What was overindulgence, in the world of artists and other creatives?

...Rafael was avoiding the question in his own mind, of course, to say nothing of how he hemmed before shrugging and admitting, "On occasion, as any of us do in celebration." In truth, Nellie was hardly the worst for such ...

She was ever wont to dismiss her illness, as she was with anything else that caused her distress, if she could not address it in any other method. It was something he loved about her, that free spirit that so often chose the positive and wonderful things in life. Tonight, for all his lurking fears ...

The pleasure of finding a truly kindred soul was one that made nigh all else pale in comparison. He could spend hours speaking of his work to Nellie, or Jesús, or even Zelda if she would indulge him. Yet all of them lacked the kind of understanding, the industrial know-how, the instinctive grasp of ...

The quiet of the room – imperfect, as voices passed outside the door, as the machinations of the theater occasionally groaned – filled with a pregnant tension as Rafael could only wait and watch as Mr. Forsythe worked his (quite literal) magic. He knew better than to speak, to interrupt the ...

There was a look in Jesús' eyes, and Rafael did not trust it. It reminded him nothing less of times in the past when the other man had determined to do something foolhardy, pointless, and reckless – most often to impress a girl, which was especially worrying when the subject of their conversation ...

To be denied that hard cock, in the same breath that Jesús spoke so teasingly, drew a needy groan from Rafael. He was not at all cross with this turn of events; indeed, his cock twitched in his soft trousers as he obediently let his hands fall to Jesús' thighs, kneading and petting the skin there ...

With the new opera taking up so much of his time and attention, Rafael had been spending less time with Nellie than even when they were in one of their spats. That alone had weighed on his mind in the few quiet moments he had to consider it; with her mysterious and aggravating illness, he felt lost ...

The young man was more vulnerable even than he'd seemed, and Rafael's expression softened at the honesty he was being entrusted with. It was an honor, though he would not say as much nor did he wish to betray his thoughts. This wasn't a pity fuck, and it wasn't about healing this man's wounded heart ...

Credit where credit was due – whether or not Rafael truly believed that Mr. Forsythe was capable of conversing with the spirits, he certainly was a captivating presence. The playwright hung upon every word, leaning in slightly as though the telling of it alone was invitation. And it was, in a way ...

The anticipation was not the best part of evenings like this – it would be absolutely ludicrous to say as much, even to a poet like Rafael. That being said, it was fully delectable in its own manner. He would play the perfect gentleman until they were safely ensconced in the privacy of her apartment ...