Right up until he turned Greg over, rolling him and tugging at his hips until he was lying with his face buried in the pillows, his ass up in the air, thighs spread like the needy bottom he was, the one he ached to be when he was spinning out of control and wanted to just give in to it. He made a noise that was pure need. Marsh swore again as he fumbled beneath Greg’s hips, but somehow or other he pulled Greg’s belt free from its buckle. Got Greg’s pants and underwear to his knees, and Greg lifted up so Marsh could tug them the rest of the way off.
Greg’s cock hung heavy beneath him, dripping and painfully hard, and this was Marsh taking him apart. Marsh who he loved, and who loved him, too, and Greg all but sobbed into the sheets when Marsh stroked a dry fingertip over his hole.
“Please,” Greg begged. “Need you—”
And Marsh pushed in, and it hurt and it was perfect, and Greg should have let him do this ages ago. The mattress shifted underneath him, and he heard Marsh digging in the pocket of his bag. Blunt fingers came back slick and cool and smearing around Greg’s entrance, and he bit his lip so hard he thought he’d draw blood.
“Yes. That’s.” Greg was barely coherent as he mumbled, face pressed hard against the bedding. “Should have let you. Fuck, feels so good.”
“You love this.”
“Yes, yes, God yes.”
“You
love
this.”
And there wasn’t any reply to that but to push back against the fingers that were working him open and swear, “Love
you
.”
Because he couldn’t have done this, not if he didn’t love Marsh. He spent too much of his life all buttoned up and under control, and it took too much to let anyone close enough to see this side of him.
He couldn’t have trusted anyone else with both his body and his heart.
Marsh groaned and pressed his brow to the center of Greg’s spine even as he eased another finger inside, thumb ducking down to tease along the stretched-open rim. And it was such a contrast, soft brushes of lips and the fluttering of eyelashes made all the sweeter for the rougher way Marsh worked Greg’s ass, and Greg never wanted it to end.
Except that he did, because he wanted even more. Wanted everything. “I’m ready,” he slurred, twisting, then clenching his jaw shut as Marsh thrust faster with his fingers. Words and prodding died on his tongue, everything but the painful-perfect pressure disappearing, until all he could manage was, “Please.”
And Marsh took mercy. He pulled his fingers loose, and Greg gasped, clenching around an emptiness too slick and hot to bear, throbbing, and the skin of his spine felt cold without Marsh draped over it. He craned his neck just in time to watch Marsh tear the rest of his clothes away, and then Marsh was rolling on the condom and drizzling lube over the latex. Greg forced his shaking arms to hold him up and made motions at turning over. “Can I? Want to see you…”
“Yeah.” Marsh put a wet hand to Greg’s hip and helped him turn.
Settled on his back, Greg spread his legs and keened at the way Marsh loomed over him, at the brush of his hot length against his inner thigh. He scrabbled at Marsh’s waist, trying to tug him closer, but instead of pushing in, Marsh hovered there on all fours, looking at Greg.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just the sex. The needy ache inside and the heat prickling his skin faded away, taking second seat to the way Marsh was looking at him. Greg was stripped bare, more naked than he had ever been before, and it was so much more than sex. It was exactly what Greg had wanted and been too afraid to ask for.
“Greg.” Marsh’s pupils were blown, his voice husky, and he shifted to touch Greg’s face. He leaned down, and then it was just the warmth and the taste of his mouth, the enormity of his kiss. It spoke things that were too big for words, even the ones they’d shared so far tonight.
When Marsh pulled away, Greg was thrumming, blood rushing, and he felt like his every cell was aglow. Like he was light and reeling. He reached for Marsh and urged him even closer, wrapping his legs around his hips. Their cocks slid against each other, and their mouths met, and Marsh was stuttered back. The latex skidded against Greg’s abdomen and along the crease between his torso and his thigh. When the tip nudged against his hole, Greg gripped Marsh by the scruff and held on tight.
Marsh snuck a hand between them, positioning himself before pressing forward.
The first breaching was a shock, even after all of Marsh’s prep. But Greg made himself be easy, made his body remember that he wanted it. He opened for the intrusion and let Marsh in, breathing through the sting of pain before Marsh was retreating, only to push back in, deeper and deeper until he was all the way inside. They breathed out as one, and Greg was swimming in it. In the pleasure and the relief. He grinned, sloppy and soft, and ran a hand through Marsh’s hair. Marsh caught it, kissing the palm and closing his eyes. He took a gentle thrust, and Greg arched into it.
For all the intensity of being filled this way, the pain was gone, leaving only the stretch and the magnitude and the surrender. Greg entwined their fingers, holding on for just a moment.
Then they were moving. Marsh took him slowly at first, long strokes that had Greg bordering on the edge of madness, enough and not even close. Greg grabbed Marsh’s hip, and everything sped up. When Marsh angled his hips just right, Greg threw his head to the side. Electricity sizzled up his spine, and his cock, untouched between them, hurt with the pressure and the need to come. “Touch me,” he begged on a gasp, but Marsh shook his head and thrust harder.
And Greg could take himself in hand, could work to relieve this unrelenting ache, only he didn’t want to. He let Marsh move how he wanted, pressing forward into his thrusts and making breathy little noises every time Marsh hit the place inside of him that set his nerves alight. He felt like he was babbling, an incoherent mess.
Until somehow he missed it, the sudden change in rhythm, the flexing of the muscles in Marsh’s side. Greg’s breath left him in a whoosh as they flipped, the mattress disappearing from underneath him. He barely had time to even start to ask, “What?” before Marsh landed on his back, and Greg cried out against the sharpness of being on top. Of gravity taking him that last inch, of Marsh being so deep inside him, there wasn’t room for anything else. Not for reservations and not for fear.
Greg squeezed his eyes shut, because it felt so good. So full.
“That’s it,” Marsh murmured. His clean hand came up and cupped Greg’s face, and he swiped his thumb over Greg’s bottom lip.
Greg sucked, scraping teeth over the pad and laving his tongue across the nail.
Marsh groaned. “That’s right.” He pushed up with his hips and sent another jolt of electricity through the secret places in Greg’s body, and Greg lifted only to set right back down, driving Marsh even farther into him. “That’s it. Take what you need.”
Greg shook his head, pleasure and protest all at once, because that’s what he’d been doing all along. Taking what he needed, and only what he needed. Not what he wanted. Not giving Marsh what
he
wanted.
“Wanna give it to you,” he breathed against Marsh’s lips. He kissed him in soft brushes as he started to move. Watched the way Marsh’s jaw flexed, the rush of desire in his eyes. And when he moved faster—yes, like that—Marsh’s breathing sped. His hand clamped harder on Greg’s hip. “Wanna watch you come,” Greg said. He wanted to watch that over and over again, for as long as Marsh would let him.
For forever.
Marsh looked pained with the force of his restraint. “Waiting for you—”
Shaking his head more fiercely, Greg fucked himself down harder and faster, and stared as the pressure showed on Marsh’s face. The edge of climax was a hot ball inside Greg’s chest, every stroke against his gland pushing it higher. His thighs burned but he rode Marsh with every bit of the frenzy he felt in his heart.
Finally, Marsh clamped his eyes shut, and he jerked, hands seizing, and he yanked Greg down. Greg met his mouth in a kiss that was all tongue and lip, no finesse. He groaned, letting the need sweep him under. As Marsh pulsed inside him, Greg pushed himself to the edge.
And it was as easy as falling, to let himself go. To come untouched with Marsh so deep inside him.
As easy as falling in love.
Because with Marsh, Greg had never stood a chance of holding his ground.
It was later, much later, after they’d cleaned up and pulled their underwear on and climbed back into Marsh’s bed. Greg lay with Marsh’s chest pressed to his spine, their hands entwined. Marsh beat out a gentle rhythm of taps against Greg’s heart.
When Marsh spoke, his voice was a rush of air beside Greg’s ear, lips brushing the shell. His hand stilled. “You wouldn’t let me. Before.”
And it wasn’t any mystery what he was talking about. Greg shivered just thinking about it—about what he’d let himself have when he’d given in and gotten over himself and asked Marsh to press inside. Squeezing Marsh’s fingers, he said, “Wasn’t ready.”
“But.” Marsh stilled. “You’re…ready? Now?”
Greg’s reply felt like it would choke him, because he was. Ready for sex, ready to feel all these things he felt for Marsh.
Ready to not be alone.
He kissed Marsh’s knuckles and folded himself deeper against his body. “Yeah. I am.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Marsh drifted into consciousness slowly, rolling over and pressing his face into his pillow. He slid his hand forward only to find the sheets cold, and frowned.
He blinked his eyes open and levered himself up so he could look around. Sure enough, he was alone. Again. But this time, before he could get worried or sad about that, he checked beside his bed. He grabbed the folded piece of notebook paper sitting on top of his phone and took it with him as he shifted to lie on his back, frown easing into a grin.
Taking my parents to breakfast/the airport. Back before noon.
He glanced at the clock and saw it was not quite ten. Late, but not
too
late, though he’d probably missed Greg by an hour or two. That was going to take some getting used to, dating a morning person. His smile got even wider.
He was dating Greg. They were together, a couple. Greg loved him, and he loved Greg, and the world looked rosier than it had in a long, long while.
Setting the note aside, he reached for his phone. One message from Yulia, saying simply,
So?
So I’ve got a boyfriend
, he typed, and apparently he was a teenage girl now, but whatever.
A reply came seconds later.
Tell me something I didn’t know.
He considered answering with,
My boyfriend likes taking it up the ass
, but decided that might be too far over the line, even for her. Didn’t stop him from going hot at just the thought, though, because damn. Sure, the sex had been good before, great even, but when they both let go—when Greg
really
let go…it was incredible. The best he’d ever had.
Another message came in before he could figure out how to say that in a way that wasn’t too TMI.
You’re happy, though? Really?
Yeah
, he replied.
Very.
With that, he blanked the screen and set the phone down, stretching and yawning. Shoving the covers off, he stood, then rummaged around in the pile of discarded clothes from the night before until he came up with a shirt. He tugged it on and wandered blearily out into the house.
Muted voices were spilling out from the living room. Marsh ducked his head in and waved when he saw Ronnie sprawled out on the couch with a bowl of cereal in hand, papers strewn out around him, all covered in symbols and graphs. SpongeBob SquarePants was having some kind of manic freakout on the television, and Marsh raised an eyebrow.
“Classy, man,” he said.
Ronnie took one quick glance up before smirking and looking down. “Almost as classy as stumbling out of bed wearing your boyfriend’s shirt?”
Shit. Marsh looked down, and yup, this was Greg’s. Oops. Oh, well, everyone knew, and anyone who didn’t would find out soon enough. Still not quite awake enough to form a coherent argument, and too happy to bother defending himself, he flipped Ronnie off and turned to head into the kitchen. Somebody had already made coffee, thank God, so he poured a cup and doctored it up. Grabbing it and a protein bar, he shuffled to his room and sank down to sit on the edge of his bed.
For a few minutes, he just sat there, fueling up and staring at the wall. Finals were coming up soon, and he had a lot to do, but really all he wanted was for Greg to get home so he could drag him back to bed. He glanced toward his backpack and the pages spilling out of it. There was that big poli sci paper he had to write, and he should really get back to the gym and make up for the sessions he’d missed while Greg was having his nervous breakdown.
And there was that slip of yellow. The folded corner of an unpaid tuition bill.
Marsh gulped down the rest of his coffee, but when he looked again, the bill hadn’t gone anywhere. In over a month of ignoring it, it had stayed right there.
Past results were not a predictor future outcomes, his ass.
Setting his mug down and pitching the wrapper for his breakfast into the trash, he lurched to his feet, snagging the bill as he went. He scanned it over for what had to be the hundredth time. The number at the bottom was staggering, and it was only the portion not covered by his scholarship. He rolled the paper up and tapped the edge of it against his chin.