by Jerry Cole
Marc jerked, fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly, and he shot Brent a heated, narrow-eyed gaze. “If you keep that up, I’m gonna crash the fucking car.”
Brent grinned, but removed his hand. There would be plenty of time for everything else once they arrived home.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
When they crashed through the door, Brent’s mouth was on Marc’s neck, Marc’s hands on his back and helping to keep them both balanced as Marc slammed Brent against the wall. Marc framed him with his arms on the wall, Brent’s head between his forearms, and he dipped in, sucked a hickey against the skin of Brent’s jaw.
Brent arched into the touches, hands on Marc’s ass, and he looked over Marc’s shoulder to see Brandon had cleared out. He was glad he thought to send the text. “You know we have the apartment to ourselves.”
Marc peered into the main area of the apartment, face shifting to surprise to see it empty. “Where’s Brandon?”
“I texted him while we were in the car,” Brent said, nuzzling at Marc’s neck, licking the line of Marc’s draw, then capturing his lips in a hot, wet kiss. “Figured you’d want an empty apartment.”
There was something awed about the expression Marc turned on him, impressed, and Marc’s hands were immediately sliding under Brent’s jacket and shirt, teasing the lines of his stomach. Brent was only too happy to thud back against the wall, shifting on his feet so Marc could step between his legs, pressing against Brent, hip to chest.
Brent closed his eyes, tilting his head back to give Marc easier access to his neck and mouth, drowning in the feel of Marc around him, the litany of Marc, Marc, Marc running through the back of his mind.
Marc didn’t let up, kept touching and kissing Brent even as he manhandled Brent down the hall. They weren’t making much progress, most of the time spent with Marc’s tongue down Brent’s throat, but Brent didn’t want to complain. He loved the feel of Marc’s hands, the noises Marc was pressing into his skin, the cadence of Marc’s breath as he dragged Brent into the bedroom.
“Fuck,” Brent said, Marc’s hands deftly popping the button of his jeans. Brent had been hard since the restaurant, having to hide it behind his jacket as they stumbled out of the restaurant. He’d been less worried about it in the car, arching his hips and palming himself through his jeans when Marc had told him to keep his hands to himself.
It hadn’t been fair, maybe, to keep palming himself, muttering Marc’s name as he worked himself up.
“Fuck it,” Marc had said, hitting the gas and still managing to get back to the apartment in record time, and under the speed limit. If Brent hadn’t already been hard as fuck, the heat on Marc’s face would have managed it.
“Come on,” Brent urged.
Marc smirked, fingers dancing lightly over the planes of Brent’s stomach, teasing the v of Brent’s legs, but not dipping any lower than the waistband of his jeans. Brent stumbled against the bedroom wall, aware how close they were to the bed, but didn’t want to part from Marc long enough to get there. “Maybe I wanna take my time.”
Brent groaned, the sound too loud in the silence of the room. Marc laughed into his neck, sucking a hickey against the column of Brent’s throat. Finally, his fingers slid into Brent’s briefs, avoiding the shaft of his dick and sliding lower, cupping Brent’s balls.
“Marc,” Brent gasped, thrusting forward, managing to get some friction against Marc’s wrist. Marc laughed again, nuzzling up the line of Brent’s jaw and dragging his mouth into a kiss, free hand tangled in Brent’s hair and holding him in place.
“You want more?” Marc asked.
Brent nodded, unable to make his voice work, and he thrust his hips up, desperate for more of that friction.
“All right,” Marc agreed affably. Brent was expecting fingers to wrap around his dick, but instead, Marc dropped to his knees, tugging down Brent’s jeans and briefs.
“Marc.” Brent could hear the reverent tone in his voice, hands sliding against the top of Marc’s head. Marc looked up at him, mouth looking sinfully red and wet, and Brent wasn’t handling well the sight of that mouth right next to his dick. Oh God, he wasn’t going to survive the night.
The sex hadn’t been so good between them before, had it?
Brent whined, socked-toes curling against the plush carpet when Marc’s mouth tipped forward and took Brent in his mouth. Brent gasped the next breath, fingers clenching hard enough in Marc’s hair that it had to hurt. Marc didn’t make a noise, just nestled his nose at the base of Brent’s dick, before pulling back, the head of Brent’s dick caught between his lips.
Oh, fuck.
Brent couldn’t tear his eyes away, wanted to thrust into Marc’s mouth, the pleasure of Marc’s lips around his head, the flat of Marc’s tongue against his shaft.
“Fuck, look at you,” Brent managed to get out, his thighs trembling with the effort of staying still.
Marc smiled, his mouth stretched around Brent’s dick, and Brent thumbed at the corner of his mouth, wanting to watch his cock disappearing between those lips. Marc seemed to understand just what he wanted, working Brent’s dick into his throat, one inch at a time. The heat of Marc’s mouth, the feel of his dick hitting the back of Marc’s throat was almost too much. Brent’s balls felt tight, his eyes glued to Marc’s, the lazy way he was blinking just as hot as the noises Marc was making in the back of his throat.
Marc’s head started to bob up and down, fast enough it was so fucking perfect that Brent could feel his orgasm building, drawing his balls up tight.
“Marc,” he said urgently, pawing at Marc’s head. “Marc, Marc.”
The words were panicked, Brent cresting the edge of his orgasm. He didn’t know if he could hold off on it any longer, and Marc seemed more than happy for that to happen. He made a low noise in the back of his throat as he slid back down Brent’s dick, the vibrations sending Brent over the edge.
He gasped out Marc’s name, shuddering and trembling his way through his orgasm, afraid his legs were going to give out. Marc had one shoulder under his leg, managing to keep him upright, but Brent had to clutch at his shoulders.
“Fuck,” Brent said emphatically, hauling Marc to his feet. He was leaning too heavy against Marc, but Marc didn’t seem to mind, leaning down for a kiss. The taste of himself on Marc’s tongue had his dick making a half-hearted twitch. Brent didn’t think he had it in him to come again so soon, but he wanted Marc to get there.
“Come on,” he prompted, guiding Marc over to the bed and shoving, sending Marc sprawling over the duvet. Marc was hard, that much was obvious, and it had to be painful. He was thick enough the jeans he was wearing had the zipper digging into his erection.
Brent pressed forward, dipping his head for a kiss, right hand between their bodies to get at Marc’s zipper, dragging it down slow enough that Marc was working against his hand. “I’ll get you there.”
Marc’s eyes were dark, and Brent held his gaze, wondering just how he was going to get Marc off. There was always the option of a blowjob, though the feel of Marc’s fingers had brought Brent off hard enough that he wondered if the same was true for Marc.
“How do you feel,” he started to ask, kissing a line up Marc’s jaw, lips a hairsbreadth away from Marc’s ear, “about fingering?”
Marc’s breath hitched, his hips pressing up against Brent’s palm.
“Or maybe,” Brent continued, shoving at Marc’s jeans, grateful for Marc lifting his hips so they pooled against his thighs. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave Brent enough access to Marc’s dick. Fuck, they weren’t even undressed completely, and Brent couldn’t get enough. “Maybe I’ll just ride you.”
That had Marc leaking precum over his own briefs, and Brent’s mouth watered. He reached over to the cabinet against the bed, knowing where Marc kept the lube and condoms. He fumbled for them both, managing to keep his mouth close enough to Marc’s to exchange sloppy kisses.
Rocking back on his heels, he dropped the condom next to the bed, popping
the cap on the lube. Coating his fingers generously, he managed to tear his face away from Marc’s long enough to free Marc’s dick from his underwear, watching it bob up toward Marc’s stomach.
“Brent,” Marc said in a strangled tone.
“I’ll get you there.” Brent wrapped his fingers around Marc’s dick, stroking once, slowly, and then sliding his thumb over the head. Marc groaned, head pressing hard into the pillows and arching his back a little. Brent didn’t bother to hold him down or ask him to keep still. He loved the lack of restraint, watching Marc come apart under his hands.
Stroking gently, Brent kept up the pace until Marc was slick enough and hard enough he was batting at Brent’s arms, asking him to, “Do something, Christ.”
Brent assured him he would and rolled on the condom slowly, making sure Marc was watching as he hooked a leg over Marc’s hips, settling above him, ass to Marc’s dick. Marc’s eyes were wide, his tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip. Brent grabbed the lube, slicked Marc up some more and nestled the head of his dick against Brent’s ass.
“Fuck,” Marc said, fumbling for Brent’s hips. “Shit.”
“Go slow,” Brent warned, starting to lower his hips. He hadn’t done this too often, but every time, his partner had come painfully fast. It didn’t do much for Brent, but with his own dick already spent, he didn’t have the same sense of urgency. He kept sinking down onto Marc’s dick, working it in slowly.
Marc’s hips twitched, thrusting up a little, and Brent had to dig his fingers into Marc’s hips in warning.
“Don’t move.”
“Sorry,” Marc said, struggling to get his breathing under control.
It was painful, and Brent didn’t think it would ever not be, but there was enough pleasure there, shooting through every muscle in his body, that he was content to ride it out, to work his hips slowly until he was seated fully on Marc’s dick. Marc’s eyes were wide and round, his pupils once again swallowing up most of the color. Brent would never tire of it, of the noises Marc made in his throat, not able to keep them at bay.
“You feel so good,” Brent gasped, managing to compress the pain enough that the little shocks of pleasure were all he could focus on. Marc’s hands moved to his hips, holding him in place while Marc rolled his hips, small rocking motions that had them both groaning. Brent’s fingers curled against Marc’s chest, sobbing Marc’s name as Marc worked against him.
He could see the sweat sheen across Marc’s brow, the slickness of his shoulders as Brent’s hands moved over them. Fuck, but he was so hot, his eyes on Marc’s face, his mouth curving up into a smile as he rocked into Brent’s body. It was intense, and Brent didn’t think he’d ever loved someone so much as he loved Marc, not just in that moment, but in every moment.
He couldn’t help but bury his face in Marc’s neck as Marc’s movements became more erratic, could feel the harsh, hot pants of Marc’s breath against his neck as Marc crept closer toward orgasm.
“I love you,” Brent said, whimpering at a particularly slow, careful thrust. “Marc, fuck, please.”
His dick was starting to find more interest in the proceedings, but it wasn’t making a valiant attempt to get any farther than half mast. It helped with the pain, blending into a steady thrust of please, please, please until Marc groaned, body tensing enough to tell Brent was happening.
Brent groaned as Marc’s grip on his hips tightened, and Marc’s whole body shuddered, making Brent shiver as Marc came, the groan in the back of his throat overly loud in the quiet of the bedroom.
“Hey,” Brent said, once Marc’s eyes were focused back on his. “You with me?”
“Think so,” Marc managed, lips curving into a soft smile.
“I love you,” Brent said, because it bore repeating. He kissed Marc’s jaw as Marc slipped out of him, letting Brent sprawl on his back while he took care of the condom. When Marc tipped back over onto the bed, letting out a small sigh of relief, Brent fumbled for him, drew him close and nestled against him, resting his head just above Marc’s heart.
“I know,” Marc said, sucking in a breath, like he wanted to keep talking. “I—”
“It’s all right,” Brent said, when Marc didn’t say anything else. “I know you feel it here.”
Marc’s eyes went soft, but he still looked annoyed. “I will say it.”
“I know.”
Brent was content to wait.
Epilogue
“Have you been drinking with Brandon again?” Marc asked, raising an eyebrow.
Brent waved a hand, groaning, head pounding as he tried to toe off his shoes. He wasn’t doing a very good job, almost sliding down the wall he was leaning on, staring at his laces, no idea how they worked.
Marc was laughing at him as he came down the hall, sliding an arm around Brent’s waist and planting a kiss on the top of his head. Honestly, being so tall had its advantages, especially when he fit under Marc’s arm perfectly, but his super tall boyfriend wasn’t putting his height to anything useful.
“Help me,” he said, turning his face into Marc’s chest so the words came out muffled.
Huffing another laugh, Marc tapped Brent’s leg, untying the laces of his sneakers when Brent obediently lifted it. “You’re a menace.”
“But, you love me,” Brent said, leaning forward to press a sloppy kiss to Marc’s cheek.
Marc snorted, tugging off one shoe, then going through the same motions with Brent’s left leg. “Do I?”
Brent pouted, and when it was safe to have both feet on the floor—still with no balance, because drunk—he didn’t stop leaning into Marc, looping his arms around his neck and leaning into the curve of Marc’s neck. Perfect height. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Why indeed,” Marc muttered to himself, but there was a smile on his face as he half-walked, half-carried Brent into the living room. The dogs were there, heads cocked—judgmental, Brent thought—and went straight back to ignoring them.
“I don’t think they like me drinking,” Brent slurred. He let Marc drop him down onto the couch and leaned against the back of it, keeping his eyes on Marc as he stepped into the kitchen area. Brent liked their new apartment, it was big with better space for the dogs, and it helped that Marc was never out of his sight for very long.
Maybe Polly was on to something when she said he was a ridiculous drunk.
“Do you like me drinking?” Brent asked, brow furrowing in thought. “You never say.”
“It’s not like you’re getting drunk all of the time,” Marc told him seriously, handing over a drink of water and some aspirin. Brent took them gratefully, letting out a soft sigh, placing the glass carefully onto the coffee table and closing his eyes.
He was startled by Marc dropping down next to him and the touch of Marc’s hand in his hair, brushing slowly through the soft strands. Brent let out a small noise he couldn’t keep from his throat, thinking of something he’d thought all those months ago.
“I wanted this, you know,” he said, turning his face into Marc’s shoulder.
Marc paused, only starting to stroke through Brent’s hair again when he whined at the loss. “Wanted what?”
Brent opened his eyes, stared at Juliette spread out next to Stanley, the two of them asleep. “It was just me and Juliette, and I came home drunk from Brandon. I just,” he paused, swallowing hard, tangling his fingers in Marc’s shirt. “I wanted someone to do what you’re doing.”
“Loving you?” Marc asked. His voice was quiet, wavering, and Brent tipped his head back to meet Marc’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Brent breathed. “Loving me.”
“I do,” Marc assured him. The smile was small but bright, and his fingers brushed hair from Brent’s forehead. “I love you.”
Brent’s chest seized, and it took him three tries to get air back into his lungs. His grip tightened on Marc’s shirt, and he could feel his body trembling. “Really?”
Marc’s expression softened, leaning in so their foreheads were pressed together.
There was nothing hidden in his expression, all love and affection, and Brent couldn’t believe how far they’d come. “Yes, Brent. I love you.”
“Oh, God,” Brent said, kissing Marc hard to keep from saying something else, something ridiculous, and Marc’s hand came to rest on the back of his head, holding him in place. Brent didn’t know how long they kissed, but it was long enough he was hard, lips wet and swollen by the time they parted. “I love you. So much.”
They had come so far, Brent thought, letting Marc pulled him down until they were stretched out on the couch, Brent nestled between Marc’s legs, Marc’s hands in his hair and on the back of his head.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said, into the curve of Marc’s neck.
“I love you,” Marc repeated, kissing Brent’s head. “I don’t think I could have done it without you.”
“Yeah, you could have,” Brent said, pulling back enough to rest his chin on Marc’s chest. “You’re strong in here,” he said, tapping Marc’s chest where his heart beat beneath skin and muscle, “and up here,” he tapped Marc’s head, brushed a thumb over Marc’s cheek, “and I have every faith you would have done it.”
Marc’s expression was fond, so loving that Brent’s heart skipped. “Maybe,” he allowed, kissing Brent chastely. “But I’m glad I did it with you.”
“So am I,” Brent assured him.