"Then we do nothing."

He chuckled wryly. "I'll admit I don't have that kind of self-control, Gid, and it's going to get me in trouble."

I looked away, fighting the urge to let my eyes linger where they shouldn't. Don't even get me started on that fucking crop top he was wearing.

"Get you in trouble? Marcus, we've been in trouble for two weeks now. Even this, just sharing a room alone with you would piss Drew off. Neither of us can afford to play such a game—and Drew's heart can't take that sort of betrayal."

"... but what if it was real, what if it turned into something other than just sex? If... if he had time, both of you to um, fix things with each other, then maybe he'd be open to that sort of thing." he pressed.

A wave of confusion and shock hit me. "Dude, I fucked your mouth once. That's not love, that was a bad, drunken decision. A one-time thing. What are you saying?"

Marcus paled, his gaze fell, and he began to fidget aggressively with the hem of his cardigan.
"I-I don't know what I'm saying... I'm... I just—"

"Just what?"

"It's just that you need a fucking reminder, Gideon." He bit back. "A reminder that you're not some weak, spineless bastard, that you're not useless or obsolete. You're fucking hot. You don't even realize how many hits you'd get on Grindr alone, dumbass. Call me crazy, but you need to have sex, good sex. Rough sex. Sex can be therapeutic, ya know, even if it's with a fucking nympho like me. I'm just saying..."

Speechless. I was speechless. On the one hand, I felt like Marcus probably had a point. That I ought to get out there and get my dick wet; on the other, I was equal parts horrified to be having such a conversation—to be taking advice on this from Marcus Anderson in the first place. His poor mother would have an aneurysm if she knew what we'd gotten up to. His father? God, I didn't even want to go there.

"Stop that." He snipped.

I groaned. "Stop what?"

He rolled his eyes and slumped against the wall. "That. Looking at me like I'm a fucking child; I'm not, Gid, and I'm certainly not yours. My parents aren't clueless either—they know I'm a flaming homo, and they don't care. What's more, I know that they know what I'm probably up to, but I'm an adult now. My sex life isn't their business, just like theirs," he paused to feign a gag, "isn't mine. All they care about is whether I'm being safe about it, and I am. So, stop fucking looking at me like I'm that little kid from next door. That was forever ago."

I smirked. "Six years, Marcus. Six years ago, to be exact. It might feel like forever to you, but it was like yesterday for me."

He huffed and crossed his arms. "... so? You can't stop staring at my ass now; clearly it's enough in the past that you're considering it."

"Considering what?"

"Fucking me, obviously."

Sweet Christ, somebody help me before I make another terrible decision with Marcus Anderson.

I ran my hand over my face and cursed, not sure what to say at that point. Marcus wanted me, and I wanted Marcus, but how could either of us justify such a risky, taboo situation with Drew in the middle like a ticking time bomb? It was insanity. Silence settled between us, the garage now dead quiet, save for the ambient hum of the dryer running in the next room over—laundry room being closest.

"You should probably get back. He's gonna be looking for you."

Marcus eyed me sharply but said nothing. After a painful few seconds, he rose to his feet, and I followed. We just watched one another in strained silence, then, neither saying a word.

"This isn't over." He finally murmured. "... and for the record? I'll be watching you, idiot. Don't you fucking think about putting that bullet in your head, got that? He can't lose you, not now, so swear it to me."

I swallowed hard, heart racing again as I considered him, considered the pained look in his eyes—true concern for my wellbeing. I'd be lying if that didn't bring me some kind of comfort, because I couldn't remember the last time someone in our lives had expressed any kind of interest or concern about my health, mental or physical. I appreciated Marcus in a way, even if he was trying to get into my pants. It was clear he meant well.

"I swear, for now." I relented.

A soft, hesitant smile tugged at his lips. "Guess that's all I can ask for... for now."

"Guess it is."

"In any case," he sighed and stepped close, right into my personal bubble. He took my face into his soft hands and brought his lips to mine, standing on his tiptoes. "... I'll be around, you know where to find me if you get hungry, Gid."

"I'm not sure I'd like to eat you," I mumbled, trying my hardest to keep my hands to myself.

"Could eat my ass," he smirked, lips brushing against mine like an absolute fucking tease. He kissed me, gentle at first, hesitant. One, two, three soft kisses. The fourth was of my own doing. I took him by the jaw and kissed him back, hard. Tasted him, took in the scent of his soft hair, the sound of my own racing heart, his heavy breaths, the way he moaned into my mouth, and the pressure of his hardon
against my thigh.

I'm certifiably fucked; no way around it. God help me.

He broke the kiss, paused to catch his breath, dropped his forehead against my chest and ran his hands from my face to my biceps, settling on my waist. "Just in case you get bored tonight," he murmured, "Drew's got plans to spend the night at Rayleigh's, which means I'll be left all by lonesome with nothing to do and no one to play with me..."

I rested my chin on the top of his head and tried to ignore my hardened dick; fuck, what I wouldn't give to use that throat again. "We're playing with fire, Marcus as it is... best not to throw lighter fluid into the mix."

He just laughed and slipped his hand beneath my waistband, stroking me like a teasing little fuck.
"Mm, sure, whatever you say, Gid..."

I had so much to say, really. But my scolding words and self-control all washed away when he started touching me, and I couldn't make myself end it this time. I just couldn't. Perhaps the guilt would consume me later, perhaps I'd drown in it, but for now... maybe I'd find refuge in his affection.

"Should I help you out?" He purred, squeezing my cock until he'd drawn a low, gravelly, needy groan from my lips. "I'll make it quick."

No sooner had I nodded was he on his knees; like a sex-wizard he'd already undone my belt, fly, and freed my cock. I groaned, cursed under my breath and grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back; his pretty pink lips parted hungrily, eyes darkened with lust and need, cheeks flushed. We were both selfish assholes now, partners in this wicked crime. Once again doing what we shouldn't.

"Open wide," I hissed, and open he did.

So obedient.

And I took him how I wanted. I spit in his mouth, watched with sick pleasure as he whimpered and squirmed, his own cock killing him in that little skirt. He didn't once retch, instead he began his work, ran the flat of his tongue from the base of my cock to the tip, stroked my shaft, caressed my balls, gentle squeezes as he swallowed me whole. I threaded my fingers in his soft, fair hair, tugged at his scalp until he whined.

He paused briefly, licked his lips and caught his breath, eyes never leaving me. "Be rough with me, I fuckin' need that."

Don't threaten me with a good time.