Marcus in Retrograde

by S A Sommers

  His hand reached in and he grabbed the first of the litter: a tiny, wide-eyed, big-eared calico ball of fluff.

  “Well, hello, pretty thing!” He lowered her into the basket, and fished out the other three: an all-black sleek, thin boy, a black and white tuxedo girl, and a creamy tabby boy. They were all situated at the bottom, looking a little dirty, but no obvious fleas and no issues that we could see.

  “Where’s the mom?” I asked, peering in.

  “We’re going to have to lure her out with the kittens and food.”

  “I don’t have cat food.”

  “Tuna?”

  “That I have,” I answered. “But these guys need milk and a bath.”

  He nodded. “That they do.”

  Which was how I wound up running down Thompson Street for the Pet Bar at a quarter to eight, hoping they would be open until I dragged my ass through the doors.

  Mother Cat had been more than willing to hop out of the wall for tuna and her babies. By the time I had gotten back with flea meds, Dawn soap, Kitten Replacement Milk, bottles, nipples, wet and dry food, and a cat carrier, Marcus had coaxed her out and she was in with her kittens in the basket.

  We’d washed each of them, including Mother Cat—which was not fun, but easier when we had the kittens on the counter with her, and settled them all back in the basket, letting MC feed them.

  “You’re a daddy.” Marcus chuckled.

  “I can’t keep them!”

  “Please,” he said.

  “Dude, I cannot keep five cats!”

  “You could keep Mother,” he suggested. “The kittens will be easy to place.”

  I swallowed. “They need to go to the vet, tomorrow.”

  He agreed, “They do. We’ve done as much as we can, but the vet needs to check them out. Can you handle that tomorrow?”

  “I mean, I guess so. I haven’t taken a day off from work in months.” I stared down into the basket at the five of them. MC was a beautiful animal, white with gray and orange tabby spots, and young I guessed. The cream tabby boy was also—

  I groaned, “God, I cannot have a cat!”

  “You’ve already picked them out, haven’t you?”

  “Shit. Yes.”

  He patted me on the shoulder. “Ever had cats before?”

  “Yes,” I groaned. “I grew up on a farm-ish thing.”

  “Farm-ish thing?” His eyes danced with humor.

  “It’s midnight. I’m exhausted. I cannot brain to make the words go for now. I need to sleep.”

  He grew serious. “You’ll be okay over here with Mama and her kittens?”

  “Perfectly fine.” I sighed.

  “Okay, I’m going to take Pollux out for a quick walk and head to bed. Call me and let me know how it goes tomorrow with the kitties?”

  “I’ll even send pictures.”

  “Good man.” He nodded. “Kitty pictures are always welcome.”

  “Won’t you make Pollux jealous?”

  Marcus blinked a few times and looked over at his dog, sleeping near the door. “Uh, he barks at walls.”

  Our eyes went wide, and turned slowly to look at the dog. Marcus looked back at me, and gasped, “He heard the kittens. The whole time. They’re about five weeks old…”

  “They wouldn’t have started meowing with any kind of vocal range until now,” I continued, “but we don’t have dog ears. He would have heard them scraping around and meowing for mama all along.”

  Both of us dropped down to the dog and started giving him pats, pets, and belly rubs. We were cooing over the same dumb mutt who barked me into another room. But he had probably saved the kittens because we had no idea how they got in and out. Which was something else I had to talk to the landlord about.

  Pollux looked both pleased and annoyed with us, and as a show of gratitude stood up sleepily, tripped over his own ungainly feet, and slammed me into Marcus, sending us sprawling on the floor.

  Or, more correctly, sending Marcus to the floor on his back and taking away my support, and send me sprawling across Marcus.

  Across his broad shoulders. His narrow waist. His firm six pack. His sculpted pecs. His defined thighs.

  Fuuuuck.

  His eyes were an amber brown, ringed in a dark soil color, and his pupils were huge. His hair was a dirty, light brown, almost blond and now a mess from flopping over. He was shocked, surprised, unsure, and really turned on.

  A flood of emotions poured through me, wrecking me, eroding walls and dams and levees that normally blocked and redirected all this shit. This time, it plowed right through me.

  Marcus Romano was fucking gorgeous.

  And I wanted to get to know him even more.

  Before I could put any thoughts in my head, or pull any out or screw all this up by thinking, I pressed forward and slammed my mouth over his.

  He let out a little gasp, just a little one, and then took the fuck over.

  His tongue pressed against me, pushed against my lips and invaded my mouth. As demanding as that was, his lips were liquid, warm, inviting on mine. He moved them slowly and carefully, as his tongue did the same with mine. I felt pure heat race through me, and the languid desire seemed to follow, landing in my balls.

  I hadn’t felt this hard in years.

  While his assault on my mouth continued, his fingers laced up into my hair, scraping my scalpe lightly, teasing the nape of my neck. His other hand slipped down my back, tracing my spine, and spreading wide over the globe of my ass.

  He squeezed, slowly.

  The sensation of his heightening pressure on me through my jeans did crazy things to my brain, my whole body.

  I felt like I was going to come in my pants like I was thirteen again.

  With a quick move, Marcus rolled us so he was above me and his weight on me felt so damn amazing. I could feel his hard cock pressing against mine through the sweat pants we were wearing.

  “Holy God, Chase…” His breath was ragged as he leaned his forehead on mine.

  “You kiss like a dream.”

  He moved his hips over mine, rubbing us together. “I want to drag you into that bed. But if I do that we’ll never climb out tomorrow.”

  I reached down between us and slipped my hand under the waistband of his pants. “You’re absolutely correct on that.” I trailed my fingers down his erection and cupped his balls. “But we’re not getting up until you get off.”

  His hand didn’t bother trying to be subtle. He shoved the pants off my hips, dragging my boxers with them, and let them rest halfway down my thighs. I took his cue and did the same with his.

  Marcus’ big hand brought our cocks together, and he held them tightly, slipping his thumb over the head and gathering the pre-cum, moving his hand up and down. “I need to make you come, Chase.”

  “Yes, God, yes,” I hissed.

  He leaned down to my ear, and for the first time in the weeks we’d spent together, I heard Marcus Chastain’s delicious fuck me bedroom voice. “I have wanted to touch you almost since the day I met you. I have craved your taste like a man in a desert craves water.”

  Oh, God. All I could do was whimper at his words. So many times I heard those perfect tones in my ears when I listened to him narrate those filthy words, his sounds, his breaths in the headphones, while my hand made quick work of my own cock.

  Now, they were his words, and his hand, and he was above me pressing me to the floor of my own bedroom. Real, live, sexual, sultry, and oh so fucking good.

  I hadn’t even realized I was building the emotional connection I needed with him for this to happen, and it felt better than just about anything else—or one—I had ever done in my life.

  “You feel like steel in my hand, Chase. Your skin is hot and you’re so perfectly thick against me.”

  “Marcus…”

  “I want your cum on me.”

  There was no stopping me at that point. I arched into his body, pressing our dicks against his stomach and the orgasm just roared out of my body,
spilling every last drop of cum I had in my balls all over him, me, our cocks, his hand, our shirts. Not even three strokes of his massive hand later, he roared his climax as well, joining his release with mine all over our bodies.

  He released our spent erections a moment after, and he wrapped his hands under my arms, rolling us to our sides.

  I was staring into his amazing eyes.

  “Hi.”

  The blast of air escaped me unbidden. “Fuck.”

  Marcus laughed. “Good?”

  “Sweet Jesus, yes.”

  He leaned in and kissed me, a lazy languid motion of his lips over mine. “I really wish I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow.”

  “You really wanted me all this time?” I asked.

  “Even when I thought you were straight. You have a very hot ass, Mister Garcia.”

  I looked down between us. “We should clean up.”

  He closed his eyes and pinched his nose. “I am going to go back to my apartment and clean up. If I clean up here, we’re just going to end up naked in bed.”

  “You make that sound so bad.”

  Marcus smirked. “It’s not bad. But it’s Thursday and you need time to absorb all this.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “I did some reading on demisexuality, and you need to process everything that’s happened. I don’t want to scare you, or scare you off.”

  “Well, that’s very considerate of you, Mister Romano.” I grinned. “Wikipedia?”

  “Nope, found all kinds of other resources.” He was very proud of himself. “You have to take the kittens to the vet tomorrow, and I have an important client meeting. It’s smarter if I sleep in my own place.”

  I nodded. “It makes a lot of sense.” I kissed his nose. “Dinner? Tomorrow night?”

  He gave me a blinding, full tooth grin. “It’s a date.”

  God, it was a date.

  MARCUS

  Chaser: I hope your day is as amazing as my night was.

  Marcus302: Ooh, did you have a good time?

  Chaser: Why yes I did. In fact I have the hottest, frottiest rug burn on my ass ever.

  Marcus302: I forgot about the berber!

  Chaser: Why do you think this is a problem? I’m going to think about you and that lovely dick every time I move in a chair today.

  Mrph. Now I was going to think about rug burn on his ass, all day.

  “I really hope you’re looking at your phone,” Hardy mumbled. “No one should smile at their crotch like that.”

  Jerry laughed. “Well, he does like—”

  “Jerry!” Sorcha snapped, trying not to laugh.

  “Yeah, my own doesn’t usually bring me that much joy,” I answered, sleeping the phone. “I was however talking to one that does.”

  Sorcha groaned, but the tension in the room from the meeting we were waiting on broke and everyone chuckled. Much better than just a few minutes before.

  We were going over the new contract for a ten-episode series on a streaming network that the network and the producers were sure would get renewed. This was big stuff and the whole reason I hadn’t I picked Chase up off the floor and shagged his ass raw last night.

  This was important. I needed my name on productions, on big successful ones. It wasn’t using my voice, but between the audiobooks and this production, it was the right combination for my resume.

  The speaker in the middle of the table beeped, and Vi’s voice floated out of the speaker. “Jerry, the production team is here.”

  “I’ll be right out.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve done a thousand of these, and I still get nervous.” Pulling the door open, he headed out and into the lobby.

  “You all ready?” Hardy asked, and looked at his new assistant.

  Raphael swallowed hard. “Deep end of the pool,” he said, nodding.

  “If he starts singing Shallow, I’m out,” Gabe said, but the smile on his face didn’t match his anger.

  “I can’t sing like Gaga,” Raph answered.

  I patted him on the shoulder. The poor guy was in here for the second day on the job. He was nervous as Hell, but Hardy had liked him so much he’d hired him on the spot. HR was still trying to get everything processed for him, but Jerry was as enthusiastic as Hardy.

  We could all see Jerry walking through the hall through the opaque film of the windows, and heard him chatting with the four people following him.

  He opened the door and motioned everyone in as we all walked behind our own chairs and pulled them out to sit. With my ass halfway down to the seat, my worst nightmare walked into the room.

  Edward George Roberts.

  Eddie.

  Ed.

  The man who had helped to destroy my entire life so badly the implications were still ringing through the past six years.

  His eyes landed on me, at first growing round with shock, and then sliding into his snake oil smile I knew too well.

  I couldn’t be on this contract. I couldn’t. It was bad enough I had to do work for him early on, but he didn’t know it was me-me then. Now he was staring at me.

  “Gentleman, ladies, let’s sit and start a conversation about your contract on postproduction sound for this show,” an older man with J. Jonah Jameson hair said.

  “Sir, if I may,” Ed said, leaning forward. “I don’t know if we want this particular team.”

  “Ed, this is the team that did your last episodes of—”

  “Hadn’t realized that Marcus Romano was part of that,” he bit out. “I would have turned down the replacements. Mister Romano doesn’t have the best reputation in mixed company.”

  I slammed my hands on the table and stood. “I’m out. Don’t worry about me touching any of your audio. Sorry, Jerry, I’ll go work on my other assignments.” I snatched my cup of coffee and marched out of the room.

  “That solved itself.” I heard Ed laugh as the door was closing behind me.

  Furious, I marched through the office and back down the stairs to my dungeon studio and slammed the door. I started up all the equipment and ripped the newest paperwork off the wall so I could see what my day was going to look like.

  “Marcus!”

  I snapped my eyes up to the door. Sorcha was standing there.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  “I’m off the project,” I said. “Don’t ask me to go back, don’t ask me what this is about. Keep me away from Ed Roberts, and keep him away from me.”

  “Marc, this is a huge contract. Jerry wants you—”

  “Jerry is not the issue. Ed is the issue. He will destroy this, us, the company if I am near him. I need to stay very very far away from him. I should probably take a vacation day every time he comes into the office.”

  “Jesus, Marc…”

  “Go back to the meeting, Sorcha. I’ll handle everything else you guys can’t during the show.”

  She hovered in the door and clearly wanted to say something. I held up my hand and turned back to the soundboard. “Just go. Trust me, just go.”

  She pulled the door closed after a moment and I stared at the lights, knobs, and sliders in front of me.

  This sucked.

  I stared at the board. I just stared at it. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t function. When Sorcha had mentioned Ed, I had hoped it was a one off. Now…I’d been in the same room with him—and I still had a restraining order out against him. I wasn’t even supposed to be legally in the same building.

  Thumping my head on the board, I stared at the rug. I would have literally been better off with anyone else except Ed. I could handle even the worst of the gang as long as it wasn’t Ed.

  But it was. And now I had to figure out what the hell to do because I didn’t want to lose my job, but I didn’t want to invite him into my life, and into the parameters of the restraining order.

  Not that there was anything I could do now to stop him. He’d found me, and I was sure he was the same amazing douche he’d been in college.

  There was a hand on my should
er and I looked up. It was Jerry with his tie was undone and he looked frazzled.

  “You okay, Marcus?”

  “What are you doing? Why aren’t you in the conference room—”

  “It’s all done, Marc. It’s two in the afternoon.”

  I had lost five hours of my life. All because of that son of a bitch. He’d managed to black me out again. I struggled to push to my feet. “Jerry, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that...”

  He waved his hand to cut me off. “What happened?”

  “I…”

  He closed the door. “First. What happened just now? Why are you so disoriented?”

  “Blacked out apparently,” I said. “Not the first time.”

  “Drinking? Medical issue?”

  “Does bullying count?”

  “Yeah, it sure does,” Jerry said. “Ed Roberts?”

  “Can I not talk about it?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No. Because you’re on the team, and I want to know what the obstacles are we’re up against.”

  I sat up a little straighter in the chair. “I’m what?”

  “You’re on the team,” he said. “It was non-negotiable. I told them to walk if they thought I was taking you off.”

  “You…”

  “You’re part of the team, you’re on the team.” He nodded. “Now, what’s going on, and do I need to know to call 911, or is there something I can do without that?”

  I pursed my lips and chewed on my cheek. “I literally cannot legally be in the room with Ed Roberts. There’s a restraining order involved. He and I had…some run ins during college and I just felt better with a legal shield against him.”

  “Dude, I had no idea. I would never—”

  Holding up my hand, I stopped him. “I moved here to get away from the last of the fallout. The last of the fallout was in Troy. I moved back to Troy to get away from the fucking mess that consumed me at Boston Conservatory. It’s been five years since I barely made it out alive with a degree. There is absolutely no way you could have known that Ed Roberts was my mortal enemy.”

  His eyebrow rose. “Mortal enemy.”

  I huffed out a breath. “Yes. Mortal enemy. He fucked me over so hard in college.” I gasped, “Oh, shit, Chase.”