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"Your feet are bellisimi," Tony said; there was a bit of paint in his hair, so Gale brushed his hands through it, which didn't really help much, except that now there was paint on his fingers, too.
"I know," he said. The painting was a thing of beauty - art imitating life - he felt he could look at it for ever and ever and ever, except that he wasn't, didn't, wouldn't; he was looking at Tony, who had paint in his hair and on shirt and was wearing this hat that was kind of ugly - Tony said it made him 'feel like a real painter', whatever that meant, seriously, artists were just weird sometimes.
Tony nodded and smiled a little, as if he was reading Gale's mind, but in a good, fun way, not a creepy, I'm-in-ur-mind-controlling-ur-thinking kind of way; it was cool, was what Gale was saying.
"So hey, want to take a break? You can suck on my bellisimi toes or something, I don't know."
"Your mouth is bellisimo, also," Tony said, which wasn't quite the same as his replying that, yeah, sure, Gale's toes were super-suckable, but sometimes a guy wanted to be the one getting sucked on, instead of being the one who sucked. So to speak.
"So hey, why don't we move this to my bedroom, huh?" Gale wasn't a squirmer, but he was buck-naked over here, and the floor did not look as if it would be at all comfortable, besides of which, one of them might accidentally knock over the painting, which would be a tragedy, to say nothing of a crime against humanity; twenty, hundred years from now, people'd look at that painting and feel horribly inadequate.
They'd be right, too. Harsh, but true; not Gale's fault his body was so smoking hot.
"Yes," Tony said. "I think that would be good."
"Good? Try great," Gale said, and kissed him some more while trying to get the paint out of his hair again. It didn't really work any better than the first time though, so after a few seconds, he gave up and focused on more important things, like actually getting them to a horizontal surface that wouldn't ruin his back or his knees.