“But the problem we have now is Drew, well, he still fuckin’ hates me, and banning your pretty ass from this house would just make him hate me more. So, congratulations Marcus, ‘guess you’re the one holding me hostage. Lucky little fucker, aren’t you?”

“Gideon, I’m not—that’s not what I’m trying to do.” he came near, could feel his presence behind me, felt the coolness of his hand as he pressed it warily against the small of my back, and I hated to admit what that did to me, even in my anger. “Please…” he pleaded again, voice apprehensive but sincere.

Shame, defeat, they consumed me as I stared at the whiskey rested in my hand; the taste of it on my lips did nothing to alleviate my anxiety, the pain, and when I looked up I was faced with my reflection in the kitchen window, with his. I couldn’t bear to look at my own for too long, but Marcus’s reflection appeared smaller, and more fragile than I remembered him. He held himself weakly, and the usual confidence Marcus Anderson armed himself with was now nowhere in sight.

Why was that mildly satisfying? Perhaps in some fucked up, strange, sadistic way, I liked seeing him crumble. Knocked down a peg. He walked all over me, and in his presence I always seem to bend to his will.

… I don’t like that, or maybe part of me does. Fucking confusing.

“Gideon, I’m not trying to hurt you,” he added softly, dropping his forehead against my back. His cool hands traced my shoulder blades, trailed their way down my back until they settled on my hips. “… I don’t… look, I know it’s wrong. This, us, but I can’t stop myself from wanting you. I know it sounds bad, but I’ve wanted you for years. Wanted you from the moment you took your fucking shirt off while doing yardwork—six years ago, during a record heatwave toward the end of August. Sorry, man, but you were my sexual awakening.”

Fuck. This is fucked.

I shut my eyes and gripped the countertop until my knuckles went white. I had to hold onto something, otherwise I’d put hands on him, do things that I shouldn’t; bend him over the dining room table and fuck him until he couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

I wasn’t quite sure I hated Marcus, no, ‘hate’ was the wrong word, but I certainly hated that I wanted him like ‘that’… my cock buried in his round ass.

“Marcus, stop-”

“-I’m not done.” He interrupted meekly. “… like, sure, all of what I just said probably sounds really selfish, and crazy, and I’ll admit it’s a mixture of both. But you don’t seem to see that I care. That I have cared about you since I wandered back into your lives; that I see the pain in your eyes, the loneliness, that longing for love—for someone to see you, hear you, someone to pull you out of the quicksand before it suffocates you. I’m sorry that person is me, truly, I wish it was someone else less…I dunno. Like, some uncomplicated hot neighbor who could take pity on you and nurse you back to happiness and peace. But I think I am that person, whether I’m meant to stay in your life for a short or long period of time… why can’t I be the one to fill the gap? To feed the need, the want, the ache?”

“… you just can’t be that, do that.” I murmured, unable to bring myself to move, to breathe, it’s like I was suffocating. His words made me want to cry and scream all at once. Almost as overwhelming as my need to leave this earth, die alone, leave my heartbreak behind. My failure. My son.

“If not me, then who? Who’s gonna pull you back from the ledge, who’s gonna call you on your fucking bullshit, Gid? Tell me who if not me?” his voice rose slightly, confidence returning with the space I gave him to speak.

I shuddered, thought of Elliot, felt the tears start to build—not behind my eyes—not yet, but the dull ache, the knot in my chest that formed before the tears themselves. Like a painful premonition I couldn’t bear to entertain, the pain too much to let in. Elliot was that person for me, he was the one who pulled me back from the abyss, kept me sane. Of course there was Drew, too. Of course, thoughts of seeing my son again made a difference, but Elliot was the one that reigned me in, and once he left me, I was a clueless, broken wreck. Jahaira didn’t know what to do with me; no one did.

“Come on, give me a name, Gid. Give me a name and I’ll leave you alone, tell me who’s gonna catch you, be your keeper until you can pull your shit together and be the father he needs now, hm?” I could feel the warmth of his breath on my back, where his lips brushed against my bare skin as he spoke. His hands, soft, unworked, trembling.

I rubbed my chest and shuddered, knowing full well I had no names to give to Marcus. Not one. “… you know the answer to that question.” I finally admitted, and all my anger seemed to dissipate in a swift rush as the statement left my mouth.

He exhaled like he’d sensed the silent shift in the situation, hands trembling as they wrapped around my waist, Marcus Anderson now played the little-big spoon, hugging me from behind, but I found it comforting, how could I not?

“… then let it be me, please.” A kiss, soft, hesitant, pressed between my shoulders. A kiss I didn’t deserve, something so taboo.

Don’t.

“… I’m still mad.”

But my words no longer felt believable, no matter how hard I tried to fake it. It was hard to stay mad at a person who—despite his horniness—seemed to genuinely care about me. Someone who cared that I was even alive. Was that wrong? Was that bad? Did his age make his concern less valid?

Marcus inhaled sharply and hugged me tight, like a squeeze of finality. “That’s fine, be mad. You can stay mad.  You can fuck the anger out of your system, I don’t care… just let me be here for you. I know this won’t amount to anything, us; that you’ll never love me, won’t want me forever, but you can want me now. Use me now. Use me until the pain gives way to comfort, like an opiate.”

“That’s fucked up.” I turned to face him and drank more, every sip bringing me closer to cross-faded bliss. He released me reluctantly; hands lingering on my skin before they fell to his sides weakly. Pretty boy shrugged like he was indifferent, but I didn’t believe his body language any more than he probably did.  

I narrowed my eyes. “… you’re basically offering yourself up like some kinda sex doll, you realize that’s fucked up, right? I might be an asshole, Marcus, but I’m not like… that kinda asshole.”

He gave me a look, a sort of knowing smile on his face. Tilted his head and smirked. “I know damn well what I’m offering you, Gideon McCoullough. You’re not the first daddy I’ve had, and you certainly won’t be the last. Get over yourself.”

Why don’t I believe him? Why do I think he’s more tender-hearted about this than he’d like me to believe? Why do I feel that his heart will be the first to break? What if this breaks me?

Marcus’ brown eyes searched me, his gaze so intense I had to look away. Then he took my hand. “… please, say something. Anything.”

He squeezed; I squeezed back.

I swallowed my shame, knowing deep down his offer, no matter how fucked it all was… I was desperate to accept. Desperate for a warm body in my bed, for another human being to look at me the way he did; with compassion, desire. I wanted it so much, wanted connection with another human being so deeply it hurt. Fuck.

“When was that video taken, and did you legitimately make a mistake sending it?”  I released his hand and crossed my arms loosely.

He blushed, swallowed roughly. “… that’s not an answer.”

“If you want my answer, you’ll tell me the truth.”

I took in his appearance as I waited, hating how beautiful he was just standing there. Marcus wasn’t put together like he usually was when he wandered around our home—his face was surprisingly bare of his usual jewelry, save for his septum piercing, the studs in his nostrils, and the labret. His hair was half up, bangs framing his face loosely, and he wore an extremely worn, baggy, cropped Mastodon T-shirt, coupled with a pair of joggers rested low on his hips, and the same black zip-up he’d been wearing the night I fucked his mouth for the first time.

Of course he looks fucking perfect anyway; fucking delicious. Consumable.

“… it was just, I don’t know, fuck. I am sorry that I lied the other night.” His eyes eventually wandered to meet mine. “I just thought you’d think it was insane for me to hit on you after, um, being with Drew.”

I sighed, gave him a deadpan, tired look.

“… it is insane.”

He blushed. “Well, okay, yeah. Fine. But he doesn’t want me like that anymore; he’s into that girl. I think he’s probably, maybe bi, but I’m not sure, I’m the only guy he’s ever been with… but if he likes guys he’s having a hard time admitting that, especially sober.”

“U-huh.”

“I’m serious,” he murmured. “Like don’t get me wrong, we had a good time, we were bored, I needed some content for my, um, my-”  

“-Your little side business?”

He raked his fingertips through the ends of his hair, rolled his eyes a bit. “Well, yeah…”

I waited, said nothing, gave him the space to fill in the blanks for me if he had the balls. It wasn’t that I necessarily judged him for making explicit content, but that it made me unnaturally jealous, which made no sense since we were not in a relationship in any shape or form. I have no claim on Marcus Anderson; therefore, I shouldn’t feel jealous… right?

He brushed some loose strands behind his ear and looked away, cleared his throat.

“… it wasn’t like, anything committed. The first time was as I told you, was supposed to be a one-time thing, but then we’d been out one night like two months ago, smoked a blunt, hit up a hotel downtown—cross-faded on some Vodka. He was horny, I was horny, why not monetize it? We fucked, it was fun, made some decent money off it in the end. But um, I don’t know, we just aren’t romantically into each other. He’s my best friend. He’s hot, sure I’d let him fuck me; I did let him fuck me. But I really think it was more just like a fuckbuddy thing, and only the twice.”

Yeah right. I studied his face for signs of bullshitting. His hands rested in his pockets, he’d leaned against the breakfast bar, gazing tiredly between my face and the floor. I wasn’t sure what to believe. I let out an equally tired exhale.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me it was only twice.”

His cheeks heated with embarrassment, but his shoulders straightened, eyes locking with mine, wide and searching for anything from me. “It was only twice. I promise. I’m sorry I lied before, and I really didn’t mean to send that video, I meant to send another, but I just… my video album is a bit disorganized, and the thumbnail only showed my body in the image at first, so I thought— I thought it was a different one, didn’t have it labeled well. I’d never like, in my right mind have sent that video, Gideon. I practically shit myself when I realized what I did, when you called angry. I’m truly sorry.”

He looks sincere this time, but he also looks like a kicked puppy. I kind of appreciate the kicked-puppy thing, looks good on him.

I took some time to process; deep inhalations filling my lungs to calm my racing heart. All poor attempts at stopping myself from going further; making the wrong decision again, doing what we shouldn’t.

Instead, I could only manage a curt nod, “… fine.”

Marcus’ eyes darted around the kitchen, he wrapped his sweatshirt around him and cleared his throat. “’Fine’, what?” Does that mean we’re good?”

I found myself avoiding eye contact. “I guess. Depends.”

I’m scared. We shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t let him be the opiate soothing the pain, my new vice. It’s so wrong.

“Depends on what?” he pressed, brown eyes bearing his emotions clearly; the fear of rejection.

“I don’t know… I’m not mad anymore, more embarrassed. Doing what you’re proposing is no small thing.” I mumbled, running my hand over my face in exhaustion.

You do know Gid, you wanna fuck. Just say it. 

The very idea of fucking him caused a wave of heat to hit me; settle in my core, dangerously close to my sex-starved dick. My lack of self-control was gonna get me in trouble. But he read me; read me like an open book, as always. He saw the need, probably cause it was written on my face, despite my attempts to discourage the heat from growing below.

Marcus let out a soft breath, gaze sharpening in a way that was so nervous, so different from his usual swagger, his smirks, that magic mouth. His lower lip rolled into his mouth as he thought for a moment.

“… I’m not stupid,” he murmured. “I know this could implode on us.”

I rose my brows and nodded in agreement, a wordless “no shit”.

Silence.