He was. This time the accompaniment to his bare chest was even less – just frayed denim shorts and green fuzzy slippers. Feeling overdressed even though he was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, Marth stepped into the spacious hallway and closed the door behind him.

"Hey. Nice to see you." The warmth in Ike's voice was so friendly and genuine Marth felt guilty for ever reading into his offer of 'one night'.

"Come on through into the lounge. I'll just order the pizza and I'll be right with you."

Marth took off his trainers and wandered through the house, slowly heading for where he guessed was the lounge. Paintings hung everywhere, largely abstract or modern, but in some places stunningly real including a particularly superb panoramic one of leaping dolphins. He stared at it for some time, admiring the quality of the image.

"That's one of my favourites," Ike informed him, making Marth jump.

"Didn't realise you were there."

"No problem – I've ordered the pizza – lounge is this way."

They both walked through into the lounge.

"Wow." And he had thought the dolphin painting was something. And it had been. But the lounge was…

"Rather nice, huh?" joked Ike.

Marth blinked, but the lounge remained intact. "Wow," he repeated.

The whole thing was beach themed. Each wall was painted from top to bottom in impeccable detail. One wall was a night time beach scene, with a stunning sunset and silhouetted palm trees forming the backdrop for two twisted metal bookcases and a flat screen TV. The far end wall with the window had been painted to show colourful beach huts receding into a distant beach at the peak of midday sun, and beneath the window a few different coloured beanbags lay, their bright colours matching the beach huts behind them. The wall opposite the TV screen was another daytime beach scene, but below this a long stone tray had been placed against the wall and filled with water which reflected the late sunlight onto the wall in dappled patched of light. In front of this a dark blue organically shaped sofa sat, with plump Matisse-style inspired cushions on it suggesting luxurious comfort. And finally the remaining wall was painted like many seashells, but at least 70% of this particular wall was taken up with a gigantic sliding patio door letting light into the room from the back end of the house.

"Wow," Marth repeated for the third time.

"Thanks," Ike replied, pride in his voice.

"How long did it take you?"

Ike thought for a moment. "Not sure. I've done it in sections." He shrugged. "You're the first one to see it like this you know. It used to be field-based rather than beach-based."

Marth had never felt more ashamed of his Magnolia walls. Ike seemed to pick up on his mood.

"Guess it must seem really outrageous compared to your place," he commented. "Or indeed many places. But I never really come in here, so it's a bit of a dead room." He indicated for Marth to sit down before sitting down next to him and switching on the TV. Marth, who was staring down at the carpet still in shame of his Magnolia walls, realised that even the carpet was a sandy colour in keeping with the beach-theme. £1050. Having seen this place Marth thought that figure now sounded like a bloody bargain.

"Did you want to watch the football then?" Ike asked.

But he wasn't going to do it for £1050. He was going to do it in exchange for just one night of Marth's company. Why? He must get really lonely, Marth thought.

"Well?" Ike prompted.

"Er…ok." He didn't really like football. It was boring. But how could he say that? Ike selected the channel and they watched the football for a few minutes in silence. Marth, feeling awkward, wanted to break it. But what could he say? The first thing that came to mind was to ask for his £260 back, but that now seemed insulting and he couldn't bring himself to say it, even though he needed the money.

"What do you like?" Ike asked suddenly.

"What?" Marth's heart skipped a beat as he automatically misinterpreted the question.

"Sorry, to general. Um…what's your favourite flavour of ice cream?"

"Strawberry."

"Favourite TV show?"

"QI."

"Favourite colour?"

"Blue." Was this some sort of interrogation?

"Best film?"

"Dunno."

"Favourite artist?"

You. "Er…I don't know any artists."

Ike smiled.

"Famous ones."

Ike frowned.

"Yet?" Marth tried, feeling that if he had to say any more he would throw up butterflies. Ike smiled again.

"Sorry about the interrogation I couldn't think of anything to say but I do have 'The Matrix' fancy watching it?" he rushed.

"The Matrix?"

"Yeah." Ike stood up and went over to one of the shelves, browsed a moment and then pulled the DVD free.

"What is it?"

"You mean you've never heard of 'The Matrix'?"

Marth shook his head.

And so they ended up eating pizza and watching 'The Matrix', interrupted sporadically by comments from Ike – sometimes simple, sometimes profound, sometimes completely irrelevant. But never boring. Ike was strange, both introverted and yet confident, and filled with eccentricities that varied from the genius of his ability with paint to small things like always wearing odd socks. And in one of the pauses where Marth was contemplating all this, Ike asked,

"Can I paint you?"

"Paint me?"

Ike nodded. "Your face is the perfect borderline between masculine and feminine – it's quite extraordinary."

Marth stared at him, waiting for the one brain cell that controlled social tact in Ike's brain to kick in. At length it did.

"I didn't mean to insult you," Ike apologised. "But may I paint a portrait of you?"

Marth didn't' reply, unsure as to how he felt about it. He thought of Ike's lounge. One night. This is the price I'm going to pay to make my house a masterpiece. He nodded. Ike, filled with a sudden surge of energy, rushed upstairs to get painting equipment.

Once he returned downstairs he positioned a chair opposite the sofa and told Marth to sit down whilst he sat on the sofa wielding a small canvas, mixing paint and planning out positioning. After a moment he said,

"You're too far away. Move closer."

Marth obediently pulled his chair closer to the sofa.

"Closer."

Marth pulled the chair closer.

"Closer," Ike insisted.

There wasn't much closer the chair could go. Marth did his best.

"Closer," Ike complained.

"I can't," Marth pointed out.

"Yes you can."

Marth looked at Ike, at his lap, then at Ike again. Nervously, hoping that he hadn't misunderstood, he moved so that he was sitting sideways on Ike's lap, turning his head so Ike could see his face.

"Better." Ike turned Marth's shoulders so he was facing him more fully then began to proceed with his painting. Marth could only look back at him, awkward. He couldn't help remembering at that point his original interpretation of the 'one night' offer, nor could he ignore the fact this was the closest to Ike he'd ever been. He could feel the warmth of Ike's thighs beneath him, and the feelings of attraction he'd managed to forget about during the film came back to him once more. If anything the casual conversation and relatively normal evening they'd had so far had only served to intensify Marth's preference to Ike, and no thoughts of Roy could push them away. He couldn't believe only his jeans were stopping his legs from touching Ike's…

Ike didn't like the way the painting was going. Marth was tense and nervous and that wasn't an expression Ike wanted to capture. It spoilt the balance of masculine and feminine in Marth's face; turned it more towards masculine, awkward and severe. Ike had to do something to fix the balance or his perfect portrait would be ruined. Marth wasn't looking at him, he was looking through him, wishing he was somewhere else. Damn, what was Ike supposed to do – pinch him? Both his hands were full – one held the canvas, the other the paintbrush. That left what – head-butting? Ouch, no. Hang on, he had it…

Acting on impulse, Ike leaned forward and pressed his lips to Marth's. It was only a quick touch and then he pulled away. But Marth's expression was one of complete shock. He went pale, and then as a hint of a blush crept into his cheeks he quickly got off Ike's lap, and unable to meet his eyes, raced for the front door.

Well that hadn't gone quite as planned, Ike reflected. But he had seen the perfect expression, if only for a second, and his photographic memory had it captured. So Ike continued to paint, working into the early house of the morning long after his model had gone.

Marth woke without really having slept, automatically hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock which had finally reached 07:00. Rubbing his eyes he looked around his room in the weak light that spoke of morning drizzle. The pattern Ike had painted on the wall immediately stuck his eye. He hadn't gotten Ike out of his mind. He couldn't pinpoint why he was so offended Ike had kissed him, but he was and he couldn't forget it, nor could his lips. Why had he let it happen?

He stumbled out of bed and headed downstairs. His mind was in turmoil – he needed to speak to someone. But the only person he could think of was Roy, and they weren't even that close… He'd realised that the other day when Roy had pulled the shard of glass out of his foot. Sighing, he was about to head for the kitchen when he noticed a piece of paper by the front door. Odd, the post never normally came that early. He reached down and picked it up.

Dear Marth,

Check the doormat.

He didn't recognise the handwriting. The only thing on the doormat was the note, he thought. Then – Oh, the outside doormat. He opened the front door. A brown package about as large as a folder sat on his front doorstep. Wow – he couldn't remember the last time he'd got a gift via mail before. Retreating back into the house, he tore open the package eagerly. And then froze.

"Oh my…"

It was a painting of him. The painting of him. He knew instantly that it was the portrait Ike had started the night before. Bur surely he couldn't have painted such an astonishing likeness in such a short space of time? And what's more, he could only guess at the moment when he had worn that expression…

Slowly he carried the canvas through into the kitchen, still staring at it. His perfect likeness looked back at him, eyes wide and innocent, lips slightly parted in surprise and the slightest hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks… It was him just after Ike had kissed him. He knew it for certain. Looking at it brought his mind back to the intimacy of that moment as clear as if it had only just happened. He had held that expression for what – a second at most? How had Ike captured it so perfectly? And why had he given it to him? No, he couldn't think of this now. He would go to work and distract himself, think of it later.

"Marth."

What had Ike wanted to say by giving him the portrait?

"Marth? Hello? That's the second latte you've made accidentally. Only a filter coffee, remember?" That was Roy, reminding him where he was.

"Oh right. Yeah, sorry."

"Are you alright? You seem kinda distracted."

Marth didn't reply. Filter coffee…

"And you know that's like the twentieth time you've wiped your lips already."

Was he doing that? Oh god, he was, wasn't he? The more he wiped them the more sensitive they felt, the more Marth wanted to remove the sensation, the more he wiped.

"If they're chapped I can lend you some Vaseline," Roy suggested.

Marth wasn't really listening.

"Or I could kiss them better."

At the word 'kiss' Marth's mind and stomach were jolted firmly back to the present. With great trepidation he met Roy's eye. His might thought furiously for a moment longer, then he gasped.

"What is it?" asked Roy.

You. You're the reason I was so offended Ike kissed me. I was waiting for you.

"Marth?" With a slight smile Roy stepped closer to him and put his hands gently on Marth's shoulders, then bent his head closer to Marth's, his intentions obvious.

"No. Not in here in front of everyone." Embarrassed, Marth pulled away a little.

"In private then?" Roy raised an eyebrow. Was Roy actually flirting with him? Bloody hell. Before he could say another word Roy took him by the elbow and led him away to the staffroom, where he closed the door behind them.

"Better?"

"Marth took a shaky breath. "Better." Worse, much worse, said his stomach. Roy began to approach him again. With one hand he cupped Marth's face.

"You are so shy…" he commented. He moved closer until less than an inch separated them.

"B-but…" Marth objected. "We hardly talk!"

"Doesn't meant we can't open our mouths." Roy smiled.

"I hardly know you! I didn't realise you liked me!"

"Well you know now." Roy leant closer still. "Don't you want to kiss me?"

"W-well…" Only two whole years I've wanted that. "Yes… and no."

Roy frowned and leant back, sighing. "What do you mean, 'and no'?"

"I want… I want more than that." Any stranger could kiss him, as Ike had proved. But Roy – he'd fancied Roy for two years. If he was going to get a happy ending out of this he wanted more than just a kiss.

"What do you want?" asked Roy gently.

Forever, was Marth's initial romantic thought. Or at least some sort of long term wooing. But of course he couldn't say that out loud, everything seemed to be rushing too fast as it was. Roy was still waiting for an answer. Come on Marth, speak.

"One night," he blurted out.

Oh Marth. Please review! Thanks!