by C F White
Mark squashed his legs against Bradley’s thighs. He pondered what a sight it must be, his skinny body on top of the gleaming, muscular and tight masculine form below him. If someone, somewhere, happened to chance on the scene via some left-on webcam, they would surely assume that Mark would be the better bottom. Perhaps it would be expected of him now to scoot up on his knees and slam back down on Bradley’s cock that looked just as annoyed to be left out of the early morning party.
Trouble was, Mark had never been very comfortable with that. He’d done it, yes, once or twice at the command of George. But it had never been very…pleasant. But then Mark peered down to Bradley, the Adonis, the beauty of the man underneath him. The night previous Mark had ravished him, every single inch. And both had climaxed before either of them made a play for taking the other. Then it had turned all terribly cutesy. Seriously, cutesy? And Mark claimed he was a grown-up. So they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms and woken to the sound of gulls chirping. Now this…
Bradley’s cheeky, brash and confident nature was nothing like the prickling influence that George had claimed over Mark in their years together. Not that George had authority over him per se—except, of course, when he’d been his teacher—but George had liked to play games. He preferred to switch the status quo in the bedroom and enjoyed being…taken care of. Which was why, Mark suspected, when Mark had matured to an age where it wasn’t such a strange notion to be “looked after” by him, George had lost interest and sought a younger model to play the part. The irony of it all that then when George had really needed taking care of during his illness, he had died alone. And that, perhaps, was why Mark had taken in all his possessions and looked after them instead. Well, not so much. They’d succumbed to mould and damp in the leaking loft. And now were headed to some landfill, or probably some fly tipping mound somewhere just outside of Dover only to reappear in the blasted English Channel and featuring on the local news about the carelessness of the town folk.
“You think as much as you talk?” Bradley slowed his hand job, angling his head on the pillow to gaze up at Mark with an odd expression Mark couldn’t place.
Mark wriggled, or more rutted into Bradley’s palm. “I think way more than I talk.”
“Wow.” Bradley lifted up, releasing his hand from Mark’s cock to tap his forehead. “It must be real busy up there.”
Mark snorted. He shook himself out in the proper manner and slapped his hands to each of Bradley’s cheeks and kissed him. “Apologies. I endeavour to keep my mind and my mouth shut from now on.”
“Your mouth shut? Really?” Bradley pouted. “I do seem to remember that your mouth was a nice place to set up camp for a while.”
“Ha. You and camping.” Mark cocked his head. “Do you do much camping on your travels around the world?”
“I’m camp everywhere.”
That beaming, bright smile made Mark swoon like a teenager, or like all those women who paid to see Bradley strip. Mark certainly wasn’t feeling like the old fuddy-duddy he usually did first thing in the morning. Huh, maybe that old saying is true, you are as old as the man you feel. Mark chuckled and ran his hands along the hard ridges of Bradley’s back. Bradley shivered, his skin erupting in goose pimples, and he gripped Mark tighter to kiss him.
“Mark, Mark, Mark,” Bradley breathed over his flushed face.
“The repetitions of my name are a little off-putting.”
“Mark, Mark, Mark,” Bradley whispered, then kissed the tip of Mark’s nose. “My Mark.”
“Your Mark?”
“Have I made my mark?”
Mark tsked, then couldn’t prevent the tingle rustling through his entire body. Bradley certainly had made his mark on Mark. And Mark wasn’t sure he’d ever be unmarked. Christ, I really do think far too much. New day, new life, new Mark!
So with that, Mark wriggled away from Bradley’s clutches, and shimmied down his body to once again discover the man who had cracked through his shell. Bradley lay flat, stroking his fingers through the tassels of Mark’s unruly morning hair, and writhed on the sheets. Mark planted kisses on every inch of the man’s smoking-hot skin, to the point it almost burned Mark’s lips. If Bradley had made his mark on Mark, then Mark would ensure he made his mark on Bradley.
Oh, shut up!
Doing just that, Mark licked up the salty sweat glistening on Bradley’s taut stomach and swiped through the prickles of fair hair trailing Bradley’s belly button. The wax job was growing out and it rasped Mark’s tongue. He splayed his hands up Bradley’s chest. Bradley’s nipples were as hard and raging as both their morning woods and Mark flicked one nipple between his fingers, gently squeezing…testing…
Bradley gasped and his dick twinged as he lifted his hips from the mattress. With a satisfied smile, Mark pinched the other one, twirling around it and trailing his tongue farther down to reach Bradley’s cock. It was glorious. Hard, full and ready to be ravaged. Mark’s dick huffed again, seething at being ignored, but Bradley needed seeing to first, if only for Mark to prove to this man that he was a changed fellow. He could take charge, he could get his needs met when he wanted. No longer the wallflower waiting on the sidelines to be told what to do. And never would he allow his deep-seated reservations to prevent him from getting what he wanted.
And what he wanted was to suck Bradley’s cock. His id set free!
Mark opened his mouth, seducing Bradley’s cockhead and not taking his gaze from the blue-green eyes watching him. Mark rather wished there was some hidden camera, as he would have loved to record this moment, if only to have a memento when it all went south. Down under, maybe? Is Bradley still going back home? They hadn’t talked last night in favour of other things, and now the sun raged against the window, reminding Mark that there were still unanswered questions.
Like how the blinking hell had Bradley even gotten into his house?
Mark almost stopped to ask the question, but Bradley’s tighter grip on his hair, urging him to swallow his cock, prevented him from going back to the old Mark ways. And as Mark gobbled Bradley to his root, Mark’s nose hitting flesh, he was actually thankful there was no mirror, or camera. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like right then, bobbing up and down, Bradley’s cock thrusting in and out of his gaping mouth. Bradley’s lips parted, inhaling a breath, and his groans of pleasures spurred Mark on. To hell with what he looked like—the man beneath him was loving this.
“That’s it, Mark.” Bradley raised his hips, lifted his head from the pillow and grunted. “That’s how I like it. Faster.”
Mark obliged, because he was polite that way, but also because the anticipation had gotten to him. He needed to taste Bradley’s explosive glory. And he wanted to taste it forever. Flattening his tongue around the flesh, he sucked harder. His jaw ached and his neck began to seize, but he wouldn’t stop. Bradley scratched his fingernails into Mark’s scalp, groaning and thrusting.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Bradley yelped.
Mark slurped off, dazed, confused. “What? Did I hurt you? What did I do? Oh, shit. Was I too rough? Teeth? Christ!”
Bradley chuckled. And Mark was nearing the thought of slapping him again.
“No, Mark. I just want you, too. Same time. C’mon. Come here.” Bradley beckoned with his hands, then shifted onto his side. “Don’t be shy, Mark.”
After they’d fumbled into position, both lying on their sides with their heads between each other’s legs, Mark’s dick finally thanked him for being allowed in on the morning wake-up. Especially when Bradley wrapped his luscious lips around it and, using his beefy hands to massage Mark’s arse, gorged on Mark’s cock. Mark whimpered, his lips vibrating against Bradley’s flesh raging in and out of his own throat. They sucked in unison, almost as if it was a dance routine that Bradley had been practising for his next stage performance. Now, wouldn’t that be a sight for all the drunken hens!
Bradley hummed, and the sensations rippled through Mark’s cock and into his balls. He responded by grunting
from his throat—his lips wrapped firmly around Bradley’s cock made it impossible for any words to escape into the air. Bradley trembled, his legs quivering, his skin pimpling. He moaned, guzzling harder, faster then trailed along to Mark’s balls to pop one whole into his mouth. Mark raised that movement, with gusto, by lapping up Bradley’s juicy, firm balls. Not so much in sync now as a battle of wills. Who could go faster, deeper, wider, stronger. Who would win first.
Mark did. There’s life in this old dog yet!
Bradley exploded into his mouth, his entire body rippling and trembling. Mark drank and swallowed every last drop, lapping it up as though it was his breakfast. Or morning tea. Bradley, whimpering against him and the bed, didn’t let up on Mark’s cock and Mark could now allow himself to pull away and watch, doing nothing but enjoy the moment of Bradley pleasuring him. And by God, he did. With his mouth now free, Mark yelled into the vacant air as his orgasm rushed over him like a tidal wave of torrid emotion. He thrust his hips, raging his cock into Bradley’s willing mouth, and exploded a stream of pent-up euphoria that Bradley lapped up like his freshly squeezed orange juice. With added juicy bits!
A perfect union. And Bradley claimed he didn’t like his morning beverages hot. Snicker.
Falling onto his back, Bradley caught his breath, panting, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Mark manoeuvred away, lying beside him like when he’d been a teenager and had to top and tail his bedfellow during those awful summer camps. Except for the glistening sweat covering both their bodies and taste of semen on their breaths, that was. Mark blushed.
“So…didn’t want to top after all?” Mark tapped his fingers to his chest. For some reason, that fell from his mouth. Because for the very brief few moments he wasn’t concentrating on sucking the semen from the Aussie, he had been thinking about what it would be like for Bradley to take him. Would it be different? Would he enjoy it?
Bradley tucked his chin into his chest to meet Mark’s gaze. Mark raised both his eyebrows, because he still hadn’t figured out how to do just the one.
“You know how long it takes to clear Better than Butter out of your arse? I thought we’d give that a miss this time.”
Mark laughed, his whole body lifting from the sheets. “I do own lube.”
“Really now? And there I was thinking you just preferred dairy products. Dual uses and all that.”
Mark smiled. His chest fluttered, and the spreading euphoria swam through his veins to put him on a real, natural high. Gosh, I might not even need tea! He then laughed at himself. Tea had never been about need, but want. And habit. And because it tasted good.
Much like how he felt about Bradley.
Bradley perched up on his elbows. “You thinking about tea?”
“I think you might now know all there is to know about me.”
Bradley winked, then slapped Mark’s leg. “C’mon, Mark. Get dressed. We’re going to Macy’s, ’cause you haven’t got any OJ here.”
Mark scooted to sit. “Yes, I have.”
“No, Mark. I drank the entire contents of that waiting for you last night. You could probably taste the pulp in my spunk.”
Mark wriggled his tongue and licked his lips. Yes, yes I can.
* * * *
When Bradley led Mark through into Macy’s Tea Shoppe, the CLOSED sign was hanging face out, but the door was open and the scent of baking pastries sailed around the vacant surroundings. It gave Mark an odd sense of reminiscence, this being how he had first met Bradley all those…days ago? Mark flushed. Days? Really? Days? He’d only known Bradley for a few days and yet here he was in lo—
“Morning, you two.” Macy peered around from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Wondered when you’d be stopping by.”
Mark cleared his throat, shaking off the thought he had almost allowed himself to have. Bradley grinned and pulled out a chair for Mark. Gosh, such a gentleman. Mark sat and Bradley slipped into the seat opposite him.
“Usual, Mark, love?”
“Please, Macy. Make it a bit stronger than usual. I need a wake-up.”
“Bet you do.” Macy chuckled and set to making the tea. She sloped over to their table with a pot for one and a large glass of clean, crisp orange juice for Bradley. She then parked her arse between them and folded her arms over her flowery, fuzzy, jumper-dress ensemble. “Well?”
Mark took his time pouring the tea from the polka dot pot into the china cup. He hummed, stirring the real leaves and adding a splash of milk from the tiny jug. Bradley glugged from his glass. Looks like the poor fellow is rather parched. Mark chuckled to himself.
“Well, what?” Mark asked, sipping the tea. It pinched his lips from the burn, but as he was attempting nonchalance, he didn’t respond to it.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Macy flicked her frizzy ginger bunches with a huff. “Yesterday, you let him walk out.” She flapped her hand toward Bradley, still silent, and pointed an accusatory finger at Mark. “Then you walked out of here like you’d died.”
“I hardly think—” Mark avoided looking at Bradley just then.
“Then I got a call from Damian. He’s on his way, by the way. He’s helping in here for a while.”
“Why do you need help?”
“Because he quit.” Macy flapped her hand at Bradley.
Bradley shrugged.
“And I realise I do need help and he hates working at the theatre, so he’s coming to work here for a bit.”
“But he lives in Canterbury.” Mark drew in his eyebrows. How much had happened in twenty-four hours? He checked his watch. Was he in some time warp? Was he forty already? Bloody hope not. He had a year left to claim he was still in his thirties.
“Yes, so he needs a place to stay.” Macy leapt up to grab a spare mug from the counter, then poured out Mark’s second cup from his pot into hers.
The utter travesty! No bother, Mark had had his fill of hot stuff this morning. His stomach fluttered so he shut it up with another gulp of English Breakfast, ’cause he’d already had an Aussie one. Oh, for fuck’s sake, how old are you, Mark?
“So he’s going to buy your place.” Macy sipped her tea, ginger eyebrows rising.
“What?” Mark slapped the cup onto the saucer. “And where do you suppose I shall live?”
Macy uncurled her pinkie finger from around the handle of the cup. “With him.”
Mark looked at Bradley. He in turn stared back at him with an odd look of someone who was in on a secret but had no interest in sharing it among those who were obviously on the periphery.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, we sorted it all out while you were rushing to Gatwick yesterday. How much did that cost, by the way? An Uber?” Macy chucked her head back while laughing like a hyena.
“I put it on the work account,” Mark admitted with minimal wincing.
“Nice.”
“And what, may I ask, did you all sort out about my life and my house, all whilst I was rushing across counties like I was in some Richard Curtis movie?”
“Awww.” Bradley tilted his neck and wrinkled his nose like a cute bunny rabbit.
Mark tutted. Then swooned.
“That you are going off around the world, like you always wanted.” Macy said that as though it had been posted in the Marsby Gazette and had already become the chip paper for a freshly caught cod supper. “With Bradley. First stop, Sydney, right?”
“Yup.” Bradley nodded and slammed his glass on the table. “Gotta meet the folks, Mark.”
“Good luck with that.” Macy snorted, holding up her cup.
“Whoa, hang on, what?”
No one answered Mark’s very valid question as the bell tinkled and Damian entered the cafe. He grinned, fell into the spare seat and fluttered the oversized scarf around his neck. It was glorious sunshine outside, so the scarf thing was all just one of his bold theatrical entrances.
“Good morning.” Damian reached for the pot of tea.
Mark slapped his hand away. “Get your own.
I think I’ll be needing this.” He slurped the dregs in his mug, the leaves forming shapes around the china. “What is going on here?”
Bradley reached for the cup, swirled it three times, anti-clockwise then turned it upside down on the saucer. He leaned back, crossed his arms and winked.
“Does he know the plan?” Damian angled his head toward Mark, eyes on Macy.
“He’s getting there,” Macy said.
“Right.” Mark shifted in the seat, his gaze on Bradley. “Care to fill in the fuzzy gaps for me?”
“Okay. After you walked out of here, Macy called me,” Bradley replied.
“You answered her calls?”
“Yes. Then my phone died. I popped back here, we had a chat. Macy loaned me the money and I managed to switch my ticket to Sydney for next week instead. And, I got two tickets.”
“Birthday present from me and Damian.” Macy waved off Mark opening his mouth to speak. “For your fortieth. Don’t ask for anything else.”
“So, you’re coming with me to Sydney.” Bradley grinned with those perfectly aligned white teeth. “You’ll meet my folks. We won’t stay with them. I can find somewhere, no probs. I spoke to an old contact and there’s a few jobs I can do out there. Roofing in the day, stripping at night. You”—Bradley pointed at Mark—“can get a job in some English tea shop or something. We earn some cash to then start travelling. Where do you want to go, Mark? Uluru? Then onto Thailand? Wherever you want, I’m taking you. And you’ll have the money from the house sale to Damian—”
“How on earth can you afford to buy my house?” Mark ignored all the other announcements in Bradley’s speech and lurched his gaze on Damian. Why that was the most pressing out of all the rest, he wasn’t sure. But it was still a valid question. Am Dram paid nothing, and box office ticket sales clerk even less.
“I have quite a bit saved for the deposit. We’ll do a private sale. I know an estate agent.” Damian winked. “I need out of Canterbury. The men there are terribly…extra.”
“Hmmm.” If anyone was extra, it was Damian. “And what about Pete?”
