He uncovered the paints he’d left on his huge palette. Plastic kept them wet so they could be used a second day.

Funny how he hadn’t minded pretending to be Bobby all that much. The world looked different when people expected him to be nice.

Clearing his mind, he faced the wall and began to paint.

A second later—maybe more like an hour—the scaffold began to shake. Okay, get ready to be your brother.

Paolo’s perfect face popped over the top, and he gave Robin a half smile that reminded him of himself. Robin plastered on the huge, pearly Bobby face. “Hiiiii!”

Paolo swung himself up and gazed at the wall. “Man, you made some progress. But you covered over some of the light parts. Decide against them?”

Robin planted a hand on his hip. “Yes, I didn’t think it deserved to be too sunny.”

“I like this better.”

“You would.” He arched a brow, and Paolo snorted a laugh.

“So did you get the pieces mailed?” Paolo kept staring at the canvas.

What the hell? “Uh, yes.”

Those piercing eyes stared at Robin. “Was Robin there when you went in?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, he was.”

“So he went to the post office?”

“Uh-huh.” Robin daubed some paint on the mural. What the hell was Paolo talking about?

“So you sent off that coat and jacket?” Paolo stood. Robin could feel the movement more than see it as he stared hard at the wall.

Well, shit. Coat? “Right.” Try to look engrossed.

Strong hands clasped his shoulders, and he was physically turned. Okay, Robin was pretty strong, but Paolo stood a good five inches taller and fifty pounds heavier, plus Robin wasn’t fighting. Paolo gave him a narrow-eyed smile. “I thought we could take up where we left off last night.” He leaned in and his lips captured Robin’s with an intensity that spoke of dark bedrooms, not narrow wooden platforms in the sky.

Do not give a shit. Those lips are heaven.

Robin dropped his brush—God knew what it did to Paolo’s $300 jeans—and wrapped his arms around Paolo so tight he could have been arrested for kidnapping. Paolo’s tongue scoured the secret hiding places in Robin’s mouth, and for a moment Robin forgot try to take charge. He just enjoyed and let one leg float up Paolo’s hip. Five inches doth not a solid contact make, but Robin humped Paolo’s thigh and pressed the heel of his hand against the big bulge in Paolo’s pants. Oh yeah, that got a moan of enthusiasm from Mr. Hunky Architect.

Robin slid his hands over Paolo’s hard-as-iron butt—What does he do with that thing?—and squeezed and released. Damn, if they lay down, could they fuck here? No, no lube or condoms. But a good blowjob could still be in order.

Robin released Paolo and started sliding to the floor. It took work to inch down Paolo’s fly over that mighty erection, but finally he achieved release and reached into a pair of baby blue boxer briefs to free the inhabitant.

“My oh my.” Long, sturdy, cut, and straight as an arrow.

Paolo just breathed—really loudly.

“Mine.” Robin licked the fat head and got a slow, soft moan from Paolo. Ah yes, encouragement. Wonder how far Bobby went last night? He laved the sides of the shaft, then, counting on the element of surprise, thrust that solid eight-inch dick into his mouth and down his throat in one smooth move.

“Holy shit!” Paolo locked his hands in Robin’s hair. Pushed and pulled back, pushed and pulled back. Robin’s tongue reveled in the smooth firmness of the shaft, the silk of the head, and the intrigue of secret crevices. “Oh man. Oh.” Steadily, Paolo pushed Robin in farther and farther—then suddenly, with a yank, he pulled Robin’s head away from his cock until he looked down in his face.

“Why’d you make me stop? You don’t appreciate talent?” Robin grinned.

Paolo gazed at him. “I do appreciate talent, and you’re loaded with it on every level. What I don’t appreciate are liars, and you sure as fuck aren’t Bobby.”

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