Rough Canvas

The Cape Cod beach Marcus chose was one known by the locals to be primarily populated by men who preferred men. For once, Marcus appeared to be indulging his lover's self-consciousness about his sexual preference. Thomas wryly suspected his Master's intention was for him to be anxious only about the things Marcus wanted Thomas to be worked up about.



When they got there, it was easy enough to find a spot for their beach chairs, towels and umbrella, rented from a beach vendor.



As Thomas set up his chair, he watched Marcus shuck off jeans and shrug out of his buttoned shirt to reveal his swimwear. He was one of the only men Thomas had seen that could pull off the brief style bathing suit. Black and sleek, it molded his ass and groin area in a way sure to have every tongue on the beach unrolled and gathering sand. Including his.



Only what he was looking at, he was allowed to touch. Impulsively, he bent and rooted in their duffel, retrieving sunscreen. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to make a proprietary move, make it clear who Marcus was with.



Marcus was obviously familiar with the area, this beach. There could even be men here he'd been with in the past. It was an ugly thought, coming from an ugly part inside of him. Thomas tried to push it away, close that door. They'd already fought once this morning. He didn't care to repeat it. Catching Marcus' attention, he gestured awkwardly with the sunscreen. "You haven't been in the sun for awhile."



"I know you did not just imply I look like the underbelly of a fish." He didn't, but Thomas tucked his tongue in his cheek and raised a brow. "If the shoe fits..."



Marcus gave him a narrow look, but turned his back, staying on his feet, weight shifted to one hip. His attitude was one of practiced indifference, whereas the view sent a hard shot of longing arrowing through Thomas' stomach and groin.



Marcus had queued back his shoulder-length hair, so it was easy for Thomas to grease up his hands and run them over the broad shoulders, down the smooth back. For all his urban polish, under his clothes Marcus had the body of a lean, hard-eyed street fighter. From the time when they were practically living together, Thomas knew he didn't go to a fitness club. He went to boxing clubs and martial arts centers, where he worked out with a fierceness that suggested he knew what it was to fight for his life.



Yet Marcus had no scars. Nothing, not even the lingering mark of a childhood stove burn, a cut from mishandling a cooking knife. It was as if there was no map on Marcus to show the direction to his past. Whenever Thomas asked Marcus about his family, or where he'd come from before he became a gallery owner in New York, Marcus kept his answers to brief, professional steps on the career ladder. He simply refused to answer questions about any time before then.



Why should he? Thomas was nothing special compared to anyone else, just the same as any other man. Right? But he'd said I love you. Thomas wasn't sure of anything anymore.



"A nuclear blast isn't going to get through that cover on my shoulders," Marcus commented. Thomas started out of his thoughts, moved down. When he reached the thin elastic waistband of the suit, Thomas couldn't help sliding the tips of his fingers beneath it to tease the bare rise of Marcus' ass, the indentation between the taut muscular cheeks.



Here on this beach, with its reputation for being a hangout for gay men, things could get pretty blatant. Maybe it was that environment making him so bold, knowing there'd be no disparaging looks as he did what he wanted to do. If Marcus commanded him, he might take him down his throat now. The pain of their words this morning, the difference between wishing and reality, made him reckless. Time was short.



And maybe he wanted it clear. Yeah, you might've gotten to grab his ass in the past, but today I'm the only one who gets to do it.



Jesus, what an ass. His thumb still hooked in the elastic, Thomas' other fingers moved over the outside, the stretched fabric of the suit, digging into the taut buttock beneath, even as he kept the other hand moving, spreading the lotion.



"Do the legs." Marcus' voice was low. "I want to feel your hands between my legs." He was aroused, Thomas could tell just from the tone, even if he couldn't see him from the front.



Swallowing, he took his hand from the waistband, put more lotion in his hand.



Then deliberately he dropped to one knee and ran both hands up either side of Marcus' left thigh as if he were a personal slave attending the needs of an Egyptian prince.



Though Thomas stopped just short of his tightly compressed scrotum in the snug, way-too-brief black swimsuit, he could feel the firm round testicles graze his fingertips.



With his fingers coated with lotion, he ran the sunscreen over the other thigh and then between again, Marcus obligingly spreading his legs to his touch, flexing that magnificent ass within inches of his face. Thomas wanted to sink his teeth into the meat of it and growl. No man should be so goddamned sexy.



Finished with both legs, he withdrew his hands reluctantly and moved to Marcus' front. He stifled a groan. Marcus was huge, straining against the suit so that the broad head was in danger of coming out of the top. Marcus gave him an amused glance as Thomas positioned his body in front of him before he began rubbing down his shoulders.



"You caused it, pet. Now you're going to try to hide it?"



"Shut up," Thomas muttered. He grabbed up a towel, ostensibly to wipe his hands but he slid it around Marcus' hips, tucked it in. "You've got no modesty at all."



"You've got enough for both of us." Marcus closed one hand on both of Thomas'  over the tucked and rolled knot of towel and cupped his face for a light brush of lips, just a taste that left him hungering for more. "Farm boy."



"Hey!"



Thomas turned to see a couple men calling out to them from the volleyball net. "We need two more. You up for it?"



"A scene from Top Gun comes to mind," Marcus noted, appraising the two men who appeared to be bodybuilders in their spare time. "What do you think?"



"All brawn, no brains or quickness," Thomas said, with a forced careless grin.



But as Marcus dropped the towel and Thomas squatted to tuck the sunblock back in their pack, something compelled him to ask the question. "Master..." He hesitated, startled he'd used the address in such a public place, though no one was close enough to hear. He turned, looked up at Marcus. Marcus reached out and brushed his temple with his thumb, his expression unsmiling, waiting.



"You always brush it off when I ask. Are you ever going to tell me anything about your past?"



Something shifted in Marcus' expression. It was a beautiful day, with a clear blue sky and sun sparkling on the water and sand. The promise of volleyball added to the relaxing, pleasurable feel of the day. But as Thomas was caught in that expression, it got suddenly cold and dark. He felt the brief, shuddering grip of a quiet, terrible place where Marcus wasn't the Marcus he knew. Someone far different. But strangely, perhaps more real.



"Who I am now is all that matters, pet. Let it go." Marcus turned away, bent and picked up the towel.



"But... Ouch!" Marcus snapped the towel at him again, landing another stinging blow on Thomas' ass. "You son of a - "



Marcus took off with a grin, catching the ball midair as they got closer to the net. He tossed it to Thomas, occupying his hands before he could retaliate.



But Thomas wouldn't forget. He wondered. His family and upbringing were so much of what he was it was hard for him to imagine who he'd be without it. But from Marcus' reaction, he wondered if he was ready to know more. And Marcus of course had made it easy to put off the decision, shifting it back on his footing again.



Ben and Andrew were fitness club trainers. They liked the beach as a way to soft-recruit new customers as well as to enjoy some healthy competition, when they could scare it up.



Soon Ben and Andrew had them and some other men joining in, getting a full game going. Marcus was on the other side of the net and several times he and Thomas had to come up against each other to fight for the ball's placement, with mixed results.



When Marcus' cell phone rang, the noise reaching them from where the phone sat on his beach chair, it distracted him enough that Thomas spiked the ball under his arm, winning the point to the cheers of his teammates.



"Lucky."



"Yeah, right." Thomas grinned as Marcus backpedaled to his towel, picked up the phone and answered.



When Ben raised a questioning hand, Marcus waved him off. "More important name on the other line. Deal me out of the game." At Ben's deprecating comment, he flashed a grin. "Bite me."



"Love to," Andrew responded. Marcus flipped him off to laughter from the other players. Ben looked over at Thomas. "You staying in?"



"Yeah, let's go another round." Thomas tried not to pay attention to the affectionate smile that crossed Marcus' face as he took the call, indicating it was more personal than business.



Though he couldn't help watching Marcus' body language as he settled into the beach chair. Was he imagining the infinitesimal tightening of his grip on the phone, the way someone did when talking to someone they cared about? The rock of his heel in the sand, the way Marcus laid his fingers over his knee, stroking his own skin absently.



Thomas couldn't hear the words at this distance, but he could definitely hear the tone.



Carl, the newest member on the team, passed Thomas the ball. Or rather, pressed it to his stomach, his other hand brushing the small of Thomas' back. His fingertips swiped just below the waistband of the cut off jeans serving as Thomas' swimwear.



"Your serve, sweetmeat."



* * * * *



"Why the hell are you calling me when we're two weeks away from the Prague show and you owe me one more piece?"



"Well, hello and how the fuck are you?"



Marcus grinned. "If I'm nice to you, you'll think that you're hot shit and lose your focus. How are you, Josh?"



"You know how I am. I'm calling to see how you are. Lauren said you called her this morning to scope out some pretty scary symptoms. I know I'm not running late enough to cause you an ulcer, so what's going on?"



"It wasn't for me, you idiot. It's for a friend I'm worried about. To get an ulcer, you have to have a conscience. You know I was born without one."



"Horseshit." Josh sounded distracted, telling Marcus he probably was up to his elbows in sculpting medium, but it would be a mistake to assume his second favorite artist and closest friend was not paying attention to every word he was saying. With his next words, he proved it.



"Lauren mentioned you made a trip to North Carolina a couple weeks ago."



"I had a craving for barbecue and pickled pigs' feet."



"Is he with you? Did you bring him back?"



"If I hang up, you'd just call back, wouldn't you?"



"Worse. I'll pee in a jar, put an anatomically correct naked orange Gumby in it and call it a statement about the decay of a materialistic society. That will be the last Prague piece."



"You're a vicious bastard. I talked him into spending a week with me in the Berkshires, getting his work off the ground again. Out of his ass where it had crawled."



"Nice visual. And you and him?"



"A work in progress."



"Keep me posted."



"Why? Are you starting a betting pool on the Internet?"



"Absolutely. My money's on you. You said you're in the Berkshires? The Zone just bought out a fetish club up near Boston. It's been renamed Detonation, catering mainly to men. Tyler has a part interest in it. You could take your work in progress there."



"I was planning to. But now that I know Tyler Winterman owns a part interest, I may spend my money elsewhere."



"You're just mad because he outbid you on that Takahura sculpture."



"There was a real samurai blade in it. I keep hoping he'll trip on it one night on the way to the bathroom and lop off his balls."



"Ouch. Sore loser. You just can't stand the fact he's more arrogant and just as obnoxious a son of a bitch as you are. You should have come and crashed his wedding with us. He wouldn't have minded."



Marcus snorted. "One arrogant and obnoxious S.O.B. at a function is enough. I can't believe he found a woman willing to put up with him."



"She's a Mistress. I did a private on her that would have had you salivating."



"Tyler married a Domme?" Marcus chuckled at the thought. "Oh, there's karma for you. Two Dominants paired for life. Sounds like they have a competition problem they decided to turn into a lifetime psychosis."



"No, it was a good thing. I don't know why it works, but when you see them, you know it's right. Tyler is one lucky bastard."



"Does Lauren know she has competition?"



"Stop it," Josh said mildly. "You know that's crap. You're sure it's not you that you called about?"



"Everything is not about me, you know. And before you can say it, fuck off." Over Josh's chuckle, Marcus continued, "I should set up a show with you and Thomas. If he survived the heart attack at the mere idea of it, you two would make me a tremendous amount of money."



"Shut up, Marcus." Josh's voice lowered. "You know Lauren and I love you. So we're here, all right? If he hurts you again, I don't want to be anywhere near him." The line went dead. Marcus knew Josh had done it on purpose, denying him the ability to come back with something flippant, a rapid parry before the weight of those words could strike his shields and land a harsh blow on his defenses.



"Asshole," Marcus muttered.



When Marcus flipped the phone closed, he saw they'd brought in another guy to balance the teams. He could enjoy watching Thomas at his leisure. He stretched out in a reclining position in the low beach chair and set the phone aside, laying his head back on the headrest to take advantage of the sun and keep an eye on his lover at the same time.



It amazed him, how unaware Thomas was of his own appeal. The way the other men checked him out, the passing of the ball that allowed them to brush hands, make those subtle overtures that when men were involved were not so subtle. The occasional slap on the back or somewhat lower, for a point well played. The beach environment removed inhibitions, and of course there was always the chance of some quick action in the dunes if you could get a prospective partner stirred up enough.



Marcus watched the newest man, whose name he caught as "Carl", maneuver closer to Thomas, his hand lingering on his shoulder as they spoke strategy. It dropped briefly to Thomas' waist as he told Thomas something that caused a quick smile.



Thomas moved out of range. Not as far or as deliberately as Marcus would have liked, but then it was a close contact sport. Ben, evidently a peacemaker, murmured something to the man, shooting a discreet glance toward Marcus' location.



Carl laughed, pushed him away. Since Marcus was downwind, it was easy to catch the gist of the response. " - shouldn't leave his ass alone then - " As Marcus studied the man behind the screen of his sunglasses, he wondered how Carl would look with his foot stuffed up to the ankle into his own rectum.



On the next rotation, the man made another move, far more blatant. This time his hand closed in a flirtatious squeeze on Thomas' ass before he took the ball. Thomas pushed away, but not with anger. He elbowed the man away with a grin. A fucking grin.



Marcus' eyes narrowed, taking a harder look at that replay. Thomas didn't grin that often. Usually it qualified as just a smile. This grin had been high wattage, a little forced. And yes, that was definitely an eye cut in his direction.



The bastard was trying to make him jealous. Seeing if he was paying attention.



Marcus set aside the sunglasses and rose. He inclined his head at Andrew when he was noticed, but he moved toward the water, indicating his intention to take a swim.



He held Thomas' gaze a fraction of a second before he continued past the play area.



As Thomas watched Marcus move down to the water, he was sure of two things.



Marcus had noticed his pathetic adolescent act. And in his sophisticated way, he'd  given it the attention it warranted. Thomas had walked out on him and only committed to one week with him. Who the hell was Thomas to make demands?



He was the guy who was here in front of Marcus, damn it. The one who'd come at Marcus' encouragement, despite his mother's tears and his brother's crude accusations.



Despite the fact his gut was going to eat him alive when he had to walk away at the end of the week, while Marcus would go on with his urbane, privileged life.



Carl made a muffled protest as Ben elbowed him aside with little fanfare and took the ball from Thomas' hands. "Thanks for joining us."



"What - "



Ben corralled Thomas with a friendly but firm arm around his shoulders and shepherded him to the edge of the court. He dropped his tone. "If you don't go after that after the look he just gave you, you're an idiot. Stop being stupid and dicking around with this snaker." He raised his voice. "Later today, why don't you and Marcus plan on joining us for a coffee? There's a great place not far from here." Practically every man on the beach, as well as the few girls, had simply stopped what they were doing, even if they pretended not to, to watch Marcus walk down to the water in nothing but that brief scrap of swimsuit. He'd always been completely aware of how attractive he was, but Marcus didn't flaunt or minimize it. It was just an asset.



An asset Thomas knew carried the potency of a lethal weapon.



Ben gave him a friendly, firm push. "Thanks again."



"Our pleasure," Thomas managed, saving face with the response before he turned on his heel and walked away with forced casualness toward the surf. Marcus was already in to his waist, showing remarkable fortitude for the New England temperatures. Even in late summer, Thomas' blood was more accustomed to the southeast coastline. But he could use cooling off anyway.



He splashed in, gritting his teeth at the surge of cold water, and followed Marcus as he moved further out. He resented that he didn't look back. Resented that he was the one following him like a puppy, resented that fucking phone call and whoever'd been on the end of it. It would have been better if he'd stayed in North Carolina. At least there his tortured imaginings of Marcus sleeping around were exactly that, not actual, in-his-face realities.



Marcus went under and came back up, water running off his shoulders down his back, his now-wet ass in the briefs visible for a glimpse as a wave passed. He dove under it as Thomas closed in, moving past the surf line into the quieter waters. Marcus didn't resurface.



Thomas turned to see if the current had pulled Marcus further down the beach. The water swirled around his legs, the brush of something his only warning as Marcus surfaced behind him, close enough to shoot an arm around his neck and sweep Thomas' legs out from under him, taking them both under the next wave.



Thomas struggled, throwing elbows. Marcus hung on even as they surfaced on the other side, now deep enough the water lapped at their chests. He had his arm wrapped around Thomas' chest, holding him back against him. His lips were close to his ear.



And his cock was a bar of iron pressing against Thomas' all-too-eager ass.



"You wanted my attention, pet. You got it."



"Let go. You're not going to fuck me as a surrogate for whoever just got your dick hard on the phone." Thomas normally wasn't crude, but he was angry and helpless as Marcus' hand grazed over his nipple, made it draw up in response.



"You were the one who got my dick hard, farm boy. Trying to tease me with that piece of shit." He had his grip clamped on Thomas' opposite side under the biceps, a highly effective and uncomfortable restraint, and Marcus was using their several-inch height difference to his advantage, making it difficult for Thomas to plant his feet and shrug him off.



"You need a reminder of who your Master is, so you won't be so quick to doubt?" Marcus dropped his other hand neatly into Thomas' shorts, their loose fit and lack of underwear making it easy to grasp a buttock, pull it aside and slide two fingertips just inside the tight pucker of his anus, teasing him.



Thomas struggled, his cheeks flushing, biting his lips. "You son of a bitch, when I get free, I'm going to - "



"You're going to what?" Thomas bucked as Marcus' fingers started pressing in.



"Stop..." Thomas caught hold of the arm Marcus had across his chest, anchoring himself as Marcus pressed in, squeezed. His bare feet stepped on Marcus' as Thomas clumsily tried to find a purchase.



"Hold onto my neck," Marcus murmured.



Thomas reached back, latched on, his head dropping on Marcus' shoulder as Marcus released his chest, opened the cut-offs and clasped his hand over his cock, working him fast and hard while Thomas pistoned back and forth like a hooked fish between the two stimuli, squeezing back on Marcus' fingers, thrusting forward into the powerful grip of his hand.



"You...ever..." Marcus punctuated each word with another thrust and stroke as Thomas' breath clogged in his throat. "Let...another man touch you like that...and I will beat your ass until you can't walk. You hear me? You got it?" As if he had the devil's own sense of timing, he stopped, holding Thomas just on that frantic edge.



"Who was on the phone?" Thomas snarled, his breath rasping.



"Stubborn bastard." Marcus started stroking again. Thomas sucked in his breath, came so close and then cursed as Marcus withdrew and settled one arm like a bar back across his upper body, still manacling the hard pulsing cock in his other hand, tight at the base. He didn't move now, squeezing in warning when Thomas tried to, and simply let them drift with Thomas in his arms, vibrating with the near climax.



"Is he competition?"



Marcus chuckled. Thomas' teeth ground together. "Hardly. He's married, and his Mistress is very protective of him."



"But you've fucked him."



Marcus' tone turned cool. "I wouldn't characterize it that way, no."



"Is there another way to characterize putting your dick in someone's ass?" Marcus' teeth latched onto his throat, bit and Thomas shuddered. "You're spoiling for a fight. Fine. How do you go about it with your little fiancee your mother wants to chain you to?"



"You leave her out of it."



"Your mother I will gladly leave out of any discussion involving sex. However, with respect to this girl...have you made out? How did you get it up? Who would you fantasize about to make her think it was all about her?"



"You arrogant son of a -



"That's what I thought."



Marcus caressed Thomas' balls as Thomas strained, moved backward to try to rub his ass against Marcus' erection. Marcus inserted his thigh between Thomas' knees and sat him down hard on it, latching his arm around his waist, the other around his chest again.



"You're not getting it now. You're going to walk around wanting it all day, your dick hard as a rock. Until tonight, when I get you off however I choose." A Master's right, to deny, to punish, to reward. Thomas shuddered in his arms, struggling between desire and frustrated pride. "Please..." Thomas muttered it, but Marcus was far from a merciful mood.



"Hush. Be still. Just be still. I'm still trying to decide if I want to fuck you or drown you."



"Could you fuck me first?"



Marcus chuckled. "Christ, you're priceless, pet. Just priceless." His voice got throaty, and he pressed closer.



Thomas took a deep breath. He let himself float, held in Marcus' arms, feeling the long fingers idly caressing his body as they moved together with the flow of the surf.



The sky was so blue it almost hurt the eyes, so Thomas closed his, laying his head back on Marcus' shoulder again, turning his face so he could smell the saltwater on his chin, graze his lips on the beating pulse. Christ, you're so beautiful. What are you doing with me?



It wasn't until Marcus stilled Thomas realized he'd spoken his thoughts aloud.



"You know," Marcus said casually after a moment. "You used to do that. Wander around your studio, talking half to yourself, half to me or to some imaginary something. You'd look amazed when I spoke to you, because you thought half of the words you'd said had been in your head." He tightened his arm around Thomas.



"Artists are a lot like pilots, sailors, those who depend on powers they don't entirely understand for their intuition, their gifts. Their ability to get from Point A to Point B. You're a superstitious bunch. You think if your gift came to fruition when you were at a certain place in your psyche, you can't ever change, or you'll lose it."



Thomas loved it and hated it when Marcus talked like this. His oracle voice, Thomas had always called it teasingly. Hearing the message might be difficult, but the delivery was like feeling the hand of God strike the earth. It soothed, the solid tone of the words, the way Marcus' arms were wrapped around him now.



"Thomas." Marcus whispered, his breath teasing him. "I promise if you grow up, become a man sure of his own worth, it won't destroy your gift. If anything, it will expand to levels you never thought possible."



Thomas hooked his hands on Marcus' arm. His grip curled in, his thumb sliding back and forth. A caress, but he knew Marcus also would recognize it for what it was, a nervous gesture.



"Do you trust me, Thomas?"



"I - "



"No, don't answer that. I know you don't. We're going to work on that. In the meantime, let this rattle around your mind." Marcus ran his palm down Thomas' thigh, caressing his sac, his thumb passing over his cock before he changed direction to explore Thomas' stomach, following the dent of his navel, brushing his knuckles over the stomach muscles.



"What I have is surface. Grooming, good genetics, whatever. Whether you've rolled out of bed an hour ago without having had a shower for three days, or you're wearing a designer suit, there is a deep, perfect beauty to you that takes my breath away. You miss it because you're looking at some twisted image you've created in your head, full of faults and shortcomings."



"Marcus - "



"Ssshh... See yourself the way I see you. Feel the way my hands touch you, think about the way I look at you. I see all of you, Thomas. You think I don't, but I do. Hide it, don't hide it, I know all of it, feel all of it. You're mine. Just let go. Let go and see it. I always have."



There was a quiet between them then. A floating of the minds, like their bodies in the water. Thomas tried not to be overwhelmed by the emotions the words evoked, but Marcus wasn't done torturing him yet.



"I'm going to ask you the question I asked you earlier. How is Rory?" Thomas tensed. He felt Marcus' hold compensating, knew he wouldn't get away without a fight. Damn if the unshakable restraint on his arms and chest just aroused him more, even as his heart twisted at the question. The rock of the water and Marcus' mesmerizing words wrenched the honest words out of him.



"Broken inside, worse than the outside. And I'm to blame for it."



"Maybe you are." Marcus said after a silence. "If you'd been there, it might not have happened. If your mother had called him in to lunch an hour earlier, it might not have happened. If it had rained that day, it wouldn't have happened.



"So everyone's to blame, even God, for Rory turning over a tractor he didn't have a lot of experience handling. So how's all that guilt going to help him get on with his life, make something of it? Far as I can tell he's got his upper body. Does his cock still work?"



"Jesus, Marcus." Thomas jabbed him with his elbow. "Yeah. Why?"



"I was figuring on hitting on him if his brother turned into too much of a pain in the ass."



Thomas pushed off the bottom and shoved backward, twisting free and going after Marcus, doing his best to shove him under. Marcus, laughing, backpedaled, then they were both doused by the surf line. Thomas managed to duck back under and got lucky.



He caught the edge of Marcus' suit, the elastic at his leg, bringing his other hand into play to close it on his cock, which was still attractively turgid.



As they surfaced, he had a firm grip on Marcus. His nemesis moved into him, bringing them chest to chest. Thomas squeezed, stroked, enjoying the feel of the water mixed with the heat. Marcus kept his hands floating out to his sides, his green eyes fixed on Thomas' face.



Without encouragement, Thomas touched his face, threaded his fingers in the slick wet hair, his thumb following the bridge of Marcus' perfect nose as he rested a forearm on Marcus' shoulder. They were back in deep again, the water at mid-chest where a strong current could take them out. They were both good swimmers, so Thomas wasn't worried about that. He was more concerned about the depth of the feeling in himself, wondering if Marcus was barely treading water there as well.



"I don't want to let go."



"I didn't tell you to."



Thomas slid his grip up the velvet shaft and back down, his thumb playing with the throbbing vein on the underside. Marcus' eyes lost focus, lips parting, his chest expanding. He shifted, planting his feet, and Thomas moved with him.



"Come rub yourself against me, pet. I want to feel your cock." Not daring to look toward the beach, Thomas took the extra step. Marcus' arm went around his neck and back. Thomas kept his hand pumping on Marcus' organ, but he put his leg up next to Marcus', foot aligned on the inside of his, hip bones brushing as he rubbed his cock alongside the grip of his hand, so the aching curve of his balls could brush Marcus'.



As he did, Marcus guided Thomas' face to him, took his lips in a mind-numbing, wet saline kiss. He growled into Thomas' mouth as Thomas squeezed harder in reaction, his own cock hardening, pushing more insistently against Marcus, rubbing, seeking friction. Marcus' thumb flicked his nipple. Thomas gasped into his mouth and Marcus' strong hands were on the small of his back, sliding into his waistband, taking a firm hold of his ass as Thomas tried to keep his rhythm consistent.



Marcus was a strong son of a bitch, and his grip now proved it as he rocked Thomas against him, his tongue tangling with his. Thomas was sure it was obvious what they must be doing from the beach, but God, who cared? It was safe here. Marcus had brought him somewhere safe, so he could drink his fill of him.



"Oh - " He choked on the reaction as Marcus' fingers eased into him, working him now as cleverly as Thomas was doing that long, fine cock which was hot and hard in his hand. He fondled Marcus' balls, felt them draw up. He was close. And he was going to explode.



Despite Marcus' threat to refuse him release, they came almost together. So often when they'd been together they'd had the timing down perfectly. Marcus had taught him the searing Tantric pleasure of holding out, so when they both finally came it was that much more intense. Even now, goaded by the urgency of absence, both past and anticipated, they still managed to pull it off.



The liquid heat of Marcus' seed shot past his wrist, against his belly. Thomas fought back his own release for a second to watch his lover's face, the tense jaw, the slight bow to the head as he was trapped by the orgasm. Unguarded, unpracticed, just raw animal reaction straining Marcus' features.



Marcus clung to Thomas' nape, fingers burrowing. Thomas felt the trembling of his muscular thighs as Marcus thrust against his hold savagely, letting Thomas take him all the way over and beyond. Thomas groaned out his own climax then, his hand losing its finesse, jerking hard on Marcus as he catapulted with him into the same realm, those fingers in his ass knowing too well how to take him higher than he expected to go.



It made him forget for a time the phone call and who was on the other end of the line. It also almost erased his apprehension about what Marcus planned for them tonight.



Almost.