There was no other reason he’d be here, right? No other reason that wasn’t the prelude to some sort of really cheesy porn. Not that Greg had ever entertained fantasies about just that kind of thing. Nope, not at all. He swallowed hard and shifted to rest his arm across his lap.
“I—” Marsh scratched at the back of his neck, crossing one ankle over the other. He glanced behind himself toward the hall. “Er, Jason said you were looking for me?”
Shit. “No,” Greg said, too fast, and did Marsh just frown a little? No, he couldn’t have. “I mean. I was, earlier. I was taking a break. From all of this.” He pointed at the papers strewn across his desk. “And I was seeing if anyone else was home.”
“And you checked in my room?”
“Well, you’re someone aren’t you?” Then it occurred to Greg, “I thought Jason crashed out a couple of hours ago.”
Marsh shrugged. “Ran into him when he was coming out of the bathroom. He looked half asleep.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well.” Greg gave himself a little bit of credit. This was one of the longest conversations he’d had with Marsh. That was worth something, right?
But not as much as Marsh shifting his weight, looking around…and then walking right through Greg’s door to plop himself down on Greg’s bed. “So, you ready to take another break?”
Oh God. Maybe this was a cheesy porn. Greg pinched his elbow as hard as he could, but nothing happened. Because this was real.
Cool
, he reminded himself.
You’re cool.
He glanced back at his computer screen. He still had a million things to do, but it wasn’t like he was going to accomplish any more of them tonight, not after this. Turning off the monitor, he nodded. After another deep breath, he swiveled in his seat until he was facing Marsh. Marsh on his bed. “Sure,” he said, voice way more level than he felt.
As easy as it had appeared when he’d shown up, something in Marsh’s posture seemed to relax. “Awesome.” He shoved himself to the end of Greg’s bed and bent over, one finger extending out as he looked over the portion of Greg’s movie collection that hadn’t managed to migrate to the living room yet. Greg chewed on the inside of his cheek and was about to suggest that there was more of a selection downstairs when Marsh’s gaze caught. His hand darted out, and he pulled the case for the Abrams
Star Trek
reboot, holding it up as he twisted. “This any good?”
“Well,” Greg started, then stopped himself. Marsh didn’t care that the purists thought it was a travesty, or that the Spock-Uhura romance didn’t make any sense. He
definitely
didn’t care what the slash community thought of it. He lifted one shoulder, as nonchalant as he could be. “I like it.”
“Do you mind?” Marsh was already reaching to pop the tray on the Blu-Ray player.
Of course Greg didn’t mind. A movie would sure be easier than trying to carry out a conversation or whatever else Marsh might want to do. In the set of all possible options for spending time together, watching a geeky sci-fi movie was probably the least threatening one Greg could imagine.
But even that didn’t make any sense. Part of him wanted to just go with it, but his thirteen-year-old spidey sense was tingling too hotly to ignore. The last time a popular kid had tried to spend time with Greg, he’d been looking for homework to copy. There wasn’t any homework here, wasn’t anything Marsh could possibly be trying to use Greg for, but still. The whole idea made his stomach roil.
He must have hesitated too long, because even as he was opening the case, Marsh looked back at him, his brow furrowed. “We could do something else if you don’t wanna.”
“No.” The response came automatically enough, but Greg didn’t feel quite so confident about it. He hesitated. “I mean, no, but…”
“But?”
“But…” Fuck it. “What are you doing here? You just, what, want to hang out?”
And was that—it couldn’t be. Was that
hurt
in Marsh’s expression? “Is that so weird?”
Greg bit off a raw little hint of a laugh. “Yeah. I mean, we’ve been living together for, what? A month now? And when have you ever just stopped by to say hi?”
Marsh winced, and yeah, maybe that wasn’t fair. There was something else going on, though, too, Greg could see it. Part of him wanted to take it all back, but the bigger part wanted the answer.
“Look.” Marsh set the movie case down on the bed beside him with force, like the sound of the impact should have resounded in the room. The mattress was too soft to make a thud, but there was gravity there, and his arm looked achingly heavy as he braced his elbow on his knee. “I had a really shitty night. And a shitty day.”
He looked up, and any second-guessing went out the window. That self-assured smile was gone, and the dullness in his eyes made him look more tired than Greg had really realized a happy, popular, good-looking guy could be. For just an instant, it all slipped, and Marsh seemed ready to break. Greg had been nursing a bit of a crush on the guy for a while now, but that split second of vulnerability made it feel like Greg’s chest was about to crack open, too. Marsh ground his teeth and grated out, all in one breath, “And I don’t want to be alone.”
The crack split wider. It wasn’t homework Marsh was looking for, or anything else he could use Greg for. It was just company. Greg could empathize with that. It was all Greg had wanted himself.
But Marsh was shaking his head, pushing off the bed. “Or not. Whatever.”
Greg moved before he could stop himself, stepping right into Marsh’s space, blocking his way and standing over him, his throat dry. Marsh looked up and sat back down. Leaning forward, Greg picked up the movie case and pulled the disc out. When he squatted down in front of Marsh, it put them so close that Greg could feel the warmth of Marsh’s big, lean body through the air. He chanced one glance up at Marsh before looking to slot the disc into the player. “It’s a good movie,” was all he said.
One second’s pause, and the whirring of the Blu-Ray was the only sound in the room. Then Marsh breathed out hard. “Yeah?”
“I own it, don’t I?” As if Marsh had been asking if it was really good movie—like he hadn’t been actually asking if he could stay.
“Yeah. Good point.” And apparently that was that. Marsh kicked off his shoes and pushed himself up the bed, stretching out all along one side of it, propping himself against Greg’s pillow.
Somehow in the process, his shirt had bunched up underneath him, and there was a thin, tan line of flesh exposed above the waistband of his jeans, a hint of a trail of dusky hair. Shadows hinting at the dips and crests of abdominals and hip.
Greg licked his lips, then forced his gaze away. There was nowhere to sit in his room except this bed and his office chair, and fuck if he was going to spend another minute there after hunching in front of his computer screen all night. He eyed the space beside Marsh. It looked so inviting.
Marsh had found the remote sitting on Greg’s nightstand, and he turned on the TV. The room filled with sound, but Greg didn’t even have to ask before Marsh was turning it down.
“Okay?” Marsh asked.
And, yeah, it was. Loud enough to enjoy but not so loud that sleeping housemates down the hall would be upset. But Greg wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.
Nodding, he stood, tugging the hem of his own shirt down. His ancient, oversized T-shirt. Even if he’d known this was going to happen, he couldn’t have planned to look any worse. Not that it mattered. Shit, he needed to relax.
His gaze hit on the Coke can next to his computer. “I’m, uh, gonna grab something to drink. You want anything?”
Marsh nodded without taking his eyes off the screen. “Sure. Beer would be good.” His eyes darted toward Greg. “Or whiskey if you’re feeling really crazy.”
“That’s me,” Greg said drily. He traced a little circle in the air with his finger. “Life of the party.”
Fortunately, Marsh was kind enough to only dignify that with a grunt of a laugh. Greg pushed out of the room and down the stairs, where it was all dark and deserted. He opened the fridge and peered inside. The whole top shelf was beer, and Greg had to think for a second. He’d seen Marsh with a beer at some point, and it hadn’t been the piss Ronnie liked. He took his best guess and grabbed two Sam Adamses, then shut the door. He hesitated for just a second.
“Fuck it,” he mumbled to himself and threw open the liquor cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Jack he’d put there just the weekend before.
Thus armed, he made his way upstairs. At the threshold to his room, he had to do another double take. Yup, that really was one of the star members of the baseball team laid out on his bed. His knees went a little weak, but he had it together. He was fine. Cool.
“Grab the lights?” Marsh asked.
Oh God. “Right.” With an elbow, he hit the switch, leaving the room in darkness but for the blue glow from the screen. He wavered, then went ahead and closed the door, too. For the noise.
Marsh didn’t comment on it. He just held his hand out for his beer, and Greg passed it over. He set the whiskey down on the shelf above their heads without comment and twisted the top off his own beer. And then there was nothing left to do but go for it. Sucking in a deep breath, he sat on the bed beside Marsh. He did it gingerly, probably way too carefully, so the mattress hardly rocked. Wadding up the other pillow, he wedged it behind his back so he could sit up against the headboard.
It was only a double bed, so he was inches from Marsh, his shin so close to his knee, their elbows almost touching. It sent electricity through Greg’s body, and he pulled at the hem of his T-shirt, suddenly grateful for the darkness and for his decision to wear briefs beneath his sweats. He took a big gulp of his beer and tried to focus on the screen as the ads and previews finally gave way to the opening of the film.
Warmth brushing his side made him startle. Marsh was holding out the cap of the bottle of Jack, the inside dark with liquid. He was propped up on his side, free hand touching Greg’s arm. “You look like you need this more than I do.”
What? Oh. “Sorry.” He willed his body to just
relax
, but he couldn’t help it. All that stress and work, and now this—this proximity and this man on his bed. He was just a ball of tension. He eyed the whiskey.
“Just one. I’m not trying to get you drunk.”
Pity, that. It would probably do Greg good. Resolved, he took the cap and threw it back, grimacing at the burn before he passed it to Marsh who refilled it and downed it with practiced ease. He paused, then took a second shot. Before he closed the bottle, he glanced at Greg, giving him a chance to ask for another shot before twisting the cap on tight and setting it aside.
And the booze couldn’t possibly be affecting Greg, but there was something about the heat of it, still echoing in his throat. It made him feel like he could let go a little. Like he didn’t have to hold himself quite so carefully. He kicked his legs out and rolled his neck. His spine was all kinked. He glanced at Marsh.
Marsh hadn’t hesitated to make himself comfortable. He looked as easy as could be, and maybe Greg knew part of it was an act. Maybe he’d seen beneath that disaffectedness, if only for a moment. It still didn’t make it any less difficult for Greg to be so calm.
Finally, he pulled the pillow out from behind his back and lay down. Marsh didn’t react, and it was fine. Just two men lying beside each other on a small bed, watching a movie.
He looked at the screen, but he didn’t see a thing.
Not the fight in the bar or the first time Spock was a dick at the Academy, not the freaking sword fight on the drilling platform in the middle of the sky. All he could focus on was the heat of the body beside him and the ripples of warmth and want winding their way through his skin. He licked his lips and shifted and kept to his own damn side of the bed.
And then Marsh kicked his leg out, and that was his knee against Greg’s. Marsh had to realize they were touching, and he was a sports guy. That couldn’t be okay. He probably knew Greg was gay, and what about this could possibly be okay? But he didn’t move, and the heat in Greg’s spine was ready to boil over. He was so keyed in on this one bright point of awareness, of contact.
Marsh shuffled again, and his arm hit Greg’s. And Greg was going to explode. It had been so long, and Marsh smelled so good, like amber and pine and something clean. Something that seared right through Greg and left him ready to go out of his skin. He was aching and hard and he wanted…
Something that was never going to happen.
It was just a crush. With the pretext of picking up the beer he’d left on the floor beside the bed, Greg rolled over, carefully disengaging himself from the places where their bodies had been touching. He instantly felt cold. After taking a long drink, he set the beer down and resettled on his back. There was space between them again, and that was good. For the sake of Greg’s sanity, that was
necessary
.
Marsh didn’t make any further overtures, and bit by bit, Greg started to relax. He’d seen the movie enough times that he was able to figure out where they were, and maybe he was a little hyperaware of Marsh and where he was on the bed, but there wasn’t any harm in that. Other than the twinge of disappointment in his gut each moment Marsh didn’t choose to close the gap between them again, it wasn’t hurting anyone.
Toward the end of the movie, he was actually pretty engrossed, his heart rising through the victory lap, and he knew full well that the end was coming. He was still surprised, though, when the credits starts to roll. Marsh fumbled over their heads and found the right remote from the pile and pressed a button.