Fic: Let The Light In (The Eagle, AU), Chapter 5
Title: Let The Light In, Chapter 5
Pairing: Esca/Marcus
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5.8k
Warnings: Recreational drug use
Summary: Esca's an acrobat, and he has an idea when he meets someone who used to dance in the show.
“Again.”
“I'm running out of places to bruise.” Esca dragged himself up off the crash mat, rubbing his hip. “You okay?”
Marcus was holding onto his nose with both hands, giving it tentative pinches, head titled backwards. “My mom's going to be pissed at you if you break my face.”
“You think it's broken?”
“Not yet. Try harder next time.”
“You will both try harder. Again!”
Rudy clapped his hands, folding his arms and frowning as if he fully expected Esca and Marcus to fail to thrill all over again. Marcus cricked his neck back and forth before stepping into position, but Esca took a minute to close his eyes, hands on hips, trying to breathe his rising temper out. If they had been stuck in a stuffy studio as he'd predicted, he'd have comprehensively lost his rag several times over on a daily basis, but instead Lumière had forked out for a huge rehearsal space, a cavernous hanger-like structure where all twelve acts were blasted with Esca's abhorred air conditioning throughout the day and encouraged to act like a family. And, just like any family Esca had ever known, any drama or temper tantrums drew an immediate, appreciative audience. He'd been forced to cork it by dint of peer pressure alone. The effort was almost as exhausting as slamming into Marcus's face and shoulders repeatedly for days was becoming.
“In your own time, Esca.” Rudy's tone set Esca's teeth on edge, so he gritted them, biting down until his fillings creaked. “We have plenty more time for you to waste on not getting this right. I do recall, however, that the hand to hand act in Solamir had the transitory balance down in a couple of days.”
“Because it was a floor move! From the ground up! That's completely different . . .”
You fat French fuck. Esca closed his eyes again and breathed, in and out, his diaphragm clenching as Marcus's hand touched his shoulder in a friendly pat no doubt designed to help calm him down. Marcus's hand was as warm and dry as it always was, its callouses setting off nerve impulses under Esca's skin that chased each other up and down his back.
“C'mon. We'll get it.”
“I know we'll get it, but there's no sense bitching at us in the meantime.”
“It's a compliment to all you've achieved so far that we have so little to work on but this. Now, gentlemen, if you would be so kind.”
“Listen, Rudy, could you give us, what, an hour?” Marcus's hand tightened on Esca's shoulder. “We might work at this better alone.”
“Yeah. Go bug the Peruvians.”
“If Mr. MacCunoval also promises to work on his belligerent attitude . . .”
“Fine, yes, I'm horrible.” Esca waved Rudy away with his best apologetic smile. “It's frustrating, that's all.”
“For us all, Esca. One hour, and I'll expect to see improvements, if not the kiss itself.”
“I'll give you a kiss.” Esca started to help Marcus with dragging the crash mats over towards a quieter corner, muttering under his breath. “Of my bruised backside.”
The mutter had been loud enough for Marcus to hear. “That's not much of a threat.”
“Oh, I know, and he fucking wishes.”
“It might explain why he won't quit supervising us.”
“I keep telling everyone, it's not my fault I'm so pretty.”
They threw the last crash mat down into place, and Marcus stood, dusting off his hands on each other as he looked Esca over. “You could show a little less skin.”
Esca looked down at his torn exercise shorts, the elastic waist of his jock flat against his belly where the shorts must've slipped in the last fall. He tugged them up, brushing them back into place.
“The more skin the better. You're not experienced enough, yet - skin to skin creates more friction, less chance of slipping. Also, didn't you used to be a stripper, you total fucking hypocrite? Besides, everything's covered. Prudey bastard.”
Marcus simply gave him that long, level look until Esca had stopped grousing, and then held out a hand, dropping into his support stance, back slightly flexed, feet splayed at shoulder distance. “Try to avoid the nose this time.”
“Then might I suggest you don't drop me on it?”
It had been such a short few weeks, but already Esca couldn't remember how it'd been when they'd first started working together and he'd been able to take Marcus's hand without reacting to it. He knew it hadn't been a big deal, not before that night at The Centurion's Helmet, but ever since every small touch had been notable, a small psychic shock, his skin smarting, his heart pulsing faster over three or four beats. Or now, as he climbed up on Marcus's good thigh and Marcus's hand took his waist, cupping his ribcage perfectly and lifting Esca into a one-handed balance with only the smallest grunt of effort as if they'd been doing this for years, Marcus's touch burning into him like a brand.
Perhaps it was this connection they'd developed. Marcus led him through their initial balances instead for trying for the transitory right away as Rudy had kept demanding, and it took only the slightest press of a finger into Esca's palm for him to understand that Marcus was ready for Esca's weight to shift sideways. Or for Esca to squeeze Marcus's grip on his hand by the tiniest touch for Marcus to ready himself for Esca to work into a spin, switching hands to Marcus's shoulders to the other outstretched hand, Marcus standing firm in the centre as Esca's legs dipped and whirled around him. It wasn't easy, it never was, and sweat started to drip off Esca's nose onto Marcus's upturned face, but it was breathless and wordless and perfectly timed, and soon enough the balances began to sing to him. Esca could close his eyes and lose himself to it without a visual marker, something he'd seldom trusted himself or Bastien enough to do before.
It shouldn't be like this. Not so soon. He couldn't remember when it hadn't been, with Marcus, although he knew it could be counted in days. Here he was, hanging as if from the ceiling by his toes, a perfect upstretched line from the floor through Marcus through himself, a simple, beautifully executed two-handed balance, and he could feel the exhaustion in Marcus's muscles, that slight shivering where they'd already worked too hard and long on this. Marcus hadn't complained, not once. It was fucking unnatural.
“Just breathe. Let me do the work.”
“We'll call it quits after this one.”
Marcus's back had to be killing him, without being able to use his legs to bend and then straighten up into the changing lift. His voice was thick with effort, shot through with that bone-headed determination. “Sure. After we nail it.”
“Whatever you say.” Esca started to work his legs into a level side split, pointing his toes until his calves were at cramping point. “Don't drop me on my head.”
“Don't talk, breathe. You ready?”
He answered with a squeeze of both Marcus's hands, unwavering, stomach muscles screaming at him to let his legs fall. Then he craned his head backwards, curving his spine and opening his eyes to see Marcus looking back up at him, Marcus's face an unflattering shade of ruddy pink with the strain as he started to lower Esca towards him. The shivering in Marcus's arms began to build, Marcus's mouth folding in on itself obstinately as he doubled, tripled his efforts, gripping Esca's hands tighter until it was uncomfortable. Whatever it took. Esca held the balance and, he was certain, as much as he could be, that he reacted to correct a sudden quake in Marcus's left arm before it had even happened, moving his weight imperceptibly to counteract. Veins in Marcus's thick neck were standing out, and across his shoulders and chest beneath the vest, but Esca noticed Marcus tucking his elbows in tighter to his sides, and they were almost there. Inches. Nothing more. He'd have to pucker up in a second.
“I'm sorry, Esca, I'm . . . motherfuck!”
Marcus's shout broke his focus, and Esca toppled, a more controlled fall this time than before, Marcus trying his best to guide Esca down. He staggered a few steps backwards, managing to keep to his feet as he watched Marcus slump down to lie flat on his back on the mats, balled fists covering both his eyes.
“You okay down there? My fault, sorry. I lost concentration for a second.”
Marcus didn't say anything. The balled fists flattened out, wiping over Marcus's eyes, and then both arms were thrown over his face, blocking Esca out.
“But we nearly had it. That was good! Definite progress.”
A mumble came out from between the arms, followed by a few sniffs and a shuddery breath inwards. Was Marcus . . . was he crying? Esca shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he toweled off his chest and stomach. If Marcus was crying, it'd be like watching a mountain mid-landslide. Everest, crumbling. He held a toe out, nudging one of Marcus's feet with it.
“I'm serious. That was good. Think about it - we've been at this almost four hours. You'd be fresh before a performance. You're too tired, we both are, and I wobbled. We'd have had it otherwise.”
Marcus sighed, and withdrew his arms. He looked tired, blurry, fed up and pissed off, but there was no sign of tears. “It's not you. It's like Rudy said. We should have this by now.”
“Rudy's full of it. In a moving transitory balance from the floor, which is way more common and which he knows full well, the base uses every set of muscles to contribute to the lift. You'd know it too if you -”
“Had the experience. Yeah, I got that.” Marcus was staring up at the distant roof, a line dug deep between his eyebrows. “I'm the issue.”
“This isn't helping. You're not the issue. The lift's the issue, and we're getting closer.”
The frown turned from pissed to bullishly determined. “I need to hit the weights again tonight.”
“You need a rest.”
Esca dropped down into a crouch beside Marcus, who glanced at him once before pretending to shield his eyes from the bulge of Esca's crotch. “Knees together, man. The second we get paid, I'm buying you some sweatpants.”
“Again from the ex-stripper. Chill out. We've still got three weeks and the more you fuck up your arms with weights, the less recovery time you'll have.”
“A year ago I was easily benching two sixty, two seventy, minimal bounce.”
“Ah. The glory days.”
“You don't get it.” Marcus sat up to unstrap his leg brace, starting to rub some knots out of his leg. “How could you? Look at you.”
Esca did as he was told. Everything looked pretty much the same as usual, with a few new bruises that he hadn't had a couple of weeks back. “What's wrong with me? Don't pick on me just because you're in a snit.”
“Nothing's wrong with you. You eat crap, when you actually remember to eat. You drink too much. You bitch all the way through warm up, and don't stretch out as much as you know you should. You take it all for granted.”
“Just like you did.”
Marcus dug his fingers deeper into his knee, and shook his head, watching his fingers working. “I told you, I took my work seriously. Good diet, looked after myself.”
“For all the good it did you.”
“Pretty much.”
“Fuck's sake.” Esca got up, and kicked Marcus in the hip. A heftier one than he probably should have. “That's enough. No more pity party. I'm telling Rudy we're done for the day, then we'll drop by Mads' place and go home to get proper stockered.”
Marcus pursed his lips, giving Esca a pensive look out from under his brows. “Do I want to know what that is?”
“It is weed, my glum chum.” Esca held out a hand and helped Marcus to his feet, tossing a towel over his head. “Weed so strong it'll shrivel your pubes. Like I said - you seriously need to chill the fuck out.”
“Rudy's not going to be happy.”
“Fuck Rudy up his stinky French arsehole.”
Marcus smiled, limping alongside Esca, his leg obviously bothering him more than usual. “But that's giving him exactly what he wants.”
“In his fucking dreams.”
-
It wasn't as if he indulged often. Maybe he should. They'd had a couple of joints at Mads' place, who'd followed them back to Esca's apartment, huge baggie of weed stuffed inside a disapproving Marcus's jeans after Esca pointed out he was the only one with any room. He was already well on his way, fuzzy-headed and mellow, surges of a grubby horniness starting to warm his cock. Everything from the waist down was getting all throbby and wanting attention. Time to piss.
“I'll be a minute. Beer's in the fridge. No munchies, though.”
“No? That's bullshit.”
Esca threw his car keys at the bowl on his kitchen counter, tossing his hat over by the sofa somewhere, then smirked as Marcus silently rolled his eyes and followed him around, putting everything in its proper place. “Marcus lectures me on nutrition if I buy too much junk food.”
“The second you start lifting me above your head twenty times a day, you get to lecture me back.”
“Sodding bases. Pains in the arse, all of you.”
He left Mads taking up most of the couch, with a spliff already clenched between his lips, flipping through TV stations, Marcus settling into what was becoming his usual corner, foot up on the coffee table, cushion under his ankle, an ice pack on his knee. Esca bounced off his bedroom door on the way through, rubbing at his head before slapping at the wall outside the bathroom till he found the light switch.
“And you, you're predictable, too.”
He patted his semi-chub after he pulled it out of his pants, needing to screw up his face and concentrate for a few seconds before he managed to get a stream flowing. He liked getting baked. It wasn't like he'd decided on Amsterdam for school for the tulips alone. But weed, rather than resin, always gave him this seedy buzz, a low level arousal that'd continue until he'd either work up enough energy to do something about it or pass out in a hazy coma for a few hours. It was probably a stupid idea, getting all worked up like this with Marcus around. He shook off the last few drops of of piss then gave into temptation, sliding his foreskin back and forth a couple of times with a satisfied sigh, stopping before he got fully hard.
The sound of sirens and very occasional conversation was coming into the bedroom through the gap where he hadn't completely closed the door, along with the rotting skunk stench of Mads' latest. They were watching some sort of cop show, maybe. Making a split second decision, Esca decided against tucking himself back in, instead shutting off the bathroom light leaving the room dark except for that coming from the living room and the evening beyond the windows. Fuck it. It had been so long since he'd bothered doing anything to make himself feel good other than a quick early morning session to scratch an itch. If wanking was going to be the only sex he was likely to get, he might as well make a good job of it.
It felt sneaky and exposed, how he walked from the bathroom to his bed with his cock jutting half-hard and out of his jeans, bouncing with his steps. Esca yanked his jeans halfway down his legs and sat, pulling open his bedside table drawer, rootling around inside till he'd located some lube and his seldom-used buttplug. No time like the present. He drizzled a small amount of lube over it, coating the surface with his finger before rolling onto his back, reaching down between his knees and his ruched jeans to rub it over his pucker a few times. Perhaps if he'd been less stoned, or the door was closed, he'd have taken the trouble to imagine a tongue working on him as the lube warmed, but there wasn't time and it was only the size of his index finger, so Esca pushed it in fast, rocking it up into position and clenching around it a few times before wriggling back into his pants and jeans. Sorted. He smiled to himself, Dirty boy. Squeezed down on it. Lovely.
“Good timing.” Mads held the spiff out to Esca. “Your boy's not partaking so this one's all yours.”
“Marcus? No?” Esca took a drag, sucking it back while he held it out to Marcus. “It'll help with muscle strain.”
“I'm good with the beer, thanks.”
“Boo. Let loose, willya? Budge up a bit.”
He squeezed his way in between Marcus and Mads, the plug driven deep and grazing his g-spot as he sat down, causing him to inhale rather more sharply on his next drag than he'd intended. He sneezed out the smoke and started to splutter, trying to breathe in fresh air while Mads hammered at his back.
“Do you need a paper bag?”
“I'm fine! I'm good, Mads, stop hitting me. I'm already one big bruise.”
Everything ached. Had done for days, a weekend's rest making no difference between weeks of practice. But the weed started to work its magic, slackening off the tension in his arms and chest, tendons stretched way beyond comfort, torn muscles trying their best to repair themselves between sessions of abuse. The plug was doing its job, too, a constant solidity making his arsehole clamp down in reflex, making the throb deep down in his nuts get hotter and more insistent. Anything that distracted him from the usual aches and pains of being in serious training again.
The cop show segued into a thing about border customs, and one twenty-two year old coming in from Mexico with a arseful of cocaine-filled condoms had Esca's bum going crazy, chewing at the plug like a tongue that wouldn't stop playing with a mouth ulcer. Marcus sitting there next to him, his thigh against Esca's, his forearm sometimes warm and solid against Esca's own, was driving him crazy with the need to fucking snuggle, of all total fucked-up concepts.
Esca blamed the weed. He always got more touchy-feely when baked out of his mind, and had leaned into Mads', head on Mads' shoulder as they passed another joint back and forth. It was something they did sometimes when smoking, something Cas had commented on as being 'European gay', whatever that specification implied. But Marcus's long, bulky torso, lean and broad, soft in its old t-shirt, beckoned to him out the corner of his eye. Perfect in size and structure to lean into, to get wrapped in, to tuck into for a doze prior a lengthy makeout session. Prior to so much stoned shagging.
As if he was reading Esca's mind, Marcus looked over at Esca from under those thick eyelashes for a beat too long, then turned to watch the TV again, taking a long drink from his beer, throat bobbing, licking his lips afterwards. He looked so kissable, lickable, biteable, like his neck would smell warm and exactly right. Esca felt like he was drowning in sensation and libido, with his head spinning with the grass, his cock-hungry bum going crazy with every movement of Marcus's mouth and a persistent semi continuing to press against the fly of his jeans, and Marcus right there looking like the most perfect recliner in all recent history. It was a fever dream, beguiling and infuriating, completely inescapable.
“Guys, it's been riveting, but I gotta hit the road before I crash.” Mads moved off the sofa leaving Esca to drop down into a sprawl, and started patting his pockets for keys. “I'll leave you the rest of this shit. It's too spacey for me.”
“Yeah?” Esca propped his head up on a wrist, having to consciously force himself not to stretch out his socked feet to stick them in Marcus's lap for a foot rub. “Cheers, mate. I'd say you could crash here, but you'd have to be in with me and I kick like a donkey on training days. Leg cramps.”
“You can't drive. Not after all that.” The sofa creaked as Marcus got up, holding out his hand for Mads' keys.
“Nah, man, it's all good. I drive better wasted. It's more like a video game when I'm straight.”
“I'm sorry, I can't allow it. We'll drop off the car tomorrow. Esca? I can take the Camry?”
Earnest, responsible, sober Marcus. Three puffs on a spliff and two beers over five hours, and that was his idea of a relaxing evening kicking back. It was pretty appalling. “I suppose. Fill it up, and get me some Fritos while you're at it? The scoopy ones? If there's bean dip. If there's no bean dip -”
“There's apples in the refrigerator if you're hungry.” Marcus took the car keys, and Esca's stoned mind noticed how lit up Marcus's eyes were, glowing from within with a pale, sea-green light. How soft and pink his lips were, prettier than any girl's, as pouty as a porn star. Hair freshly washed and fluffy from his shower after practice. “Don't forget where I am and lock me out.”
“I am kind of gone. It could happen. Can't promise it won't.”
Mads had pulled his jacket on and leaned down to where Esca was lying flat out on the sofa, giving Esca a stubbly cheek-kiss on each side of his jaw.
“Catch up next week.” He lowered his voice, his breath tickling Esca's neck. “You're not waiting up for that one, are you? Is that what's happening here?”
“No. It's very not what's happening.”
“Good. He's dull as fuck. Welterusten, boop.”
“Goede nacht, chick.” Esca leaned up quickly, planting a firm, closed-mouth kiss on Mads' mouth, pinching his chin afterward. “You're quite sure you're still not gay? You'd do. You're fun.”
“Not yet. Maybe one day? Too many girls around here.”
“Story of my fucking life.”
It took Esca ten minutes to move, maybe more, time slowing down all treacly and fuzzy as he rolled off the sofa and pulled himself up with the coffee table, and dragged his feet through to the bedroom. Shutting the door firmly behind him this time. His arms felt too rubbery and knackered, his traps and rhomboids tight in discomfort, but he stripped with purpose, touching his skin as he went, knowing that after having been so turned on for so many hours now, the release when he finally came would be worth the extra effort. He was fully hard before he even got into bed, so much so that it curved upwards in eagerness, something that only happened these days when he was truly desperate for a wank or if someone else was involved that he actually fancied.
“Ohh, God, that's it. Oh, hell, yes, Christ that's good.”
Hand coated with cold lube, slick and cooling where his cock was aching after too long at half-mast. He kicked the sheet back and spread his legs wide, reaching down under his balls to press the plug up into himself, grinding it in a slow spiral, groaning with frustration when it wouldn't hit right. It wasn't going to be enough.
“Bugger. Ugh. Too . . . far . . . away . . .”
He'd rolled over, searching in his bedside drawer. It wasn't as if Esca had his old box of tricks hidden there, which had been gotten rid of in a fit of wanting to avoid any awkward moments in customs on his way over, but he had his little plug, a shit-ton of condoms reminding him of exactly how single he was, and . . . there. His fingers found it. This, his plain, boring, flesh-toned Doc Johnson seven incher, which might not be glamorous or hi-tech but which did the job when his bumhole was climbing the walls desperate for a fuck. With an ease he'd never been sure to be proud of or embarrassed by, he lubed it and worked it in no problem, hips hiked up high, no pausing necessary as his hole enveloped it greedily, almost sucking it up out of his fingers once it was halfway in.
“Oh, now, that's the stuff. Yes, please, sir. Don't mind if I do.”
A deep fuck never felt right when it was coming from him. He held it, shoulders muscles complaining as he reached down further to grab it firmly in an inch-deep fuck, timing each move in or out with a tight stroke over the head of his cock with his other hand. He was always slower to cum when pissed, faster when stoned, and he could already feel the beginnings of climax bubbling around, unspiralling in his balls and arsehole. The weed had every bone in him malleable, his body slacker, blood buzzing as it worked through his veins and the throbbing itch building at the tip of his prick taking over every muscle. His arsehole was over-sensitive from the hour or two with the plug, and it felt swollen, clamping and clenching around the rubber dong all graspy and needy. All he had to do to bring it on was to let his mind go where it wanted to, a dog tugging at its leash, and Esca knew he was too tired, too stoned, to wait it out any longer.
He let the thoughts come, moaning with how intense every sensation got as it became Marcus fucking him, Marcus's dick hard and buried deep in his gut, Marcus's fingers coaxing him towards an orgasm stroke by stroke. Maybe it was after practice, sweaty and heated. Maybe it was on the crash mats, not caring who was watching. Esca felt himself start to shake, letting himself murmur Marcus's name, encouraging him to fuck deeper and faster, telling him how good it was, how totally fucking great his cock felt. His feet were flexing, toes curling, everything building perfectly, and he imagined Marcus above him, gasping out his name, sweat beading across his forehead, beautiful chest mottled red with how close he was, so close now, I'm going to shoot, Esca, I'm going to . . . let me come inside you, I wanna fill you up -
He came with a gasp, first splattering across his shoulder, then in the dip of his throat, one last shot squeezed out to glop over his stomach as his hand tightened involuntarily. The waves of sensation kept coming, his legs jerking until he worked them straight out, his body undulating on the bed as he continued to fuck himself slowly until his bumhole stopped spasming. He was covered in sweat, gasping, cotton-mouthed, the one fucking time he needed the air to come on and it hadn't. Soon as the golden, glowy feelings began to melt away, humiliation started to creep in, Esca's face burning as he birthed the dildo with a grunt and a push, then started to wipe himself down with his sheet.
Yeah, it had been good. Too good, a climax he'd felt in his earlobes, his little fingers, in each singular hair follicle on his scalp, all the way down to his toenails. But slowly the aches started to come back, and the air in the room was as stinky and fetid as a swamp, scented with jizz and bum. Then, as the extra cherry on top, as soon as he figured out he was in dire need of rehydration and that there were no glasses or cups or anything resembling a drinking vessel in here, he heard the apartment door close out in the living room. Marcus, returned. Perhaps a drink from the bathroom tap would do.
“Esca? You sleeping?”
A soft knock at the bedroom door made him grab the sheet, covering himself as fast and as well as he could, remembering at the last second to grab the dildo from the end of the bed. He tossed it back into the bedside drawer with a grimace and a mental note to remember to wash it in the morning. No more sticking it in the dishwasher now Marcus had taken up residency of the sofa.
“I'm in bed. You need anything?” Say no. It reeks in here.
“Sorry. I need to take a whizz and brush my teeth.”
“Oh. Right. Give me a minute.”
Fucking stupid one-bath apartment. He'd thought having an en-suite would be fancily convenient. There was no disguising the stink in the room, but Esca wrapped the sheet around his waist and stumbled his way over to the windows, opening them up letting in a waft of hot air and insect noise, distant traffic, chatter from a TV set next door. It'd have to do.
“All yours.”
He opened the door, standing aside as Marcus stared at his bare chest for a heartbeat before moving past him.
“Thanks.”
“S'okay. I wasn't asleep. I've got to get a drink anyway.”
“Weed'll do that.”
“Yeah. Weed.”
Esca shuffled out the way and towards the kitchen, determined not to waste any energy worrying about what Marcus thought about the fug of the bedroom. Yes, he'd probably figure out what Esca had been doing. Like he hadn't knocked out a few knuckle-shuffles on Esca's sofa over the past couple of weeks? He tucked the sheet around his waist more securely and stood by the sink, draining two pints of water one after the other as he waited for Marcus to reappear. That apple sounded good right now. It was wonderful, actually, crisp and slightly sour, the remnants of Esca's buzz seeking out different nuances of flavour and bite as he leaned back against the counter and stared into nothing, absolutely not thinking about how fast and hard he'd come once he'd started fantasising about the hot splash of Marcus's cum up inside his -
“I'm done, thanks.”
“Minty fresh? Good for you.”
Stupid to feel so naked in the sheet, considering Marcus had manhandled every inch of Esca's torso and arms, and had Esca's bare limbs wrapped around him in several aesthetically-interesting combinations.
“You turning in now?”
Esca swallowed his last bite of apple and faked a yawn. “Think so. It's another long day tomorrow. Still got that kiss to sort out.”
Marcus had limped over into the kitchen area, taking a glass of his own out of the dishwasher and filling it at the fridge door. “Don't remind me.”
“We'll get there.”
“I know.”
Was there anything Marcus did without all that unconscious sexiness? Leaning back against the breakfast bar, propping himself on one arm, head tilted back and throat exposed as he gulped the glass down. Even rinsing out the glass under the tap, his fingers deft and exacting, every movement easily efficient. His baggy jeans were hanging lower than usual on his hips, the swell of his arsecheeks swelling beneath the hem of his shirt as he shook the glass and left it on the drainer. Esca could only watch, mute and paralysed with want.
“Mads gave me his keys. I'll drive his truck back to his place in the morning, if you can follow.”
“No problemo.”
“You and Mads.”
“Me and Mads, what?”
“Tell me to butt out, but, is he . . . you kissed him. Is he your . . . ?”
There was only a meter between them, Marcus standing opposite Esca, who clutched at his sheet for the little protection it offered.
“Me and Mads? No.”
“I just thought, on the couch, you looked, I don't know.”
“Just friends. He's actually extremely straight.”
“Oh.”
“I know, right? The whole metrosexual thing really fucks with gaydar.”
Marcus chuckled, dipping his head. “I don't know about that, but yeah. You looked close.”
“We are. Friendly, I mean.”
“Sure. That's nice.”
“It is. He's the one person in this entire country who's known me more than a few months. Wouldn't have gotten the Anima gig if it weren't for him.”
“But I wanted to say, I mean, I thought about it on the way back.” Marcus cleared his throat, still looking at the floor rather than at Esca. “If there is someone you want to stay the night, this is your place, you're helping me out and I don't want to cramp your -”
“Oh! Fuck, no, that's not an issue. Believe me.”
“I figured I should say it anyway. If it becomes an issue, just tell me to take a hike.”
“No. I'd, uh, I'd keep it down. You're alright on the sofa.”
The following pause was excruciating rather than merely awkward, and once the weed left in Esca's system started to suggest dropping the sheet and then to his knees to work on Marcus's baggy jeans, he knew it was time to make a run for it.
“Well, I'm going to,” He thumbed at his bedroom door. “'Night, then.”
“'Night. Listen, I don't think I've said it, yet.”
Marcus had turned to watch him leave, the kitchen's one small overhead light shining down on his clean, fluffy hair, shining in a ring like a halo.
“Said what?”
“Thanks. For all of this. The job, the couch. It's above and beyond.”
Esca felt himself blushing, a great tide of heat and colour washing down from his face and neck over his exposed chest. “Fuck off. It's nothing. You're helping me out.”
“Esca . . . it's not nothing. Thank you, for everything. If there's anything I can do . . .”
Fuck me. Fuck me like you mean it. “We'll nail the kiss tomorrow. Get some more ice on that leg, okay? I'm relying on it to hold us both up.”
He closed the door and leaned against it, staring at the mess of his bed, heart beating in his mouth, beating at the base of his balls. It was certain he'd be kissing Marcus tomorrow. A stage kiss, but a kiss all the same. Might as well keep the lube within easy reach for tomorrow night.
Pairing: Esca/Marcus
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5.8k
Warnings: Recreational drug use
Summary: Esca's an acrobat, and he has an idea when he meets someone who used to dance in the show.
“Again.”
“I'm running out of places to bruise.” Esca dragged himself up off the crash mat, rubbing his hip. “You okay?”
Marcus was holding onto his nose with both hands, giving it tentative pinches, head titled backwards. “My mom's going to be pissed at you if you break my face.”
“You think it's broken?”
“Not yet. Try harder next time.”
“You will both try harder. Again!”
Rudy clapped his hands, folding his arms and frowning as if he fully expected Esca and Marcus to fail to thrill all over again. Marcus cricked his neck back and forth before stepping into position, but Esca took a minute to close his eyes, hands on hips, trying to breathe his rising temper out. If they had been stuck in a stuffy studio as he'd predicted, he'd have comprehensively lost his rag several times over on a daily basis, but instead Lumière had forked out for a huge rehearsal space, a cavernous hanger-like structure where all twelve acts were blasted with Esca's abhorred air conditioning throughout the day and encouraged to act like a family. And, just like any family Esca had ever known, any drama or temper tantrums drew an immediate, appreciative audience. He'd been forced to cork it by dint of peer pressure alone. The effort was almost as exhausting as slamming into Marcus's face and shoulders repeatedly for days was becoming.
“In your own time, Esca.” Rudy's tone set Esca's teeth on edge, so he gritted them, biting down until his fillings creaked. “We have plenty more time for you to waste on not getting this right. I do recall, however, that the hand to hand act in Solamir had the transitory balance down in a couple of days.”
“Because it was a floor move! From the ground up! That's completely different . . .”
You fat French fuck. Esca closed his eyes again and breathed, in and out, his diaphragm clenching as Marcus's hand touched his shoulder in a friendly pat no doubt designed to help calm him down. Marcus's hand was as warm and dry as it always was, its callouses setting off nerve impulses under Esca's skin that chased each other up and down his back.
“C'mon. We'll get it.”
“I know we'll get it, but there's no sense bitching at us in the meantime.”
“It's a compliment to all you've achieved so far that we have so little to work on but this. Now, gentlemen, if you would be so kind.”
“Listen, Rudy, could you give us, what, an hour?” Marcus's hand tightened on Esca's shoulder. “We might work at this better alone.”
“Yeah. Go bug the Peruvians.”
“If Mr. MacCunoval also promises to work on his belligerent attitude . . .”
“Fine, yes, I'm horrible.” Esca waved Rudy away with his best apologetic smile. “It's frustrating, that's all.”
“For us all, Esca. One hour, and I'll expect to see improvements, if not the kiss itself.”
“I'll give you a kiss.” Esca started to help Marcus with dragging the crash mats over towards a quieter corner, muttering under his breath. “Of my bruised backside.”
The mutter had been loud enough for Marcus to hear. “That's not much of a threat.”
“Oh, I know, and he fucking wishes.”
“It might explain why he won't quit supervising us.”
“I keep telling everyone, it's not my fault I'm so pretty.”
They threw the last crash mat down into place, and Marcus stood, dusting off his hands on each other as he looked Esca over. “You could show a little less skin.”
Esca looked down at his torn exercise shorts, the elastic waist of his jock flat against his belly where the shorts must've slipped in the last fall. He tugged them up, brushing them back into place.
“The more skin the better. You're not experienced enough, yet - skin to skin creates more friction, less chance of slipping. Also, didn't you used to be a stripper, you total fucking hypocrite? Besides, everything's covered. Prudey bastard.”
Marcus simply gave him that long, level look until Esca had stopped grousing, and then held out a hand, dropping into his support stance, back slightly flexed, feet splayed at shoulder distance. “Try to avoid the nose this time.”
“Then might I suggest you don't drop me on it?”
It had been such a short few weeks, but already Esca couldn't remember how it'd been when they'd first started working together and he'd been able to take Marcus's hand without reacting to it. He knew it hadn't been a big deal, not before that night at The Centurion's Helmet, but ever since every small touch had been notable, a small psychic shock, his skin smarting, his heart pulsing faster over three or four beats. Or now, as he climbed up on Marcus's good thigh and Marcus's hand took his waist, cupping his ribcage perfectly and lifting Esca into a one-handed balance with only the smallest grunt of effort as if they'd been doing this for years, Marcus's touch burning into him like a brand.
Perhaps it was this connection they'd developed. Marcus led him through their initial balances instead for trying for the transitory right away as Rudy had kept demanding, and it took only the slightest press of a finger into Esca's palm for him to understand that Marcus was ready for Esca's weight to shift sideways. Or for Esca to squeeze Marcus's grip on his hand by the tiniest touch for Marcus to ready himself for Esca to work into a spin, switching hands to Marcus's shoulders to the other outstretched hand, Marcus standing firm in the centre as Esca's legs dipped and whirled around him. It wasn't easy, it never was, and sweat started to drip off Esca's nose onto Marcus's upturned face, but it was breathless and wordless and perfectly timed, and soon enough the balances began to sing to him. Esca could close his eyes and lose himself to it without a visual marker, something he'd seldom trusted himself or Bastien enough to do before.
It shouldn't be like this. Not so soon. He couldn't remember when it hadn't been, with Marcus, although he knew it could be counted in days. Here he was, hanging as if from the ceiling by his toes, a perfect upstretched line from the floor through Marcus through himself, a simple, beautifully executed two-handed balance, and he could feel the exhaustion in Marcus's muscles, that slight shivering where they'd already worked too hard and long on this. Marcus hadn't complained, not once. It was fucking unnatural.
“Just breathe. Let me do the work.”
“We'll call it quits after this one.”
Marcus's back had to be killing him, without being able to use his legs to bend and then straighten up into the changing lift. His voice was thick with effort, shot through with that bone-headed determination. “Sure. After we nail it.”
“Whatever you say.” Esca started to work his legs into a level side split, pointing his toes until his calves were at cramping point. “Don't drop me on my head.”
“Don't talk, breathe. You ready?”
He answered with a squeeze of both Marcus's hands, unwavering, stomach muscles screaming at him to let his legs fall. Then he craned his head backwards, curving his spine and opening his eyes to see Marcus looking back up at him, Marcus's face an unflattering shade of ruddy pink with the strain as he started to lower Esca towards him. The shivering in Marcus's arms began to build, Marcus's mouth folding in on itself obstinately as he doubled, tripled his efforts, gripping Esca's hands tighter until it was uncomfortable. Whatever it took. Esca held the balance and, he was certain, as much as he could be, that he reacted to correct a sudden quake in Marcus's left arm before it had even happened, moving his weight imperceptibly to counteract. Veins in Marcus's thick neck were standing out, and across his shoulders and chest beneath the vest, but Esca noticed Marcus tucking his elbows in tighter to his sides, and they were almost there. Inches. Nothing more. He'd have to pucker up in a second.
“I'm sorry, Esca, I'm . . . motherfuck!”
Marcus's shout broke his focus, and Esca toppled, a more controlled fall this time than before, Marcus trying his best to guide Esca down. He staggered a few steps backwards, managing to keep to his feet as he watched Marcus slump down to lie flat on his back on the mats, balled fists covering both his eyes.
“You okay down there? My fault, sorry. I lost concentration for a second.”
Marcus didn't say anything. The balled fists flattened out, wiping over Marcus's eyes, and then both arms were thrown over his face, blocking Esca out.
“But we nearly had it. That was good! Definite progress.”
A mumble came out from between the arms, followed by a few sniffs and a shuddery breath inwards. Was Marcus . . . was he crying? Esca shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he toweled off his chest and stomach. If Marcus was crying, it'd be like watching a mountain mid-landslide. Everest, crumbling. He held a toe out, nudging one of Marcus's feet with it.
“I'm serious. That was good. Think about it - we've been at this almost four hours. You'd be fresh before a performance. You're too tired, we both are, and I wobbled. We'd have had it otherwise.”
Marcus sighed, and withdrew his arms. He looked tired, blurry, fed up and pissed off, but there was no sign of tears. “It's not you. It's like Rudy said. We should have this by now.”
“Rudy's full of it. In a moving transitory balance from the floor, which is way more common and which he knows full well, the base uses every set of muscles to contribute to the lift. You'd know it too if you -”
“Had the experience. Yeah, I got that.” Marcus was staring up at the distant roof, a line dug deep between his eyebrows. “I'm the issue.”
“This isn't helping. You're not the issue. The lift's the issue, and we're getting closer.”
The frown turned from pissed to bullishly determined. “I need to hit the weights again tonight.”
“You need a rest.”
Esca dropped down into a crouch beside Marcus, who glanced at him once before pretending to shield his eyes from the bulge of Esca's crotch. “Knees together, man. The second we get paid, I'm buying you some sweatpants.”
“Again from the ex-stripper. Chill out. We've still got three weeks and the more you fuck up your arms with weights, the less recovery time you'll have.”
“A year ago I was easily benching two sixty, two seventy, minimal bounce.”
“Ah. The glory days.”
“You don't get it.” Marcus sat up to unstrap his leg brace, starting to rub some knots out of his leg. “How could you? Look at you.”
Esca did as he was told. Everything looked pretty much the same as usual, with a few new bruises that he hadn't had a couple of weeks back. “What's wrong with me? Don't pick on me just because you're in a snit.”
“Nothing's wrong with you. You eat crap, when you actually remember to eat. You drink too much. You bitch all the way through warm up, and don't stretch out as much as you know you should. You take it all for granted.”
“Just like you did.”
Marcus dug his fingers deeper into his knee, and shook his head, watching his fingers working. “I told you, I took my work seriously. Good diet, looked after myself.”
“For all the good it did you.”
“Pretty much.”
“Fuck's sake.” Esca got up, and kicked Marcus in the hip. A heftier one than he probably should have. “That's enough. No more pity party. I'm telling Rudy we're done for the day, then we'll drop by Mads' place and go home to get proper stockered.”
Marcus pursed his lips, giving Esca a pensive look out from under his brows. “Do I want to know what that is?”
“It is weed, my glum chum.” Esca held out a hand and helped Marcus to his feet, tossing a towel over his head. “Weed so strong it'll shrivel your pubes. Like I said - you seriously need to chill the fuck out.”
“Rudy's not going to be happy.”
“Fuck Rudy up his stinky French arsehole.”
Marcus smiled, limping alongside Esca, his leg obviously bothering him more than usual. “But that's giving him exactly what he wants.”
“In his fucking dreams.”
-
It wasn't as if he indulged often. Maybe he should. They'd had a couple of joints at Mads' place, who'd followed them back to Esca's apartment, huge baggie of weed stuffed inside a disapproving Marcus's jeans after Esca pointed out he was the only one with any room. He was already well on his way, fuzzy-headed and mellow, surges of a grubby horniness starting to warm his cock. Everything from the waist down was getting all throbby and wanting attention. Time to piss.
“I'll be a minute. Beer's in the fridge. No munchies, though.”
“No? That's bullshit.”
Esca threw his car keys at the bowl on his kitchen counter, tossing his hat over by the sofa somewhere, then smirked as Marcus silently rolled his eyes and followed him around, putting everything in its proper place. “Marcus lectures me on nutrition if I buy too much junk food.”
“The second you start lifting me above your head twenty times a day, you get to lecture me back.”
“Sodding bases. Pains in the arse, all of you.”
He left Mads taking up most of the couch, with a spliff already clenched between his lips, flipping through TV stations, Marcus settling into what was becoming his usual corner, foot up on the coffee table, cushion under his ankle, an ice pack on his knee. Esca bounced off his bedroom door on the way through, rubbing at his head before slapping at the wall outside the bathroom till he found the light switch.
“And you, you're predictable, too.”
He patted his semi-chub after he pulled it out of his pants, needing to screw up his face and concentrate for a few seconds before he managed to get a stream flowing. He liked getting baked. It wasn't like he'd decided on Amsterdam for school for the tulips alone. But weed, rather than resin, always gave him this seedy buzz, a low level arousal that'd continue until he'd either work up enough energy to do something about it or pass out in a hazy coma for a few hours. It was probably a stupid idea, getting all worked up like this with Marcus around. He shook off the last few drops of of piss then gave into temptation, sliding his foreskin back and forth a couple of times with a satisfied sigh, stopping before he got fully hard.
The sound of sirens and very occasional conversation was coming into the bedroom through the gap where he hadn't completely closed the door, along with the rotting skunk stench of Mads' latest. They were watching some sort of cop show, maybe. Making a split second decision, Esca decided against tucking himself back in, instead shutting off the bathroom light leaving the room dark except for that coming from the living room and the evening beyond the windows. Fuck it. It had been so long since he'd bothered doing anything to make himself feel good other than a quick early morning session to scratch an itch. If wanking was going to be the only sex he was likely to get, he might as well make a good job of it.
It felt sneaky and exposed, how he walked from the bathroom to his bed with his cock jutting half-hard and out of his jeans, bouncing with his steps. Esca yanked his jeans halfway down his legs and sat, pulling open his bedside table drawer, rootling around inside till he'd located some lube and his seldom-used buttplug. No time like the present. He drizzled a small amount of lube over it, coating the surface with his finger before rolling onto his back, reaching down between his knees and his ruched jeans to rub it over his pucker a few times. Perhaps if he'd been less stoned, or the door was closed, he'd have taken the trouble to imagine a tongue working on him as the lube warmed, but there wasn't time and it was only the size of his index finger, so Esca pushed it in fast, rocking it up into position and clenching around it a few times before wriggling back into his pants and jeans. Sorted. He smiled to himself, Dirty boy. Squeezed down on it. Lovely.
“Good timing.” Mads held the spiff out to Esca. “Your boy's not partaking so this one's all yours.”
“Marcus? No?” Esca took a drag, sucking it back while he held it out to Marcus. “It'll help with muscle strain.”
“I'm good with the beer, thanks.”
“Boo. Let loose, willya? Budge up a bit.”
He squeezed his way in between Marcus and Mads, the plug driven deep and grazing his g-spot as he sat down, causing him to inhale rather more sharply on his next drag than he'd intended. He sneezed out the smoke and started to splutter, trying to breathe in fresh air while Mads hammered at his back.
“Do you need a paper bag?”
“I'm fine! I'm good, Mads, stop hitting me. I'm already one big bruise.”
Everything ached. Had done for days, a weekend's rest making no difference between weeks of practice. But the weed started to work its magic, slackening off the tension in his arms and chest, tendons stretched way beyond comfort, torn muscles trying their best to repair themselves between sessions of abuse. The plug was doing its job, too, a constant solidity making his arsehole clamp down in reflex, making the throb deep down in his nuts get hotter and more insistent. Anything that distracted him from the usual aches and pains of being in serious training again.
The cop show segued into a thing about border customs, and one twenty-two year old coming in from Mexico with a arseful of cocaine-filled condoms had Esca's bum going crazy, chewing at the plug like a tongue that wouldn't stop playing with a mouth ulcer. Marcus sitting there next to him, his thigh against Esca's, his forearm sometimes warm and solid against Esca's own, was driving him crazy with the need to fucking snuggle, of all total fucked-up concepts.
Esca blamed the weed. He always got more touchy-feely when baked out of his mind, and had leaned into Mads', head on Mads' shoulder as they passed another joint back and forth. It was something they did sometimes when smoking, something Cas had commented on as being 'European gay', whatever that specification implied. But Marcus's long, bulky torso, lean and broad, soft in its old t-shirt, beckoned to him out the corner of his eye. Perfect in size and structure to lean into, to get wrapped in, to tuck into for a doze prior a lengthy makeout session. Prior to so much stoned shagging.
As if he was reading Esca's mind, Marcus looked over at Esca from under those thick eyelashes for a beat too long, then turned to watch the TV again, taking a long drink from his beer, throat bobbing, licking his lips afterwards. He looked so kissable, lickable, biteable, like his neck would smell warm and exactly right. Esca felt like he was drowning in sensation and libido, with his head spinning with the grass, his cock-hungry bum going crazy with every movement of Marcus's mouth and a persistent semi continuing to press against the fly of his jeans, and Marcus right there looking like the most perfect recliner in all recent history. It was a fever dream, beguiling and infuriating, completely inescapable.
“Guys, it's been riveting, but I gotta hit the road before I crash.” Mads moved off the sofa leaving Esca to drop down into a sprawl, and started patting his pockets for keys. “I'll leave you the rest of this shit. It's too spacey for me.”
“Yeah?” Esca propped his head up on a wrist, having to consciously force himself not to stretch out his socked feet to stick them in Marcus's lap for a foot rub. “Cheers, mate. I'd say you could crash here, but you'd have to be in with me and I kick like a donkey on training days. Leg cramps.”
“You can't drive. Not after all that.” The sofa creaked as Marcus got up, holding out his hand for Mads' keys.
“Nah, man, it's all good. I drive better wasted. It's more like a video game when I'm straight.”
“I'm sorry, I can't allow it. We'll drop off the car tomorrow. Esca? I can take the Camry?”
Earnest, responsible, sober Marcus. Three puffs on a spliff and two beers over five hours, and that was his idea of a relaxing evening kicking back. It was pretty appalling. “I suppose. Fill it up, and get me some Fritos while you're at it? The scoopy ones? If there's bean dip. If there's no bean dip -”
“There's apples in the refrigerator if you're hungry.” Marcus took the car keys, and Esca's stoned mind noticed how lit up Marcus's eyes were, glowing from within with a pale, sea-green light. How soft and pink his lips were, prettier than any girl's, as pouty as a porn star. Hair freshly washed and fluffy from his shower after practice. “Don't forget where I am and lock me out.”
“I am kind of gone. It could happen. Can't promise it won't.”
Mads had pulled his jacket on and leaned down to where Esca was lying flat out on the sofa, giving Esca a stubbly cheek-kiss on each side of his jaw.
“Catch up next week.” He lowered his voice, his breath tickling Esca's neck. “You're not waiting up for that one, are you? Is that what's happening here?”
“No. It's very not what's happening.”
“Good. He's dull as fuck. Welterusten, boop.”
“Goede nacht, chick.” Esca leaned up quickly, planting a firm, closed-mouth kiss on Mads' mouth, pinching his chin afterward. “You're quite sure you're still not gay? You'd do. You're fun.”
“Not yet. Maybe one day? Too many girls around here.”
“Story of my fucking life.”
It took Esca ten minutes to move, maybe more, time slowing down all treacly and fuzzy as he rolled off the sofa and pulled himself up with the coffee table, and dragged his feet through to the bedroom. Shutting the door firmly behind him this time. His arms felt too rubbery and knackered, his traps and rhomboids tight in discomfort, but he stripped with purpose, touching his skin as he went, knowing that after having been so turned on for so many hours now, the release when he finally came would be worth the extra effort. He was fully hard before he even got into bed, so much so that it curved upwards in eagerness, something that only happened these days when he was truly desperate for a wank or if someone else was involved that he actually fancied.
“Ohh, God, that's it. Oh, hell, yes, Christ that's good.”
Hand coated with cold lube, slick and cooling where his cock was aching after too long at half-mast. He kicked the sheet back and spread his legs wide, reaching down under his balls to press the plug up into himself, grinding it in a slow spiral, groaning with frustration when it wouldn't hit right. It wasn't going to be enough.
“Bugger. Ugh. Too . . . far . . . away . . .”
He'd rolled over, searching in his bedside drawer. It wasn't as if Esca had his old box of tricks hidden there, which had been gotten rid of in a fit of wanting to avoid any awkward moments in customs on his way over, but he had his little plug, a shit-ton of condoms reminding him of exactly how single he was, and . . . there. His fingers found it. This, his plain, boring, flesh-toned Doc Johnson seven incher, which might not be glamorous or hi-tech but which did the job when his bumhole was climbing the walls desperate for a fuck. With an ease he'd never been sure to be proud of or embarrassed by, he lubed it and worked it in no problem, hips hiked up high, no pausing necessary as his hole enveloped it greedily, almost sucking it up out of his fingers once it was halfway in.
“Oh, now, that's the stuff. Yes, please, sir. Don't mind if I do.”
A deep fuck never felt right when it was coming from him. He held it, shoulders muscles complaining as he reached down further to grab it firmly in an inch-deep fuck, timing each move in or out with a tight stroke over the head of his cock with his other hand. He was always slower to cum when pissed, faster when stoned, and he could already feel the beginnings of climax bubbling around, unspiralling in his balls and arsehole. The weed had every bone in him malleable, his body slacker, blood buzzing as it worked through his veins and the throbbing itch building at the tip of his prick taking over every muscle. His arsehole was over-sensitive from the hour or two with the plug, and it felt swollen, clamping and clenching around the rubber dong all graspy and needy. All he had to do to bring it on was to let his mind go where it wanted to, a dog tugging at its leash, and Esca knew he was too tired, too stoned, to wait it out any longer.
He let the thoughts come, moaning with how intense every sensation got as it became Marcus fucking him, Marcus's dick hard and buried deep in his gut, Marcus's fingers coaxing him towards an orgasm stroke by stroke. Maybe it was after practice, sweaty and heated. Maybe it was on the crash mats, not caring who was watching. Esca felt himself start to shake, letting himself murmur Marcus's name, encouraging him to fuck deeper and faster, telling him how good it was, how totally fucking great his cock felt. His feet were flexing, toes curling, everything building perfectly, and he imagined Marcus above him, gasping out his name, sweat beading across his forehead, beautiful chest mottled red with how close he was, so close now, I'm going to shoot, Esca, I'm going to . . . let me come inside you, I wanna fill you up -
He came with a gasp, first splattering across his shoulder, then in the dip of his throat, one last shot squeezed out to glop over his stomach as his hand tightened involuntarily. The waves of sensation kept coming, his legs jerking until he worked them straight out, his body undulating on the bed as he continued to fuck himself slowly until his bumhole stopped spasming. He was covered in sweat, gasping, cotton-mouthed, the one fucking time he needed the air to come on and it hadn't. Soon as the golden, glowy feelings began to melt away, humiliation started to creep in, Esca's face burning as he birthed the dildo with a grunt and a push, then started to wipe himself down with his sheet.
Yeah, it had been good. Too good, a climax he'd felt in his earlobes, his little fingers, in each singular hair follicle on his scalp, all the way down to his toenails. But slowly the aches started to come back, and the air in the room was as stinky and fetid as a swamp, scented with jizz and bum. Then, as the extra cherry on top, as soon as he figured out he was in dire need of rehydration and that there were no glasses or cups or anything resembling a drinking vessel in here, he heard the apartment door close out in the living room. Marcus, returned. Perhaps a drink from the bathroom tap would do.
“Esca? You sleeping?”
A soft knock at the bedroom door made him grab the sheet, covering himself as fast and as well as he could, remembering at the last second to grab the dildo from the end of the bed. He tossed it back into the bedside drawer with a grimace and a mental note to remember to wash it in the morning. No more sticking it in the dishwasher now Marcus had taken up residency of the sofa.
“I'm in bed. You need anything?” Say no. It reeks in here.
“Sorry. I need to take a whizz and brush my teeth.”
“Oh. Right. Give me a minute.”
Fucking stupid one-bath apartment. He'd thought having an en-suite would be fancily convenient. There was no disguising the stink in the room, but Esca wrapped the sheet around his waist and stumbled his way over to the windows, opening them up letting in a waft of hot air and insect noise, distant traffic, chatter from a TV set next door. It'd have to do.
“All yours.”
He opened the door, standing aside as Marcus stared at his bare chest for a heartbeat before moving past him.
“Thanks.”
“S'okay. I wasn't asleep. I've got to get a drink anyway.”
“Weed'll do that.”
“Yeah. Weed.”
Esca shuffled out the way and towards the kitchen, determined not to waste any energy worrying about what Marcus thought about the fug of the bedroom. Yes, he'd probably figure out what Esca had been doing. Like he hadn't knocked out a few knuckle-shuffles on Esca's sofa over the past couple of weeks? He tucked the sheet around his waist more securely and stood by the sink, draining two pints of water one after the other as he waited for Marcus to reappear. That apple sounded good right now. It was wonderful, actually, crisp and slightly sour, the remnants of Esca's buzz seeking out different nuances of flavour and bite as he leaned back against the counter and stared into nothing, absolutely not thinking about how fast and hard he'd come once he'd started fantasising about the hot splash of Marcus's cum up inside his -
“I'm done, thanks.”
“Minty fresh? Good for you.”
Stupid to feel so naked in the sheet, considering Marcus had manhandled every inch of Esca's torso and arms, and had Esca's bare limbs wrapped around him in several aesthetically-interesting combinations.
“You turning in now?”
Esca swallowed his last bite of apple and faked a yawn. “Think so. It's another long day tomorrow. Still got that kiss to sort out.”
Marcus had limped over into the kitchen area, taking a glass of his own out of the dishwasher and filling it at the fridge door. “Don't remind me.”
“We'll get there.”
“I know.”
Was there anything Marcus did without all that unconscious sexiness? Leaning back against the breakfast bar, propping himself on one arm, head tilted back and throat exposed as he gulped the glass down. Even rinsing out the glass under the tap, his fingers deft and exacting, every movement easily efficient. His baggy jeans were hanging lower than usual on his hips, the swell of his arsecheeks swelling beneath the hem of his shirt as he shook the glass and left it on the drainer. Esca could only watch, mute and paralysed with want.
“Mads gave me his keys. I'll drive his truck back to his place in the morning, if you can follow.”
“No problemo.”
“You and Mads.”
“Me and Mads, what?”
“Tell me to butt out, but, is he . . . you kissed him. Is he your . . . ?”
There was only a meter between them, Marcus standing opposite Esca, who clutched at his sheet for the little protection it offered.
“Me and Mads? No.”
“I just thought, on the couch, you looked, I don't know.”
“Just friends. He's actually extremely straight.”
“Oh.”
“I know, right? The whole metrosexual thing really fucks with gaydar.”
Marcus chuckled, dipping his head. “I don't know about that, but yeah. You looked close.”
“We are. Friendly, I mean.”
“Sure. That's nice.”
“It is. He's the one person in this entire country who's known me more than a few months. Wouldn't have gotten the Anima gig if it weren't for him.”
“But I wanted to say, I mean, I thought about it on the way back.” Marcus cleared his throat, still looking at the floor rather than at Esca. “If there is someone you want to stay the night, this is your place, you're helping me out and I don't want to cramp your -”
“Oh! Fuck, no, that's not an issue. Believe me.”
“I figured I should say it anyway. If it becomes an issue, just tell me to take a hike.”
“No. I'd, uh, I'd keep it down. You're alright on the sofa.”
The following pause was excruciating rather than merely awkward, and once the weed left in Esca's system started to suggest dropping the sheet and then to his knees to work on Marcus's baggy jeans, he knew it was time to make a run for it.
“Well, I'm going to,” He thumbed at his bedroom door. “'Night, then.”
“'Night. Listen, I don't think I've said it, yet.”
Marcus had turned to watch him leave, the kitchen's one small overhead light shining down on his clean, fluffy hair, shining in a ring like a halo.
“Said what?”
“Thanks. For all of this. The job, the couch. It's above and beyond.”
Esca felt himself blushing, a great tide of heat and colour washing down from his face and neck over his exposed chest. “Fuck off. It's nothing. You're helping me out.”
“Esca . . . it's not nothing. Thank you, for everything. If there's anything I can do . . .”
Fuck me. Fuck me like you mean it. “We'll nail the kiss tomorrow. Get some more ice on that leg, okay? I'm relying on it to hold us both up.”
He closed the door and leaned against it, staring at the mess of his bed, heart beating in his mouth, beating at the base of his balls. It was certain he'd be kissing Marcus tomorrow. A stage kiss, but a kiss all the same. Might as well keep the lube within easy reach for tomorrow night.