Colin left Marek alone to do his business before he let the man drag him back onto the bed to finish what he started. Traipsing down the stairs, Colin chewed on his lip as he came upon his little setup. Having already taped newspaper down to protect the floor and sealed off doorknobs and necessary edges with painter's tape, Colin fingered the quick-drying coat of primer he'd used to prep the wood. The door was open and held in place with shims under the base, and a can of all-weather paint with two brushes sat waiting on a small side table he'd snared from the living room.
All we need now is Marek.
Nerves attacked Colin, and he second-guessed if he had the right to give Marek this dream he had abandoned so long ago. Through the floor, electrical charges snapped against the soles of his bare feet and tingled up his legs, something he had gotten used to feeling but never took for granted. “Thank you, darlin'.” Colin leaned his cheek into the wall, absorbing the hum. “I appreciate your support.”
Heavy footfalls signaled Marek's presence. “What do you need my help…” Marek skidded to a halt at the foot of the stairs. His gaze swung from the primed door, to the open can of red paint, and up to Colin. He leaned his hand on the stair railing, as if he needed help to hold himself upright. “What…” His mouth opened and closed, but nothing else came out.
Colin stepped into the open doorway and spread his arms. “This is for you. It's time you had your red door.” Uncertainty loomed before him, but love he couldn't contain choked his voice. “You've waited for it long enough.”
Marek moved forward with careful steps but stayed off the rectangle patch of taped newspaper covering the area surrounding the door. “I didn't think… I didn't know…” Naked want burned in Marek's blue eyes and tore a hole right through Colin's gut. “You want it, for me.”
“Yeah.” Colin nodded. “Not to restore the house, but for you. You said there was a lot of love behind that red door and that you always felt welcome in that house.” He chewed on his cheek like crazy, but forced the waver out of his voice and kept talking. “I think we have a lot of love here, in our home, and our door is always open to family and friends. It's okay to want that dream again. It's okay to have it.” Colin picked up a brush and held it out to Marek. “We're going to make it happen today.”
Marek's pupils flared, drowning out the clouds. He closed the distance between them in two steps and grabbed Colin instead of the brush, backing him into the wall with a base, bruising kiss. He grabbed Colin's head and angled it for deeper access; Colin relented with a groan and parted his lips for Marek's tongue, accepting and sparring with every wet, aggressive stab Marek shoved into him. Locking his arms around Marek's neck, Colin strained against his partner and kissed him back with equal fervor as a combination of love and blinding-hot lust fueled his passion.
Breaking away just a sliver, Marek rushed warm breath over Colin's lips, sensitizing his mouth even more. “I love you,” Marek said, his voice thick and low. He scraped his hands down the sides of Colin's body and grabbed his hips, tugging them together from top to bottom. He kept his eyes glued to Colin, and hid nothing of his soul. “I don't know what I did right to deserve your forgiveness and a second chance at a life with you; I just hope I keep doing it and you never regret taking me back.”
Colin slid his arms down and rested his hands against Marek's waist, the paintbrush still clutched in his fingers. “You make me happy every day we're together. Ooh.” He got a nice warm buzz from the man plastered to his front, and a zing of life firing from the wall into his back. “I'm in a sandwich. She's happy too.”
That sparked a chuckle and a smile out of Marek. “The house is happy today, huh?” He tapped his fingers against Colin's cheek. “And it's a she now too?”
“Feels like a she.” Colin took Marek's hand off his face and placed his palm against the wall. The vibrations worked through Colin's back like crazy, and he raised a brow at the man in front of him. “You really still can't feel it? It's pretty strong today.”
Marek held his palm to the wall for a prolonged couple of heartbeats, but eventually stepped back and let his hand fall to his side. “Sorry. Just feels like cool plaster to me.”
“Oh well.” Colin shrugged. “That's not our main focus this morning anyway. Right now”—he thrust the paintbrush at Marek's chest—“she wants you to paint her a pretty red door to go with the rest of her makeover. Go ahead.” He picked up his own brush and let it hover over the paint, waiting. “Dip in.”
His hand visibly unsteady, Marek did as bade and brushed the first broad stroke of red paint down the center of the door, and Colin nearly cried. Marek held his brush just inches away from the wood before he did a second line. Turning to Colin, he said, “This is our door. You paint it too.”
Colin nodded. He dipped his brush into the pool of red and covered some white primer with his own line of color. They worked in silence, exchanging glances every so often and sharing secret smiles that weren't so very secret anymore.
Leaning in fast, Colin pecked a kiss to Marek's cheek.
Marek smiled and bumped his hip to Colin's in answer.
Colin understood what it meant: “I love you too.”
He bumped Marek back, and together they finished painting their door.
* *
