The Prince and the Painter (Part 1)

By Emily Carrington

Jason and Aaron would gladly spend all their time in bed together, but they’re haunted by their pasts, literally as well as figuratively. Death and destruction follow them -- a rapist and a serial killer are stalking Aaron, and Jason’s growing love may not be enough to protect either of them.

Publisher’s Note: The Prince and the Painter Parts 1 & 2 are the prequel to Painter's Pride (Prince and Painter 1). For everyone who wanted to know more about Jason and Aaron’s history, thank you. (Be careful what you ask for!)

Warning: The Prince and the Painter Parts 1 & 2 deal with issues of PTSD, M/M rape, hate crimes, stalking, kidnapping, and torture. Jason and Aaron’s stories may be triggers for some readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jan 17, 2020

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The Prince and the Painter (Part 1)

Emily Carrington

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2020 Emily Carrington

BIN: 009226-02987

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Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

315 N. Centre St.

Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Crystal Esau

Cover Artist: Angela Knight

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

The Prince and the Painter (Part 1)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Emily Carrington

The Prince and the Painter (Part 1)

Emily Carrington

Aaron and Jason would gladly spend all their time in bed together, but they’re haunted by their pasts, literally as well as figuratively. Death and destruction follow them -- a rapist and a serial killer are stalking Aaron, and Jason’s growing love may not be enough to protect either of them.

Publisher’s Note: The Prince and the Painter Parts 1 & 2 are the prequel to Painter's Pride (Prince and Painter 1). For everyone who asked Jason and Aaron’s history, thank you.

Chapter One

Seven months previous

Aaron considered the wig he’d worn in the past when he truly felt like dressing up. It was an expensive bit of foolery and he treasured it but it had no place in today’s experiment, so he left it on its Styrofoam head. Then he brushed indifferently at the jeans he wore and nodded. Good enough for undergraduate work.

He left his dorm room and headed for the visual arts building, Channing Hall. He felt pretty damn good considering the letter he’d gotten that morning. Maybe, he thought, I’ve finally accepted her as part of my life.

That didn’t mean he would ever welcome Mrs. Fielding’s influence, but if he could come to accept her, that was progress.

Channing Hall’s first floor was crowded with students of all ages. Mondays were SUNY -- State University of New York -- Besker’s community days. Everyone from stay-at-home moms and dads to buses full of senior citizens visited the college to take art classes. There were still regular courses going on too, those for full-time students. Aaron wound his way between clusters of people, listening to the snatches of their conversation with an English minor’s passion for dialogue, and supplied the ends of sentences with a wicked delight.

"… thirty-seven times…" I came thirty-seven times. I thought only pigs could do that.

Aaron passed into the classroom where he’d agreed to model for a modest fee of ten dollars per each two-hour class. He was almost the first person in the room. The guy in the front row looked like he was ready to draw a dozen pictures. Paper was stacked up precariously high on his narrow left-hander’s desk. At least half a dozen pencils were in danger of rolling onto the floor. And, biased as it was, he didn’t look like an artist. There wasn’t a single mark on him, either on his clothes or the tips of his fingers. Aaron’s own fingers were often paint-spattered or charcoal-fuzzed.

The guy was attractive, Aaron noted as he settled onto the raised platform in the middle of the room and began stretching in preparation for sitting completely still for two hours. The guy’s black hair was bushy. His glasses were wire-rimmed, delicate-looking things over hazel eyes. His broad face was like Nate’s face in its construction and impression of honesty.

Aaron looked away. He didn’t want to think about Nate right now, not when his chest ached just at the name.

Aaron! Excellent, you’re here early. Ms. Gillian bustled in with her arms full of camera equipment.

Aaron hopped off the platform and rushed to help her. You decided to take pictures after all, he said quietly as he unfolded the tripod. He kept his voice soft because part of the task was for the students to not know if he was male or female. To that end, Aaron was dressed in a way that was indicative of neither gender. And since he’d be staying in his clothes, there would be nothing to give him away.

Ms. Gillian said, This way the students can choose a pose they like best.

Which meant the class would be working from pictures after today rather than Aaron getting to come back for another ten-dollar stint. He was disappointed, but not too surprised. Ms. Gillian was paying him out of her own pocket after all.

And look at it this way. You won’t have to stay in one posture for two hours, just long enough for her to snap the pictures. He fitted the camera to the top of the tripod even though photography wasn’t his strong suit. This wasn’t his first modeling gig and he’d learned a little about how to help set up.

Now the room was getting full. Aaron made his way back toward the platform, passing close to the student with too many art supplies and the graceful fall of ebony hair. He looks nervous. So, Aaron smiled at him.

Hey. The guy returned the smile. What’s your name?

Oh hell. Of course he’d want me to speak. Aaron shook his head and covered his mouth.

The guy started moving his hands in elegant patterns and pointing to first himself and then Aaron.

Aaron wondered if it was sign language. He grinned, amused and impressed. He grabbed a piece of the guy’s paper and scribbled with one of the extra pencils, I can’t tell you my name because you’re going to have to guess if I’m a man or a woman. When he turned the page around so the guy could read it, he watched for a startled expression. And got a laugh instead.

Well, my name’s Jason Cooper, the seated man introduced himself. Can you tell me your name after class?

The name’s Aaron Spencer, Ms. Gillian said as she fussed with the camera. Not that it’ll help you figure out male or female. Come on, Aaron. Let’s get started.

It could be Erin, like the other name for Ireland. Unable to stop smiling, he mounted the platform and made himself comfortable with one knee up and his chin resting in his hand. He winked at Jason.

Who winked back.

He really doesn’t look like Nate when you take in his whole aspect. True or not, it did nothing for the tension in his chest. So he looked away.

* * *

Jason stared helplessly at a blank piece of paper after the teacher was done explaining their first lesson in androgyny. This class is too advanced for me. He could draw stick people. Hell, he could draw graphs full of figures and parabolas. He could even draw the mathematically correct plans for a simple architectural structure. But this… Forms and lines, shading and curves… He was lost.

Thank God it was only the first week of classes and he could quit this one and find another.

In the meantime, he was caught by the androgynous wo/man reclining on the block in the center of the room. Aaron -- or Erin -- wouldn’t be his first crush on a not-quite-male-or-female person, and surely s/he wouldn’t be the last. There was something beautiful, artful about an androgynous human being. In a way that had nothing to do with the androgyny of buildings and animals, people who could be either male or female, or maybe some alternative to these two opposites, were simply nature’s gift to the world.

Jason concentrated on one of the model’s eyes and drew that. The shape wasn’t exactly circular, but starting from a geometrically perfect arc helped him keep the basic curve. He made the pupil and iris before drawing the outside. It was far from perfect, but he thought he’d caught the slight upturn at the corner that seemed to reflect the model’s smile.

When Jason sat back, he realized he was sweating. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, he looked at his picture. It didn’t look exactly like the eye before him, but it did at least look like someone’s eye. Then he glanced at the clock