The Painter and the Prince Who Cannot Be Painted novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Pose

Posed on the daybed, the prince holds still while the painter takes him in his mouth, then pays it back.

"Lie back," Do-yun said. "Hold the pose."

Gyeol lay back on the folded quilts against the wall, one knee bent, one arm along the pillow, his robe hanging open to the floor.

It was the pose Do-yun had set for the portrait.

He had set it an hour ago, with a steady hand and a straight face.

He had drawn nothing since.

The charcoal lay on the easel ledge, and the silk was blank.

Gyeol's eyes had been on him the whole time.

"You've been staring at my mouth for an hour," Gyeol said.

"You've been staring at mine."

"I've been holding still, as ordered."

"Then keep doing it."

Do-yun knelt on the quilts beside Gyeol's hip.

His own heart was loud in his chest, and his pulse was jumping in his wrists.

Last night he had touched this man with one hand.

Tonight he wanted more of him than he had words for.

He put his palm flat on Gyeol's stomach.

The muscle jumped under it, hard as a plank, with a line of dark hair running up from the sash.

"Do-yun," Gyeol breathed.

"I didn't say you could talk."

"I'm... sorry."

"No, you're not."

"No," Gyeol agreed, and a smile pulled at his mouth and was gone.

Do-yun leaned down and kissed his stomach, just under the navel.

Gyeol drew a sharp breath through his nose.

Do-yun kissed lower, along the line of hair, and nipped gently at the sharp crest of Gyeol's hip.

The huge body under him shook, and his big hands curled in the quilt.

He did not lift them.

"Good," Do-yun said into his skin. "That's good."

Gyeol made a sound he had clearly never meant to make.

It was a tiny, shaken, grateful noise, and it went straight down Do-yun's spine and into his own cock.

He pushed the robe wide.

Gyeol's cock was already hard against his belly, heavy and thick, the head dark and wet.

Do-yun looked at it for one long breath.

Then he put his mouth on the inside of Gyeol's thigh and sucked until he left a small red mark.

"Please," Gyeol said, hoarse.

"Please what?"

"Your mouth. Please. I haven't... I've thought about it since last night."

"About what?"

"About this." His voice cracked. "I thought about it with my hand and it wasn't the same."

Do-yun's face went hot, and his cock jerked in his trousers.

"Don't move," he said. "Not your hips, not your hands."

"I won't."

"If you do, I stop."

"I won't. I swear it."

Do-yun wrapped one hand around the base, and licked the head.

Gyeol's whole body arched and then forced itself flat again.

"Oh, god," he whispered. "Oh, Do-yun."

The taste was salt and heat and something clean under it.

Do-yun took the head into his mouth and sucked, slowly, swirling his tongue under the rim where Gyeol was softest.

Gyeol's thighs trembled on either side of his shoulders.

He took more of him, an inch and then another, until his lips met his own fist.

Then he drew back and went down again.

It was a slow rhythm, deliberate and wet.

He watched Gyeol's face the whole time.

Gyeol's eyes were squeezed shut, and sweat had broken at his temples, and his teeth were set in his lower lip.

His chest was heaving, and he was holding his body so rigidly still that the tendons stood out in his neck.

It was the most beautiful thing Do-yun had ever seen.

He took his mouth off with a wet sound.

"Open your eyes."

Gyeol opened them.

They were black and glittering and shining wet.

"Watch me do it," Do-yun said. "Don't close them again."

"Yes."

Do-yun held his gaze and took him all the way down.

The head of Gyeol's cock pressed against the back of his throat.

He swallowed around it, and Gyeol's hips lifted off the quilt before he caught himself and slammed them back down.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

Do-yun pulled off slowly, with spit on his chin.

"Do that again, and I'll tie you down."

Gyeol shut his mouth with an audible click.

Then his eyes went dark and wide, and his cock twitched against Do-yun's lips.

"Is that a threat?" Gyeol whispered.

"It's a promise."

"Then I'll do it again."

"Don't you dare."

Do-yun smiled with his mouth against the crease of Gyeol's thigh.

He took him in again, harder this time, and hollowed his cheeks.

He worked him with his lips and his tongue and the tight ring of his fist.

He got faster and sloppier, with a wet sound filling the room.

Gyeol's breath turned into a string of small broken cries.

"Do-yun, I'm close, I'm... I can't... please let me, please, may I..."

It hit Do-yun.

The prince of the blood, the man with the late King's face, was asking his permission.

"Yes," he said around the cock in his mouth, and pulled the head deep.

Gyeol came with a shout that he smothered against his own forearm.

His whole body shook, and he spilled hot and salt and thick across Do-yun's tongue.

Do-yun swallowed it, every pulse, and stayed on him until the last shudder had run out.

Gyeol's hand came down, shaking, to rest in his hair.

"I moved," Gyeol said, dazed. "I moved my hand."

"You did."

"You said you'd stop."

"I changed my mind."

Do-yun rose on his knees.

His mouth was red and wet, and his cock was so hard it hurt, tenting the front of his trousers.

Gyeol's eyes dropped to it and then came up again, blown dark.

"Let me," he said.

"You don't know how."

"I know exactly how. I've been thinking about it for two days."

He pushed himself up on one elbow, still heaving.

"Please. You can give the orders."

Do-yun swallowed.

"Then lie there until I say. Then do exactly what I tell you."

"Yes, Master Painter."

Do-yun undid his own trousers with clumsy hands.

He pushed them to his knees, and his cock sprang free, red and leaking.

He heard Gyeol's breath catch.

He moved up the quilts on his knees and braced one hand on the wall above Gyeol's head.

"Open your mouth."

Gyeol opened it.

His lips were swollen from kissing, and his tongue came out wet and eager.

"Slowly. Take the head."

Gyeol took it.

He closed his lips around it, and it was heat and suction, an openly hungry mouth.

Do-yun groaned out loud.

He had been touched by two men in his life.

Neither had ever looked up at him.

"Now more."

Gyeol took more.

His tongue pressed flat underneath, and he hummed, and the vibration tore a gasp out of Do-yun's chest.

"Gyeol," he said. "Gyeol. Don't call me Painter. Say my name."

Gyeol pulled back an inch.

"Do-yun."

"Again."

"Do-yun."

He sank down again, taking him in deep.

His throat worked, and his hands stayed fisted in the quilt where Do-yun had told them to be.

He looked up with wet lashes and shining eyes.

Do-yun's knees began to shake.

He slid one hand into Gyeol's long hair, and it was heavy and silky and warm.

He rolled his hips, shallow and careful.

Gyeol moaned, and a hot flush crept down his chest.

"You like this," Do-yun said, amazed.

Gyeol hummed yes.

"You like being used."

Another hum, and his eyes fluttered closed, and he looked completely, shamelessly happy.

"Open your eyes."

They opened.

The sight of him, wrecked and loving it, with Do-yun's cock sliding between those swollen lips, was too much.

Heat gathered low in Do-yun's belly, and his thighs locked.

"I'm going to come," he warned, and tried to pull out.

Gyeol caught his hip with one hand and pulled him back in.

That was the end of him.

Do-yun came with a cry, with his forehead against the wall and his fist tight in Gyeol's hair.

Gyeol swallowed everything, with his throat working, and licked him clean afterward, gently, until Do-yun whimpered.

Then Do-yun slid down the wall and tipped sideways onto the quilts, and Gyeol caught him and pulled him in.

They lay there tangled, breathing, with the lamp burning low.

Gyeol kissed his forehead, and his hair, and the side of his nose.

"I've never laughed in this house after dark," Gyeol said into his hair.

"I laugh in the day, so the guards hear it. At night it's too quiet."

"You laughed all through my first sketch."

"That wasn't the same laugh." His arms tightened. "That one was real."

Do-yun pressed his face into the warm hollow of his throat.

"Tomorrow," Gyeol said softly. "Will you come again tomorrow?"

"I'm the painter," Do-yun said. "I have to."

Gyeol laughed against his temple, low and happy, and they did not move until the paper window went grey.

On the easel, the blank silk waited for a face that neither of them had once tried to draw.

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