FIC: Soul of an Artist (Connor/Kyle, R)
Title: Soul of an Artist
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: DC Universe
Pairing: Connor/Kyle, (Green Arrow/Green Lantern)
Rated R
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just playing with them. Thank you.
Summary: Set before Ion #1, Kyle considers art.
SPOILERS: Spoilers for Ion #1.
Notes: Okay, I dunno. I haven't written anything in months and the green boys longer than that. Ion #1 made me think of this, so let's just blame it on that, shall we? Other than that...I got nothing. *G*
~~*~~
One year later Kyle woke to an empty bed and paint still drying on his hands.
He opened his eyes to his latest creation sprawled across his easel, a wet gleam in the early morning. He studied it without emotion, letting brush strokes and perspective sit blandly in his mind while he decided whether or not it was finished and needed its own shroud of black cloth.
Perspective.
He hadn't meant to invite them. Better that everyone keep away, better that he be alone, at least for now because people around him tended to end up hurt,
(dead)
And he couldn't handle that again, not yet, someone else's life and blood slipping through his fingers like sand. Not yet.
But 'no' had never surfaced and they'd come to see him anyway. They hadn't stayed long, a brief visit from the few people he had left who would echo the word friend back to him. Mia, a smile on her face and distance in her eyes and Connor…
Connor.
His eyes were green, paler than grass, open doorways without a lock or a key and he'd travel all this way for a friend. He'd sleep on the dusty floor, eat overripe bananas and laugh with those green, green eyes, he'd, he would…
Kyle's hands were composers and he could craft symphonies of oil and acrylic, blending luxurious color into poses of sin, even if he didn't remember doing it. Even if he woke sometimes in the morning to a wet canvas windowing bare skin and sex, a flicker of green at the edges. Green eyes, green arrows, he could drown himself in green, suffocate himself in it and still wonder if it was enough. It wasn't about love, not about women, maybe not about sex.
Though at the time, the sex had been foremost in his mind.
Sprawled across his bed, surrounded by curved, open archways and Mia could have walked in at any time, left the small cot in set back in the furthest corner of the loft and seen them. Could have crouched low in her own doorway and only the thick, sweet green in his own mind would tell him she was there.
He might have let her.
Warm, bare skin beneath his hands, green eyes and gaspy sounds that formed words like please, and more, and oh…oh, not no, never said no, and Connor didn't say love, didn't ask for anything more than the slick warmth of a mouth and paint-stained fingers but the shine in his eyes was softer than damp sheen of his skin. He drew his legs up, drew Kyle in and whispered please into him.
They'd stayed a week, longer than he'd needed them, maybe, and he didn't know where they'd gone from here, only that it hadn't been to Star City. Perhaps they had their own demons to battle, perhaps, perhaps…he hadn't asked, had barely cared. This was an artists' retreat and he'd gotten what he needed, whether because of friendship or something else didn't matter. He was flush with it, canvas after canvas slickening with paint, scattered paper gritty with charcoal and pastels.
This morning, on sheets still musty with sex, he stared at an oil-based swirl of rich skin tones and green, made his choice, and picked up a brush.
-finis-
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: DC Universe
Pairing: Connor/Kyle, (Green Arrow/Green Lantern)
Rated R
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Just playing with them. Thank you.
Summary: Set before Ion #1, Kyle considers art.
SPOILERS: Spoilers for Ion #1.
Notes: Okay, I dunno. I haven't written anything in months and the green boys longer than that. Ion #1 made me think of this, so let's just blame it on that, shall we? Other than that...I got nothing. *G*
~~*~~
One year later Kyle woke to an empty bed and paint still drying on his hands.
He opened his eyes to his latest creation sprawled across his easel, a wet gleam in the early morning. He studied it without emotion, letting brush strokes and perspective sit blandly in his mind while he decided whether or not it was finished and needed its own shroud of black cloth.
Perspective.
He hadn't meant to invite them. Better that everyone keep away, better that he be alone, at least for now because people around him tended to end up hurt,
(dead)
And he couldn't handle that again, not yet, someone else's life and blood slipping through his fingers like sand. Not yet.
But 'no' had never surfaced and they'd come to see him anyway. They hadn't stayed long, a brief visit from the few people he had left who would echo the word friend back to him. Mia, a smile on her face and distance in her eyes and Connor…
Connor.
His eyes were green, paler than grass, open doorways without a lock or a key and he'd travel all this way for a friend. He'd sleep on the dusty floor, eat overripe bananas and laugh with those green, green eyes, he'd, he would…
Kyle's hands were composers and he could craft symphonies of oil and acrylic, blending luxurious color into poses of sin, even if he didn't remember doing it. Even if he woke sometimes in the morning to a wet canvas windowing bare skin and sex, a flicker of green at the edges. Green eyes, green arrows, he could drown himself in green, suffocate himself in it and still wonder if it was enough. It wasn't about love, not about women, maybe not about sex.
Though at the time, the sex had been foremost in his mind.
Sprawled across his bed, surrounded by curved, open archways and Mia could have walked in at any time, left the small cot in set back in the furthest corner of the loft and seen them. Could have crouched low in her own doorway and only the thick, sweet green in his own mind would tell him she was there.
He might have let her.
Warm, bare skin beneath his hands, green eyes and gaspy sounds that formed words like please, and more, and oh…oh, not no, never said no, and Connor didn't say love, didn't ask for anything more than the slick warmth of a mouth and paint-stained fingers but the shine in his eyes was softer than damp sheen of his skin. He drew his legs up, drew Kyle in and whispered please into him.
They'd stayed a week, longer than he'd needed them, maybe, and he didn't know where they'd gone from here, only that it hadn't been to Star City. Perhaps they had their own demons to battle, perhaps, perhaps…he hadn't asked, had barely cared. This was an artists' retreat and he'd gotten what he needed, whether because of friendship or something else didn't matter. He was flush with it, canvas after canvas slickening with paint, scattered paper gritty with charcoal and pastels.
This morning, on sheets still musty with sex, he stared at an oil-based swirl of rich skin tones and green, made his choice, and picked up a brush.
-finis-