We stood there together in the dim kitchen, minds racing, bodies aching to do what they shouldn’t. It felt like electricity, like gentle pause in the air before a storm, like a deep breath before a dive; but all we’d done was stare at one another.

“… how bout we flip a coin?”

I tilted my head and felt myself smirk. “A coin?”

He nodded. “A coin… yeah. Tails, you fuck me right here; Heads, I blow you and we call it quits for the night.”

My face burned, cock stiffening instantly as the words left his mouth. I cleared my throat and tried to discreetly adjust myself, but he caught it with those sharp doe-eyes of his.

Nothing got past Marcus.

“… are you even ready for that kinda thing?” I protested weakly. “You look like you rolled out of bed—respectfully, you look great, but still.” What the fuck am I saying? Am I not a man in his thirties? Why am I so awkward?

His eyes flashed with cleverness and confidence that made my heart race. Marcus threaded his fingertips through the ends of his locks and smirked. “You thought I hadn’t already thought of that? Gid, I was gonna get fucked tonight whether it was you or not. Sawyer’s waiting, remember? Shall I call him, or are we flipping a coin?”

Shit.

“I…” my voice trailed off, and I found myself unable to tear my eyes from his form any longer. Could tear his clothes off; cause that’s apparently an option.

Marcus just let out a matter-of-fact sigh, like he already knew my answer without hearing it— he could see it in my eyes. He strolled to one of the upper cabinets, one where I kept a jar of spare change. He popped onto his tiptoes and plucked a quarter out like he’d known the jar was there all along—fuck, of course he did; I didn’t even bother asking. Apparently Drew told him everything about this place.

My eyes fixated on his ass, the way his face looked from the side before he spun around to face me. Since when was a man ever so beautiful to me? Guess I’m officially into Marcus Anderson. Guess my mid-life crisis includes developing a taste for—

“Last chance,” he teased, interrupting my thoughts pointedly; pink mouth curling into a dark, knowing smirk. “Once I flip this…”

I grumbled, jaw feathering as I pictured the inevitable; craved the inevitable, desired it. I wasn’t gonna do shit to stop this. I couldn’t. My resolve was weak as my will to stay alive most days. “Flip it and wipe that smug fucking look off your face.”

He flipped me off but maintained unwavering eye contact with me as he tossed and caught it without so much of a flinch; our attentions flickered to the shiny quarter simultaneously. I swallowed hard. Tails. I want that ass.

Brown eyes raked their way down my body, settled on the erection bulging in my sleep shorts. I held my breath.

Marcus flashed the coin at me so I could see the tail-end clearly. “Your move.”

“… got lube, or you into painal?”

A nasty grin spread on his lips; he groaned. “Mm… I’m a raging masochist, you see, but I prepped my hole ahead of time if that’s what you’re askin.’”

My hands curled into fists, shivers rushed down my spine at the way he looked at me, the way his eyes begged and pleaded. God, this was everything I’d craved; crazy how it turns out my manic-Pixi dream girl had apparently just been Marcus; a kinky, androgynous twink in his baggy little jammies. It took everything I had to hold back—everything.

“How you feel ‘bout CNC?”

His face simply lit up; eyes darkening, lips curled into a wide, wicked grin, accentuated by those abnormally sharp, catlike teeth of his. “He’s a freak and he’s hard, where has he been all my life?”

We’re going to hell.

My body moved again, surged forward, this time on autopilot. I could feel my breathing, rapid as my racing heart. I took a steadying sip of my drink and trailed my fingertips over his throat.
“… safe word?”

“Thank you, now watch this drive.”

I blinked in slight confusion, nearly choked on the whiskey as laughter threatened to escape me. “… what?”

He snorted, gazing at his nails dismissively. “Always throws people off, especially when I do a lil southern accent with it. Anyway, for such an old guy I was banking on you getting it; Bush… playing Golf?”

I pressed my lips together in an effort not to lose the seriousness of the moment, the tension, but it was futile, and I found myself smirking as I set my drink aside on the counter and echoed him. “I call upon all Nations to do everything they can, to stop these terrorist killers. Thank you. Now, watch this drive.”  

Marcus jabbed his index finger at me and grinned. “Hah! Knew an old man like you couldn’t resist!”

“Call me ‘old’ one more time.”

There’s still time to back out; I don’t have to do this. I could be smart, I could stop it, I could tell him no…

Marcus’s cheeks rounded and his eyes flashed playfully; knowing him, he’d push the envelope; do whatever he could, as much as he could, to get under my skin, and into my pants. Fortunate for him, it always seemed to work in the end.

He let out an exhale and began to remove his black zip-up. It slipped off his toned body more than halfway. He watched for my reaction, dropping it to the floor completely. I’ve got a great poker face, but I realized fast that I stopped breathing once I saw where his hands went next, thumbs tugging those joggers dangerously low. Enough to see a trail of fair hair leading to his cock, but of course he stopped short of that, snapped the waistband teasingly. Hands, that should have been mine, slipped their way under his old T-shirt and slid it up until his chest was exposed, pierced, pink nipples included. Little fuck.

I let out a shaky breath, the heat in the room so fucking palpable again it was stifling. I want him whining and begging. I want tears streaming down that pretty face from the fucking he’s about to get.

“Based on the way you’re looking at me,” he purred, the lowlight illuminated his creamy skin, the toned muscle underneath, nipples I wanted in my mouth, “… I’d say it’s been a while since you’ve seen something this pretty in person. You sure that old man dick of yours is up to the challenge? Afterall, I heard stamina decreases with age.”

For fucks’ sake.

What happened next was a blur; I had him by the throat, squeezed, his eyes fluttered shut in relief—as if he needed this, as if this was his drug, the ultimate high. His vice is sex, mine is booze. What a fascinating pair we make.

I slammed his body into the counter, and he winced, pleasure etched on his face. Cock hard like mine.

“You have bad manners, Marcus.”

 “… yeah,” he gasped, his black, manicured nails clawing into my forearms, “then teach me some, old fuck.”

I released his neck, feeling a sense of fucked satisfaction at the bruising that would surely form there when I was finished with him. He crumbled to his knees; beautiful.

Collecting my whiskey, I grabbed a handful of his hair; wordlessly coaxed him to trail beside me on the flooring, and soon the pressure at his scalp left him whimpering and attempting a clumsy crawl. I continued to half-drag his ass across the floor with my left hand. My right cradled that whiskey, of course, because I wasn’t even remotely done with my drink. Just like I’m not even remotely done with him.

I sipped, dragged him roughly as we got about halfway to the dining room table. Fuck, the sounds he made… he panted heavily, groaned; he was getting off on this as much as I was. He stopped; wavered on his knees at my feet.

“I don’t have all day,” I muttered gruffly, “so move your ass.”

Marcus flashed a lazy, lust-drunken half smile, his expression dripping in defiance. “Fuck you.”

I popped a squat and dragged his face to mine, he gasped, belly heaving at the abruptness of the movement. I brought my mouth to his ear, a sick smirk forming at the outer corner of my lips. “… I will, whether you like it or not.”

His eyes fluttered, lips pressed together, a breathy whimper, as if he were creating a mental image of us, and shockingly, mouthy Marcus had nothing to say to that. My gaze flickered between his thighs, and his erection, straining against the fabric hungrily. He said he was a freak, and I’m gonna hold him to that.

I released his hair, caressed his face, trailed my fingertips over his lips, pink and inviting. Such a pretty mouth at my disposal. “It pisses me off to no end,” I murmured, brushing my lips against his, “that you’ve teased me for so long; strutting around my home like some kind of trophy whore… when really, between Drew and I, you’re nothing more than our public toilet.”

His breath hitched. My heart raced. It’s like a part of me that had long lay dormant had awoken; that part of me, and the sensation was overwhelming. The thought of what I might do to the beautiful creature in front of me…

Marcus licked his lips and shuddered; expression charged with voracious hunger. His brow raised and he laughed, “it really does bother you that he fucked me first, huh?”

He’s fuckin’ perfect.

I smirked, chose to ignore his taunting, even if he was correct—it did bother me—I felt like I had to prove it; prove I was only one who could fulfill what he so-desperately craved; a brutal fucking, the kind that left behind lasting bruises; the kind of fucking that’d have him crawling back for more like a starving dog, begging for its next meal.

My hand seemed to move quicker than my brain; before I knew it, I had him by the balls, and I squeezed until his eyes wide, mouth agape as he gasped from the pain. “That’s a good boy. Now, open, you’ll need this.” I hissed.

Tilting my glass back, I took a hefty swig and rolled the liquid around in my mouth, even gargled with it. Marcus squirmed, dug his nails into my arm, but I maintained the grip I had on his nuts. He panted, started to beg, but I paid that no mind. I set my glass on the floor and grabbed his face, then spit the whiskey into his open mouth.

“Swallow…”

He fought me, those doe-eyes wide and watery, but I wasn’t playing. I wrapped my hand around his mouth and squeezed; he whined, gaze awash with fear, pain, pleasure… “good boy,” I coaxed, voice gentler than before. “You could use a shot or two considering what happens next. Should be thanking me.”

Marcus’ hand gripped my wrist, he collapsed forward, and I caught his weight against my chest; held his face in my hands. He looked beautiful on his knees, beautiful with tears in his eyes.

Beautiful and afraid. But we weren’t slowing down yet; we’d barely begun.

I released his poor nuts. “On your feet.”  

He was slow to comply as anticipated. I pushed him away, found a pair of brown eyes looking back at me now wild; wild in a way that communicated he was looking for a fight. Excellent.

He fell back onto his hands, but his eyes never left mine. “Hah! Make me you old-ass fuckin’ suicidal-veteran-recluse-bitch.”

… shots fired. I exhaled a chuckle, tried to stifle any further laughter, because the sad truth of my life was funny, in a fucked-up sort of way. Marcus saw right through me.

I threw back the last of the whiskey. The soft burn at the back of my throat made my chest bloom with warmth; my liquid vice gently stripping me of my remaining inhibitions… pushing me over the edge.

“I won’t ask twice,” I warned, deposited the empty glass on the floor. “It’d be better for you to comply.”

I felt the sudden impact of his fist to the side of my face. A surprisingly solid right hook. Dizzying, impressive, feral. He clamored to his feet, my hand instinctively reached for my cheek, there’d be a decent bruise there in the morning. I’d get him though; he wasn’t gonna get far.  

I rose to my feet slowly, rubbed at my jaw and watched him sprint upstairs, stretched my neck as the ache radiated downwards. It’d been a while since I’d taken a hit to the face, but it’d done nothing to kill the hardness below—in fact, it had the opposite effect.

We’ll both be bleeding before this is over.

“You’re fast,” I called darkly as I reached the top of the stairs, “I’ll give you that…”

I paused—took a few calming breaths to quiet my racing heart; swore I could feel my heartbeat in my fucking head at that point. The thrill of the chase might put my ancient ass in a coma. My eyes fluttered shut and I took a moment to listen; over the sound of my heart, beyond that… I heard a faint “thud” emanating down the hallway. From Drew’s room.

“… but you’re a noisy little thing.”

I followed his trail; looked for signs of disturbance, the linen closet door slightly ajar, Drew’s bathroom light on. Shit attempts to throw me off.

“No use putting off the inevitable,” I warned, “a ran-through whore like you should know that.”

Silence. He’s close.

Resentment fueled my movement now; I knew where he was. That sick little fuck—he was hiding in Drew’s room. Of course he chose Drew’s room. Just another way to make this as fucked up and sick as possible.

The door wasn’t fast; I pressed lightly on the center, it swung open, the room not as quiet as it should’ve been.

“You breathe too loud,” I cracked my neck. “… anyway, I can drag you out into the open, if that’s what you prefer.”

My attention flickered around his room, gaze passing over old rowing trophies, posters, tried to swallow my shame. I’m literally ‘bout to drag his pretty friend out from underneath that bed and fuck him to tears, make it hurt ‘till he blows his load. This is insane.

“I’ll count to ten,” I circled the room, checked his closet, behind the curtains, everywhere but under the bed. “if I get to ten, you know what comes next. Certainly me, maybe you… if you’re good.”

I can hear him trying to quiet his breathing, but his heart rate is too high for that.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…” I settled two feet from the end of Drew’s bed. The sound of fabric scraping against the carpet was faint but there, shifting in the darkness underneath that expensive king mattress. I swore I could hear his heartbeat from there.

I bought that mattress for Drew. It’s nice.

“… three, two…”

I dropped to all fours and found myself at eye-level with that beautiful, blonde devil himself.
This is too fucking fun.

“Boo!”

Marcus gasped, tried to squirm out the left side of the bed, dodged my outstretched arm. I simply waited, rose to my feet and watched as he slipped out. His chest heaved, eyes wide with fear, but his dick remained noticeably hard. Yeah, a freak like me.

“Come on,” I smirked. “Let’s get this over with. Be a good boy.”

His pale hands curled into fists, shoulders rising and falling in time with my racing heart. “A ‘good boy’, huh?” he mocked, “thought I was the public toilet.”  

“If the shoe fits.”