Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

from his position on the floor. He could see every branch, every leaf. Somehow Chase had managed to vividly draw even those while they were still just lines. And Ty's decision of not getting any more done on him wavered, because he wanted that picture. Wanted it to be on his skin and not on anyone else's. But instead of saying it out loud he kept looking at the picture with a small smile on his lips, one he hardly realized he was wearing but one the other man noticed. And Ty held his thought to himself, not willing to say it out loud, but then again he didn't say much of anything anymore.
    As the days went on, Ty became quieter and quieter. He was tired. Work was too hectic and took too much out of him and while his body felt good, his mind grew exhausted. Too heavy in some way, too clouded. Blurry and crowded with things he couldn't name but they were there nonetheless. And soon he was no longer all that aware of being on his knees for someone. He knew it but it became almost meaningless. Made no difference. He had been there so many times already, too many for him to keep track anymore. And getting down on his knees wasn't a battle anymore, because every time he went to the shop he knew what he was going to do. And he did it almost automatically now, no need for him to think what to do, because he did the same thing every night; as soon as his belt was off, Chase would tie his wrists and Ty would kneel. After the first time he hadn't even taken his shirt off, and Chase hadn't touched him other than at times testing the warmth of his hands. A continuous line of actions that repeated themselves every night. Time after time after time.
    That was why Chase seemed a bit surprised when a week before the exhibition Ty wasn't at all still on the floor. He kept shifting his position as much as he could without completely falling over, moving his hands too because his shoulders were stiff from the hours of non-stopped working on his own personal work-computer earlier during the day. And then he did the unthinkable, said something he had forced himself not to say before.
    "Please take off the belt," his words were kind of slow, like they were dragged out of him. The belt was actually so loose he could've easily pulled his hands out but he didn't even think of doing so. Instead he lifted his gaze from where it had lain on the floor for as long as he could remember, lifted his head too because it had become a feeble extension of his body, and looked at Chase. "My shoulders are hurting." And he blurted out a whole explanation on how his day had been the worst in a long time and that he wasn't getting enough sleep and that he was really fucking tired.
    Chase dropped the pen from his hand and stood up. "Just started hurting or have been hurting?" he asked while he came to Ty, again crouching behind him.
    "A while now," Ty said, not aware that his answer didn't really fit the question but he was feeling a little dazed. And he was surprised how much he disliked the feel of leather disappearing from around his wrists. His skin felt naked, something misplaced and taken out of the right context. And he expected Chase to stand up and pass him the belt and then get back to his work, but instead the belt ended on the floor and Chase's hands ended on top of Ty's shoulders. "You should've said something earlier."
    "I'm sorry," Ty mumbled and his eyes closed without him even realizing what he was saying or doing or how he silently sighed when Chase massaged his tensed muscles. It hurt, but differently. Every slow circle Chase's fingers made forced some of the tension out of Ty's shoulders, hurting the muscles and even his skin while his shirt got rubbed against his skin. But it felt good too, his joints singing high praises to those hands and loosening while Chase worked on his body differently this time.
    Ty's hands folded on his lap while his head dipped lower and lower and his thoughts became even more fluffy and blurry while the time spent on the floor turned into time spent within the reach of those hands. And Chase went on and on, untying every knot while more silent sounds whispered out of Ty's mouth without him even realizing he was doing so. And when he no longer felt the tension or the pain of his muscles clenching in tight knots, those hands still kept moving but that was different too. They moved to his neck, from the shirt to bare skin, slow spirals creating pools and pools of whirls inside Ty. Twisting his thoughts, knitting