eyes, I slowly raise my hand to wrap around his, holding the
brush, and I lean in to kiss him.
His mouth opens to mine, his tongue a spark that sends heat racing through me.
The paintbrush clatters to the floor and my body is pinned between Noah's and
the wall, with no memory of the steps we must have taken to get there. An
animal whine escapes from between our lips, but I'm not sure if it's him or me
who made it. My hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt, and his slide up under
mine, feeling the bare skin of my back. Noah's body presses against mine, like
he's dying and I've got what he needs to survive. I feel dizzy. We are the axis
on which the universe rotates, and everything is spinning but us.
His hand touches the button of my jeans and he stops, drawing back a little.
"Do you want to?" he asks hoarsely.
"Yes," I whisper over the thunder of my pulse.
"Have you ever --?"
I've had a few boyfriends before, for days or weeks or even months once or
twice, but when you don't feel right being naked with someone in other ways,
somehow taking your clothes off with them never made much sense to me. But in
the months since I met Noah, we've been naked to one another in every way
possible -- every way but this.
"No," I tell him. "I've never done this before."
My hands go to the fly of his jeans, and I swallow the nervous feeling
fluttering in my throat. Noah is going to be my first. I have never wanted
anything so much. The fact that he thought to verbally check in before
proceeding makes me all the more glad to be with him. My eyes never leave his
as I unbutton, unzip, slide my hand down into his boxerbriefs.
His erection is hot and sticky with sweat in my hand. He closes his eyes and
moans -- he moans. It's the most gorgeous sound I've ever heard. Then his mouth
is on mine again, and his fingers are back, fumbling with my jeans, unfastening
them and shoving them down over my hips.
The cool air of the studio hits my skin like a shockwave. Noah's hand wraps
tight around me, stroking, and it feels better than anything I've ever felt or
imagined, because it's Noah doing it.
He's awkwardly trying to shove his own pants farther down, one-handed, so I
help him. Then we're pressed together, skin to skin, with Noah's paint-smeared
hand wrapped around both of us, stroking us both. I feel like now I'm the one
who'll die if he ever stops touching me like that.
"Please --" I murmur against his lips.
"Oh god, Paul --"
Noah throws his head back with a whimper, and suddenly the hand stroking our
erections is slippery. It's just too much. I'm making some noises of my own
now, but there's no help for that. I press my forehead against his shoulder and
come harder than I've ever come before in my life.
For a moment, everything stops. The only sound in the studio is our breathing.
Then the next song starts, and the world falls back into place. Noah steps
away. My knees give out and my back slides down the wall until I'm sitting on
the floor, stunned. A moment later, he's back with the towel he keeps handy for
painting mishaps. He's already buttoned up, but his awe at what we've just done
is written all over his face as he crouches down and hands me the towel.
"You OK?" he asks.
"Yeah." I'm still too overwhelmed for facial expressions. "Never better. What
time is it?"
"Time you should be getting home for dinner," Noah admits regretfully.
He gives me a hand up, and doesn't avert his eyes as I put myself back
together.
"Can I see you tomorrow?" I ask, once my clothes are in something like order.
"No," he says, surprising me. I'm not sure I can breathe without him after what
we just did. "There are some things I need to do tomorrow. How about the day
after?"
The day after tomorrow is my sixteenth birthday. There's going to be a big
party in the evening, courtesy of my parents and my brother Jay. But Noah's not
talking about the party. That's fine with me; I'm looking forward to having
everyone over for a big get-together, but right now, there's no gift I would
rather have for my birthday than a few hours alone with Noah.
"Day after tomorrow," I agree, a grin slowly spreading over my face.
===============================================================================
Noah has destroyed me. Two days feels like a year, and I can't focus on
anything. I try. School is important, and my friends doubly so. I half-listen
and nod sympathetically when Kyle complains to me about Tony's ultra-religious
parents, and all the rules and sneaking around they have to do to spend time
together. I do my best to give my attention to Joni. She and Chuck broke up the
week after the Dowager Dance, and we're still feeling our way toward putting
our friendship back together.
My mind is Elsewhere, but it's a Somewhere kind of Elsewhere, because it's in
the studio with Noah. He and I exchange smiles in the halls between classes,
and every now and then, our hands touch, but we don't pass any notes -- things
have gone beyond words -- and we never kiss at school; it's too public. What we
have is special and private and not to be shared with anyone else.
After school on my birthday, I'm waiting at Noah's locker almost as soon as the
final bell has rung. Noah arrives a minute later and smiles at me. Our fingers
lace together, and without a word, we walk the short distance to Noah's house.
His parents are out of town on business again, and his little sister Claudia
goes to school across town, and has band practice on Thursday afternoons.
Someone's mom will drop her off at my party later. For now, the house is ours.
We don't have to go to the studio for privacy; we can have that in Noah's
whimsical bedroom. But the bedroom feels like family space -- too public for
us, even if we're the only ones there. The studio is ours and ours alone. I
follow Noah through the closet passageway and up into the old chimney, trying
not to feel nervous. It's Noah; being nervous of him seems ridiculous to me.
Noah has decorated the studio. There are four paintings tacked up -- one on
each wall, like an art gallery -- and a single red rose standing in a vase next
to a bed laid out on the floor.
He takes my hand and leads me to the first painting. It's not one I recognise.
The shapes in it are spiky black squiggles of excitement and electricity, stark
against the white paper, with here and there a spark of hopeful color.
"I painted this the day after I met you," Noah says. It needs no further
explanation.
The second painting is the one Noah did the other day. He's finished it off
with a swirling double-helix in silver and gold, which barely seems able to
contain the heart-pounding red and passionate purple.
The third painting I can tell is new. It's an abstract again, but right away, I
see what it's meant to be.
"It's us," I say, awed.
Noah nods, wordless.
Two indistinct black shapes appear to be struggling to merge with one another
against a background like a fireworks display, shimmering in every color
imaginable.
The last painting isn't abstract. It's of the bed on the floor. The blanket is
even rumpled in exactly the same way. In the painting, the rose is lying on the
pillow, and to either side of it, are painted two words: "you" and "me".
Noah bends down and plucks the rose from its vase, then turns to me. He wraps
my hands around the stem, and his hands around mine, searching my eyes.
He takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to say -- before we go any further -- I
love you, Paul. I love what we have. I don't want -- I don't mean for you to
feel pressured, or anything. If you're not ready, or you're not sure, we don't
have to --"
"I'm sure," I say, stepping closer and kissing him softly. "I love you, too,
Noah. I want to have this with you."
He gives me a nervous half smile that leaves me a little weak in the knees.
"Oh. Good. Happy birthday."
I draw him down to sit beside me on the bed, since he seems suddenly unsure how
to proceed. It's really more of a mat with pillows and blankets than a bed -- a
real bed would have been impossible to get into the secret room -- but it's
more than adequate for our purposes.
I reach for the buttons of his shirt, my fingers fumbling with nervousness. It
takes us an unusually long time to get one another unbuttoned, and by the time
we do, we're giggling uncontrollably.
"Maybe it'll be faster if we do our own pants?" I suggest.
Laughing, Noah agrees.
In a moment, we're naked. Noah reaches for my hand and draws me close to him.
When our lips meet, there's no more room for laughter -- not now -- just for
the feel of skin against skin, and the air and the music twining around our
bodies as we lie down together.
For a minute, we lie just looking at one another, Noah tracing the curve of my
collarbone, me discovering his appendicitis scar with my fingers.
"Have you done this before?" I ask softly.
It's not really any of my business, but I'm curious. Noah looks away.
"I've -- done some things. Just a couple of times. But not everything."
With Pitt, he doesn't say, but I know. He called Pitt his first, but I've never
asked him what he meant by it. It doesn't matter. I want Noah to be my first,
but if I'm not his, that's OK; I can be the first who doesn't break his heart.
I kiss him again. "Show me?"
Noah smiles at that. He kisses me for a long time, tasting my mouth and letting
his hands wander over my body. I put my arms around him, stroking the smooth
planes of his back, enjoying the shiver of goosebumps as I run my fingernails
lightly down his spine. Noah nuzzles at the juncture of my neck and shoulder,
then squirms his way down the bed, and I know where this is going. I may be a
virgin, but I'm not entirely ignorant of sex.
Noah meets my eyes, flashing me a quick, shy smile, and then his tongue is -
- oh, god! Noah's mouth is hot and sure and I want to watch him do what he's
doing, but my mind is busy exploding in a swirl of shapes and colors. I
suddenly feel like I'm the music, and Noah is painting me, translating me from
sound and emotion to color and form. He's awfully damn good at what he's doing.
That marvelous, wild hair is between my fingers, and his mouth is moving,
sucking, licking, and I'm arching my back and crying out and collapsing and
gasping, boneless as paint.
Noah's chin rests on my hip bone. "You still there?" he asks.
"I think so. Gimme a minute?"
He laughs softly and moves up to lie beside me. My eyes are slowly coming back
into focus.
"Wow. That was --"
"Glad you liked it," he says with a sly grin.
"Did you?" I ask, curious.
"Yeah. You were -- beautiful," he says softly, touching my cheek.
My brow furrows. It doesn't seem quite fair. "But you didn't get to --"
Noah shrugs, grinning again. "We've still got an hour or so. I'm not finished
with you yet."
I can't help smiling. This sounds promising. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well," he says slowly, "we could try that again, the other way around, if you
want to. Or --"
"Or what?"
Noah is blushing. It's adorable.
"Well, like I said, there's things I haven't done. We could try -- something
new. For both of us."
My breath catches in my throat. "You mean, um --"
"Only if you want to," he says hastily, going even redder.
"Do you have condoms?" It's important for us to be safe, even the first time.
He nods. "I bought some yesterday, just in case."
I reach to brush his wild hair back from his face. "OK."
Noah swallows nervously. "You're sure?"
"Yeah, if you are."
"OK, then."
I've read up on the hows and whys of penetration, since it's something I had
thought about trying someday, and it looks like Noah has, too. He retrieves not
only a small, foil-wrapped packet from under the edge of the mat, but a bottle
of lube as well. Some of my nervousness evaporates. Noah knows what he's doing.
"So -- how do you want to do this?" he asks.
I consider for a moment. "Um, we could try it with you on top. Maybe with me on
my back?"
His hand squeezes mine. "You're sure?" he asks again.
I lean in to kiss him. "I trust you, Noah."
He lets out the breath he has been holding. "OK."
My hands are shaking, and he kisses me again, reminding me we're not in any
hurry. We lie down again, just kissing and touching and being comfortable with
one another for a few minutes until we feel more relaxed. Noah's hands are
warm. It feels good when he touches me.
I hold my breath as he squeezes some of the lube out onto his fingers, rubbing
them together to warm it. Then his hand moves between my legs and I'm spreading
them apart and pulling up my knees to make room for him. His touch is slippery
and hesitant at first, but feels very good. When he slides a finger inside, I
actually moan.
Noah looks entranced. "Good?"
I nod, but can't find any words to tell him how good it is.
He goes slowly, fingers oh-so-gentle, opening me to his touch, his eyes
searching my face for any sign of discomfort, and I am overwhelmed with
gratitude that I have a boyfriend who treats me so carefully, wanting this new
experience to be as good for me as it is for him.
"I'm ready if you are," I tell him, when I begin to feel more eager than
nervous at the prospect of having him inside me.
Noah looks more scared than I feel. "I'll go slow," he promises.
"I trust you," I tell him again.
My heart is hammering as I watch Noah put on the condom. He squeezes some more
lube onto his hand and strokes himself with it before settling between my
thighs.
"I love you, Paul," he says, looking into my eyes.
I can feel the tip of his erection slide against my anus, and I twine my arms
around his back.
"I love you, Noah," I say.
And then I can feel myself opening, feel Noah pushing into me, guiding himself
with his hand, and it's the strangest, most amazing feeling ever. His face is a
mirror of my own, eyes wide with fear and desire staring into one another,
cheeks flushed, hair tousled, swollen lips held fast between slightly crooked
teeth.
For one moment, we're as still as a painting, suspended in time between one
song and the next.
"OK?" Noah asks.
"Yeah. Keep going."
And then we're flying. It's nothing like I expected, but somehow, it's exactly
like I knew it would be. Paul and Noah disappear -- innocence and youth
forgotten -- and the timeless, mindless pulse of sex takes hold, deep and
eternal. Skin and sweat and gasping breath and clutching hands and lips
searching, seeking, finding, hips moving together slowly at first, and then
faster.
There's this wild, ancient look in Noah's eyes. It's like looking into
something primal and perfect, like fire. It's beautiful, and I want to give
myself to it.
"Paul," Noah gasps, "I'm -- oh,"
His cry is the only music I ever want to paint as his hips stutter to a halt
and he collapses on top of me, as if his spine has been severed.
When he finally raises his head, there's concern shining in his eyes. "Did I
hurt you?" he asks.
"No," I say, quickly dashing away the tears that are pure joy. "It was just --"
A slow smile uncurls on my lips, and an answering one illuminates Noah's
beautiful face.
"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" he says.
Our smiles meet, and we kiss for a long time, finding that a more satisfactory
way to explain to one another how it was for each of us.
At last, Noah rolls over. He disposes of the condom, and we lie side by side,
staring up at the blank canvas of the ceiling, fingers and feet intertwined.
Noah sighs.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
"That we should probably grab a shower before we head over to your place."
I laugh. "Yeah, probably."
"What were you thinking about?" he asks, raising himself up on an elbow.
"I'm trying to imagine what the painting you'll do of this will look like."
Noah smiles down at me and ruffles my hair. "I could never paint something like
that. Not by myself. Will you help me?"
"Of course," I grin, the colors already dancing in my mind.
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