by Jerry Cole
“Brent,” Marc started, probably to start some ridiculous spiel about how he wasn’t that good, he just did it for a hobby.
Brent gave him a pointed look. “What I know about photography, I learned at uni. If I tell you this shit is good, it’s good, all right?”
Marc looked startled, then snorted, dropping his head. Brent could see the smile on his face. “Yeah, whatever.”
Brent would have to work on getting Marc to believe him. Their relationship—and Marc in particular—was always going to be a work in progress, but Brent couldn’t bring himself to mind.
A knock at the door broke them out of whatever mood they found themselves in. Marc jumped to his feet, grabbing his wallet on the way to the door, and Brent kept going through the pictures. He was grateful he hadn’t started to eat, not wanting to get grubby fingerprints all over the photos.
They really were good photographs.
Some of them had been taken in the VA; Brent recognized some of the people, a lot of the rooms. Stanley took up a good portion of the binder, and Brent had just opened a couple of pages dedicated to somewhere he didn’t recognize when Marc came back with the takeout cartons.
“Where is this?”
“Montreal,” Marc said, without missing a beat. Brent was watching his face, but there was no particular change in Marc’s expression. “I went home right after I was discharged.”
Nothing else was forthcoming, and though Marc started to tuck into his food, Brent knew it was an avoidance tactic. He didn’t know whether to bring it up or not, and reached for his own food, poking at the rice with his chopsticks, frowning into the box as if it held all the answers. “Your parents didn’t want to help you?”
Marc’s face immediately shifted into distress, and Brent bit his lip on saying anything else. “I don’t know.”
Brent wanted to ask more questions, but he knew Marc was not comfortable. He ate a little more of his dinner, shooting looks at Marc occasionally, but not knowing what to say. “Sorry.”
“No,” Marc said, abruptly enough that Brent blinked. Marc made a face at his own vehemence and then sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, but.” There was another pause. Instead of pushing or going back to eating, Brent waited him out. “After I came home, all they could talk about was David, and it became apparent quickly that every time they spoke to me, they blamed me for it.”
Brent grit his teeth against the urge to say something scathing. Even if Marc’s parents had been dicks about David’s death, cussing them out wouldn’t do Marc any good. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
Marc smiled, a little more honest and warmer, but kept his eyes on his carton. “Thanks.”
“What did I say about that?” Brent said, aiming for levity. “Always with thanking me even when there’s no need for it.”
“Thank you,” Marc said, enunciated and with a cheeky grin.
Brent laughed. “You.” He moved the cartons to the coffee table, keeping them out of the way, and leaned over to cup the back of Marc’s neck, drawing him into a kiss. He tasted like chicken and sauce, but Brent didn’t care.
“You should stay over,” Marc said, eyes dropping to Brent’s mouth. Brent licked at his bottom lip just to see the way Marc tracked it, the sudden intake of breath.
“Oh?” Brent asked, sliding into Marc’s lap, and resting his forearms on the back of the couch. Marc was staring into his eyes, a little reverent. All Brent had done was appreciate his hobby, eat dinner, and stick around, but Brent was fast learning that even the little things seemed to overwhelm Marc sometimes.
Being abandoned by everyone he knew had really done a number on him, and Brent reiterated the thought he had at the VA center; everyone in Marc’s life deserved a punch to the face. Or at least a good talking to. Marc was such a great person, even with his mental health issues, and if people couldn’t see that, they didn’t deserve him.
“I can stay over,” Brent said, when it was clear Marc wasn’t going to say anything else.
Marc’s smile was wide and bright, and it made Brent’s chest tight with want. “Even though you live next door?”
Brent ducked his head, tugging Marc in for a kiss. He let it drag on, pulling back only to dive back in, tongue sliding between Marc’s teeth, the feel of Marc’s hands tightening around his hips. “There’s something about sharing a bed with someone special, no?”
Brent was expecting a I wouldn’t know or at least it does, huh?
Instead, Marc dragged him back in, kissing him hard and siding his hands into the back of Brent’s sweatpants, cupping his ass. God, he would never tire of Marc’s touches and the way he looked at Brent like he was everything. “I’m about to find out.”
Fuck. Fuck.
Brent didn’t know what to say, throat working but no words coming out. Marc didn’t seem to mind, one hand going to the back of Brent’s head, holding him place so Marc could keep kissing him, only pulling back when Brent’s lips were numb. He could only imagine what he looked like, if Marc’s hair, his kiss-swollen lips and dark eyes were any indication.
Marc’s dick was hard, the outline obvious when Brent looked down, and he smirked, licking at his lips. Marc shifted Brent’s hips, close enough he could roll their dicks against each other, and Brent grunted, clutching at Marc’s arms.
“Take me to bed,” he bit out, unable to tear his eyes away from Marc’s face.
Not bothering to reply, Marc hefted Brent up and tried to stand, unable to take all of Brent’s weight and crashed back into the couch. Brent burst out laughing, biting at Marc’s lips as they kissed, thankfully not drawing blood. He pulled back, snorting.
Marc sighed, but he was smiling in amusement. “That went a lot better in my head.”
“How about we walk into the bedroom,” Brent offered, and helped tug Marc to his feet. “You can do all of the heavy lifting elsewhere.”
Waggling like his eyebrows had the benefit of Marc laughing his way free of embarrassment, and Brent continued to tug him toward Marc’s bedroom. He had never seen it up close, the two of them usually ending up on the couch, and though the layout was like Brent’s—bedroom in the same place—Marc’s was a little more cluttered. He was messy, and Brent would be giving Marc shit for that later on, but it was minimalist and white. The bed was large, bigger than Brent’s, and Brent raised his eyebrows.
Marc shrugged, unrepentant. “It’s a nice bed. It’ll be even better with you on it.”
Brent couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculous line, tumbling down onto the bed when Marc gave his chest a shove. The bed was soft, the blankets too, Brent thought, as he shuffled up the bed. Marc followed, rocking back on his ankles he tugged his sweater off, tossing it amongst the dirty clothes already littering his floor.
“You didn’t think to pick up your laundry?”
“It’s just you,” Marc said, hands on Brent’s thighs, warm even though the material of Brent’s sweatpants. Brent’s breath caught in his throat, both at the touch and the words.
“Just me?”
Marc nodded, working his bottom lip between his teeth, settling between Brent’s open legs. “I trust you’re not gonna leave me for dirty clothes on the floor.”
Fuck, Marc was gonna kill him.
Brent tugged Marc in for a kiss, unable to form words he wanted, so he kissed his feelings into Marc instead. Not that it was possible, but whatever, Brent was gonna try and let Marc know in other ways just how much he appreciated everything about Marc.
Marc’s hands slipped under Brent’s t-shirt, pausing to rub his thumbs over Brent’s abs. Brent groaned, stretching out, head nestled amongst Marc’s many pillows. Brent would probably have thrown some off the bed if he wasn’t already busy. Marc dipped his head, rucking up Brent’s shirt with his hands so he could kiss and nip at Brent’s stomach.
Brent’s hands dropped to Marc’s shoulders, just sliding against the smooth skin of Marc’s back as Marc’s mouth worked its way up. Marc tucked Brent’s t-s
hirt up under his armpits, mouth taking Brent’s right nipple into his mouth, teasing at the pert nub with his lips and teeth.
Brent felt a jolt of pleasure in his groin, heels digging into the mattress as he arched into Marc’s mouth. He had always had sensitive nipples, but nobody had ever taken as much care to work with that like Marc. Not that Marc knew yet—except he had to now—with the way Brent was reacting. He twisted his body, not sure whether he wanted Marc to release his nipple or keep going, and Marc pressed his forearm to Brent’s stomach, holding him down.
“Fuck,” Brent said, digging his nails into Marc’s back. “Please, fuck, please.”
Marc looked up only long enough to shoot Brent a grin, before moving to the left nipple, teasing and licking until it was wet. Brent whined low in his throat, almost jerking off the bed as Marc blew against the soft nub, grazing it with his teeth.
“Oh,” Brent managed to gasp out, feeling his dick fill in his sweatpants. He was so hard, precum smearing the front and leaving a wet trail every time he shifted against the bed, causing the material to brush against him.
With an audible suck, Marc pulled off, lips quirked into a teasing smile, and he pressed a kiss to Brent’s jaw, teasing at the skin of Brent’s throat. “Look at you.”
“Fuck,” Brent said emphatically. He wanted to reach down to grab his dick, but as soon as he tried, Marc batted his hand away, sitting back on his heels. He was reaching across the bed, eyes on Brent’s face, as he fumbled in one of the cabinet draws.
“Don’t touch yourself,” Marc said.
Brent groaned, hips rolling up against Marc, the best friction he could get. It didn’t do anything to lessen the heat pooling in his belly, and when he saw the condom and lube in Marc’s hand, Brent had to close his eyes and breath slowly through his nose to keep from blowing his load then and there.
“They’re really sensitive, huh?” Marc asked, frowning thoughtfully down at Brent’s chest.
Brent wanted to say no just to have Marc move elsewhere, but Marc was already tugging at his t-shirt. Brent pushed himself up a little, giving Marc better access to pull his t-shirt over his head. He left it on the other side of the bed, hands sliding down Brent’s chest, rolling Brent’s nipples between his fingers. Brent immediately dropped back into the pillows, arching his back and trying to thrust up against Marc.
Marc’s eyes were always so dark on the couple of times they had done this, and Brent didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing the effect he had on Marc. Lifting his hands to Marc’s shoulders, Brent urged him into a kiss, thrusting his tongue into Marc’s mouth, rolling their hips together. Marc didn’t try and stop him, thankfully moving his hands lower, slipping into the waistband of Brent’s sweatpants. Brent had neglected to keep his underwear on, and he could hear the hitch in Brent’s breath when he realized, letting out a soft, “Fuck.”
Brent grinned against Marc’s mouth, lifting his hips as Marc dragged his sweatpants down over his thighs leaving them to bunch around his legs. Dick exposed to the air, Brent pressed up, the fabric of Marc’s sweatpants rubbing deliciously against Brent’s shaft.
Marc dropped a hand between them, pressing the palm of his hand to Brent’s dick and holding it there. Brent tried to thrust up against him, but couldn’t, Marc’s hips bearing down against him.
“Please,” Brent said, whole body trembling.
“I will,” Marc assured him. He seemed to have found some confidence in Brent’s neediness, and pulled his hand away, reaching for the lube. He popped the cap, and Brent’s chest felt tight with want, his hips unconsciously moving against the line of Marc’s thigh. With his hand slicked up, Marc’s fingers wrapped around Brent’s dick, thumb rubbing at the head. Brent swallowed thickly, feeling the moan before he let it out, body thrumming with need as Marc stroked the shaft slowly.
“I don’t,” Brent started, clenching his eyes shut. “I want.”
He couldn’t make himself finish a sentence, but thankfully Marc knew what he wanted better than Brent did himself. He was smiling as he sucked at the skin of Brent’s jaw, cradling Brent’s balls between his fingers as he rubbed his finger along the sensitive skin of Brent’s perineum. Brent’s leg hit the bed, heel digging hard against the sheets as he tried to bear down against Marc’s hand, get his fingers in the perfect place.
“Marc,” he breathed, “Please, please.”
Marc huffed out a, “Yeah, all right,” and then his slicked-up finger was circling Brent’s hole. Brent could feel it constricting, anticipating Marc’s finger sinking inside. He opened his eyes to see Marc’s mouth parted slightly, his dark eyes traveling down Brent’s body, halting on his dick. Brent could feel it leaking against his stomach, but he was only absently aware of it, his focus narrowed down to the finger currently pressing its way inside of him.
It had been a long time since he’d been fucked, and it showed in the tightness of Brent’s body, the time it took him to acclimatize to the intrusion. He hadn’t been lying about wanting Marc to do the heavy lifting; he wanted Marc to fuck him, to come with the feel of Marc’s fingers filling him up. He wanted Marc everywhere.
Slowly, watching Brent’s reactions carefully, Marc took his time working up to three fingers, Brent’s body relaxing quickly against the feel of it, back arching as he bore down on Marc’s fingers. Fuck, they felt so good, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding back his orgasm. He could feel it, thrumming at the base of his spine, waiting for that extra something to set it off.
“Does it feel good?” Marc asked, head hovering next to Brent’s, his breath hot against Brent’s ear. Brent could only nod his head jerkily, whining as Marc’s fingers twisted gently, fingertips rubbing against him in an attempt at finding his prostate. Brent had never—he’d been fucked before, usually came with someone’s hand around his dick—nobody had ever taken the time to find his prostate and exploit it.
Fortunately, Marc had a single-minded focus he was turning to fucking Brent, and Brent almost couldn’t breathe with the heat on Marc’s face, the intensity of his touch as he thrust deeper with his fingers, hitching Brent’s leg over his shoulder with his free hand, trying to get deeper.
“Marc,” Brent managed, a strangled attempt at Marc’s name, and then he gave a full-bodied shudder, curling forward as Marc’s fingers brushed a small bundle of something. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He drew the last out, body responding to the brush of Marc’s fingertips over his prostate by trembling. His legs didn’t want to work, even when he tried to dig his heels into the mattress to get Marc’s fingers deeper. He stared up at the ceiling, pleasure tingling up his spine, leaving him speechless and worked up.
“You with me?” Marc asked, brushing a hand against Brent’s cheek.
Brent wanted to say yes, wanted to say no, wanted to bear down on Marc’s hand, but all he could do was lie there and take it. His dick was leaking almost constantly, smearing precum between his dick and stomach, and Brent nodded his head once, when Marc asked again, sounding concerned. Brent managed to grip Marc’s free hand, closing his eyes, and tipping his head back against the pillows.
His awareness narrowed down to the fingers Marc had in his ass, the press of his fingers to Brent’s prostate, and the kisses he was planting on Brent’s chest and stomach. It was too much, not enough, and Brent’s orgasm was building, slowly, slowly, it wouldn’t take much for him to come. Oh fuck, Marc needed to stop sliding his fingers against Brent’s prostate, he couldn’t take it, couldn’t, and Marc’s teeth latched onto his nipple, teasing the nub to hardness, and Brent came with a shout of Marc’s name, overwhelmed so much he blacked out for a while.
When he came to, Marc had a washcloth and was gently cleaning him up, grinning when he saw Brent staring at him. “All right?”
His touches were soft and calming, and Brent nodded, too tired to speak.
“Don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.” Marc sounded amused, and there was a wealth of affection in his eyes, so Brent di
dn’t think it was a negative.
Brent’s orgasm had been kind of awesome. He blinked and then made a soft noise in the back of his throat. “You need,” he started.
“It’s all right,” Marc said, cheeks stained red. He leaned in, brushing his fingers through Brent’s hair. “I kind of took care of it.”
Brent’s eyebrows shot up, and he smirked, enough energy left to haul Marc on top of him, to slot their bodies together and turn his face into Marc’s neck. “That hot, huh?”
The words were slurred, a clear indication he really needed to sleep off that wonderful orgasm. Marc snorted, kissing any inch of skin he could get his lips onto. Brent relaxed against the sheets, not even caring they would no doubt get cold during the night. He was content, and Marc seemed to be too, from the way he was curling around Brent.
“You’re fairly attractive, yes,” Marc said, the asshole.
Brent fell asleep with a smile on his face.
Chapter Nineteen
Jolting awake, it took Brent a moment to realize what had woken him. When he stared at the clock, he groaned. An hour ago, he’d woken up and stumbled to the bathroom, coming back to manhandle both he and Marc under the covers. He hoped he’d sleep right through to morning, but no such luck.
He scowled up at the ceiling but couldn’t stay mad for long. Marc had wrapped himself thoroughly around Brent, limbs tangled, and head nestled on Brent’s chest. Brent smiled down at him, about to run a hand through his hair, when Marc jerked, brow furrowed.
Brent frowned, holding his breath, as if that was going to stop him from dislodging Marc. Again, Marc jerked, his breath coming short and quick, even in sleep.
“Marc,” Brent tried, touching Marc’s shoulder.
Marc shoved out hard, sending Brent off the side of the bed. Brent groaned as his knee hit the floor, but as he peered over the side of the bed, he could see Marc stretched out, sweat on his brow, body shaking as he thrashed on the bed. Brent had seen Jack have a nightmare before, but it had never been this bad.
