Well Written

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Kane

I haven't felt this desperate in forever. It's insatiable, and taunting. Humiliating. There is nothing I should want less than to feel Marcus fully. To give him the chance to reverse all those years of silence and space. But I can't stop playing his words in my mind as he pins me against the shelves, tugging aggressively on the belt loops of my pants.

I want you forever.

And fuck, I hate that I do too. It would be so much easier if I hated Marcus the way I pretend to. If I resented him more than I resent myself. It would make things simple if I could just say, with complete and utter honesty, that I prefer life without him in it. But the words could leave my lips a million times, and they would never get closer to being the truth.

The truth is that for every hour of resentment that exists between Marcus and I, another day was spent in complete and total love with him. I realize it, now, with his lips pressed to my neck, my hands clutching the wooden shelves behind us, that there was never a single second of my life where I didn't love Marcus Fraund, entirely, embarrassingly, and infinitely.

"Are you sure you want this, handsome?" he asks. His breath tickles the crook of my neck, and something about him asking me, with complete care and earnestness, makes me only want it more. A short, humorous breath seeps from my lungs as my hips tilt forward, pressing myself into Marcus' exposed body. My fingers glide over his chiseled abdomen, tracing the valleys etched between each prominent muscle. He's built like a marble statue, flawlessly carved. His hardened cock presses into my soft stomach as I grind against him, causing the muscle to jump needily.

"I need you," I whisper, and Marcus takes the answer for exactly what it is. A plea for pleasure, a primal wanting. His lips crush into mine, his arms wrapping around me as he stumbles backwards. I love the way his bare chest feels pressed against mine. The skin is smooth, and bare, completely opposite from the black hairs strewn across mine. In fact, almost everything about Marcus is opposite of me. He towers about six inches above my head, and where his stomach is carved and muscular, mine bulges out slightly, soft and pliable. I think that's what I find so attractive about him. We are made from different compounds, and different experiences. He is nothing like me, and yet, he can so clearly see the thoughts buried in my mind. Better yet, he can comprehend them.

Paper and pencils crash onto the ground as Marcus swipes his arm across the desk to clear it. My heart rattles against my ribcage as I feel my ass push against the top of the desk, and Marcus presses a hand to my bare chest, pushing me gently so that my weight falls back, and I sit on it. His fingers fumble with the button on the front of my pants, hastily tugging them off while his lips trail behind them. When his teeth sink into my thigh, my pulsing cock twitches, and my head tosses back in a desperate moan.

"I've missed this for so long," I manage to say, though my words are airy and breathless. It's a mortifying thing to admit, that all these years I've been craving him specifically. But if flushed cheeks and slight humbleness is the sacrifice for Marcus fucking me, I will go through red-faced humiliation every day of my life.

His lips travel up my body, from my legs, to the crook of my thigh, up my stomach, and settling against my ear. "Sorry I'm late."

Cold metal from the knob of the drawer sinks into the back of my bare leg as Marcus' hands journey down my exposed body. I begin to shift underneath him, ready to endure whatever embarrassment necessary to feel him inside of me. His full, hardened length pounding me until I melt into a useless, begging puddle. But just as my body begins to turn, realization washes over me.

"I don't—" I swallow nervously, dryness tugging at the base of my throat. "I don't have a condom."

Marcus stops, his wandering hands hovering over my curved waist. I hold my breath, ready to kick myself for being so…. so… celibate . It didn't occur to me to make a stop at the corner grocery, because I didn't think Marcus and I would end up here. I didn't think I'd end up here with anyone , in fact, as the last time I had sex was years ago. But something shimmers in Marcus' eyes, and he locates his pants, digging in the pocket until he finally pulls out a worn, leather wallet.

"I've got one," he says, taking a little silver packet from the folds. A smile breaks across his face, and I force a return, even though something in my gut sinks.

It's not like I expected Marcus to be as inactive as I've been. He's always needed that physical touch, the fulfillment of his desires. But the thought tugs at the corners of my mind like a torture device. It shouldn't, because if all Marcus wanted to do was fuck me, well, he'd have had his way the first day he walked back into my life. Still, it settles in, seeping into every ridge and every crease like a plague.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his smile fading. I look up at him, sucking in a nervous breath and nodding my head.

"Yeah, no. I'm good," I reply. But Marcus' frown deepens.

"Do you still want to? We don't have to—"

"I want to."

He approaches me, his bare body glistening in the warm lights. "What is it, Kane?"

I shake my head, but my eyes fixate on the foil square between his fingers. "Nothing."

Marcus stands in front of me, his body wedged carefully between my thighs as he stabilizes himself with one hand on the desk, and uses the other to gently trace my jaw.

"Kane," he says softly.

"Hmm?"

Goosebumps spread from the corner of my jaw, where his skin touches mine, all the way across my body. I can feel them on the back of my neck, and down my arms. Across my chest and below my stomach.

"We haven't touched in twenty years, and I was still in love with you for every minute of it. I could never touch you again, and not a single thing about my feelings for you would change."

The knot building in my stomach, the puppet strings tugging on my brain, all of it suddenly snaps when Marcus speaks those words, the doubt that filled my body dissipating. I look into his eyes, greeted with nothing but pure sincerity and care, and even if this were my last day on Earth, it would also be my favorite. His thumb glides gently over my bottom lip, and heat funnels to my growing erection.

"Touch me," I say, maintaining eye contact. Marcus' jaw tenses, and he tries to hide it, but a subtle smile forms in the groove of his lips.

"Yeah?" he whispers, but strongly, with confidence. His brow quirks as he leans into me, his thumb still tracing along my bottom lip. "Do you want me, handsome?"

After this, after everything , Marcus calling me "handsome" shouldn't affect me how it does. That stupid, burning sensation filling my cheeks, the soft flutter in my stomach, it's all so ridiculous. And addictive. And I will do anything to hear him say it again.

I nod needily, my throat bobbing as I swallow. "I want you so bad, Marc. Please, fuck me."

Marcus' chin tilts up, that stupid smirk sewn into his sculpted cheeks. He leans in even closer, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers lowly:

"Such a needy one, aren't you, handsome?"

Oh fuck.

I tug my hips to the side, hoping Marcus takes the hint that a dull ache has begun to form inside of me. He listens, tearing open the foil wrapper, and sliding on the lubricated condom. After, he grabs my hips and turns my body so that my abdomen is pressed against the edge of the desk. His hand snakes up my back, tracing the hair at the base of my neck before gently nudging me downwards. I comply, bending my body so that my ass is pressed against Marcus' large, thick cock, and all my weight shifts to my torso, leaning over the desk.

"Such a pretty little ass," he murmurs, spitting in his hand before swiping his wet fingers against the rim. My hips tilt back toward him, silently pleading for him to fuck me. But Marcus takes it slow, grinding is dick gently against the hole while he trails soft kisses down my back. I forgot what it's like, to make love. There is nothing like it, being so open and vulnerable to someone, offering them everything and they choose to do it all with attentiveness. I feel the blood rushing to his length as he grinds it against me.

"God, Marcus." My head tosses back as I put pressure against him, feeling the ridge of his tip glide against my aching rim in a steady rhythm. "Please."

Marcus spits in his hand again, rubbing it gently around the area before he wraps his palm around my hip, centers himself, and slowly pushes into me. A wave of sensation immediately washes over me as Marcus' thick cock stretches me open. I gasp as he gently, but firmly, presses himself deeper until his tip grazes against the sensitive spot inside me, a load moan bubbling from my lips.

"That's it, handsome." He says, his voice prideful but sly. Eagerly, I shift myself backwards to beg for more, and Marcus doesn't hesitate to give it to me. He slides in deeper, causing me to groan and grip the sides of the desk to stabilize myself. "You sound so pretty when you're taking me."

Then, his pace picks up. Feeling Marcus grind against me earlier was like waves crashing onto the shore. But feeling him like this, deep and fast and desperate? It's a heavenly tsunami, and I hope I fucking drown. My muscles clench as Marcus grips my hips, thrusting into me harder and faster than before. A loud, ravenous groan escapes him as his thick shaft pushes deeper, like he's trying to fit every inch of him inside of me.

"You take it so well," he grunts, his thick biceps flexing. A pressure begins to build in my ass, and I cry out as Marcus pulls back, then thrusts himself into me, deep and rough. One palm leaves my hips while the other hangs on, his nails curling into the skin as it pulls me in tighter. With his free hand, he runs his fingers through my hair, tugging so that my head slightly pulls back. "God, that's it, handsome. Are you almost there?"

I nod desperately, my stomach flipping as the feathery ache in my cock intensifies. I tighten around him again, feeling his full girth and length inside of me as the pressure begins to tighten. Like a thread tied into a million knots, forming into one, entangled mass.

"I need to hear you say it, Kane."

"I'm close!" I cry, my knuckles turning white as they continue gripping the desk's edge. "Fuck Marcus, I'm- I'm—" Words don't seem to work when Marcus is fucking me the way that he does. My eyes roll back, and the desk rattles beneath us as he pounds into me with such force, I swear I can't breathe. More tangles form in that giant knot in my stomach, and one hand releases the edge of the desk, traveling down to stroke my aching, pulsing length.

"Fuck, I love you," Marcus moans loudly, tugging harder at my hair on the back of my head. I feel his cock constricting inside of me, my own throbbing in my palm as I stroke it intensely. Heat fills my ass and something tugs, and pulls, and yanks on that ball of thread forming inside of me until finally, it snaps.

Loud, breathy moans spill from both Marcus and I, his grip on my hip stiffening as he pumps into me one last time. My entire body convulses, securing around his cock as streams of cum shoot out of me, my eyes clenching shut as I collapse onto the white, wet mess on the desk in front of me. Euphoria floods me entirely as I lay there in a sweaty, panting heap. Feeling Marcus fuck me, hard, but lovingly, was something I didn't realize I missed so terribly. Marcus exhales slowly, before pulling out of me, and placing a warm kiss against the back of my skull.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, letting his warm body rest innocently against mine. I smile, feeling his weight above me like a therapeutic blanket of foreign familiarity. I breathe out slowly, my eyes trailing up the wall, to the clock who just witnessed the fucking of the century.

"Oh fuck!" I jump back, but I am no match for the weight of Marcus' body. He quickly pulls off of me, a worried expression sewn into his face. Those grey brows pinch together, and he pulls me to my feet with a concerned gaze.

"What? What's wrong?"

I shake my head, tugging open the desk drawer to pull out a roll of paper towels. "I'm supposed to meet Clara, Derrick, and Judah in ten minutes," I explain, using the dry towels to wipe the sticky residue off my body. Marcus' concern quickly turns into humor, and he chuckles richly, ripping a towel off the roll and helping me clean myself up. I scowl, even though I like how the dry, roughness of the paper feels against my skin when Marcus is the one behind it.

"Oh, come on. It's funny," he insists, tossing the used napkin into the garbage. I shake my head.

"It's not . There's towels in the back room. Can you please get one wet and bring it to me?"

After my body is cleaned, and the desk is thoroughly sanitized, Marcus and I get dressed as quickly as we got undressed. I toss him his shirt from across the room, and he pulls my briefs from my pants, draping them over the chair.

"I really have to go," I say, shoving my feet into my shoes. I push all my weight into them so that the corner which has bent inward, finally pops back up. "I'm sorry."

Marcus shakes his head, a sickly sweet smile taking over his face as he walks closer to the door. "Don't be. Look, we have to figure this whole thing out. So, can I meet you here tomorrow before I leave? Would that be alright with you?"

My stomach should sink at the offer. Last time Marcus was supposed to meet me at the store, well, I never saw him again. But I know this is different. So instead, heat swells in my chest as I look into his eyes, and I bite my lip gently, nodding.

"Yes, Marcus. That would be fine."

Fine? Really? No, Kane, you idiot. It would be amazing. It would be perfect. It would be everything on the better side of 'fine'.

Marcus smiles, reaching for the handle, and pushing the door open. The rain has stopped, no sounds of pattering droplets to flood the silence between us. And I think, because of that, it burns brighter. I watch him take a step through the frame, and the moment his second foot moves, I find that my feet are moving too.

"Wait!" I call out, catching the door before it slams. Marcus spins around, his lumiscent eyes round and confused, like a little lost puppy. I've spent enough of this reencounter with him hesitating, so I don't do it anymore. I stand on my toes, cup his cheeks, and press my lips against his.

The kiss is soft, and warm, and everything about it says "I'll see you tomorrow."

When we finally break away, Marcus looks down at me with blissful confusion. A loud, thrumming noise washes over me as my heartbeat intensifies with the knowledge of what I'm about to say.

"I love you too."

"Nope!" I exclaim, dropping to my knees the second I catch sight of the deceased crustacean flattened atop the road. Completely disregarding my command, Dickie sucks the dead animal into his smushed mouth, and I groan in disgust. "Dickie! Spit it out!" My finger sweeps the back of his throat, prying the crab from his tight jaws. "That thing is in rigor mortis! Your food is fresher than that!"

The roadkill pops free from his jaw, landing onto the sidewalk. I feel guilty, but I kick it to the side as I search the creamery patio for my family.

"Kane!" Clara calls out, tipping her three-scoop-tall ice cream cone in my direction. I look down at the flattened crab one last time, my stomach dipping as I walk away from it.

"Hey! You made it." Derrick dances as he sings the words, lifting a spoon of ice cream to Judah's lips. But the second Judah's eyes lock onto Dickie and I, he swings his arms open, sending the ice cream, and spoon in which it sat upon, flying across the patio. A chuckle escapes me, and I allow Dickie to lick up the creamy puddle as I toss the plastic spoon and grab a new one.

"I'm happy to see you too," I sign to Judah, as I sit in an empty seat at the table. "But I don't go throwing stuff about it."

Judah giggles, a toothless grin breaking across his face.

"He's gonna be a javelin thrower, I think," Derrick declares, taking the yellow plastic spoon from my hand and nodding in appreciation. "Can I get you something? They have this strawberry sorbet. It's really good."

"I'm allergic to strawberry, actually," I explain. "But thank you." I turn to Clara, analyzing the tower of flavors piled onto her cone. "What did you get?"

Her tongue drags across the top layer, light green ice cream gathering onto the tip of it. "Pistachio, cherry, and—" Clara looks over at me, her eyes instantly narrowing as she fully absorbs the sight in front of her. "Kane?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you have sex hair?"

My brows furrow, my stomach sinking. "What?" I laugh nervously, running a hand through my sweaty, messy locks. "I don't have sex hair."

My gaze drifts to Derrick, who just finished shoveling a giant scoop of sorbet into his mouth.

"Don't look at me," he says, his mouth still full. "She was with you for seventeen years. If my wife says you have sex hair-" He eyes me up and down. "Then you have sex hair."

Heat floods my cheeks as I continue messing with the strands on my head, tossing and tugging them until I feel like they're "normal messy" and not "sex messy."

"Nope!" Clara huffs, biting the remainder of the top scoop into her mouth. Her voice is muffled by the ice cream, but I can still make out her disapproving tone. "Too late."

"I don't have sex hair!" I say defensively. Clara's eyes lock onto Derrick's, then they both stare at me skeptically.

"I'm not judging." Derrick shrugs. "I saw that one coming from a mile away."

"What one?" Clara asks, her head whipping around. She stares at him for a moment, until her eyes widen and her jaw drops. She shakes her head vigorously.

" No ," she pleads. "Tell me you didn't!"

I swallow anxiously, my throat growing suddenly dry. There's no use in lying to Clara. If this whole thing works out, she'll have to accept it at some point. And if it doesn't? Well, she'll need to know so that she can help put me back together again.

I sigh. "It's complicated."

Clara laughs manically. "You're telling me. You know what's 'complicated' Kane? Spending twenty years doing everything you can to help your best friend heal, just to watch him undo all of it for some nostalgic hookup! That's complicated, and I don't want to go through the process from the beginning. I will, we will—" She gestures between her and Derrick. "—because we love you. But I can't just sit back and watch you make a bad choice on a whim."

Weight fills my stomach until it finally begins its descent to the floor. A tightening sensation starts in the side of my chest, then branches out like a tree moving in every possible direction. Clara has done so much for me throughout our lives. If I'm being completely honest, I don't think I would still be alive if it weren't for her. I don't want to be any more of a burden than I already am. I just want her to be happy.

But I want to be happy too. And with Marcus, it feels like I might have an actual shot.

"So is it?" Derrick asks, bouncing Judah carefully on his knee. I glance up at him, noticing the smallest upturn of his lips. I tilt my head, confused.

"Is what?"

"Is it a whim?" he clarifies. His hand travels over to Clara's, squeezing it gently. A soft smile slowly appears on her face, and she looks over to me expectantly.

I let out a controlled breath. "I don't think it's a whim," I answer truthfully, and both Clara and Derrick's smiles silently deepen. "It's a realization." Seconds after the words leave my mouth, Clara stands up, releasing Derrick's hand but still gripping her half-consumed ice cream cone. I frown. "Where are you going?"

Her left brow raises slightly, like the answer is so obvious.

"I'm getting you some ice cream, Kane. Because you're about to tell us everything ."