Chapter Text
Petting Teacher (4/4) | Marcus/Esca | NC-17
Title: Petting Teacher
Rating: NC-17
Pairing Marcus/Esca
Marcus is pacing back and forth across the bottom of the dark, empty cavern of the lecture theatre. It helps him think, the steady pain in his leg keeping his mind focused, sharp. Occasionally he absently sends one hand down to feel along the ridges and indents of the scar through the thin cotton of his gym pants. He thinks about the marines, how it gave him focus when he was lost, how it gathered him up into something bigger than him, bigger than his father, bigger than his sorrow. It was the same, in a way, with the book. And now there is nothing bigger than him, just him, just the enormous weight of his anger, his loneliness, his grief. His melancholy, his desire for the things he cannot have… Esca. He is so lost in thought, the sudden angry sound of the door banging open makes him jump. He looks up in surprise.
“Esca?” It almost doesn’t look like Esca, his face is pale and intense, his eyes wild.
“Marcusjesuschrist!” It all comes out as one word.
“What’s wrong?”
“Fuck – Marcus! I thought… I thought….” Esca places his hands to the sides of his head and breathes deeply. His eyes don’t leave Marcus’.
“What?”
“I thought… I thought you’d… I came back to say… to say that… And then that bloody book by your dad, and the manuscript, and that note to Dr. Cub, and the cane…”
“What?” Marcus asks again, genuinely perplexed.
“And the war medal? And then all those newspaper articles about your dad’s suicide? I went into your office to find you and I… I thought…I thought I’d lost you…” Esca trails off again, his face twitching with emotion.
Oh.
“Esca. You know I would never, ever do something that stupid. I mean, yeah, I thought about it after the accident with my leg, and being discharged, you know, but if my dad’s death taught me anything it’s that…”
But he doesn’t say anymore, because Esca is suddenly half running down the steps of the lecture theatre towards him. Then Esca is in his arms, and Esca is kissing him. It’s nothing like the cool, practiced kisses Esca has given him before. Esca kisses him messily, and ardently, hot and wet, teeth clashing, faces mashing awkwardly. This kiss is real.
Part of Marcus thinks he shouldn’t do this. But part of him knows he could never stop. Esca’s whole body feels electric, surrounded by a kind of warm, static charge. It shoots along Marcus’ nerve endings, shocks, almost like pain, kick-starting feelings he had forgotten he could ever have. His hands are cupping Esca’s face, in his hair. Esca’s hands are greedy, everywhere, the damp arch of his back under his shirt, then clutching at his ass, then one cool palm slides round to stroke along Marcus’ stomach. Marcus can feel the thunder of Esca’s heart pressed against his own.
“Marcus –” Esca starts, his voice low and raspy.
“Shhhh,” Marcus says, pressing his thumb tight enough against Esca’s lips to force him to turn his head, offering Marcus the delicate nook of his jaw. For once talking is the last thing he wants to do. He just wants to be here, now, with Esca. Holding Esca’s neck taut he buries his face in the hollow, breathing in heavily, then slides his mouth against Esca’s skin. Esca tastes like rain. He can feel Esca’s pulse leap madly against his tongue, feel his hardness through his still damp jeans, pressed against Marcus’ thigh. Esca. This is the best moment, the one to last forever.
Esca nips at the blunt tip of Marcus’ thumb, hard enough to make him slide it away from his mouth, hard enough to make his cock thud dizzyingly. “Marcus… I’m not… I can’t…. I don’t want…”
“Just, shhhhh.” Marcus kisses him again, hard. In another situation he would be amused that the normally cool and aloof Esca can’t seem to stop speaking, but now he just wants him quiet, kissing, feeling.
Esca pulls away from Marcus’ lips, but his hips shimmy, grinding his cock against Marcus’ hip, as if he can’t help himself. “I just… I wanted to be good enough for you, I wanted that so badly.”
“Esca.” Marcus feels heavy, inarticulate. He just wants to touch Esca, to be close to him, to feel him. “You’re…everything.”
Esca carries on as if he hasn’t heard him, hasn’t understood him. “I mean God. Have you any idea? It’s not just that you, well, I mean, you look like you do. And you’re clever, I mean you’re a fucking doctor for Christ’s sake. It’s that you’re so good. You’re so clean and uncomplicated – you have this plan, with your book and your dad and everything, to make things right, you know what you want, you know how you want to be. And I’m such a mess, I’m such a fuck-up, I’m just… not a good person, not at all. And I tried to bribe you, I offered you… you know, I offered to fuck you so you’d…with the extension and everything. And even after that you stuck up for me. And then I was such a shit to you in the car park because I felt like I’d made you compromise yourself, made you be lesser than you are. I thought I was angry with you, but I was angry with me. I hate that – I have to break everything that’s good, everything I care about… I mean, every time I think about it I feel so ashamed, I can’t believe I did that, and to you.”
“Esca, it doesn’t matter, none of it matters,” Marcus says, sliding his thumb roughly along Esca’s high cheekbone.
“Marcus, it does matter. I hate… I feel out of control… how much I want this to be not about fucking. That’s why I tried so hard to fuck you. To make it be about fucking. To pretend that’s all it was. But it’s not. That’s not what you are to me at all.”
“Esca, you’re not…” Marcus starts, but then he feels fear clench at his heart with its jagged fist. “The way I feel about you, it’s…” He runs his palms gently down Esca’s arms. “But I understand if you don’t want me. Like that. I know I’m not…much.”
“Marcus.” Esca’s grey eyes are soft, bright. He lets himself relax a little into Marcus’ arms, and Marcus drops his head to rest it on top of Esca’s shoulder. “Anyone would want you. You’re the most… I mean, I know I have my moments, but you’re gorgeous. Matinee idol gorgeous.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Marcus murmurs hotly, dragging his lips against Esca’s throat, smelling the sharp citrus tang of his skin, “you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.” Esca lets his head drop back, baring his neck further, his eyes going heavy. “Inside and out. Everything.” Again, he thinks maybe he should stop kissing Esca, but he can’t. He isn’t sure this is what Esca wants, but it is what he wants…so…badly. He draws back, almost shaking with the need not to.
Then Esca’s hands are in his hair, pulling sharply, scratching at his scalp. “Marcus, put your mouth on me. Again.”
“Is that what you…want?”
“I want you. Inside and out. Everything.” Esca says, repeating Marcus’ own words back to him, and the way he speaks, it’s like a confession, making something inside Marcus pull tight with anticipation for what it means.
Marcus returns his lips to Esca’s neck, kiss-chasing the pulse he finds there, following it to the hollow where his throat meets his shoulder, teeth teasing at the soft skin, smelling himself on Esca’s t-shirt.
Esca moans, and fists a hand against Marcus’ shirt, twisting blindly. He pulls Marcus’ head level with his, breathing heavily. “Should we, uh, should we go somewhere else?” he asks, cheeks flushed, lips bruised.
“No, here,” Marcus says, backing Esca onto the desk, “It always made me crazy when you’d threaten to come onto me like this.”
“Oh!” Esca says. He looks delighted. “Me too.” He kisses Marcus again, grappling with the buttons of his shirt, sliding a hand in to explore the weave of muscle that lays over Marcus’ ribs. The backs of his knuckles rub against the hard, damp tip of Marcus’ cock where it strains against the worn cotton of his gym pants and Marcus groans. He grabs at Esca’s t-shirt, struggling to pull it up over his head. The collar gets stuck on his nose and Esca laughs, but he stops laughing when Marcus pulls the cotton taut over his eyes, and kisses at him savagely, then bites at his neck, then spears his tongue over one brown nipple.
“Huh,” he breathes, allowing himself to be blindly pushed against the edge of the desk, as Marcus works his other hand over Esca’s own hard cock through the thick denim of his jeans. Esca manages to wiggle free of Marcus’ grip enough to finish tugging the t-shirt off, and then presses himself flush against Marcus, skin to skin, their height difference meaning Marcus can feel the thick ridge of his cock pressing against the soft skin of Esca’s belly. Esca hooks his fingers into the elastic waistband of Marcus’ pants and tugs.
“Take these off, I want to see you.” Somewhere there is the scar, jagged and ugly, but here there is only Esca’s warm eyes, his cool, clutching hands, his bitten off exhalations of breath, so Marcus lets Esca pull harder on the jogging bottoms, until they slide down his thick, furred thighs. Esca kisses him again, sliding his tongue along the edge of Marcus’ lips. He lets the very tips of his fingers ghost against the plump head of Marcus’ cock, already sticky with precome, where it is sliding its way out of the gap in his briefs. “These too,” Esca breathes. Marcus steps back a little and pulls down his boxers, palming himself briefly as he does so.
Esca’s eyes go wide and dark. “Do that again,” he says.
“Do what again?”
“Touch yourself,” Esca’s eyes run quickly from Marcus’ face to his cock, then back again. He licks his lips. “I used to think about it, you know. A lot. You touching yourself, and thinking about me. Did you use to think about me? When you jacked yourself off?”
Marcus’ mouth is dry. “Yes.” He manages. Then he smiles weakly, and shrugs, “well, you know, just a bit.” He’s trying for teasing, but his voice sounds too breathy, too ragged.
“What did you use to think about?”
“Ah… you know. You. Bent over the desk here. Opening for me. Begging me for it,” Marcus says thickly.
Esca smiles approvingly. “Yeah? I used to think about that too. Do you know what else I used to think about?” he asks.
“Uh?” Marcus manages, eyes on Esca’s normally impassive face, now animated with desire. Esca. Thinking about him. Thinking about fucking him, being fucked by him. He isn’t sure what’s going to blow first, his mind or his cock.
“Sucking you off here, at your desk. On my hands and knees. In the lecture hall.”
He places a cool palm flat on Marcus’ warm, flushed chest, pushing him gently back round the desk towards the chair. “It made me kind of insane when you kept turning me down you know. I used to watch you, in lectures, and all I could think about was you sat here, and me under the desk, your cock in my mouth, and no one would know that I was there, you know…”
“Yeah,” says Marcus. “Yeah.” He allows Esca to push him down on to the chair, and then watches as Esca sinks slowly to his knees, his steely eyes soft and unfocused. He knee walks backwards, further under the desk, pulling the chair with him, so Marcus can barely see him in the dark lecture hall, just the top of his bronze head, lit only by the silvery moon and golden streetlamps. But he can feel Esca’s firm hands on his thighs, easing them apart, and then the warm pulse of his breath on the straining length of his cock. Marcus moans in anticipation, tilting his head back and gripping hard at the sides of the chair, as he feels the first broad swipe of Esca’s tongue, licking a hot, wet stripe up Marcus’ dick. Esca nips at the soft skin of Marcus’ inner thighs, then nuzzles into his balls, mouthing at them damply, flickering his tongue over the taut, swollen skin. Marcus lets out another groan, deep and guttural, feeling Esca’s hand close around the base of his cock and his tongue feather over the sensitive head, then swirl down over it in practiced circles.
Esca pulls off a little. “Quiet,” he whispers darkly, “everyone is watching.”
Marcus is slightly alarmed by the low, filthy pulse of desire this sends sparking through him, and has to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning again, as he feels his cock push against the petulant bow of Esca’s lips before being sucked, hard, long, all the way into Esca’s silky heat. Esca rakes a hand across his belly, where his muscles have pulled tight with arousal. Then he trails his fingers lower to explore the sensitive skin underneath Marcus’ balls. He moves to lick frantically at the side of Marcus’ cock, the edge of his tongue moving to tease at the slit, then engulfs him for a few more long strokes down his throat.
“Esca,” Marcus’ voice has roughened to a low growl, “If you keep that up any longer, I won’t be able to.” Marcus can feel Esca smile around his dick, then he pulls off again, leaving it to smack wetly against Marcus’ stomach. His head emerges from under the desk, hair mussed, lips dark and swollen, eyes smug.
“Mmp,” Marcus says, making an inarticulate sound of desire, and he grabs Esca under the armpits, almost hauling him out from under the desk, and then settling him on it so their faces are level, and Marcus can stand between Esca’s spread thighs.
Marcus kisses Esca long and hard, enjoying the taste of himself on Esca’s tongue, his fingers busying themselves with the buttons of Esca’s fly. He ruts himself lazily against the roughness of the denim, enjoying the almost painful pleasure of the material against his naked, sensitized cock. He pulls at Esca’s jeans, and Esca wriggles and raises his hips, helping Marcus shimmy them down his legs. Marcus reaches into Esca’s boxers, finding his dick, both hard and soft, tusk in velvet. Esca pants into his mouth, as Marcus eases his boxers down too. Esca’s cock is long and elegant, with a pretty flared head, hard and red with need. Marcus wraps a strong, warm hand round it, rubbing his thumb roughly over the top.
Esca breaks off from their kiss to look down at where they are touching, his cock, Marcus’ hand. “Shit, Marcus, your hands are enormous,” he breathes.
Marcus smiles, and exhales against Esca’s ear. “Or…,” he starts teasingly, and Esca laughs.
“Hey, fuck you,” he retorts gently, and bites at Marcus’ jaw, “there is nothing wrong with my cock.” He jerks it up hard into Marcus grip, and he is forced to agree. There is nothing wrong with it whatsoever, it’s perfect, just like the rest of Esca. He spreads his fingers wider, and then wraps them around the both of them, gently pulling, allowing them to rub and slide together. “Mmmm,” Esca pants, kissing Marcus again, sloppy, breathing hard. “I want to… have you got anything?”
“Oh, no,” Marcus feels momentarily dismayed, realizing he came to the lecture hall only in his spare shirt and his track pants. His wallet is in his jeans back in the office.
“I’ve got…mmmm,” Esca says, kissing Marcus again, raking at his back, squeezing his ass. “I’ve got…condom…in my jeans, hang on.” He scooches off the side of the desk, ducking down between Marcus’ spread legs, tonguing briefly at his taut, furry balls, making Marcus shudder. He rummages in his jeans pocket, emerging triumphant with the shiny foil packet. “I haven’t got any…you know, lube though,” he says.
“Hmmmm,” Marcus takes the condom and drops it on the desk, then grasps Esca firmly by the shoulders, spinning him round so he is facing away from Marcus, towards the dark rows of the lecture hall. “Well, we’ll just have to improvise then, won’t we,” he says, and uses his good knee to nudge Esca’s legs apart, forcing him to lean forward against the desk for support. Ignoring the grumble of protest from his damaged leg he sinks to his knees, bringing his face level with the pale round peach of Esca’s fantastic dancer’s ass, high and firm. He rubs his face against each cheek, then bites the left one, hard enough to leave a hot pink scalloped mark on the smooth skin. Esca makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, clenching his ass in surprise. Marcus pets him, then runs his thumb teasingly along the crease, and Esca exhales heavily and spreads his legs further, revealing the perfect pout of his hole. Marcus lets his tongue follow his thumb in a long, wet swipe, until he reaches Esca’s warm, pink centre, where he pauses, just dabbing, letting his tongue flirt with it. Then he stabs it inwards, sharply, licking round and up.
“Fuck,” Esca says, low and breathy. “Huh.” He grips tightly onto the edges of the desk, head hanging downwards, shoulder blades like wings, labouring, panting hard and choked as if he is being whipped. He is prettier than anything Marcus can imagine. Marcus bends his head back down again, letting his tongue slide back into Esca, curling it upwards, feeling Esca open and shiver around him. He tastes amazing, sweet and tangy, Esca.
“Oh. God.” Esca says raggedly as Marcus uses his wide, blunt fingers to hold Esca further open for him, licking and mouthing at Esca’s hole. Esca writhes on his tongue, rutting his erection against the rough edge of the desk. Marcus taps his thumb on Esca’s slick opening, watching it darken and blossom with pleasure. He sucks the thumb briefly, and then slides it in to Esca’s welcoming warmth, Esca breathing it in like a warm gust of air, smooth. He moves the thumb rhythmically in and out, feeling Esca catch and release around it, watching him wriggle and twist. Then he replaces it with two mouth-wet fingers, scissoring them gently, working Esca open. Adding a third finger, he beckons them upwards, feeling the hard press of Esca’s response. Inside and out. Everything.
“Marcus,” Esca gasps, “please.”
With a jolt Marcus remembers his semi-slumber fantasies, Esca hot and wanton beneath him, oh you like that do you? Say please. The thought makes his balls pull and tingle and Marcus breathes deeply, trying to control himself, pulling back from Esca’s cool, lemony skin. Esca raises his head and looks down at Marcus over his shoulder, flushed and dreamy. “I’m ready. You’ve got me really wet.” He tugs at the tip of his cock for emphasis.
Marcus stands quickly, for once glad of the stab of pain from his leg, grateful for something to take the edge off how much he wants his cock in Esca, now, wants to fuck up inside him, now, wants to come, now. He reaches for the discarded condom packet, tearing at it with slippery fingers, then easing the sheath down over his hardness with slightly unsteady hands.
Esca looks back over his shoulder again, eyes never leaving Marcus’ cock, and he licks his lips, smiles. “Come on,” he breathes, his voice low and excited.
Marcus presses himself against Esca’s cool, muscular back, looping an arm around his waist, allowing his dick to nestle against Esca’s ass. He holds the base of his cock in one hand, and hesitantly presses it against Esca’s hole. It’s been a long time since Marcus tried this without lubricant – pleasant flashback to army days, hot purple nights, hotter skin – well, to be honest, it’s been a long time since he had sex, period; and he doesn’t want to hurt Esca. But it’s hard when Esca is bucking against him, hot and moaning.
Marcus draws back slightly and rubs his cock along the crease of Esca’s ass.
“Marcus,” Esca groans, exasperated.
“Say please,” Marcus says, dark and low, half amazed at his own audacity.
“Huh?” Esca stiffens a little in surprise, turning the side of his face to Marcus so he can see the proud lines of lips, cheekbone, brow in profile.
“Say please,” Marcus repeats, and Esca gives a small snort of laughter.
“I guess I deserve that. Okay, okay: please.”
Marcus presses just the tip of his dick against Esca’s hole. “Please what?”
He can see Esca smiling again in the dark. “Please will you fuck me?”
“I think you can do better than that,” and Marcus moves his hips forward, minutely, then pulls back, causing Esca to breathe in sharply.
“Please Marcus, please will you fuck me?” he asks again, but this time his voice is higher, tighter, less amused. Again, the tiniest movement of his hips. Esca tries to buck backwards, impale himself deeper onto Marcus, but Marcus steadies him with a large palm pressed flat to the small of his back. He reaches round and trails the backs of his knuckles over Esca’s straining cock.
“This time like you really mean it.”
“Please. Please, Marcus, I want you inside me.”
This time he allows himself to go deeper, but still gentle, steady, slowly working Esca open, using his other hand to continue to tease the head of Esca’s cock. Esca breathes hard.
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Yeah, just…slow. That’s…good.”
Marcus doesn’t think he could manage much more than slow at the moment, maddening as it is. Esca feels silky and succulent around him, and if he went any faster, he’s worried he would embarrass himself, like a schoolboy, too hot, too eager. Marcus bites at his lip.
Esca arches back, nuzzling the back of his head against Marcus’ collar bone, baring his throat. “Okay, yeah, harder now.”
“Hm,” Marcus acknowledges, and he presses forward, hard, twisting his hips almost savagely, feeling the bones of his pelvis come flush to Esca’s ass.
Esca pants, whimpers. “Yeah.”
Marcus starts to thrust into him, harder now, resting one warm hand loosely on the back of Esca’s neck where his hair curls in damp, coppery tendrils, and using the other to caress his jutting hip, his taut thigh.
Esca moves one of his hands from where he has been bracing himself against the desk, and attempts to slide it under him, to reach for his cock. “Can I…let me turn round,” he says.
“Let me turn round….?”
“Please.” Then as Marcus pulls out to let Esca turn to face him, Esca adds archly, “Sir” making Marcus smile. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d get off so much on this whole bossy thing.”
Marcus quirks an eyebrow at him. “Well, I am your teacher Esca. We are in my lecture hall. You should be treating me with respect.”
Esca grins. “Okay, well, please, Sir, please will you fuck me again?”
Marcus kisses him, gently, enjoying how Esca shivers and responds to the touch of his tongue, then using both arms to lever Esca’s thighs up off the edge of the desk, slides back into Esca’s smooth, clenching heat. Esca leans backwards, bracing himself on his elbows, his throat a long silvery column in the moonlight, his eyes narrowed to dark pools of sex. Again, Marcus is grateful for the increasing flares of pain coming from his leg; the sight of Esca, his creamy cool lunar beauty, all laid out in front of him, the contrast of his hard red penis, pulsing with every one of Marcus’ thrusts, is enough to make Marcus grit his teeth. He wants to come in Esca so hard it feels like pain. Despite his thigh’s protest, he hooks Esca’s leg over his good hip and uses his free hand to gently trail along the rigid underside of Esca’s cock.
Esca breathes out, unsteady. “Mmmmm,” he murmurs, “yeah.” Marcus teases some more, fingers barely touching, hips pistoning now. “Oh…yeah.”
“What happened to ‘I’m not remotely interested in you’, to ‘you’re boring and dull’, huh?” Marcus asks, caressing the urgent knot of heat in Esca’s belly, fingers ghosting around Esca’s cock.
“Jesus, Marcus” Esca’s eyes snap open.
“Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
“Marcus I…I think you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life. I always…ah…I always wanted you, right from the first…right from the first time I saw you,” Esca gasps, choking slightly on the admission.
Marcus gives a wicked twist to his hips, letting go of Esca’s cock and uses one hand to wrap tight into Esca’s hair, holding his head back so he can see his eyes, his neck bared to him. He uses his other arm to knock Esca’s elbows from under him, and then traps Esca’s slender wrists, pinning them above his head, pressing him flat against the top of the desk.
“Am I being too nice now? Too sweet?”
Esca bites his lip, half smiles, moans, wriggles his thighs back and up towards his chest, giving Marcus better access to his hot, secret core. “Well, that does feel…pretty sweet.”
“Yeah?” Marcus thrusts as hard as he can, biting at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from coming. “What about those other guys? In the lecture hall?”
“Fuck, you know…only doing it…to make you jealous. It was always you.” Esca stills suddenly, pulling one of his hands free and cupping Marcus’ jaw. “It’s always you Marcus. You know that.”
The admission, so unexpected and heartfelt, makes Marcus stutter, his heart suddenly blossoming in his chest, his eyes suddenly wet. “Mm,” he mumbles, worried if he says anything to Esca now he might cry, and he bends his head and kisses Esca’s soft, willing lips, and then he is coming, so hard it makes him dizzy, and it is perfect, and suddenly gentle, and it is Esca.
He rests his head for a few, brief, sweet seconds on Esca’s shoulder, and then, even though he would like nothing better but to close his eyes and breathe in Esca’s clean, cool scent, to ease the pressure off his screaming thigh muscles, he thrusts his still hard cock a few more times into Esca’s now slippery warmth, using one hand to pull sharply on Esca’s cock. He lifts his head, watching Esca’s face intently as the clear skin of Esca’s chest blushes, his neck tenses and his breathing hollows out.
“Marcus,” he says, and then Marcus feels Esca’s dick pulse and jet in his hand.
Marcus breathes out, deeply, and allows his head to drop back to Esca’s shoulder. He can feel his thigh shaking with the strain. “Huh,” he says softly. “Esca, I’m going to have to… my leg….” And he eases himself out of Esca gently, before dropping to floor, forcing his leg out straight in front of him, curling the toes up towards his head, trying to calm the agony of his thigh while still feeling the sparkling tingles of pleasure shooting from the crown of his head to the tip of his softening cock. The confusion of his senses gives an extra erotic edge to the pain that isn’t altogether unpleasant.
Esca sits up on the edge of the desk and looks at him, his eyes deep and dark. “Wow,” he says, still slightly shakily. “Aren’t you a revelation?”
Marcus half smiles and shrugs. “What can I say? You’re pretty inspirational.”
Esca’s eyes wander slowly to Marcus’ ruined leg. “Are you alright? I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“It’ll be fine,” Marcus assures him, “It just needs stretching. It, um, well, that was quite a work out.”
“I’ll say,” Esca springs off the side of the desk, and goes down on his haunches next to Marcus, smoothing a thumb over Marcus’ lips. He looks almost feral in the moonlight, naked and crouched. He gives Marcus a funny, intent look, one he hasn’t seen before. Then he kisses him, swift and chaste, his eyes open all the while, staring into Marcus’. “Marcus Aquila,” he says softly.
“So, uh, I’m heading to my Uncle’s, like, three hours ago,” Marcus says awkwardly, “If you want… Would you like to come? For Christmas?”
Esca regards him silently again, and in a rush Marcus feels all his old insecurities flooding back in, suddenly worried he sounds foolish, blunt, too needy, too eager. “Okay,” Esca says eventually. “Thanks. That would be nice. If you’re sure.”
Sure. As if he would ever not be sure of his feelings for Esca. “It’s no problem, it would be a pleasure to have you,” Marcus says, watching Esca’s lips twitch at the unintended double entendre.
They dress hurriedly in the dim lecture hall, Marcus kneading at the angry muscles of his thigh, wishing he hadn’t left his cane in his office; then Esca helps him up the stairs, Marcus’ bulk pressed against him, stepping somewhat gingerly.
“Looks like neither of us can walk properly now,” he jokes.
“God, I’m sorry,” Marcus says quickly, embarrassed, concerned. “I shouldn’t have… I hope it didn’t hurt too much.”
“Marcus,” Esca pauses and turns to face him, “it’s fine.” He smiles, “You never need to apologise for fucking me like that, okay?” Then he kisses him again, his mouth still tasting of sex, and despite his almost crippling fatigue Marcus feels his cock twitch with renewed interest.
“Ok.”
After collecting Marcus’ wet clothes and cane from the office, they walk out to the car park and Marcus drives them across the quiet countryside towards his Uncle’s home.
“What did you come back to say? When you came to my office?” Marcus asks, keeping his eyes on the dark road, still unsure of Esca, of himself.
Esca doesn’t answer for a long time. “I don’t know really… I just, I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t have…feelings…for you.”
“Feelings, huh?” Marcus allows himself to glance across at Esca’s side of the car.
Esca grins mischievously and winks at Marcus. “Yeah. But mostly I just wanted to tell you how hot you looked without your shirt on.” But when he puts his hand on Marcus’ thigh, right over the scar, his fingers are gentle, gentle.
Uncle Aquila is warm and welcoming, as if there is nothing out of the ordinary about Marcus rocking up three hours late with an uninvited twenty something man in tow two nights before Christmas. He reheats some dinner for them, and regales them with tales of the latest goings-on in the village (despite having lived in England for some 19 years, he is still endlessly fascinated by the behaviours and attitudes of its residents), peppered liberally with embarrassing anecdotes from Marcus’ childhood. Esca is uncharacteristically vocal, polite and charming, listening avidly to all of his Uncle’s stories. Marcus is somewhat less chatty, so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, feeling the velvet beckon of sleep.
“Well,” his uncle announces. “You look worn out Marcus. You must have had a busy day.” At this Esca allows the tiniest touch of his little finger against the fine hairs on the back of Marcus’ wrist under the table, a small smile playing around the bow his lips. Certain parts of Marcus immediately come awake. “I’ve made your room up for you. Esca, shall I show you to the guest bedroom?” He looks at them both quizzically then, as if waiting to be contradicted, but before Marcus can even begin to consider how best to respond, Esca says, “Yes, thank you, that would be lovely,” and is gone.
The next morning Marcus is up early, and finds his Uncle already reading the papers over kippers. “Is Esca still asleep?” he asks, casually, pouring himself some orange juice.
Uncle Aquila looks over the tops of his reading glasses. “No, no, he was up and out of the house at the crack of dawn.”
Marcus feels a jolt of painful alarm – Esca has gone. Yesterday was just some dark, dreamy fugue, a moment out from reality, from the reality of who he is, who would want him. “Asked if he could borrow some trainers. Like I’d own a pair of trainers! You youngsters and your fitness regimes.”
“So he’s out for a run?” Marcus enquires, straining to keep his voice neutral.
Uncle Aquila flaps a hand. “I believe so. He said he’d ask you to join him, but he was worried you might have hurt your leg yesterday. Something about an ‘epic workout’ you both did.”
Marcus studies the orange juice carton hard, feeling a hot rush of blood course up his chest towards his face. And other parts. Epic workout. He can suddenly taste Esca in his mouth, can feel him all long and cool pressed against Marcus’ heated hands. When he does risk glancing at his uncle again as he sits at the table, he is looking at him pensively.
“You seem….” For a minute Marcus thinks he is going to say happier, but he finishes “more yourself.” After another pause he adds, “better in yourself. Your old self.”
Marcus snorts. “Ha! I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I’m not sure how much I liked my old self.”
“Well, I did,” Uncle Aquila says quietly, “I liked him very much indeed.” He cocks his head, cornflower eyes enquiring. “I’m assuming this change is on account of your young man?”
Marcus hesitates. He’s never come out to his Uncle. He never came out to his father either. But he wasn’t exactly subtle about it. There were boys at high school, more boys than girls, and boys at university too, and he never hid them from his father, never offered any explanation when they would be in the large family kitchen, so empty since his mother died, at breakfast time. Perhaps he assumed that his father, so rigid and judgmental about most things, would be open to this – he was an historian specializing in the Roman Empire after all. And he was probably right. His father never said anything, never asked him anything, never made any loaded comments or pressured him about the lack of a regular girlfriend.
“He probably has something to do with it,” Marcus mumbles, feeling himself beginning to blush, again.
Uncle Aquila smiles broadly. “Well, good,” he says, “Good. You deserve a nice young man. You deserve to be happy, Marcus.”
They spend the day with his uncle, going for a walk across the crisp, frosty countryside, stopping off at a pub for lunch.
Esca tries to encourage him to have a pint of real ale, but Marcus refuses. “It’s disgusting. It looks and tastes like bin juice.”
“Spoken like someone raised on the piss-weak excuse for an alcoholic drink that is Budweiser,” Esca retorts.
His uncle joins in. “I’ve tried Esca, I’ve tried. But there’s no saving the boy. Maybe if we made it into a shandy?”
“Shut up, the both of you” Marcus responds good naturedly.
He loves spending time with his uncle – he’s the only family Marcus has – but it does mean he gets no time alone with Esca, cool, mysterious Esca. Marcus wishes he could hold Esca so close he could burrow into his skin, to know his heart and mind, what are you thinking, what are you feeling?
His uncle makes them stay up by the fire with him til 11:30, when he sets off for midnight mass. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? You used to love carols as a boy.”
“Honestly, Uncle, I’m fine,” Marcus says. “I’m actually still pretty tired.” He yawns and stretches extravagantly for emphasis. However, by the time he’s seen his uncle out the door, Esca has already gone upstairs to bed. Marcus feels a surge of disappointment so savage, it’s almost like anger. How can Esca…? How can he not want…? Marcus wants so much. He sits up in bed reading for a long while, still half hoping he’s got it wrong, and Esca is going to come and join him. But nothing. When he hears his Uncle crunching up the frosty pathway at ten to one, Marcus gives up and turns off his lamp. He listens to the creak of his uncle’s footsteps on the stairs, the clanking of the ancient plumbing, then the sound of the house sighing and settling around them.
It is dark as pitch. Marcus had forgotten how dark it got in the countryside. He lies, staring blankly into the nothingness, feeling the slow sad thump of his heart, the twist of his pain. Marcus is almost asleep when he hears the door swing lightly on its hinges. His heart lurches in his chest, and he sits up with a start, the sheets pooling around his waist.
“Esca?” It’s almost a shout.
“Shhhh,” he hears footsteps padding across the floorboards, cat-light in the gloom, and then the bed depresses as Esca slides into it. “Mmmm,” Esca’s cool hands find Marcus in the blackness and he runs them appreciatively over the planes of Marcus’ chest, “been thinking about this all day.”
“Me too,” says Marcus, feeling hot delight blossom in his veins. He pulls Esca in closer, awkwardly bashing noses in the dark, then finding the rasp of his chin, the unexpected plushness of his lips. “Esca – are you wearing pyjamas?”
“Your uncle lent them to me, okay,” Esca says defensively. “I didn’t have anything to sleep in. I don’t even have any spare boxers with me.”
“My uncle’s pyjamas, huh? That’s sexy. It’s lucky I can’t see you properly or I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”
“If it’s such a turn-off for you,” Esca says gently, and here he lets his hand find the plumpness of Marcus’ cock, already half-hard under the covers, “I can just go back to my bed. By myself.”
Marcus bites back a moan as Esca’s clever fingers twist and pull against him. “Maybe we could compromise, and you could just…take them off.”
“I don’t know. This house is old. It’s pretty cold at night.”
Marcus pulls Esca tighter, wrapping his arms around his slender waist. “I’m sure we’ll find ways to keep warm.”
Later, after the frenzied fumbling under the covers, hands on each other in the darkness, both spilling on each other’s skin, they lie together, quiet, content. Esca lets a hand trail down over Marcus’ hip, fingers finding the scar. Marcus winces, but doesn’t pull away, allowing Esca to blindly map its bays and ridges.
“What happened?” he asks after a while.
It’s not a question that Marcus likes answering. “I was in the marines,” he says eventually. “I…after all that stuff with my dad, I dropped out of college and I joined up. I thought I could, I don’t know, make a difference. Make history.”
He can hear his father’s voice again, clear and deep: joining the army - it’s not a game, Marcus.
“Anyway, I was fit, I was bright, they pushed me up the ranks quite quickly, I made sergeant within 14 months. But some of the men don’t really respect that, especially when they think you’re…from a background of privilege.” He pauses here and tries to see Esca’s face in the dark, remembering their first encounter, I guess it’s one rule for the rich and one for everyone else, but the blackness is all-encompassing. “You feel like you have a lot to prove. And then after my dad… after his accident, I… It was like an obsession, I needed to prove to myself, to his memory, that I was brave, that I was someone who made things happen.”
He is silent again for a while. “I was stupid. I wanted so much to make a difference. But mostly, being in the forces, being out in Afghanistan, it’s just sitting around. It’s piss boring. Sitting around with a bunch of guys with limited conversational skills. Sitting around. Waiting. Being scared. Then bored. More waiting. Passing round the same shitty paperback copy of Dan Brown. Cleaning guns. Waiting.
“Sometimes, you know…” he cocks his head at Esca and runs his hand lightly down his stomach, half-embarrassed at the admission. “But most of the time that’s torture too. Everyone so shifty about it. Never knowing if you’re going to get a hand job or a kick in the nuts. Never being alone. Wanting. Waiting. The heat is unbearable, the flies are unbearable, the stink. The waiting.
“So when one day we got told we needed to go and evacuate some civilians, who’d got caught up in some fighting between some different rebel factions, to actually do something, I was really excited - it’s like your whole body, your mind, everything, explodes violently back into life. Suddenly everything’s – go, go, action. So I go blundering in, all ooh-rah, thinking I’m GI fucking Joe, and I led my men straight into an ambush.”
He pauses again, remembering that day, the hot, white brightness of it, the vividness of the colours, the feel of the sun on the bare skin of his face. “Fortunately, I kind of…realized in time. I’m not even sure how I knew they were waiting for us. It was like I could just smell it on the air. I was… well… I wasn’t going to let any of my men die because of my mistake. I figured out where they were, up in the ruins of this half bombed wall along the side of the road, and I just ran. I don’t know how I didn’t get shot before I reached them. I guess I surprised them, just when they were waiting to surprise us. I killed four of them. The last one… my gun wasn’t working properly, Christ knows what was wrong with it, the amount of times I’d cleaned and assembled the fucking thing, so I just…I took the end of the gun, and I just beat him with it.”
Even now Marcus feels a narrowing of his throat, a twinge like nausea start in his gut, his eyes go wet. “It wasn’t… He was young. Very young. He… I try not to think about it. Anyway, he must have had some sort of grenade on him, a dirty bomb, I don’t know. But it went off. I don’t really remember much of that. A bit of the wall broke off and ended up in my leg. To be honest, it’s a miracle I didn’t get blown to bits. But at the time… It bled a lot. It bled so much I was surprised there was any blood left in me. It was hot. I remember putting my hands down to where my leg was and not being able to find any skin, anything firm, just feeling wet, and then being able to feel the bone, all hard and splintered. It was just me and the guy I’d beaten for a while in that small space, hemmed in among the rubble. He was still breathing, but only just, I could hear it gurgling through the mess where his face had been. I remember that. I thought I was going to die. Alone there, with the man I killed, breathing out our last together. And it felt right. It felt like the right sort of punishment. You reap what you sow. It felt like I lay there for hours, days, but it can only have been a minute at tops before the men in my unit were there.” He pauses again. “You can see why I’ve never felt like much of a hero.”
They lie in silence.
“Well then, you know,” Esca says quietly after a while. “You do know.” And he kisses Marcus, gently, in the dark, his fingers cool against Marcus’ closed eyelids, his tongue caressing the delicate inside of Marcus’ mouth. “I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have found someone like you. You,” he says.
“I don’t think most people would count finding someone who beat a guy to death as lucky. Someone who... who is as messed up as me, messed up and broken…”
Esca cuts him off, “Don’t. And don’t tell me that. I’ve had enough bad luck in my life to know when something good comes along.”
They kiss again, for some time, Marcus delighting in the glorious press of Esca’s smooth, supple body against his. Esca slides his hands down the muscular arch of Marcus’ back, cupping his ass, sending an exploratory finger into the crease. “Can I…?” he whispers.
“Yeah,” Marcus breathes. He can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times someone has done this to him; he has never overly enjoyed it, finding it awkward and uncomfortable, never able to relax into the rhythm; but this is Esca, and the idea of Esca inside him makes him feel breathless, tight, dizzy with want.
Esca spends a long time preparing him, patient, gentle, almost languorous, slipping all around Marcus like water, until he wants to cry out from the joy and the frustration of it. Even when he is finally inside Marcus they go slowly, maddeningly slowly, letting the pressure build up as they move together. It coils down low in Marcus’ stomach, tighter and tighter ‘til he tingles with it, almost aches with it. When Esca finally finds that sweet spot deep inside him, Marcus can’t help himself but shout, and Esca has to place his hand, hard, over Marcus’ mouth to silence him.
Marcus bites at the underside of his palm, hot and frantic, trying to look into Esca’s face but feeling his eyes close despite himself, giving way to the soaring white fall of his pleasure, like jumping out into cool air, sunlight, space.
When he wakes up he is alone in his bed, and the disappointment is crushing. There is a bulging stocking from his uncle looped over the end of the bed post though, and Marcus feels anxiety mingled with the disappointment. When did his uncle…? It’s best not to think about it, Marcus concludes, and heads down for the traditional Christmas breakfast of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with champagne.
Esca is already up, deep in conversation with his uncle at the breakfast bar, and when he sees Marcus he gives him a warm, wide, easy smile that makes Marcus feel foolish for his earlier disappointment. “Merry Christmas sleepy,” he says, and it’s all Marcus can do not to gather him up and kiss him, there, in the kitchen.
You, he thinks, oh you.
After breakfast Uncle Aquila leaves them to wash up and put away whilst he sorts out the presents under the Christmas tree. Esca rolls up his sleeves at the sink, and just the sight of his wrist hair, his fine-boned wrist, the golden hair furring his fine-boned wrist, the way it yellows and turns fairer all the way down his arm, becoming more precious, all part of his wonderful alchemy; and Marcus is lost, feeling his flesh rise, the ache of his body drawing itself together. When Esca reaches up to put the champagne glasses away in a high cupboard, causing his t-shirt to ride up and give Marcus a glimpse of a pale half moon of taut stomach, he feels a surge of longing so palpable salvia fills his mouth. He catches Esca round the middle, and pulls him clumsily towards him for a damp, open-mouthed kiss.
Esca pushes him off, laughing, and returns to the sink. “Your uncle!” he admonishes.
“I know, I’m sorry, it just makes me crazy being around you and not being able to touch you, knowing…what it’s like to touch you.” Esca regards him levelly from across the breakfast bar, and Marcus feels sheepish. Esca probably thinks he’s ridiculous, undignified. “Sorry,” he finishes lamely, “I know, I’m being an idiot.”
Esca walks round the breakfast bar to stand behind Marcus, silently looping one arm around Marcus’ neck and shoulders and pressing his crotch slowly and deliberately against Marcus’ ass. Marcus can feel how hard he is through his jeans, can feel the surge as Esca’s cock rubs against him.
“It makes me pretty crazy too,” Esca whispers hotly in his ear. Marcus spins round at that, and mashes Esca against him, kissing at his neck, grinding himself against Esca’s thigh. Esca gives a quiet growl of satisfaction, and when Uncle Aquila re-enters the kitchen they are rutting against each other fully-clothed like randy schoolboys, pressed up against the breakfast bar.
“Ahem,” he says pointedly, and they jump apart, Marcus blushing furiously. “I thought we might go through into the sitting room,” he says, “that is, when you’re all done in here.” And with a knowing smile, he shuffles back out of the room.
“I know this is going to be difficult,” Marcus says later, quietly, over the table after lunch. “Me and you, I mean. If there ¬is a me and you. I don’t want to…”
“There’s a me and you,” Esca cuts him off softly. “But you’re right, it is difficult.”
“I know. If you think it’s going to be too hard, I understand.”
Esca reaches for his hand under the table, takes it in his and gives it a long, cool squeeze, fluting his fingers along the length of Marcus’.
“We’ll work something out,” he says, and smiles.
Epilogue
They work something out.
After the Easter term Marcus gets a year long teaching sabbatical, at Columbia of all places, as a visiting Professor. They figure this way by the time he’s back in the UK Esca will have almost graduated, and then they can be together, properly, officially. It’s easier than having to tell the Dean, having to face two years of whispers and accusations.
It’s strange being back at Columbia. Everything is the same, everything is different. Plus ca change. His students seem to enjoy his classes.
No one mentions his father, until one day Professor Guern, one of the old guard, pulls him to one side in the corridor. “Marcus,” he says, earnestly, holding onto Marcus’ sleeve. “Good to have you here. I just wanted you to know, that we all miss your father. Very much. He was a good man, you know, despite what…happened. A fine academic, and a great teacher. The students all respected him very much, as did we. I see a lot of him in you, you know.”
“Thanks,” Marcus mumbles, wanting to say more, but already feeling the tight swell of emotion closing around his throat.
He moves back into his old family home, empty now for almost 11 years, pulling the dust sheets away, running his fingers along the edges of the framed photographs in the kitchen, his mother’s dark eyes, wide smile, his father, laughing. Funny how he can never remember his father laughing. And pictures of Marcus too, younger, freer, at ease. That Marcus doesn’t seem quite so distant from him anymore.
He misses Esca terribly of course. And Cottia, although she forces him to familiarize himself with the wonders of Skype. He thinks of Esca a lot, when he is teaching, when he is at the gym, when he is crossing the road, when he is trying to sleep. Especially then. He chews his way through 10 years worth of diligently saved air miles flying either one of them back and forth across the ocean every two months.
It’s difficult though. He wants to be with Esca all the time. He worries, too. Esca’s younger than him, has his whole life in front of him. And he thinks, sometimes, some dark times, of Liathan, of his lackadaisical charm and easy grace. Of the other men Esca spends his days with. Maybe his nights too. He steels himself, and brings it up on the phone one day.
“I just wanted to say, that if you want to… you know, date, then that’s fine, I completely understand. I mean, we never said we were…exclusive, and I know we’re far away from each other, and it’s difficult, so, you know, that’s fine with me. If you want to. I don’t want to…hold you back.”
“Marcus, I swear to God, if you start being all sad and noble about this again, I’m going to get on the first plane to the States and come and find you and smack you one,” Esca retorts, his voice as clear as if he was standing next to Marcus, and not almost 4,000 miles away. “I don’t want to be with anyone else, okay? I don’t want to be with anyone else; firstly because, no matter what you say about it being alright I’d feel shitty about it; secondly, because after you, fucking anyone else would be such a disappointment I’d probably start to cry; and thirdly because…well…I’m yours. I’m just for you.”
Marcus has to clear his throat. “Really?” he asks in a small voice.
“Marcus!” Esca sounds exasperated. “I’d do anything for you, Marcus. I’d lie at your feet.”
Marcus falls silent, feeling his heart get so full of light it feels like it might burst in his chest.
“This is the part where you’re meant to say something reassuring back,” Esca says after a while. “I know you’re going for the whole brooding silent thing, which is sexy, believe me, but it would be nice to have a bit of earnest Marcus right now. Especially since you were the one who just suggested we might want to see other people.”
“I love you,” Marcus replies simply.
Esca laughs, “Okay, that’ll do.”
So they work it out, with a lot of time spent waiting in airports, a lot of snatched weekends of almost breathless, terrifying excitement at being together, and lots of phone sex, which Marcus finds he has an unexpected flare for. He finds a lot of unexpected things out about himself now he is with Esca. An unexpected ability to let someone else into his heart. An unexpected capacity to be happy. To be whole. To hope. To look to the future once again, instead of always back at the past.
The End