Authors: Joey W. Hill
“I’m in favor of anything that involves Thomas and chains.”
Thomas turned to find Marcus had joined them. He gave a wicked grin, then
stepped forward to embrace Josh and Lauren at the same time, one in each arm, his face brightening.
While he didn’t put it past Marcus to pull such a calculated stunt as Josh had just described, in this instance Thomas knew he’d actually been on another call with his brother, finalizing the burial arrangements. For that reason he was glad for the timing of Josh and Lauren’s arrival, their presence obviously having the ability to chase some of the stress lines from around Marcus’ mouth.
“Thomas, take Josh to the room you’re using as your studio and show him what
you did on the roof last night.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“I know that, you’re an artist.” Marcus waved a hand. “Go take a look, Josh. You’ll like what you see.”
As Thomas reluctantly complied, he threw a narrow look at Marcus before
disappearing down the hallway with Josh. Marcus slid an arm around Lauren’s waist and shot her a smile.
“He wants to kill me right now, but it’s the easiest way to get him over his jitters.
We’ll have to go dig the two out of there in a half hour because they’ll be so busy impressing the shit out of each other and planning their next show together. That should take some pressure off Josh. He can scale back a bit, take some time to relax. I know he’s been working his ass off.”
“So have you. I’ve seen all the faxes and emails.” Lauren studied him, then stepped up without preamble and put her arms around him. Drawing Marcus against her in a close, emotion-absorbing hug, she rubbed his back with her palms. “I’m so sorry. No, don’t pull away. Just hold on a moment. Don’t you know how important you are to us?” she scolded gently. “Josh absolutely wants to pummel you. It should have been you calling us instead of Thomas, but I’m glad he did. You look like shit.”
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Marcus lifted his head, startled. “I do not.”
Lauren grinned. “The invincible pretty boy ego. Eternally sensitive but as enduring as the Rock of Gibraltar.” She ran her thumb beneath one of his eyes. “You’re always a god, Marcus. But for you, you look like shit. Which means anyone else would be set to go out on a model runway.”
“Ego restored.” Catching her wrist, he squeezed lightly and lowered their now
linked hands to swing between them. “I’ll be all right. I have Thomas.”
“I noticed. When you came into the room, he was the first thing you looked for, like a captain seeking a port in a storm.
Do
you have him, Marcus?” She looked as if she regretted the question, but Marcus could understand why she asked it. Thomas had left before…
“We’ll see. He hasn’t resolved things with his family, or even told me how he plans to do so.” This morning Marcus had woken up with the apprehension Thomas would
be packing his bags. Thomas had been silent on the subject, and for once Marcus hadn’t had the strength to demand an answer, seize what his Fate would be.
He was in limbo and he knew it, but he just…couldn’t face it yet. He’d heard
everything Thomas had said last night during their intense encounter, the implied promise, but that was… Well, he knew Thomas loved him, would tear out his heart for him when Marcus was in pain. He also knew Thomas felt the same way about his
family in North Carolina.
He saw in Lauren’s face she knew it wasn’t like him not to force the issue, but instead of saying anything, she gave him a considering look. “Well, since we expect the boys to be occupied for the next half hour, why don’t I offer you my limited culinary skills to help with dinner?”
“Or you could keep me company in the kitchen and take a glass of wine.”
She made a face. “Am I that bad?”
“No, of course not. You toss a good salad. Particularly if it comes in one of those premixed bags.”
She smacked his arm, but agreeably accompanied him to the kitchen, pouring
herself a glass of wine as he checked on the status of the dinner he’d had brought in by caterers. Normally he would have enjoyed the preparations of cooking for friends, but Marcus had preferred to spend his time wrapped around Thomas. Talking,
fucking…sleeping, starting all over again. He had muscles that hadn’t been sore in years.
“Why haven’t you ever told Thomas about us, for heaven’s sake? Are you ashamed
of us? And Josh said he didn’t even know you had lived with Thomas. Why hide us from one another?”
Marcus lifted his shoulder. “I haven’t had many relationships, Lauren. In fact, with the exception of Thomas, the last one I had of this intensity was when I was fifteen years old. Everything else has been club relationships. I never wanted someone that close to me.”
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I didn’t want to be hurt when they were killed, or worse, decided they didn’t want to love me
back.
He hadn’t realized that about himself until this morning, when he’d held Thomas close, watched the sun rise and told his pet things he’d never even told himself.
Her irritation appeared to die away at the harsh honesty in his voice.
“Marcus, if you want him…I know it’s tough. God, do I know. But you have to
make yourself as vulnerable to him as you’re demanding of him. Show him who you are.”
“I did,” he said quietly. “So now…I guess we see what we’ll see.”
But as he turned away to check the stove temperature, Lauren could feel his fear of it like a tangible thing. She caught a flash of heartbreaking sadness in his eyes she’d never seen there before. Along with his obvious fatigue, it made her afraid for him.
Marcus, who never appeared vulnerable, seemed as breakable as a ceramic
sculpture. She hoped like hell Thomas was telling the truth about his plans to stay this time.
* * * * *
After only a few minutes, any self-consciousness Thomas felt about Josh’s status as an art giant vanished. They talked brush techniques, use of color and light. Josh gave him some sculpting tips, his specific milieu. Though it wasn’t Thomas’ best medium, there were a few pieces in his head he wanted to do.
Josh moved a lot as he spoke, the gray eyes brilliant. He used a scratch sheet on Thomas’ easel to demonstrate his points. One part of Thomas’ mind just cartwheeled like a giddy toddler with the thought, “I’m standing here getting tips from J. Martin”, but the artist in him couldn’t be suppressed for long. Before he knew it, he was beside Josh, pointing out other options, taking what Josh was suggesting to a different level, using it as a springboard for other possibilities.
The chance to stand with a peer and immerse himself in their shared world and
language… Sometimes being an artist, obsessed with his art, was like being an alien.
There was no one to really talk to about it, who
wanted
to talk about the minutiae involved in creation that was so amazing and miraculous—to the artist alone.
Aside from the acclaim, the layers of experimentation and skill Josh had honed
were as obvious as a perfectly cut diamond. Thomas stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a true creator, what he’d always called his favorite artists in his mind. There were things in Josh’s work that no one but an artist could understand how miraculous they were to render.
Standing here talking about it was the most fantastic fucking charge, and Thomas knew no matter where he went with his art, to whatever showings or fame, this was what it was about for him. This moment with another creator who understood the
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singular intensity to bring to life that which burned inside of him, from whatever source it came.
Though Marcus wasn’t an artist, he knew Marcus felt it in a different yet similar way. One of the many things Thomas knew that drew them together.
Lauren leaned against Marcus’ shoulder as he propped himself in the doorframe,
the two of them watching. “They don’t even know what a miracle they are, do they?”
she said softly.
“No.” Marcus found he had to clear his throat to say the words, watching the focus of Thomas’ dark eyes, the quick smiles and frowns, lines between his eyes. Even the way his body was aligned with Josh’s at the easel. “It wouldn’t matter if they did. It would just puzzle them. That’s why Josh is where he’s at and Thomas is going to be right there with him, if he’ll let himself. I suspect there were people who stood like this watching Michelangelo or Matisse. It’s like…”
He shook his head at himself, a light smile crossing his face. “Like watching God at work in His studio.”
It was a sacred, spiritual gift to watch him work, to be part of the inspiration that made Thomas the creator he was. Marcus realized he wanted to come home every day to this, wanted to know Thomas would be part of his life. The part of his life that would keep everything else in balance.
Shadows gripped him at the thought. If Thomas changed his mind once Marcus got
his grief and emotional shit under control, if he tried to withdraw again… Marcus knew he didn’t have the energy left to fight him. After all the harrowing years when he never let himself entertain the notion, even in his darkest moments, Marcus now knew he would have a compelling reason to take his own life.
He should hate Thomas for doing that to him. For dredging up all the loneliness and rage of his past with the comparison of all it could be now. The hope or promise of an unconditional love from someone who accepted and wanted Marcus for all he was.
But of course that wasn’t the way it worked. Marcus just wanted and loved him all the more.
Feeling Lauren’s shrewd eyes on him, he dropped his hand and gave her ass a hard squeeze in the short skirt she was wearing.
“Marcus Stanton.” She hissed, elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to make him
wince, as he wasn’t fully healed from the diner incident. Her exclamation drew the artists out of their absorption. They turned with matching looks, twin deer caught in headlights.
“Just checking out your wife’s ass,” Marcus explained. “It’s as firm as ever.”
“It’s actually a bit softer,” Josh responded. “I like it that way.”
“I hate you both,” Lauren announced. Thomas smothered a smile when she sent
him a searing look. “Way too much testosterone in this house. Don’t any of you doubt 232
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for a moment I can take all of you down. Even you.” She shot a narrow glance up at Marcus.
“Sounds like something I’d like to see. After dinner.” Josh grinned. “Is dinner ready?”
* * * * *
Ice not only broken but completely dissolved in the warmth of newly discovered
friendship, dinner was an animated discussion of food, art, politics, television and even some about D/s clubs the three had visited in Europe or that Thomas and Marcus had visited together.
Thomas found Lauren and Josh were more like him, keeping their play intimate
and preferring one another, using the clubs primarily as stimulating viewing
entertainment. They didn’t linger long on the topic, and he couldn’t deny that he was glad, because when Marcus had been at clubs, that meant he’d picked up one or more partners, even if it was just for a night.
After dinner, he and Lauren cleared the dishes while Josh and Marcus went to the living area to discuss the show, prepare drinks. After a few minutes, however, Thomas noted Marcus wandered out to the balcony, excusing himself and encouraging Josh to check out his music selection while he lit a cigarette.
“Is he okay, Thomas?” Lauren asked softly, helping him rinse the bowls. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Thomas nodded. Josh was following his own gaze, studying Marcus, his
brow creased in similar concern. “He will be. A lot of stuff’s broken loose in the past few days. Old wounds. He’s messed up now, but he’s trusting us enough to let it show.
That’s good. It’s good you came. I think he trusts you two more than anyone.”
“Not more than you. You sound sure he’s going to be okay because
you’re
going to make sure of it.” She met his surprised look with a smile. “You really have come home to stay. Does he realize that?”
Thomas lifted a shoulder, embarrassed by the praise but also disturbed by the
question. “I hope so. I’m going to have to prove it to him. It’s probably not going to be in a way he’ll like.”
“And that’s why you want us here. You think he’s pretty fragile right now.”
She moved closer, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him at the sink. She smelled good, a light powder, feminine aroma that made him miss Les, his mother.
Thomas glanced back at the balcony. Last night, Marcus had had a nightmare. A
bad one where he woke soaked in sweat, trembling. To soothe him, Thomas had eased him back to the mattress, held him tightly. Laid a light kiss on his face, his neck, then shifted and spread them over his whole body until Marcus was trembling for other reasons.
It was a different, more erotic version of what his mother had done for him as a boy. If he had a nightmare, and they’d been few, she’d sit on his bed and kiss his face, 233
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his belly, blowing on it to tickle him, the soles of his feet, his hands. His chest, over his heart, sometimes laying her head on it to listen to it thump. She’d said that everywhere she’d placed a kiss, the fear would run away. Until it would give up and run away entirely.
“Yeah,” he said, going back to her implied question. “I think he’s pretty damn
fragile right now.”
* * * * *
Owen had told Thomas that Marcus was fearless.
Never saw a kid so not afraid of
anything. If he had fear, he hid it places no one could see. The night that gang of monsters
dumped him off and ran, he looked so bad that Mike brought him to the back door of the hospital.
He talked an intern into coming out and treating Marcus in an alley, because he refused to bring
him in where he might get caught as a runaway. I came out to help the intern.
Dodger was bleeding everywhere, beat all to hell. He regained consciousness while the doctor
was looking him over. The first thing he asked was if Mike had found the money. The second was
could somebody bring him a fucking towel so he could wipe the blood off his face?