27. Did We Have A Good Night, Last Night? (2 of 2)
Fandom: Eagle modern day AU
Length: ~7,000 words in 2 parts
Ratings: NC-17
Pairings: Marcus/Esca
Warnings: sleep masturbation, voyeurism, dub-con
Summary: Marcus and Esca are new roommates in a flat with very thin walls, and Esca discovers that Marcus wanks in his sleep. LOUDLY.
Did We Have A Good Night, Last Night?
| | | |
As time goes on and a few more months pass, Esca can’t help but pay attention enough to realize it when the sleep wanking becomes more and more regular. It’s not until he breaks one night and (lost in the sound of Marcus’s pants, groans and dirty talk) jerks himself in time to the squeaks of Marcus’ mattress, coming almost simultaneously with Marcus, that he broaches the topic of sexual conquests with his friend.
“What?” Marcus asks, blushing and laughing in that bashful way of his when Esca bluntly asks him when was the last time he got his prick tugged on by anyone else but himself.
“Come on,” Esca prompts. “When?”
“I--don’t. I don’t know, I guess it’s been a while. Why do you care?”
“Because it’s the same torture here and it cannot be allowed to go on!” Esca says, standing from the couch and thumping his friend on his bicep as he steps over his outstretched legs. “Come on, We are going out tonight. I’ll be you’re wing man and I swear we’re both getting some tonight or I’m straight and six two in bare feet.”
Laughing, Marcus relents and joins him for a night of clubbing and by the end of the night, Esca has his answer for how a sex god like Marcus can have gone so long without sex, resorted to regular wanks in his sleep: Marcus is perhaps the most sexually repressed man on the planet.
For one thing, it’s not until Esca leads Marcus to a club that he even finds out Marcus isn’t straight.
“I thought we were going to that club across town, the one on the corner?” Marcus says, frowning at the entrance to this unfamiliar club.
“That’s a gay club,” Esca says. “I’m going there later, but first I have to be your wing man right? Trust me, having a gay wing man who looks as good as me is like shooting fish in a barrel. You’ll get to swoop in and comfort all the crying girls that I reject.” He snorts, “Not that you don’t already have a body that makes girls throw themselves at you--“
“Esca,” Marcus cuts in. He laughs, holds out his arms in something like surrendering to the heavens, “I don’t go for girls.”
“What?” is all Esca can say.
Marcus laughs, thumps him on the chest, “Come on, you knew that.”
He didn’t and Esca soon realizes that most people don’t. In fact, Marcus seems so straight that even in a gay club, he gets few advances. The ones he does get, he bumbles his way through. And he always politely declines invitations into the bathrooms or dark corners.
“You need to loosen up. Relax,” Esca tells him when he finds him alone and brooding at the bar. “Let yourself have fun.”
“I have more fun at home with friends. Crowds of drunken strangers in the dark aren’t very appealing to me.”
Marcus does look frightfully uncomfortable, but Esca has had a few drinks and a really cute guy (tall, muscled, a thick neck and a strong jaw. Not unlike Marcus) is pawing at him so he gives Marcus one last piece of advice, “Just get over it and give yourself a treat; have fun. I know--Oh, oh good lord, yes--“ he cuts in because the guy--Kevin or Devin or something--is cupping the front of his jeans. Esca shudders and lets the man claim his mouth for a moment. He breaks away to pant at Marcus, “I’ll see you tomorrow, mate.”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow. Be careful,” he vaguely hears Marcus call after him as KevinMaybeDevin pulls him away from the bar toward the exit.
| | | |
“So,” Esca says the next morning, thickly through the pain of his hangover. Marcus looks up from where he watches the toaster, waiting for it to spit out his breakfast bagel.
“Hm?”
“Did we have a good night, last night?”
Marcus smirks, “I’m starting to think this is how you preface it when you have an interesting story that you want to share.”
“You know me so well,” Esca sighs. Lies. Silence falls as it takes Marcus a moment to realize that Esca truly intends for him to answer the question.
“Um, yeah. Good night, I guess.”
“You GUESS?” Esca asks, the emphasis really not helping with his pounding head ache. “Come on, you got to fuck some twink into the mattress or you didn’t. Which was it?”
His olive skin flushes a glorious shade of magenta and he looks down, actually startles when his bagel pops up and he laughs, “No. I--no. I didn’t. I don’t, um. Twinks aren’t really my type.”
Snorting, Esca steals the bagel from his friend, “Well then you can’t have this. Bagels are for winners who came in Biblical proportions last night.” He takes a very triumphant bite of the bagel.
Marcus snorts and doesn’t look the least bit perturbed by what Esca’s previous flat mates would have gotten wound up about, Esca swiping their bagels like that. Marcus simply pulls another from the bag and drops it in as he asks, “So that ape showed you a good time, huh?”
“He wasn’t an ape.”
Marcus rolls his eyes.
“No more than you are, my hulking friend.”
“I can tie my shoes. There’s a difference.”
“What?” Esca asks with a huff of disbelief. “How do shoes play into this?”
“He was wearing crocs, Esca. CROCS. A real man should wear real shoes.”
“Wow.”
“I just figured you’d have better taste than that,” Marcus says in that sincere way of his, a little bob of his broad shoulders.
Smoothing over the moment of whatever the hell this is, Esca slumps with a laugh, “Well in sheer desperation, taste has nothing to do with it, mate.”
“Okay, you have me there.”
Marcus’ bagel is done and he sits next to Esca at the counter to smear it and dig in. Esca frowns at him, “So, you didn’t go home with anybody, or bring anybody back here?”
“Nope,” Marcus shrugs. Esca drops his bagel, sighs with a shake of his head.
Marcus lifts his chin, gives a smile, “I appreciate your concern, but seriously, Esca. I’m good. I’ll find someone to… fuck into the mattress… when I want to and I’ll do it my own way. Not by getting slobbering drunk and rubbing up against strangers.”
All Esca can say to this proud, easy display of confidence is, “Okay. Cool.”
| | | |
A few days later, Esca stays up late on the couch in the living room to finish reading a good book and is on his way back to his room with the finished book in hand when desperate panting makes him pause at Marcus’ open door. His heart leaps into his throat, because he knows exactly what’s happening before the moan drifts through the gap in the door again.
Before he knows it, Esca is standing in the gap, peeking in. Marcus is in bed, lit by the light of his windows--but this time, he’s not under the covers. Esca can see the flat, taut plane of Marcus’ stomach in the light, a patch of dark hair, and he can see the head of a thick hot cock. The shock of the sight pulls a gasp from him and it’s not until Marcus twists and murmurs something about how good it is that Esca stumbles backwards out into the hall.
Perv, he thinks to himself as shame crashes down around him for how long--a few long seconds at least--he had stood and watched. He goes to his bedroom, shuts the door, and turns up his music. The next day, he remembers to get the ear buds.
But by then blocking the sound isn’t enough. Because he has that image of Marcus’ long torso arching off the bed in the dim light, of that cock in a strong sure hand… And on top of it all, he’s got Marcus, dressed for clubbing, smiling at him in the middle of the street, I don’t go for girls, and thumping him playfully on the chest. Come on, you knew that.
It’s hell. But Esca can’t bring himself to start looking for a new place to live.
| | | |
In April, nearly a year since he moved in, the apartment building is being fumigated so Marcus arranges for them to stay with a friend and colleague of his, Cottia. She puts them up on twin camp beds in her home office. Esca has a mild moment of panic and some frantic thoughts that he should somehow make a kind of brilliant excuse about needing to sleep out on the couch. But there is no such excuse and he’s left to try to get comfortable on a cot next to Marcus.
“I’d marry Cottia if she had the right parts,” Marcus sighs.
Esca snorts, “You mean if she had a prick.”
Marcus snorts, nods, but of course he won’t say it; that’s just how Marcus is. If he ever adopts a baby, he’ll teach it those ridiculous words like goober and woohoo. Esca opens his eyes and glares at the ceiling as if blaming it for letting his mind drift all the way to adopting babies.
Jesus Christ, this is not on.
Esca sighs and flops around and Marcus asks, “Everything alright?”
“I miss my bed,” Esca says lamely because he can’t say anything like the truth. I just had a pathetic flash forward of you raising babies and I died on the inside with want. Ha.
“I don’t miss mine,” Marcus jokes as he wriggles around on his cot. “It’s a piece of shit.”
“I know,” Esca laughs before he can stop himself.
“You do?” Marcus asks.
“Well, I mean, I can hear it groaning every time you get in and out of your bed.”
“Jesus--really?”
“Yup. Thin walls, remember?”
“Yeah,” Marcus laughs. “Wow. Okay. It’s settled. I’m getting a new mattress. You can help me pick one out.”
Esca’s stomach flutters, “Me?’
“Sure,” Marcus says through a yawn.
“Okay.” Esca catches the yawn and lets it stretch his jaw to the popping point.
Marcus falls asleep, but Esca cannot slow down his racing thoughts. He lays almost in wait, wondering if it is going to happen tonight. He is simultaneously hoping for and dreading it. Making plans that if it does happen he’ll go to the couch. Making plans that if it does happen, he’ll use the hand lotion on the desk just there and fuck himself on his fingers--no, no, no, he’ll go to the couch. Jesus, what in the world could be more pervy than that?
A languid sigh rolls out of Marcus and Esca’s eyes fly open and he’s looking, watching. Marcus looks serene in the ambient glow of the sleeping desktop computer monitor. One hand is up over his head, the other on his chest. Esca watches that chest rise and fall and few minutes later, Marcus’ mouth twitches at the corners and he sighs again, hand traveling south a bit to rest on his lower stomach.
Esca gulps and suddenly he’s in a panic, pleading with the deities in charge of such things, please, no. No, no, no, I won’t be able to look away! Please, no, don’t let him; I don’t want to be this guy. Please, please… Marcus makes a very low whine and his hand goes right under the elastic of his shorts where a half mast erection is tenting the fabric.
Please, yes, let him.
Marcus strokes himself a little, eliciting long happy sighs from himself, but whatever dream he’s having doesn’t seem to be as intense as some of the others that are, in this moment especially, haunting Esca. Marcus rolls onto his stomach and appears to be right back into peaceful slumber.
Esca chews his lip and watches, ends up pondering the nature of masturbation in general. Why must it carry the stigma of sordid, forbidden weakness? It’s a perfectly natural thing, a needed thing like food and water. And how is it anyone’s business when the sex is happening in clear consent of everyone involved?
As the hours while away and Esca watches Marcus sleeping, occasionally grunting and moving his hips, grinding himself into the mattress, Esca comes to realize that this whole time most of his shame has come from the thought of what Marcus will feel upon finding out that he does this and that Esca knows about it.
Marcus would no doubt be mortified, ashamed, and there’s no reason for him to be. His body simply needs more sex than he’s giving it, so that manifests in this perfectly natural thing happening in his sleep.
No shame in that at all. Expect that maybe it couldn’t hurt for Marcus to do this consciously a little more often.
Esca eventually falls asleep smiling because he’s suddenly at ease. If Marcus wants to start thrusting into his fist in his sleep, then what the fuck ever; that’s his business and it’s happening over there. He’s a friend, they’re all adults here. It’s fine. Seriously.
Except that it’s hot as fuck--but so what.
If Esca feels like giving himself a tug or two, he’s got just as much rights to it as Marcus has. Right? Leaning heavily on this justification, he sleeps more soundly than he has since seeing Marcus’s cock for the first time.
They are at Cottia’s for three days and on the second night, Esca snorts and snickers himself to sleep talking with Marcus only to be pulled awake hours later by quick panting and choked grunts, indiscernible murmurs of dirty talk. Esca’s fingers curl in his pillow case. Oh, shit, this is one of the intense ones.
Esca’s eyes are glued as he watches Marcus fist his swollen, glistening cock. Marcus has one leg over the side of the bed for leverage as he arches off the camp bed, thrusting into his hand. Good lord, how does a man sleep through this?
Esca’s fingers are numb from squeezing his pillow so hard. But he makes it through, he watches Marcus come in his sleep, red cock head gushing hot white liquid over big knuckles, over that wide hand and onto that flat olive-skinned stomach and Esca doesn’t touch himself once the whole time or even shift around too much against the bed for the wanted friction. True, he has to get up and go get some water and pace around the kitchen thinking of menial things until his erection proves stubborn and he has to go into the bathroom and ease himself.
The next morning, Esca feigns to be sleeping late and keeps his breathing even and slow as Marcus wakes up and discovers his mess, swears to himself in a half panic and quickly sets to cleaning it all up before anyone sees. Marcus’s attempt to find out if Esca is onto him is laughably sweet in its obviousness but Esca plays clueless harder than he ever has before in his life until Marcus looks relieved.
The third night is much like the first and he can’t decide which he likes better, seeing Marcus come or seeing Marcus so relaxed and serene as he idly strokes himself, dragging deep, sleepy sighs out of his big chest.
| | | |
Esca’s not a perv.
Okay, he is a little bit. But he’s not a big one.
Okay, a perv is a perv and it doesn’t matter how big. Esca’s not really trying to justify it to anyone and he certainly doesn’t think it lessens the breach of trust and intrusion of privacy that it truly is, but he only watches when it’s the big ones.
He can’t help it. A pathetic excuse, he knows.
But when Marcus is going for a full out let’s-talk-dirty-and-make-our-self-sweaty-and-be-LOUD wank, Esca is inevitably on his feet and down the hall and in the doorway. He tries not to, but then he starts wondering, are Marcus’ shorts still on? Are they up or pushed halfway down those perfect thighs? Is he sleeping shirtless in this heat, or is the t-shirt twisted up around his chin? Is he sweating yet? Is he arching his back? Is he wearing socks?
These things Esca has to know.
It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. This isn’t like at Cottia’s, where Esca was forced to share a room with him and was thus slightly victimized by the situation. This isn’t like those times before that when Esca truly stumbled upon the scene by accident. This is conscious, and naughty, but it’s also the most fun Esca’s ever had. Period.
Truth be told Esca doesn’t even get off by it most of the time. He just enjoys watching his so-reserved friend be so different than he is in the day.
Marcus is beautiful when he’s close to orgasm. His long back is made to arch up off a bed. His whole body is made to be looked at, rippling muscle and olive skin, long strong limbs and flawless skin. Physical beauty aside, he’s got all of his walls down, he’s not trying to be someone he thinks the world wants him to be. He’s taking what he wants. (Lord Love a Duck is he taking it.) He’s being free, unashamed and loud--the very opposite of his quiet, modest daylight persona.
Sometimes Esca misses seeing Marcus’ chest swell up and sink with a languid sigh as his long perfect fingers stroke his long perfect cock, but it’s impossible to hear a sigh through the wall, even a wall this thin, and Esca’s not about to start watching Marcus sleep every night in hopes of catching lazy-sex!Marcus. He’s not that far gone.
…. …. ….
Voyeur.
Esca frowns at the word he’s randomly decided to look up in the ancient dictionary on the corner of his desk. He reads the definition again. Somebody who gains pleasure from watching, especially secretly, other people's bodies or the sexual acts in which they participate.
He runs his finger under the part, from watching other people’s bodies.
Yep. That’s about right. Esca sighs. So he’s a voyeur. Interesting. Disappointing? Maybe it is a little… no, actually, not disappointing… more like surprising in a sobering kind of way. He supposes, though, that no one ever thinks they’ll be one until they are one. He thumps the dictionary closed. Someone who gains pleasure by watching other people’s bodies.
He looks side long at Marcus, who’s long bulky body is stretched out horizontally on the couch. Esca knows he can sit here and watch Marcus breath in and out and reach for his potato chips all day long. There’s nothing sexual about it, he can just watch and be satisfied by those muscles and the way they all come together to make the very definite shape of Marcus.
Esca frowns. Wait a minute. Is it still voyeurism when he only watches, or has any interest in watching, one specific person? Esca could care less about seeing anyone else get off, even if it is someone who looks a lot like Marcus.
Even more interesting.
“What?” Marcus asks because he’s caught Esca staring.
“Nothing,” Esca jolts out of it. “Sorry, spaced out there. Thinking about, ah, misplaced modifiers.”
Marcus snorts affectionately and goes back to his show with a playfully scorned, “Writers,”
Esca throws a pad of post-it notes at him and goes back to the article he is supposed to be working on before he got distracted by his own problems.
…. …. ….
Hello, I’m Esca, I get pleasure from watching Marcus Aquila’s body.
Esca snorts and rolls his eyes at himself even as he leans on the door frame of Marcus’s bedroom three weeks later. He’s watching Marcus, of course, and he’s pondering what twists of fate can lead a man to such self-discoveries as this. Hello, I’m Esca and I am a voyeur.
But he’s thinking that getting pleasure from watching Marcus Aquila’s body doesn’t sound like a voyeur. If anything, it sounds like a Marcus Aquila fan boy. Or maybe Marcus Aquila’s boyfriend.
Marcus Aquila’s stalker.
Esca kicks off from the door frame.
Now that is disappointing. He doesn’t want to be a stalker. Fuck that. Esca turns to leave the room, go to his own and pack some things before going over to Cottia’s and starting a search on her lovely desktop computer for a new place to live.
But then, clear as day from the bed behind him, Marcus groans in the middle of his panting, “Oh, Esca, yes, like that. Please, Esca. Ah!”
Esca is frozen.
The sounds of Marcus’ pleasure go on; slick skin on skin, hot fast breath, guttural groans shaped into words of want and praise. Every single fiber in Esca’s being is attuned to Marcus, aching to hear it again, his name on those lips. He stands there gripping the doorframe and not turning to look until--
“Escaaaaa,” it’s a long drawn out sound, like those sighs that Esca misses so much.
He whirls and faces the bed, finds Marcus’ back sweeping up off the mattress. Marcus’ bottom lip is between his teeth and his nostrils are flaring.
“Marcus,” Esca rasps and the sound from Esca prompts a whimper from Marcus. From there, Esca is moving forward, further into the room than he has ever gone. He stops at the side of the bed and kneels there, eyes riveted on Marcus’ face which is contorted in his raging need for release. “Marcus,” he says again.
“Ah, yes!” Marcus cries, pumping himself harder and attempting to go faster but his arm gives a spasm of exhaustion and his rhythm goes erratic. He whimpers in frustration.
Esca reaches without thinking and takes him in hand. He’s hot and heavy and fills Esca’s hand more than he ever dreamed. “Marcus, I’m here,” he promises against Marcus’ ear and Marcus turns into the breath, the promise, even as he thrusts up into Esca’s grip.
“Yes, Marcus,” Esca pants, stroking, “Yes, fuck me. I want you. I want you so much, Marcus.”
Right then, out of nowhere, Marcus comes. Hard. The mess is hot and thick on Esca’s hand and they’re both out of breath and Esca has the most painful hard-on of his entire life straining in his boxer briefs but he doesn’t care because Marcus is sleepily collapsed and turning his face toward him, seeking to nuzzle him and he sits close enough for their faces to slide together.
Esca rests his come-covered hand on Marcus’ abdomen and gets to feel one of those deep, lazy sighs roll out of Marcus.
Then he sees Marcus open his eyes and look right at him.
Esca looks back for a full five seconds before either of them realize that Marcus is looking at him or that there is someone in the room for Marcus to look at in the first place. The sexually satisfied man jerks away in surprise and Esca takes back his hand, but smears a line of come across Marcus’s stomach as he does so.
Marcus feels it and looks down at the mess, his exposed, spent cock, and Esca’s coated hand. His reaction is to quickly jerk his shorts up and knock Esca’s hand away and cry, “What the fuck?”
“Marcus,” Esca strangles, holding up his hands in surrender, “I--I heard you and--Marcus, please, listen to me.” Marcus is getting out of bed, turning on the light and Esca is scrambling to his feet. “You said my name! You were dreaming and wanking and you said my name. Marcus, please. It’s alright.”
Marcus has his hands in his hair. He’s beat red and breathing too shallowly, too rapidly.
“Please, Marcus, just listen to me, okay? It’s alright.”
“Alright?” Marcus demands. “How is this alright? You--you--“
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But you were saying my name, begging and I--I so wanted to give you… everything--Marcus, no! Don’t go!”
He rushes and throws himself on the door, sliding between it and Marcus to bar the way. “I know it’s wrong and it’s probably freaky as fuck to wake up and see that someone is touching you but--Jesus--“ he chokes, eyes stinging, and he suddenly finds he can’t breathe, heart beating so fast it’s painful.
He might be dying but all Esca knows it that he fucked up. He fucked up huge and Marcus is never going to forgive this. How can he? This is revolting coming from a flat mate you’ve trusted all this time.
He slumps away from the door, knocking into Marcus in his hurry to get to the desk chair and drop into it as he clutches at his chest.
“Esca?” Marcus asks and, God bless him, he sounds concerned for the man he just caught groping him in his sleep. He even comes over to him, bends to meet his eye, “Esca? Are you okay? Breathe -- shit, BREATHE ESCA!”
Esca drags in a ragged painful breath and Marcus’s big hand is warm and heavy on his back, comforting. Marcus’s other hand is digging around in desk drawers and he comes up with a bag of raisins which he dumps on his desk and hands the zip lock over with orders for him to breath into it. Esca takes it gratefully. He hasn’t hyperventilated since he was a kid and he finds it utterly embarrassing, but a drop in the bucket compared to the real shit he’s in.
Marcus remains there, hand on his back, green eyes attentive and worried.
When his breathing is more or less back in control, Marcus breaks the silence with a puff of breath, a laugh as he says, “Whoa. I get molested and my molester is the one who has the panic attack.”
Esca laughs shortly and immediately starts talking again, “It isn’t like that, Marcus. I heard you and--and I’ve wanted you for so long…You said my name and I couldn’t ignore it. I lost myself. It’s not an excuse, I know. Fuck. I know. I’ll do anything, absolutely anything it’ll take, for you to forgive me. Please.”
Marcus is slack jawed and he repeats, “Y-you’ve wanted me?”
“God, since almost as soon as I met you!” Esca confesses in a rush. “These walls are thin and you wank in your sleep regularly. I hear it. I always hear it. And I’m not going to lie to you, I started watching you. When you do it enough to come, I stand just there and I watch you-have done ever since I saw you when we stayed at Cottia’s.”
Marcus stands, hands back in his hair and Esca stands, too, gets between him and the door again and talks fast, “You said my name tonight. I--Marcus, I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. You’re perfect.”
He’s beat red and horrified and Esca wants to die.
Marcus stands there, looking at him. His nostrils are flaring, his hands are in fists. His eyes roam Esca’s face then down to look at the come-splattered hand gripping the bag, then to his own messed stomach. Without a word, he turns on his heel and leaves the room.
Esca goes back to breathing into the raisin-smelling bag, heart cleaving in two and stomach dropping sickeningly never to bounce back up. Here he is again, Esca MacCunoval, the guy who loses flat mates and friends because he inevitably takes what isn’t his to take.
But this isn’t milk from the fridge or CDs or jeans. If Marcus presses charges--and let’s face it, who wouldn’t?--he’ll be registered as a sex offender. Ruined relationship with Marcus aside, he’ll never be able to adopt a baby after this.
His heart is going way too fast and it hurts and he can’t breathe again. But suddenly Marcus is back.
“Whoa, hey, Esca. Breathe. Jesus, breathe. It’s okay.” He has a wash cloth, warm and wet, and he swipes the mess from Esca’s hand and tosses it aside, goes back to stroking Esca’s back and looking worried. “Esca, breathe for me. It’s okay. I’m not--you’re okay. It’s okay.”
Marcus’s expression is so open and concerned, so forgiving and tender. Esca forgets about the bag and cups Marcus’ face. To his surprise, Marcus nuzzles the hand and looks up at Esca through long thick lashes with a bashful smile.
“Marcus?”
The man’s response is to tilt his face in and pucker his lips until he kisses the tender skin of Esca’s wrist.
“You’re not disgusted that I’ve been peeping all this time?”
“Esca it was because I felt your eyes on me all day that I dreamed of you tonight,” Marcus admits, coloring a little. “I-I think I like you watching me.”
Esca makes a noise halfway between a gasp and a hiccup and Marcus laughs at him, rises up to claim a tentative little kiss. “Better?” he asks, his lips still near enough to kiss.
“You’re--you’re not mad anymore?”
Marcus smirks at him. “You can’t begrudge a man for being a little pissed when he finds out he slept through the thing he’s wanted most in the whole world.”
"Erm,” is all Esca can think to say. Marcus pulls him up and into his arms and walks them both back over to the bed.
“Okay, now that you’re using your lungs again, don’t you know that it’s the middle of the night? People are supposed to be asleep!” They tumble down into the bed, Esca lands in blankets that smell like Marcus, in arms that are attached to Marcus.
“Sleep?” he teases, breathless with his good luck. “I don’t want to sleep right now!”
He pounces and pins Marcus down, hands to the pillows above his head. Marcus submits and smiles up at him, eyes droopy with lust, lips baring his teeth in an unmistakable smile of excitement. Esca smiles back and says, “So…” Marcus smirks and Esca raises an eyebrow. “Did we have a good night?”
The stronger man growls, easily breaks Esca’s hold on his hands above his head to snare Esca about the waist and pull him down and roll until he’s the one that’s pinned. “The weirdest and best ever,” Marcus replies and then claims his mouth.
END
based on this prompt in the kink meme