Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes
Brendon had no real words for that first kiss. The slush coming down, spattering across Casey’s Mustang. The vibrations of the wipers as they struggled to clear the water. The chill that seeped in through the floorboards. The contrasting warmth blowing on his arm. Those were the things that would forever drag him back.
He knew he’d been second-choice, second best. And yet, in that moment, he thought he’d won. Casey’s mouth warmer than the heat purring from the engine, his hands gentler than the rain, and when he sighed and settled his forehead on Brendon’s shoulder Brendon simply held him there.
A moment etched in time. Casey’s stress sliding away. The anger fizzling, struggling to gain purchase, but like the slush coursing down the windows, Brendon stroked down Casey’s back until there was nothing but warmth where there’d been fire, nothing but contentment where there’d been bitterness.
Their lips, soft, open, became a conduit. Years of desire, years of confusion, all coming to a head as tongues darted carefully, reaching for the empty feeling in order to fill it up, twist it about, make it tumble away. Brendon shivered, numb and hot and kissing in a state of shocked happiness. Finally having a taste of what-could-be, what-might-be. That kiss drew, like lines in his sketchbook, shading and coloring until the entire world blended together— Continue reading