***

It wasn't unusual for Viggo to blur lines life created. He did it everyday, blurring the lines between life and art, laughing and crying, love and sex. It wasn't unusual for him to make one from the other, art out of life, laughing out of crying, love out of sex.

It no longer surprised Dom to have a camera in the bedroom, which is why he was astounded one day to find it missing. He smiled to himself, satisfied. It had been the point of an argument, that camera, and Dom was smug with victory.

Dom was usually fine with Viggo's blurring of sex and art, but lately, it had just been too much. L.A. had left Dom feeling like an ugly duckling, unable to find work or play, drifting somewhere where lines blurred too much, and Dom wished for nothing more than a clear black and white. Photographs only served to capture the feeling forever.

The argument, however, had left something of a bitter taste in the Englishman's mouth. Viggo had been secretive ever since, but this was nothing new. He was quiet and reserved, stealing around the house, but again, nothing new. He was hiding something, however, and this made Dom nervous.

Dom had learned to expect those uncanny little moments of quiet outrageousness, so he simply accepted it when Viggo approached him in the middle of the day, pulled the book from his hands, and lead him down the hall.

Upon entering the bedroom, Dom sighed contentedly. Viggo turned to face him, wearing what Dom had long ago deemed his 'art face'. It was careful, blank as a canvas, studying and evaluating. There were light meters in his eyes, which studied Dom like a painter.

Dom squirmed and smiled, wondering what the mysterious American had in mind for him.

Viggo moved to undress his partner, but his movements were remarkably clinical. He tugged sharply at Dom's shirt, yanking it away effortlessly. Just as detached as before, he worked the buttons of Dom's jeans, stripping him completely.

The objectivity made Dom feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with his nakedness. His arms curled reflexively around his stomach to hide himself, but Viggo pulled them away. The older man nodded towards the bed, and Dom didn't have to ask.

Dom's exhibitionist side was always eager to play, and he spread himself across the sheets for the American. A small, quirky smile split Viggo's mask of indifference, and Dom was glad for it.

Viggo reached carefully under the bed, removing a well-worn box. Dom raised his eyebrows in question.

The box was laid reverently beside the Englishman, and his eyes widened as Viggo extracted jar after jar of brightly colored body paints. Viggo was smiling too, but his art face had taken over again, comparing shades to Dom's skin, opening jars and flicking experimental showers of color over his stomach. Dom shut his eyes, tilting his head back as his lines began to blur.

Viggo settled on his first color, white to set off the faint tan Dom had acquired, and he pained a long stripe of it from the base of his throat to his bellybutton. Dom squirmed contentedly, turning his eyes down to the artist.

Viggo was biting carefully at his own tongue as he slid his paint-covered fingers over warm skin. The corners of Dom's eyes crinkled in a smile, and Viggo could feel it somewhere between his heart and his groin.

Lines of paint blurred their way across Dom in a haphazard pattern, and Viggo was content to let his canvas wiggle.

***

Later, as the water ran for a shower but before Dom could actually step in, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The paint was everywhere, striped over his chest, swirling over his nipples, gliding in the grooves of his hips, circling his cock.

His fingertips trailed over patterns only he and Viggo would ever know existed, and Dom found himself blushing.

Beautiful. Viggo had whispered it against his skin again and again, painting him lovelier than he would've believed before he saw it with his own eyes. No longer captured in the moment, Dom let the tears come as he looked at himself made striking again. It felt like New Zealand, rolling and new, whole and ethereal. He felt like himself again.

Turning, he shut off the water. He padded down the hall naked as the day he was born, stopping only to retrieve a worn leather case.

Hearing his padding footsteps, Viggo looked up from his notebook, surprise evident in the angle of his jaw. Dom took the camera from its case and handed it to his lover. He was ready now.

Slashababy 2004 Stories