Mechanical Michelangelo part 48
FOURTY EIGHT Radioactive Man
Justin didn’t want to know where Brian got the flowered wallpaper, he was just thankful it was there. Like a man possessed, he tacked the wallpaper to the bathroom wall, plain side facing outwards creating a blank space for him to work on.
It had been months since he’d really felt the physical ache to paint, and he didn’t have time to go out and get proper canvas, this would have to do. He squirted an array of different colours onto a plate and using the biggest paintbrush he had started to add colour to the back of the wallpaper.
“Fucking, shit!” He swore angrily as his hand started to shudder and his grip on the paintbrush wouldn’t give him enough control. He threw the brush to the floor, unconcerned when paint splattered everywhere, this was why he was in the bathroom after all.
Remembering back to his and Brian’s painting session with Gus, Justin stuck his fingers in the paint and smeared it over his makeshift canvas. He wasn’t sure if it would turn out like the picture in his head, but leaving the brush out of it had given him back some control.
He let his fingers dig into the paint, push it around the paper, merging with other colours, uncaring for precision, he just needed to get the image from his mind onto paper.
He would mourn the loss of precision later, when he had time.
The image of a man came quickly, defined muscles shown beneath a thin blue outfit. It was the first time he’d painted this figure without the aid of his computer, and he was having trouble with the colours.
None of that mattered though, he needed to work larger than the computer allowed, he needed to feel the painting come to life beneath his finger tips, in a way it never did when he used the computer.
He needed to bond with his creation, to breathe life into it and become part of it himself. This may not turn out, it may not look as it should, but it was something Justin needed.
His talk with Michael earlier on in the day had turned a switch on inside of him, that switch he’d had as a child, the one that told him to draw, to paint, to create, even if it didn’t turn out good in the end.
They had their Rage storyline and it was big, so big Justin felt the need to paint big. Acrylics dripped down his arm, winding a pathway through his tattoos, it dripped from his elbow onto the floor and he had to be careful not to slip in the multicoloured puddle.
He started on a second figure on a second piece of wallpaper tacked next to the first. The figure was slightly shorter than the first, and his outfit a different colour, Justin was happy to see a resemblance to the character emerging from beneath the paint, it was crude and loosely painted, but there was a rawness, a quality Justin was pleased with. It gave movement to the silent figures and by the time he started to paint the third and final figure he was confident without the brush.
His whole arm started to throb, but he refused to finish, he worked through the shakes and repainted the sections too affected by the tremors.
The third figure he painted was crouched, defined muscles showing beneath what he hoped would look like a black mesh t-shirt. Blond hair lay messily around his shoulders, and pale arms were covered in tattoos Justin was only too familiar with.
The figure was crying, hands covering his eyes, blackness pulsing from beneath his fingertips and shooting out in all directions.
Justin went over the painting, smudging the tattoos down the skin, until it looked liquid, alive, he piled blue-black acrylic underneath the man, creating a puddle, small splashes of ink splattering the man’s blue jeans, making holes in the fabric and smoking slightly.
Only then did Justin stand back and look at the full picture. He sat on the toilet, paint drying up his arms and in between his toes. Rage, Zephyr and Ink, the three characters that would make up the premise of their comic book.
Emotions whirled around his gut, making his throat hurt with unshed tears. He wasn’t sure he could do this storyline without completely falling apart.
The door opened quietly and Brian poked his head around. “Is it safe to have a piss?” Justin moved away from the toilet silently and Brian stepped over the worst splatters of paint to get to the toilet.
When he finished he turned around and got his first look at why Justin had become like a man possessed most of the afternoon. “They’re brilliant, Justin.”
Justin shrugged, unsure, it wasn’t anything like his old style, or the style he’d found with the computer, but that wasn’t his problem. “Has Mikey told you about our first storyline?”
“Isn’t that what you were going over today?”
“Yeah. Mikey wanted to add another superhero into the mix.”
“A trio, well, that’s different.”
“He wanted to add Ink, a hustler who was captured by homophobic pricks and tattooed with radioactive ink, in the hopes of making him unattractive, making his skin rot, make him unable to paint, making his customers hate him, but instead he gets powers. Acid ink that spurts from the palms of his hands.
Rage and Zephyr will find him, too late to do anything about the tattoos-about the radioactive ink, but Rage will recognise Ink as the young boy he sorta, kinda loved once upon a time.”
Justin ran his hands through his hair, smearing paint through his blond locks. “Of course, and Mikey likes this part, the ink seeping from the palms of his hands prevent him touching anyone he loves,”
“With his hands anyway,” Brian smirked and turned to Justin. “And Mikey cooked all this up on his own?” Justin nodded. “How very ‘Rogue’ of him.”
“It’s just a little close to home, you know?”
“But full of angst, full of unrequited love, men with muscles and ten inch cocks.”
Justin laughed shakily and bumped his shoulders with Brian’s. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious. If you don’t want to do it, tell Mikey to go back to the original duo.”
“No, I do like it, I just feel so-raw. Like I’ll be showing everyone what’s really beneath the tattoos.”
Brian leaned down and kissed him. “It’ll be powerful, but it’s your call.” He left the bathroom and it took Justin a full ten minutes to realise that the older man hadn’t blown up over the mess or complained about being kept out of his bathroom.
Justin followed Brian out of the bathroom, “Brian?” he called, Brian looking up from the fridge, a bottle of water in hand. “Where did the flowered wallpaper come from?”
Justin didn’t want to know where Brian got the flowered wallpaper, he was just thankful it was there. Like a man possessed, he tacked the wallpaper to the bathroom wall, plain side facing outwards creating a blank space for him to work on.
It had been months since he’d really felt the physical ache to paint, and he didn’t have time to go out and get proper canvas, this would have to do. He squirted an array of different colours onto a plate and using the biggest paintbrush he had started to add colour to the back of the wallpaper.
“Fucking, shit!” He swore angrily as his hand started to shudder and his grip on the paintbrush wouldn’t give him enough control. He threw the brush to the floor, unconcerned when paint splattered everywhere, this was why he was in the bathroom after all.
Remembering back to his and Brian’s painting session with Gus, Justin stuck his fingers in the paint and smeared it over his makeshift canvas. He wasn’t sure if it would turn out like the picture in his head, but leaving the brush out of it had given him back some control.
He let his fingers dig into the paint, push it around the paper, merging with other colours, uncaring for precision, he just needed to get the image from his mind onto paper.
He would mourn the loss of precision later, when he had time.
The image of a man came quickly, defined muscles shown beneath a thin blue outfit. It was the first time he’d painted this figure without the aid of his computer, and he was having trouble with the colours.
None of that mattered though, he needed to work larger than the computer allowed, he needed to feel the painting come to life beneath his finger tips, in a way it never did when he used the computer.
He needed to bond with his creation, to breathe life into it and become part of it himself. This may not turn out, it may not look as it should, but it was something Justin needed.
His talk with Michael earlier on in the day had turned a switch on inside of him, that switch he’d had as a child, the one that told him to draw, to paint, to create, even if it didn’t turn out good in the end.
They had their Rage storyline and it was big, so big Justin felt the need to paint big. Acrylics dripped down his arm, winding a pathway through his tattoos, it dripped from his elbow onto the floor and he had to be careful not to slip in the multicoloured puddle.
He started on a second figure on a second piece of wallpaper tacked next to the first. The figure was slightly shorter than the first, and his outfit a different colour, Justin was happy to see a resemblance to the character emerging from beneath the paint, it was crude and loosely painted, but there was a rawness, a quality Justin was pleased with. It gave movement to the silent figures and by the time he started to paint the third and final figure he was confident without the brush.
His whole arm started to throb, but he refused to finish, he worked through the shakes and repainted the sections too affected by the tremors.
The third figure he painted was crouched, defined muscles showing beneath what he hoped would look like a black mesh t-shirt. Blond hair lay messily around his shoulders, and pale arms were covered in tattoos Justin was only too familiar with.
The figure was crying, hands covering his eyes, blackness pulsing from beneath his fingertips and shooting out in all directions.
Justin went over the painting, smudging the tattoos down the skin, until it looked liquid, alive, he piled blue-black acrylic underneath the man, creating a puddle, small splashes of ink splattering the man’s blue jeans, making holes in the fabric and smoking slightly.
Only then did Justin stand back and look at the full picture. He sat on the toilet, paint drying up his arms and in between his toes. Rage, Zephyr and Ink, the three characters that would make up the premise of their comic book.
Emotions whirled around his gut, making his throat hurt with unshed tears. He wasn’t sure he could do this storyline without completely falling apart.
The door opened quietly and Brian poked his head around. “Is it safe to have a piss?” Justin moved away from the toilet silently and Brian stepped over the worst splatters of paint to get to the toilet.
When he finished he turned around and got his first look at why Justin had become like a man possessed most of the afternoon. “They’re brilliant, Justin.”
Justin shrugged, unsure, it wasn’t anything like his old style, or the style he’d found with the computer, but that wasn’t his problem. “Has Mikey told you about our first storyline?”
“Isn’t that what you were going over today?”
“Yeah. Mikey wanted to add another superhero into the mix.”
“A trio, well, that’s different.”
“He wanted to add Ink, a hustler who was captured by homophobic pricks and tattooed with radioactive ink, in the hopes of making him unattractive, making his skin rot, make him unable to paint, making his customers hate him, but instead he gets powers. Acid ink that spurts from the palms of his hands.
Rage and Zephyr will find him, too late to do anything about the tattoos-about the radioactive ink, but Rage will recognise Ink as the young boy he sorta, kinda loved once upon a time.”
Justin ran his hands through his hair, smearing paint through his blond locks. “Of course, and Mikey likes this part, the ink seeping from the palms of his hands prevent him touching anyone he loves,”
“With his hands anyway,” Brian smirked and turned to Justin. “And Mikey cooked all this up on his own?” Justin nodded. “How very ‘Rogue’ of him.”
“It’s just a little close to home, you know?”
“But full of angst, full of unrequited love, men with muscles and ten inch cocks.”
Justin laughed shakily and bumped his shoulders with Brian’s. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious. If you don’t want to do it, tell Mikey to go back to the original duo.”
“No, I do like it, I just feel so-raw. Like I’ll be showing everyone what’s really beneath the tattoos.”
Brian leaned down and kissed him. “It’ll be powerful, but it’s your call.” He left the bathroom and it took Justin a full ten minutes to realise that the older man hadn’t blown up over the mess or complained about being kept out of his bathroom.
Justin followed Brian out of the bathroom, “Brian?” he called, Brian looking up from the fridge, a bottle of water in hand. “Where did the flowered wallpaper come from?”