by L. C. Chase
“You’re showering with the wrong people, then.” A light flush colored Trevor’s cheeks before he turned to step inside the shower stall, pulling Marc with him. He angled their position so Marc was under the spray, and reached around behind him for the soap, holding Marc’s gaze the whole time. It wasn’t until he’d begun to slowly soap up Marc’s body that he finally let go of his hand, using both to spread the lather.
Marc stood still, watching Trevor as he almost lovingly went about making sure not an inch of Marc was left untended to. He kneeled down to scrub Marc’s legs, his groin, his balls, his penis, which liked the attention enough to begin filling out. Trevor looked up to meet his gaze and smiled. The tenderness in those eyes hit him right under the breastbone, breaking open a piece of himself too-long denied. But the taste of joy was tinged with something else . . . like yearning or regret. He couldn’t be sure of which.
He cupped Trevor’s cheek and then slid a finger along the seam of his mouth. Trevor opened and sucked the finger inside. But it was more than the act that struck Marc in ways he hadn’t expected; it was the care and reverence Trevor was showing him. As though Marc was someone who mattered.
Loneliness. That’s what it was. That was the feeling tainting the joy and contentment he’d been feeling nearly from the moment Trevor had sat down at his table the night before. Trevor’s company made the emptiness all the more apparent. How many years was it now that he’d spent the holidays alone? Even before his mom told him it was time for him to move out, Christmas had been something to dread rather than look forward to. This time of year only amplified his unworthiness and left him pining away the holiday until he could get back on a normal schedule at work.
“Hey.” Trevor’s voice drew him back to the here and now. “Where did you go?”
“I’m right here.”
Trevor rose to his feet and held the soap out. “Good, ’cause now it’s my turn.”
“Turn around, Picasso,” Marc teased.
Trevor raised his eyebrows before turning his back to Marc. “Ha-ha. I’m far better than that hack.”
“Hmm . . .” Marc kissed the nape of Trevor’s neck and then nipped, earning a subtle tremble and a moan. “I think you just pissed off every art major on the planet.”
“What’s art without a little controversy?” A hint of breathlessness in Trevor’s voice made Marc smile.
“What, indeed.”
Marc ran his hands along the solid planes of Trevor’s back, grazing the dimples just above his gorgeous butt cheeks, and slid the back of his hand through the crack. Marc had only been teasing about having sex in the shower. Mostly. This right now, though, just caressing each other, relaxing under the steady flow of hot water . . . He couldn’t imagine a better way to end this random encounter.
And he refused to analyze why that thought made him frown.
Trevor disconnected the call and sighed, dropping his phone on the table with a thunk.
“No luck?” Marc asked as he exited the bathroom, stark naked and rubbing his shower-damp hair with a towel, his olive skin heat flushed, and Trevor’s mouth watered.
He licked his lips and shook his head, watching Marc cross the room and pull a pair of sweatpants from his gym bag. “The airport is still grounded, and there are apparently over four thousand people camping out on the floors there. No one is flying anywhere today, and with that many already trying to rebook flights home, even if the runways reopen tomorrow, chances are slim I’ll get on one.”
Marc paused with his pants halfway on, and the warmth in those deep eyes tugged at Trevor’s heart. “And tomorrow is Christmas Day. I’m really sorry you’ll miss spending it with your family.”
“Thanks, but not much I can do about it,” Trevor said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as upset as he was. His last Christmas, and he wouldn’t be with them.
“Except make the most of it with a certain handsome stranger?” Marc waggled his eyebrows, and Trevor had to laugh.
“Except that,” he agreed. They had definitely made the most of it—more than once—and he had the dull but glorious ache in his backside to prove it. He could go for more. No. There wouldn’t be more. Ever.
A serious expression stole over Marc’s features as if he’d heard Trevor’s thoughts. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. Whatever he’d been about to say stalled at the simultaneous knock at the door, call of “Room service,” and chirp of a cell phone.
Trevor stood, watching Marc, who snapped his mouth shut and only nodded before breaking their intense eye lock to answer his phone.
Trevor retrieved their breakfast cart with a thank-you and a tip, and then went about laying out their meals on the table. Scrambled eggs with bacon, hash browns, toast, and coffee for Marc; egg whites, fresh fruit, and water for Trevor. He’d already taken his vitamins, iron supplement, and meds while Marc had been finishing up in the bathroom, not wanting to have to explain the daily concoction, but popped two protein binders with a sip of the water. If Marc saw, he’d likely just assume they were vitamins.
“I’m just over at a hotel off the turnpike. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Marc said. Paused, then, “Thank you.” He ended the call, frowning as he pulled a T-shirt over his head and sat at the table across from Trevor.
“Everything okay?” Trevor asked.
Marc nodded, the frown gone as though it had never been there. “They’ve cleared the road. I’d left my number on the windshield so I wouldn’t get towed, but I can’t wait too long.” He raised an eyebrow at each of their plates and gave Trevor a pointed look. “On a diet?”
“Something like that,” Trevor said, finding himself with the urge to frown, now, too. But what for? This had been a beautiful way to pass the time, nothing more. In another life though . . . Marc might have been the kind of man he’d want more with.
“I’m suddenly feeling like a glutton,” Marc said.
“Nah. I like a man with a healthy appetite,” Trevor said and then flushed when the unintended innuendo lit a spark in Marc’s eyes and tugged his lips into a sexy grin.
“Can I give you a ride somewhere? Home?” Marc dug into his breakfast with gusto, pulling a surprised smile from Trevor. He’d always loved to watch a man with a hearty appetite eat. He couldn’t say why, but maybe it came from his nights on family dinner duty when he was growing up. Seeing people he cared about enjoying something he’d created for them gave him a wonderful feeling. Cooking had become a passion, right along with his art. And some would call cooking an art form too. He certainly did.
“Thank you, but no,” he said, fighting a sudden longing to cook for Marc. “Boulder Canyon is snowed in, and crews don’t anticipate getting the road open today. Even if I get back to the shuttle stop where I left my car, I won’t be able to get up the mountain. I’m stuck here until I can get a flight out.”
The fork Marc had been raising to his mouth paused, and that serious, thoughtful expression Trevor had seen earlier resurfaced. “So you’ll be spending your Christmas here? In a hotel, by yourself?”
Another wave of homesickness, ten times stronger than last night, flooded through Trevor’s veins, but he smiled, refusing to let it show. “With a couple hundred other stranded travelers also missing Christmas with their families, I won’t be alone.”
Marc studied him for a long moment, breaking the stare just before Trevor had the urge to squirm. Damn. If that look was anything like what Marc shot at the opposing bench in court, no wonder he was as successful as he claimed.
“Do you have a big family? Are you close?” Marc asked, funneling that attention back to his breakfast. He lifted his gaze, and the faintest of blushes colored his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nosy, but . . . it’s only fair, since some strange force came over me last night and I spilled my guts.” He grinned. “Must have been all that artsy mojo stuff you’ve got going on.”
Trevor laughed. “‘Artsy mojo’?”
Marc shrugged without looking up, embarrassed maybe.
Trevor popped a strawberry in his mouth, pausing for a moment to chew before he spoke. One thing he’d learned last night was that there was a big emptiness inside of Marc. He needed someone in his life who would support him one hundred ten percent, who would always be there for him. No matter what. As much as Trevor might want to try to be that person, it just wasn’t in the cards for him. He would leave Marc, and soon, whether he wanted to or not.
“I was adopted as a baby,” he finally answered, “by the best family I could have ever asked for.”
Marc lifted his gaze and smiled. “Those are the stories I like to hear.”
“I have to agree,” Trevor said. “My mom wasn’t able to have children of her own, and she hates that there are so many unwanted children out there. I’ve got three brothers and two sisters, and we’re an ethnic bunch of misfits. Even my parents: Dad is white and Mom is Hispanic. Xavier and Olivia are both Hispanic and older than me; the youngest of the bunch are Adeline and Alex, Chinese and white respectively; and Isaac, who is the same age as me, is black. Isaac and I have a long-standing argument over which of us is actually the older brother. Sometimes I think he’s the oldest of all of us, with the way he takes care of everyone, including Mom and Dad.”
“Sounds like a tight-knit family,” Marc said, and Trevor didn’t miss the note of longing in his rich voice.
“We are, but much to Mom and Dad’s dismay, we’re all grown up now, and me, Xavier, and Olivia moved out of state. Adeline still lives with them, Isaac’s only five minutes away, and Alex lives a little farther out, but still in Connecticut.”
“So what brought you all the way out to Colorado?”
“The mountains.” Trevor smiled. “They feed my artistic soul. I mean, my artsy mojo.”
Marc chuckled and put his fork down, his plate spotless. A wistful light flashed through his forest-colored eyes. “Yeah,” he said. Just a couple of feet separated them, yet his voice managed to sound distant. “I can see that.”
After breakfast, Marc gathered his belongings and called a cab. Now that the turnpike was open again, it was too dangerous to walk across it to retrieve his car. Trevor went with him to the hotel registration desk so he could take over Marc’s room for another day, and a nagging sense of apprehension snaked back into Marc’s bones. He needed to get going so he could work on his new case, but some part of him was digging its heels in, not wanting to end this . . . thing. He stomped it down. With biker boots on his mental feet.
“I’m sorry,” the front desk clerk said as she handed back Marc’s credit card. “There’s a waitlist for rooms, with so many people stuck, and your room was already rebooked.”
“Oh,” Marc said, not sure what to say, or that there was anything to say, and turned to Trevor. “I’m sor—”
“That’s fine,” Trevor said, raising a hand. He smiled through clear disappointment in his eyes, fatigue lines bracketing the corners of his mouth. “Those chairs by the lobby fireplace look comfortable enough to sleep on.”
Marc worried his lip. Why did this feel so wrong? Leaving Trevor here alone, right before Christmas, to sleep in a chair? And why wasn’t he just saying, Thanks for a great night and going on about his life, like he should be? Leaving a hookup shouldn’t be that difficult. It should be simple. Except it wasn’t.
They’d done more than spend a few hours finding release in each other. They’d talked for half the night, and he’d discovered he genuinely liked the man currently standing in front of him on a sunny but frigid Colorado morning. Trevor had somehow managed to touch Marc in a way no one had in all his life. But . . . hell. How to tell a man he’d only meant to pass a night with that he didn’t want to part ways so soon?
He ran his hands through his hair as Trevor watched him with an intensity that sent a shiver through this body.
They broke the nervous silence at the same time.
“Well—”
“Look, I—”
They laughed. He knew his sounded a touch shaky, but Trevor’s sounded melancholy. Did he want what Marc did, too? Trevor looked toward the hotel doors, where a steady stream of taxis was shuttling people back to their cars or homes.
Marc squared his shoulders and opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his lips when Trevor turned his attention back to him, expression unreadable, and held out his hand.
“I enjoyed meeting you, Marc. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
So, he didn’t want what Marc did, then. He was eager to say good-bye and get on with his life. Because it was just a random one-night encounter, nothing more.
Marc stared at the extended hand for a second, reining in his useless fantasies, and met Trevor’s eyes, searching for but not finding that spark that promised something more. He forced a smile that felt bittersweet but tasted only sour, and nodded, accepting Trevor’s gesture.
“One I won’t forget anytime soon,” he said. He held on a moment longer and then let his hand slip slowly from Trevor’s, fingertips caressing his palm as they broke contact, leaving tingling skin in the wake of a last touch. “Take care of yourself, Trevor. Merry Christmas.”
Trevor pursed his lips slightly, suddenly looking wary, as if Marc had somehow just said the wrong thing. But all Trevor said was, “And to you.”
The moment stretched on, standing almost frozen in time, until someone stepped into the edge of their private bubble and broke the spell.
“Your cab is here, sir,” the concierge said.
Marc turned to the man. “Thank you,” he said, then looked back at Trevor, smiled again, and with a sharp nod began walking toward the waiting cab. Every step felt heavier than the last, and he had to fight with himself not to turn around, walk back, say what he’d meant to say. But no, Trevor had made it clear. There was no more. He knew that too, but . . .
But there was.
Marc spun around with every intention of giving in to the urge and calling Trevor back, saying it was crazy but what the hell, let’s see if this can go somewhere. But the spot where Trevor had been on the other side of the glass doors was now empty.
“Where to, sir?”
Marc turned back to the waiting cab driver, who was patiently holding the rear passenger-side door open.
“My car’s on the turnpike,” Marc said, climbing into the vehicle. He took one more glance back at the hotel, buckled his seat belt, and sighed. The empty wasteland that had become his life stretched farther than ever before, now beyond the horizon and into endless abyss.
Trevor headed for the lounge, fighting the urge to turn around and ask Marc to . . . What? Tell him he’ll take that ride after all? But to where? He couldn’t get up the mountain today, and there was no point in going to the airport. Ask Marc to stay at the hotel with him when the man had a home he could get to? And what about tomorrow? He’d been too caught up in the disappointment of missing Christmas with his family that he’d never actually asked what Marc’s plans were, other than gathering he was spending it in town. From the sound of things, Marc didn’t have family to spend it with, but surely he had friends to share the day.
But if he didn’t . . . Wouldn’t it be better to spend the day with someone whose company he’d thoroughly been enjoying than alone in a hotel full of strangers?
Inside the lounge, his gaze was immediately drawn to the table where he’d first sat with Marc, where a spell had been cast that had made him wish for a different life. For more time.
A heavy weight settled in his chest as he turned around and made his way toward the plush leather chairs that horseshoed in front of a large rock fireplace in the main lobby. He dropped into a chair, his body feeling twice as burdensome as usual, exhausted, as though he’d just run a marathon. He watched the flames jump and dance. Peripherally he was aware of movement around him, of people coming and going, of time inching eternally forward, but he sat still, wishing for things that could never be.
Just as well Marc had gone on his way. Trevor knew already he’d only want more of the man, eve
n though he wouldn’t fully be able to have him. He was already living on borrowed time, had been for a while. His damaged kidneys kept losing more and more function, and it wouldn’t be long now before they failed completely, dialysis or not, without a transplant. Soon he’d no longer even be eligible for one.
That would be the height of selfishness, wouldn’t it? No, he couldn’t do that to anyone, least of all not a man like Marc.
He took a deep breath and dragged his sketchbook out of his bag. Settling the book on his lap, he flipped to the page where he’d drawn Marc in the silent hours of night. It was still a chaos of rough outlines simply giving the impression of form, but to Trevor, it was unmistakably Marc. His fingers twitched to trace the lines and curves of graphite, as if that were some sort of lifeline connecting him with a man he could only dream about from this point on.
With a sigh, he closed the book, placed both hands flat on the cover, and closed his eyes. He had to stop this. There were more important things to think about, like how to broach the topic with his mom that his kidneys were on the verge of a nosedive. Serious complications loomed large and fatal on the horizon, and he was considering stopping dialysis instead of putting them all through needless pain. That was not going to be an easy or pleasant conversation, but it was one that couldn’t be avoided.
“Mind if I join you?”
The resonant voice had a smile in it, and Trevor would have recognized it anywhere. He snapped his eyes open, and there before him stood Mr. Marc Handsome. In the flesh.
A distant voice in Trevor’s mind expressed gratitude that he had closed his sketchbook. He stood up, dropping the pad to the seat of the chair without thought.
“What are you doing here?” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. A sense of joy and hope he couldn’t possibly suppress rose in his chest, and for a moment, he didn’t even want to try.
Marc shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down, his expression and movements uncertain, revealing chinks in his confidence. When he once again met Trevor’s gaze, the hope Trevor was feeling was reflected back at him in shades of warm green.