This can be considered as a sequel to Better late than never, but with different main characters.
WARNING: NON-CON
And as always a big thanks to the wonderful diluain for beta'ing (have you by any chance read her latest story? If you didn't, you should, you definitely should). All the remaining mistakes are mine.
Marshall Parker put both hands around the pole in the middle of the T-shaped stage and swung around it with his knees bent, then with all his weight hanging from the pole, and his black platform boots on the floor, he shook his black leather-clad ass to the rhythm of Rihanna's "Disturbia."
He sighed internally, his gaze travelling through the semi-darkness at the lechers --, pardon, the upstanding patrons of this fine establishment, which was just by sheer necessity registered as a striptease club. Damn, you do one appearance for a Wednesday amateur night to win a bet with a friend, and then you end up on the stage for the third Friday in a row?
Marshall stepped away from the pole and, his legs wide apart, cupped his family jewels with both hands and rolled his pelvis. He kept his big blue eyes hooded and just wandering over red leather and dark wood furniture, not lingering on the faces in the audience, not that he could clearly see them; the white light that was focused on him was blinding his vision. But he could still see that it was the same crowd that you could find even in the most prestigious private club: old, wrinkled, bald and rich.
Or maybe not. His eyes stopped on the tall, dark-haired guy who, even though he was dressed in the obligatory dark suit, was sticking out of the usual crowd like a sore thumb with his wide shoulders, young face and long, silken hair that fell over his shoulders and onto his chest.
Marshall slipped his hand under his net shirt and slid them up, caressing his belly, his chest, pulling his shirt up as he went; he exposed his softly defined six-pack, all the while shaking his hips to the beat of the music.
Only a couple of swings of his hips, small licks of his finger and a deep bow, showing those dirty old men his little, tight ass in all its glory, and then the song ended and he was off.
He sat in the small dressing room with a mirror and counter across one whole wall, chairs in a row before the counter, with rows of clothing racks on the other side. The light was harsh and it hurt his eyes even more than the light on the stage. He just leaned toward the mirror to remove the short, red wig from his head, when Cecil, the owner of the club, rushed into the changing room, ignoring all the other boys lingering in the room waiting for either their turn on the podium or an invitation for a lap dance. Because here, the money wasn't tucked into your pants or your shirt; instead, after your show you were politely invited to perform a lap dance for a promised hundred pound tip --minimum.
"Don't even tell me." Marshall rubbed his temples. He knew why Cecil was here, the tall, skinny, white haired stick came after every show to give Marshall his admirers' invitations. "I'm not interested."
"Please, Angel." Cecil put his hand on Marshall's shoulder. His silver nails flashed in the light. "This one is important. Very important."
"I don't do lap dances, you know that." Marshall swatted Cecil's hand off his shoulder. "Hell, I don't even do striptease. I just dance on the stage." And this was the last performance; he wouldn't give in to Cecil's begging anymore, not even if he went on his knees like he had done last time. And it didn't matter if he still hadn't gotten the prize money he had won on amateur night -- even if he didn't get the money for this last show, he would survive;, he had a steady income, it wasn't like he had to work for a living.
"Not even if I pay you what I owe you?"
Marshall tilted his head, a small smile appearing on his face. "With interest?"
"How much?"
"An additional two hundred on that five hundred."
"You drive a hard bargain."
"And oh, this is the last time. No more begging and no more calling me and whining," Marshall said. It was a good thing Cecil paid cash in-hand and that Marshall hadn't given him any additional information like his surname and address; Cecil only knew his first name, even though he called him by a stage name, and his cell number, which wasn't registered.
"You are killing me."
"Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it. I'll take it."
"And cash up front, please, with today's wages."
Cecil grimaced, but he pulled a wallet out from underneath the folds of his kimono-ish shirt and counted out a thousand in fifty pound bills for Marshall.
Marshall took the money and carefully stuffed it into his boot. "And you say you are broke." A quick glance into the mirror, to make sure everything was the way it should be before he stood up. "Ok, lead the way to that big shot of yours."
Cecil led him out of the changing room, across the main room, up the stairs and into the L-shaped hallway where the private rooms were. He knocked on the second door and as soon as a voice said, "Come in," he opened the door and gently pushed Marshall through it, then closed the door.
Marshall leaned on the door, his gaze travelling over the room, two by three meters large and poorly lit. The wall opposite the door was all glass and it had a direct view of the stage. There on right and left walls were old-fashioned sofas, identical to those that were in the main hall, but violet instead of red; between them sat a low iron table with a wooden top, with a bar-trolley beside the sofa on the right wall.
And there by the trolley, with a glass of what appeared to be scotch in his hand, sat not an old goat as Marshall expected, but that young man he had noticed before. Well, not exactly young, since he appeared to be a little over thirty, but you could say "young," since all the patrons here were over forty-five and fifty. And he was gorgeous-looking too, oval face, with narrow nose and a strong chin, framed with long, black hair.
"Angel, right?" The man's voice was rich and slick as honey.
Marshall nodded and pushed himself away from the door. "I don't know what Cecil told you, but I don't do striptease or lap dances. If you want, I can dance for you, but that's all."
"That's fine." The man crossed his legs. "Get on the table then."
"Without music?" Marshall raised his brows and stepped further in the room.
The man clapped and the gentle sound of instrumental music filled the room.
Marshall frowned and stepped onto the table. How was he supposed to dance to something that sounded like the theme music to some drama? He shrugged his shoulders – whatever – and closed his eyes. He let the music to fill him, overflow him and then he started to move with the sound-- first just his arms, which flowed thought the air like silk, then the hips followed, just tiny swings. And it felt silly, but also so good. He touched himself, slid his fingers over his arm, shoulder, chest, rubbed his palm over his nipple, the nett fabric creating such a wonderful friction – he bit in his lip- and then slid his hand on the side, down over his hip.
He opened his eyes and those emerald eyes bore into his, inviting him to get closer, to see them closer, to drown in them.
The man offered him his hand and without thinking Marshall took it and was pulled down into man's lap. He ended up with his knees on either side of the man's body, his hands on the man's shoulders and the man's fingers in his short, red wig, while the fingers of his other hand dug into the soft flesh of his hip. There were bound to be bruises there tomorrow.
The man tilted Marshall's head and pressed his lips against Marshall's.
Marshall blinked. What the hell was he doing? Even though a lot of people called him a slut behind his back, he had never been one. He had never in his life had one-nighters and he only put out on the fifth date, not the third, and even then he had to be sure that there would be more of them. He also had a fuck-buddy/best friend for times between boyfriends, and since that fuck-buddy had fallen in love, he now had a two-for-one deal -- but that still didn't make him a slut.
"Hey!" Marshall pushed against the man's chest and tried to turn his head.
The man used the opportunity to push his tongue into Marshall's mouth. He explored and tasted Marshall, his tongue sliding over the roof of Marshall's mouth, his teeth, rubbing against Marshall's tongue.
Marshall lifted himself onto his knees and wrapped his arms around the man's neck, his fingers tangling into that soft, fine hair. He leaned all his weight on the man and reciprocated every caress of that wonderful, so wonderful tongue. This was bad, this was sooo bad, but he couldn't stop. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss and found himself grinding against that wonderfully hard body. This was really bad.
The man turned them around and pushed Marshall down into the soft surface of the sofa, his teeth nibbling on Marshall's lower lip, while his hand slid down between them. He opened Marshall's pants and slipped his hand inside them.
Marshall started to squirm; he tried to lift himself up and he was about to push the gorgeous man away, but then those fingers wrapped around his cock and – his head fell back on the couch – it was heaven.
"You are so sweet." The man loomed over Marshall and his long hair fell down like a curtain around them. He grabbed Marshall's hands and pulled them up.
"No," Marshall breathed. He squeezed his legs together. "No… No sex."
"How much?" The man shifted, somehow he managed to wiggle his body between Marshall's legs, his hand jerking Marshall harder and faster. "How much do you want?" His breath caressed Marshall's temple.
"No." Marshall turned his head to the other side, away from those green eyes, and bit in his lip.
"How much?" The man slid his mouth over Marshall's cheek.
"I'm not… I'm not for sale." Marshall pushed into that hand. Oh, god, he was almost there.
"Everybody is for sale. Everybody." The man bit Marshall's earlobe, then licked the sensitive flesh and squeezed his fingers tightly around Marshall's dick. "Just name your price."
Oh, shit. Marshall's frame shook, he came. He smiled and lay there for a few moments, all pliant, his lungs taking in big gulps of air, while the fingers that were fondling him slid lower; he could feel their touch at his entrance.
"Your price?"
"Hmmm?" Marshall blinked away the haze of afterglow. He gazed into those eyes, those emerald eyes that told him that his owner was a man who always got what he wanted and when he couldn't get what he wanted, he took it. But because Marshall also saw a businessman there, he still held out hope of getting out of this with his panties intact, so to speak. "You are right. Everybody has their price. It's just…" he wiggled in man's hold, testing the man's hold on his wrists, "mine is high and for tonight I'm already booked."
"I'm enchanted with you. I don't think I can let you go." The man's lips hovered above Marshall's before he pressed a kiss on Marshall's lips. "Cancel it."
"I can't." Marshall slightly turned his head and the lips slid on his cheek and then travelled down his neck. "I always keep my appointments."
"That's very commendable." The teeth were scraping the skin on Marshall's neck. "Cancel it anyway. I will pay double."
"It's five thousand per night. Double means ten thousand and I don't do hourly rates." Marshall had to concentrate hard to ignore those fingers that were still rubbing his entrance and to keep himself from pushing down on them. But it would be so easy just to let go, to let this beautiful stranger just do whatever he wanted to and just to let him blow his mind away. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "But I can't… It's…It's…" What? Think, Marshall, think. What is it? "It's a regular. I never let regulars down."
"I will be your regular."
"Tomorrow. I will be all yours tomorrow after the show."
The man's eyes searched Marshall's face, then he laid a quick kiss on Marshall's lips before he loosened his grip on Marshall's wrists and pulled his hand out from Marshall's pants. He pulled himself into sitting position. "Tomorrow then."
Marshall blinked, already missing the warmth of those fingers. Damn. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Here." The man tossed Marshall a few tissues he took from the table drawer; he himself had already used two of them.
Marshall picked up the tissues from his chest and used them to wipe out the wetness in his pants as best as he could, then zipped up his pants and sat up.
The man pulled Marshall into his lap again. "I'm Simon. Simon Neil Vanderbrake. And I'm going to be your regular. Your only regular." He pressed his lips against Marshall's.
Marshall opened himself to Simon's caress. It felt so good. So amazingly good. If he had met Simon somewhere else and Simon had asked him on a date, he would be probably dancing in joy, but meeting him like he had and treating him like the prostitute he posed as – he wasn't a thing, damn it. He wrapped his arms around Simon's neck, even though he should be pushing the cocky bastard away. And he did, after a few minutes. "Simon, I have to go."
"Yeah" Simon, still holding Marshall around the waist, reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the wallet and pulled out a bunch of bills. He pushed them into Marshall's hand and let him go. "Don't forget about tomorrow."
"I won't." Marshall crumpled the bills in his fist and got up. Knowing himself, tomorrow he would be thinking about Simon and doubting that he had made the right choice in standing him up, even though showing up would be the stupidest thing ever. He gave Simon a last appraisal before he went toward the door and through it.
He rushed into the changing room and hid in the corner behind the row of clothes. He had planned to take a taxi home , but now, just in case, he called Geb, his best friend, and begged him to come get him. And Geb did, after a lot of nagging that Marshall shouldn't be wasting his time in places like that. He was still giving that speech to Marshall while he and Robin, Geb's boyfriend, were escorting Marshall toward the car. Of course Marshall ignored him and instead clung to Robin, who always gave him sympathy whenever Geb got on his case.
#
Marshall rolled on his back, yawned and rubbed his eyes. It was Saturday morning and he had just woken up in Geb and Robin's big bed. Robin was still sleeping beside him, but Geb's space was empty, which meant that Geb was already up and probably on his way back from the baker's shop three houses away, with freshly baked bread and pastries for their breakfast.
He turned on his side and spooned against Robin. He knew he was too clingy, but he couldn't help himself. He needed affection, he needed touch, and he needed it from the people he loved; without it he felt so cold and alone. And even though he had discovered that he wasn't in love with Geb like he thought he was, he did love him and Robin, and they, just as they understood Marshall's need for affection and touch, understood why Geb was so important to him. They let him into their relationship and shared with him the affection they felt toward each other.
He pressed his cheek against Robin's neck, Robin's brown shoulder-length hair tickling him. He should probably go home soon, he had already bothered them too much -- not that they would ever say it, they loved him too much. He smiled. They did, they loved him enough to let him climb into their bed and snuggle with them after he had pranced in from the guest room in the middle of the night , looking like a child in Geb's sweat pants , complaining that he felt lonely. And if he wanted he could even join their more intimate activities, but lately he didn't feel like it; sex between Robin and Geb, even with him present, showed too much of how they felt for each other and what Marshall was missing in his life.
Robin turned and wrapped his arms around Marshall; he pressed a kiss on top of Marshall's head. "Good morning."
"Good morning." Marshall slid his legs over Robin and snuggled closer. "If I tell you something, do you promise you won't tell Geb?"
Robin shook his head, but Marshall told him about what had happened yesterday anyway. In exchange he first got a lecture that he should be smarter and not involve himself in things like that, and then a hug, a big bear hug and a consolation that if Simon was the right guy for him, he would probably meet him under different circumstances.
Geb walked in on them in the middle of their hugging session. He ruffled Marshall's blonde, curly hair and pressed a quick kiss on Robin's lips before he drove them out of the bed into the kitchen. They had breakfast together and after that they invited him to join them on their trip to the country, but Marshall declined.
Geb and Robin slowly started to pack for their trip while Marshall had a shower and put on his freshly washed and dried clothes, courtesy of Geb. Then he helped them carry the stuff into the car, and with a hug and a kiss bid them goodbye and wished them fun on their trip. He even watched as the car drove away and waved to them before he directed his steps toward the Tube.
He stepped on the pavement, passing an expensive-looking, slightly longer than average Mercedes with black windows. Marshall was thinking Who the hell uses cars like that?, when the door of the car opened and somebody put something over his head and something metal around his wrists. Before Marshall could react, he was tossed into the car.
He heard the start of the engine and felt the car move. He screamed, kicked, trying to hit somebody, but after ten minutes of silence and hitting only the hard or padded surfaces of the car, it seemed that there was nobody in this part of the car with him, so he stopped.
He pulled himself into a sitting position and with some manoeuvring managed to get his chained hands from his back, under his legs, and around to his front. He then pulled the hood from his head. He looked at his hands to find he had padded handcuffs with twenty centimetres of chain between the cuffs; in his opinion, that made things a little easier.
He looked around the car, searching for something either heavy enough to use to smash the chain or slender enough to use on the lock. But there was nothing. Maybe under the seat? No, that was a pull-out table. And there were tables under all four seats, two facing forward and two backwards. Damn. Maybe he could open the window and yell for help. Nope. He also banged on the glass that separated him from the driver, not that that helped much.
He slid down on the floor, his shoulders slumped. He was just being kidnapped and he couldn't do anything about it. He narrowed his lips and looked around; he might not be able to do anything, but damn, he was going to trash this car so that even the Mercedes factory wouldn't recognize it. He started to kick the pull-out table. "Damn fuckers, you don't know who you are messing with."
The car stopped and Marshall glued himself to the window. Let's see who was going to feel his fists and feet.
Simon? Simon kidnapped him? Why?
Marshall pressed his nose against the glass. And damn, that hot black-haired bastard looked even more gorgeous in daylight, in black jeans and a black-T shirt. And, oh god, he wiped his mouth, Simon made him drool. He pushed himself away from the window and squeezed himself in the farthest corner from the door. And he shouldn't be drooling over the man when the man was too dangerous and too sexy to be allowed to freely walk around. Sexy beasts like him should be caged, didn't people know that there were too many old people walking around-- exposed to sexiness like that, they could have a heart attack.
He hugged his knees and put his chin on them. He watched how the door opened and Simon stepped into the car and he could have sworn that just his presence raised the temperature an additional four degrees.
Simon took one look at Marshall and he turned, his long tail of silken hair swishing with his movement. With one foot still in the car and the other one on the pavement, he leaned over the door. "He should be redheaded, not blonde. You idiots brought me the wrong one," Simon's voice was like a flick of a whip. "Who's in charge?"
"But boss, he's the one with…" Marshall could hear voices coming from a different direction outside. This was his chance. He slowly inched toward the opened door, and he was about to slip by Simon, when Simon grabbed him around his waist and pulled him up.
"Oh, no, you don't. Not until I see your face." Simon combed Marshall's blonde curls away from his face. "Angel?"
"Nope." Marshall shook his head.
Simon smiled and pressed a kiss on Marshall's lips, just a quick slip of his tongue over Marshall's lips, then his eyes were smiling at Marshall again. "No, you are the right one. The hair colour might be changed, but you still taste the same." He pushed Marshall into the car and threw an apology to the people outside before he joined Marshall in the car and closed the door behind him.
"They are locked, aren't they?" Marshall squeezed himself into the same corner he had been before.
The car started to move.
"Yes." Simon sat down on the seat closest to Marshall and facing forward. He leaned down and tangled his fingers in Marshall's jaw-length hair.
"Why?" Marshall looked up, his gaze captured by those intense green eyes.
"You lied to me." Simon grabbed the chain of the handcuffs and pulled Marshall up. "You never had any intention to get together with me tonight."
"How do you know that? You can't know that." Marshall let Simon pull him up into his lap. He should probably have been afraid, but he wasn't, Simon's touch made him feel so goddamn good and this whole kidnapping thing made him feel wanted, so wanted. It was exciting and thrilling, and that was what was scary and a little disturbing. He had just met the guy yesterday, for crying out loud, and he didn't know a damn thing about him -- and not to mention, he had been fucking kidnapped.
"Saturdays are transvestite night and you don't do those shows." Simon moved Marshall, rearranged him so that Marshall was sitting on him, his back leaned on his chest and Marshall's head on his shoulder. "Actually you don't do any more shows for that club. You quit. And that stupid owner didn't know anything except your phone number." He unbuttoned Marshall's jeans. "Not that I couldn't work with that. Money and the right connections can work wonders."
Marshall turned sideways and narrowed his eyes at Simon. "You used that that Phone Detective that is advertised everywhere didn't you?"
"Yes." Simon smirked. "It's a handy thing. Too bad your personal information didn't come up. But I have people still working on that." He moved Marshall back into his previous position. "Now, be a good boy and don't move." He seized the chain, pulled it up and pulled Marshall's arms up with it. He hooked the chain behind the headrest.
"Simon, you do know that kidnapping people is a crime?"
"So is soliciting." Simon pulled Marshall's tight jeans down to his hips. "Lift your ass, please."
"No." Marshall would have crossed his arms if he could have, but instead he just pouted. "And I never seduced you, you came on to me and you abducted me. I should turn you in to the police."
"Who do you think they are going to believe?" Simon slid his hand under Marshall's shirt. "Me, or a little slut who just spent the night with two of his clients?" He pinched Marshall's nipple. "Damn it Angel, two-- not one, but two. How slutty can you get?"
"They are my friends, you jerk." Marshall squirmed in Simon's hold. "And even if I would have sex with them it's none of your damn business."
"I made it my damn business." Simon dug his fingers into Marshall's hip and pulled him up, his other hand tugged Marshall's pants down.
"What are you trying to do?" Marshall kicked out and then pushed himself up, trying to unhook the damn chain. "Rape me or something?"
"My little angel," Simon whispered against Marshall's ear. He slipped his hand into Marshall's boxers and wrapped his fingers around Marshall's semi-hard cock. "You can't rape the willing."
"Please, Simon." Marshall tilted his head and leaned the side of his face against Simon's collarbone. "Could you stop? I'm not a whore you can pick up off the sidewalk."
"No, you are more precious." Simon started to pump Marshall's dick. His other hand wandered under Marshall's T-shirt and he fondled first one, then the other nipple, while his teeth started to nibble on the inside of Marshall's right wrist.
Marshall moaned and spread his legs as wide as the jeans around his thighs let him, he couldn't help himself. Damn bastard and his seductive touch. He closed his eyes and pressed into Simon's touch, his hips jerking forward into those, oh, so wonderful, wonderful fingers. And those amazing teeth and the mouth and the tongue that now lapped at the small bites Simon made on the inside of his arm. If this continued, he was going to come really soon.
Simon withdrew his hand from under Marshall's shirt and boxers. And as Marshall groaned at the loss, he chuckled, bent and pressed a kiss on Marshall's lips.
"I hate you," Marshall hissed.
"That's no way to speak to your new sugar daddy." Simon smirked and pushed Marshall's jeans and boxers down to Marshall's ankles, then pushed a button under the seat's armrest and the lid of the flat surface between seats opened with a pop.
"Sugar daddy, my ass." Marshall frowned at the sight of the condoms and tubes of lube that were in the drawer. He tugged on the chain that kept his arms upright.
"And what a beautiful ass it is." Simon took the lube, opened it and coated his fingers in it. He gave a little pat to Marshall's erection then slid downward and rubbed his slick fingers against Marshall's entrance, one, twice, before he slipped two fingers into Marshall.
"Damn bastard." Marshall snapped and fisted the chain. "You could at least start slowly."
"I'm sorry, angel." Simon wrapped his arm around Marshall's waist and pulled him higher. He rubbed his cheeks against Marshall's temple. "I thought you had sex yesterday, but it seems that you weren't lying when you said they weren't your clients. I'm glad."
"Whatever." Marshall turned his head away from Simon.
"Don't be like that, angel. I will make it up to you." Simon slowly begun to fuck Marshall with his fingers and with other hand he caressed Marshall's abdomen then slid lower. He wrapped his fingers around Marshall's cock and pumped it in time with the movement of his fingers.
Marshall bit into his lip, preventing a moan from escaping; he turned slightly sideways, to give better access to those fingers. Shit, he really was a slut. A few more pumps and thrusts of those skilled fingers and he didn't care anymore if he looked like a slut or not, but then Simon withdrew his fingers -- the bastard, didn't he know that Marshall was about to come? Marshall was about to loudly protest, but he caught himself in time, and in revenge he bit into the first thing that in reach of his mouth, Simon's arm.
"A biter. Well, angel, you can bite me anytime you want." Simon pushed Marshall a little forward, opened his black jeans and shifted. He moved his underwear out of the way and his thick cock sprang free. He put a condom on and greased it, then wrapped his arm around Marshall's waist again, lifted him up and positioned him above his dick. Then he loosened his arm around Marshall.
Marshall slid down on that cock, on that fat, big cock until his ass made contact with Simon's groin. A burn, a sweet pain. He groaned and his fingers wrapped around the chain turned white.
Simon caressed Marshall's front, then started to pump Marshall's semi-hard dick.
Marshall wiggled in Simon's lap, the hot flame of desire burning in his veins; he wanted that big, wonderful cock moving in him. And it did.
Simon grabbed Marshall's hips, he lifted him and then pushed him down, the head of his dick hitting Marshall's special spot. His hips thrust up, plunging into the depths of Marshall's body.
And it was wonderful, so wonderful. Marshall's mouth opened, the breath rushing in and out of his lungs. He tried to use the chain as a lever to lift and descend on that amazing, pleasure giving dick, tried to accelerate the rhythm, but suddenly the chain was off the headrest and he was pushed forward into the opposite seat. He swung his arms, ended with his arms on the seat and with his head on his arms, his knees on the floor and his ass in the air and that big dick still deep inside him.
With one hand on Marshall's hips, Simon rolled his pelvis, pushed even deeper, then withdrew, just the head of his dick still inside, then pushed back in. And again, his thrust gaining speed and strength. "My little angel." With his free hand he pushed Marshall's T-shirt up, until he exposed Marshall's back, then caressed Marshall's spine. "So sweet." He thrust hard into Marshall. "So sweet."
Shit. Shit. Shit. Marshall buried his face in his arms. He couldn't think, he couldn't – Just god, oh, god, oh, god. Simon wasn't even jerking him off and he could feel the tension rising. Oh, god. So fast. So goddamn fast. And he could feel that big dick moving in him, and he wanted more of it, so much more of it. He couldn't breathe. Damn, he couldn't breathe. Simon, you bastard. "Touch me. Please. Please. Touch me."
And Simon did and Marshall's toes curled and his limbs jerked and that wonderful cock was still moving in him, prolonging the starts and the shivers and – Marshall's dug his fingers into the leather of the seat – and it was so fucking amazing.
The body behind Marshall froze, the fingers on his hips creating new bruises and then Marshall could feel a warm body leaning on his back. He tiredly turned, rested his cheek on his arm, trying to see Simon's face.
"Little angel," Simon's voice was a little breathless as he rubbed his cheek against Marshall's nape.
Marshall waited until his breath slowed down, then he moved, trying to lift himself up onto his knees. "Get off me, you stupid jerk."
"Hmm. Somebody has a temper." Simon caressed Marshall's back before he pulled out and moved away from Marshall. "I guess I have to get used to that."
Something rustled behind Marshall and before he could pull himself up, two arms wrapped around his middle and pulled him backwards. Tissues were pushed into Marshall's hand.
Marshall cleaned himself, threw the dirty tissues beside them on the floor and then helped Simon to pull his jeans back on. After he pulled his shirt down, he snuggled into the warmth of Simon's body. He was so pathetic, wasn't he? But he didn't care. He turned his upper body and leaned his cheek on Simon's shoulder. It could be so wonderful, if things were different. Why couldn't things be different? He closed his eyes for a moment, just absorbing the comfort of the arms that held him, trying to memorize this feeling, then he opened his eyes again. He moved away from Simon and pushed his hands out before him. "I want this off."
"Later." Simon sat up and pulled Marshall up with him. "We are here."
It seemed that the car had been standing still in the parking garage for some time and, engrossed in carnal delights, they hadn't noticed that fact. Simon pulled Marshall out of the car and dragged him toward the elevators. When Marshall resisted, Simon tossed him over his shoulder and carried him. And Marshall was too afraid of falling to squirm too much in Simon's hold.
On their way up Simon explained that this was his company building and that at the top was a apartment he used sometimes and which was now going to become Marshall's new home.
Xxx
Marshall, clad in Simon's oversized sweat pants and T-shirt, stood before the entrance door through which Simon had just disappeared. A loud click announced that the heavy metal door was locked now.
Marshall reached out, his fingers scratching the metal, then he turned, took a few steps, his eyes caught the sight of a glass sculpture on the antique cabinet that was by the wall on the hallway. He stepped closer to it and with a swing of his arm slammed a glass sculpture into the opposite wall.
That jerk had just taken Marshall's documents and now he knew who Marshall was and where he lived and after an hour he would probably know a lot more. Marshall stepped forward; broken glass cut into his bare feet. He winced, and to water his anger with pain he stomped through next couple of steps.
That damn bastard, doing whatever he pleased.
The first thing Simon had done after dragging him in here was take his phone. Then they'd had sex in the bathroom, then on the white, soft threaded rug in the living room and later in the bed. And today, when Marshall woke up, after he saw Simon going through his valet and taking off with his ID and tried to stop him, Simon took him against the wall in this hallway.
Actually, Marshall leaned on the wall opposite the mirror, a spit of white jet on it, they'd had sex against the mirror, with Simon whispering in his ear that he should look at himself, to see how beautiful his face was in passion.
Oh, god. Marshall slid down on his hands and knees. He pressed his forehead against the dark wooden surface. Simon was everything that he wanted in a man and at the same time everything that he hated in a man. Sex was amazing and cuddling afterwards awesome, and the man, oh, god, the man was so gorgeous – but everything else, everything else sucked.
He lay there for a while, with his feet bleeding and then after he decided that that white and wonderful soft rug would be a better place to lie down, he got up and went into the living room. And since he was already there, why not also bloody up the expensive-looking beige couch and the arm chair and the tabouret? And then he lay on the rug with his cheeks against the silk of the couch pillow, hoping it would be hell getting the blood from all those fine fabrics.
But when Simon rushed through the door, he didn't even give a second glance to the furniture; his eyes were looking for Marshall. When he spotted him, he picked him up and laid him on the couch, then after he saw his feet, he sighed, shook his head and disappeared for a moment only to appear again with a first-aid kit in his hands. "That was stupid." He sat down and pulled Marshall's feet into his lap.
"I hate you." Marshall kicked out.
"Don't be like that, angel." Simon caught his leg. "Or I will have to restrain you. There won't be any problem in obtaining a legiron. So behave." He opened the first-aid kit and started to clean Marshall's feet with antiseptic, then he applied ointment and bandaged his feet, noting with relief that the cuts weren't too deep.
Marshall pouted the whole time; he didn't even want to look at Simon, but when Simon pulled him into his embrace, he didn't resist, instead he adopted all the characteristics of a lifeless doll.
"Marshall Parker." Simon pressed a kiss on Marshall's temple. "You should have told me you weren't a prostitute."
"I told you I was not for sale and you didn't want to hear it."
Simon sighed. "It doesn't matter now." He pulled Marshall higher and leaned the side of Marshall's body on his chest. "Maybe it's even better this way." He cupped Marshall's chin and lifted his face up. "At least I don't have to worry about your other clients. And I'm raising the fee, for every night spent with me I will give you fifty thousand pounds."
"I don't need your money. I have my income."
"The apartment building that you inherited? I can take it away."
Marshall's big blue eyes stared at Simon. He would; the bastard would actually do that if he thought it would give him what he wanted. "You can't, and even if you could, I can find myself a sugar daddy. Somebody old, fat and rich."
Simon narrowed his eyes at Marshall and tightened his grip around Marshall's middle, then he relaxed and smiled down at Marshall. "Threats won't work on you, will they?" He took a deep breath. "Ok. Let's try another way. Do you like me, Marshall?"
"No."
"Do you like sex with me?"
"Nope."
"You are such a liar." Simon buried his face in Marshall's curls. "You might not like me, but you do like sex with me. Your body loves it and you can't hide it."
"So what?" Marshall pushed himself away from Simon. "I can find a man for a good fuck anywhere. And I don't want your money, I don't need it. I want to go home." He stood up, wincing. "You can't keep me here against my will."
"Actually I can." Simon reached out; he wrapped his fingers around Marshall's wrist and pulled him back into his lap. He wrapped his arms tightly around a squirming Marshall and leaned his chin on Marshall's shoulder. "I can do a lot of things. But I will let you go." He splayed his fingers over Marshall's chest and pressed him closer. "If you promise to let me see you again."
"Why should I do something like that?" Marshall tried to push his way out of Simon's embrace.
"Because otherwise I won't let you go."
At the end it was easier to nod and say, "I promise," which Marshall did with crossed fingers and no intention of sticking to it, and then they made out on the couch. Actually, Marshall lay immobile on the couch, with Simon holding his wrists above his head and Simon's body between his legs, while Simon showered him with attention in the shape of caresses, nibbles, licks and kisses. And they were about to make love, because slow sensual caresses screamed of making love to Marshall, not of quick fuck, when Simon's phone rang and Simon had to go. But not before he changed into a suit and arranged transportation for Marshall to take him home. Actually, he carried Marshall down into the garage, sat with him in the car and carried him into Marshall's apartment, not letting him go until he laid him down on a yellow sofa in Marshall's colourful living room. A quick kiss on Marshall's lips and a bunch of money, together with Marshall's phone and ID put on the end table beside the sofa, then Simon was gone.
That weekend Marshall earned three thousand pounds plus an additional one hundred thousand that appeared in his bank account. And it sucked. He was not a prostitute, damn it.
Xxx
Marshall clung onto Geb's arm, his eyes shining and a small smile on his cherubic face. He had loved theatres since he was a little boy and he loved the nervousness and the excitement that lingered in the air at premiers. Just loved it. And for this evening Michael, his friend, had given him tickets he couldn't use for the first appearance of a much-anticipated new play, and Robin had lent him Geb. And since the first part of the play was just terrific, Marshall was happy. He even managed to forget Simon and his random kidnappings whenever Simon was in the mood for sex. And the fifty thousand that appeared in Marshall's account after the kidnappings, no matter if they had a quick one in a car or spent a whole night in bed in Simon's apartment or -- what very rarely happened -- had just a meal together. The next day Marshall's bank account was always fifty thousand richer.
"It's so good to see you smiling again." Geb shoved his way toward the refreshment bar, pulling Marshall with him. "You have been too serious these last couple of weeks."
"I had things on my mind," Marshall said.
"You still do." Geb wrapped his arm around Marshall. "Usually you are like a ray of sunshine, a little annoying and bigger than life, but lately all that light seems to be sucked out of you. It's that man you are meeting, isn't it?"
"Can we not talk about him, please? I want to enjoy and not-" Something familiar moved at the edge of Marshall's vision and a shiver ran up his spine, telling Marshall that somebody was staring at him -- well, not just somebody, that he was staring at him or at least was in close proximity, but Marshall didn't want to turn around and check to see if the feeling was correct. This was his evening, he wanted to enjoy it. "And not think about him. Look, it's our turn, let's order the drinks."
Geb ordered wine for himself and coke for Marshall, because Marshall wasn't a fan of wine, and with glasses in their hands they pushed their way through the crowd into the corner where they could finish their drinks and wait until the end of the break.
And from the corner of his eye Marshall could see somebody elbowing his way behind them and he couldn't ignore it anymore; He turned his head and glanced in the follower's direction. An oval face with a strong chin and long, black hair slicked back into a low ponytail. Simon. "Damn," Marshall cursed under his breath. He, moved to Geb's other side, hoping that it was just coincidence that Simon was behind them, that Simon hadn't spotted him and that even if he had, he was going to leave him alone. But Marshall didn't have that kind of luck. A hand grabbed his wrist and tugged on it.
"Geb!" Marshall tried to slip his hand out from the hold of those fingers; he didn't want to stop, he didn't want to turn around and gaze into those emerald eyes, to drown in them.
"Marshall, stop it." Simon's voice had an edge of annoyance as his breath caressed Marshall's ear.
"What is it?" Geb turned; he frowned at Simon who loomed over Marshall. "Who is he?"
"Hello. I'm Simon Vanderbrake." Simon released Marshall's wrist and offered his hand to Geb, his eyes assessing Geb.
"Geb Karson." Geb took the hand and shook it, his gaze on Simon hard.
Marshall rolled his eyes; suddenly there was too much testosterone in his close proximity. The two men looked like they had just stepped into a ring, ready to punch each other in the face. He wrapped his fingers around Geb's hand.
Simon's eyes slid from Geb to Marshall and then slid down to Marshall's hand, holding Geb's. He narrowed his eyes. "Marshall, I need to talk with you."
"Can we do it later?" Marshall unconsciously stepped closer to Geb.
"I prefer now." Simon put his hand on Marshall's back and pushed him forward. "And alone."
"If Marshall wants me along, I'm coming too." Geb held Marshall's hand, his hold not allowing Marshall to move. The level of testosterone suddenly became even higher.
"It's ok, Geb." Marshall released Geb's hand. "I'll be back in a moment."
"Are you sure?" Geb narrowed his eyes at Simon.
"Yeah," Marshall nodded and let Simon lead him away.
Simon took him into a private box. He took the glass out of Marshall's and put it on the small table between the chairs and pushed Marshall against the wall before Marshall could even ask him what he wanted. He pressed a kiss on Marshall's lips, shoved his tongue into Marshall's mouth and pushed his hands under Marshall's dark, grey jacket and violet shirt.
Marshall wrapped his arms around Simon's neck -- he couldn't help himself -- and leaned into the touch of those hands.
Simon shoved his knee between Marshall's legs and pressed his leg against Marshall's groin.
Marshall moaned into Simon's mouth.
Simon ended the kiss and slid his lips down Marshall's chin and the edge of Marshall's jaw, his hands caressed Marshall's side. "That man is your childhood sweetheart, isn't he?"
Marshall leaned back on the wall. "How do you… how do you know?"
"I know everything about you." Simon slid his hand lower and cupped Marshall's ass. "And I don't like how you look at him and act around him." His fingers dug into soft flesh. "You never looked at me that way." He rubbed his nose against Marshall's jaw. "You never seek protection from me like you did from him, just now."
"He's my friend." Marshall caressed Simon's nape.
"And I'm a threat." Simon buried his nose in Marshall's neck. He took two deep breaths, inhaling Marshall's smell deep into his lungs, then raised his head. "I understand."
"Hmm, what?"
Simon smoothed Marshall's shirt and tucked it back into Marshall's pants. "I'm selfish. And I want something that I can't have."
Marshall frowned.
Simon cupped Marshall's face and pressed a soft kiss on Marshall's lips. "Will you be coming with me after the play?"
"I can't, I'm –"
"It's ok. I understand." Simon gave Marshall a small smile, then stepped back and gave Marshall his coke.
"Simon?"
Simon opened the door and pushed Marshall through it. "We will see each other when you have time, then."
Marshall stared at the door for a few moments. What the hell had gotten into Simon? He should ravish him, then toss him over his shoulder, take him into that apartment and there ravish him some more, not just let him go. Marshall rearranged his pants and patted his dick, there, there, boy, glad that the surprise over Simon's action left him only semi-hard. And he should be glad about the result of the event, but it actually left him a little uneasy.
He returned to Geb and the first thing Geb did was drag him into the corner.
"Marshall, is that the man you are seeing?"
"Yeah, that's Simon."
"Do you even know who that is?" Geb put his hand on Marshall's shoulders. "Do you even know how powerful he is?" When Marshall just blinked at him, Geb released him. "He is behind every big business deal that's done in this country."
"How do you know?"
"My grandma. Every time I show up in her office, she talks about him, holding him up as an example of what I could be like, if I had taken the place she prepared for me when I finished my studies."
"So?" Marshall took a sip of his coke. He knew that Simon was a big shot. His office building, where the apartment was, was a big enough indication.
"He's very powerful and according to rumour, very dangerous and without scruples. Even my grandma is in awe of him. He is known as the Puppeteer." "
"The Puppeteer?" Marshall drew his brows together. It was somehow fitting, very fitting.
"Yeah. And it seems he's got you by your strings." When Marshall stayed silent, just nursing the coke in his hands, looking down at the floor, Geb cupped his chin and forced him to look up. "Does he?"
"Sort of." Marshall gave Geb a sour smile.
"What is it? Is he blackmailing you, threatening you? "
Marshall shook his head. "Nothing like that."
"Don't tell me." Geb caressed Marshall's cheek. "You fell in love with him?"
"I didn't mean to."
"Oh, Marshall." Geb took the glass away from Marshall, put it on the window sill beside them and wrapped his arms around Marshall.
"I know." Marshall wound his arms around Geb's middle and buried his face in Geb's chest. It was hopeless.
#
Marshall turned the page of the magazine before him. He was lying on his belly on the soft, beige rug in Simon's study, it was around three o'clock. He lifted his head for a glance in Simon's direction before he was staring at the glossy pages of the magazine again. In Marshall's humble opinion, Simon looked so good in his white shirt with three buttons opened, his hair in a low ponytail, a few strands framing his face, and wearing narrow reading glasses. A little geeky, but oh, so good. And the way he was focused on the documents before him on the desk, comparing them with info on the computer screen, it was so sexy. So goddamn sexy that he wanted nothing more than to jump on the man and ravish him. He groaned as he rolled on his back and stretched his body.
"Marshall, if you are bored, go do something. You don't have to keep me company."
"Do what? You don't have a TV. You don't even have any interesting books." Marshall turned his head, Simon's legs and the lower part of the desk coming into his line of vision. There was nothing to do, well, that didn't involve both of them. If he had known when Simon called him and asked him to come over that Simon was going to be bothered by his employers to look at some papers, he would have brought over something to occupy himself. His laptop or the books he was managing for a local transvestite club pro bono (he had finished accounting school) or that dress he was sewing for his nice neighbour's drag queen début (he only needed to stitch on the fancy sparkles to finish it).
"You can order it."
"The books?"
"The TV."
"You don't have cable." Marshall rolled on his belly.
"I can get it." Simon signed the paper he was reading it and put it face down on the pile of papers on his right side.
"In fifteen minutes?"
"No."
"I thought so." Marshall lifted himself up onto his hands and knees. He crawled toward the desk, under the desk.
"Marshall, angel, what are you doing?" Simon moved his chair slightly backwards.
"I'm going to occupy myself and amuse you in the process." Marshall wiggled his way between Simon's legs. He kneeled down, opened the button on Simon's pants and unzipped the zipper. He raised his eyebrows "Do you mind?" He pulled the edges of Simon's shirt away.
"No, of course not." Simon gave Marshall a smile and caressed Marshall's hair, tied with bobby pins. He spread his legs wider then his eyes were on the documents again.
Marshall tugged down Simon's black underwear, releasing Simon's flesh from its confinement. He wrapped his fingers around Simon's cock and leaned over it. He gave the head a few licks, then tongued the slit, his fingers slowly sliding up and down the shaft that quickly hardened under his ministration. He embraced the head with his mouth; his tongue circling around it and his fingers moving on the wrinkled pouch, he started to knead it.
He heard Simon moan and Marshall's little friend, interested in some fondling even before Marshall had put his mouth on Simon, raised his head even higher in anticipation. Marshall took Simon deeper into his mouth; he started to suck on him, bobbing his head up and down, while he used his free hand on himself, slowly rubbing his erection over the cotton of Simon's overlarge sweat pants.
"Angel."
"Hmmm?" Marshall looked up. And Simon was looking down at him, his face slightly flushed, his emerald eyes little unfocused and a soft smile on his lips and he was so beautiful, so beautiful that Marshall couldn't tear his eyes away from him.
"You are precious." Simon caressed Marshall's face. "Like a little deviant angel." He hooked his arm under Marshall's armpits; he pushed Marshall backwards, his dick slipping out from Marshall's mouth, and then pulled Marshall up into his lap.
Marshall wrapped his arms around Simon's neck and steadied himself with his knees on the seat of the chair on either side of Simon's legs.
"So precious." Simon cupped Marshall's nape and pressed his lips against Marshall's, entangling him in a deep lustful kiss. With his free hand he pushed things away from the edge of the table and then put his hand under Marshall's ass. He stood up and sat Marshall on the edge of the table.
Marshall inched backwards. His arms still tightly around Simon's neck, he wrapped his legs around Simon's waist, pulling him closer.
Simon ground into Marshall; his hands slipping under Marshall's tight shirt, he tugged the shirt up and caressed Marshall's skin in the process.
The kiss ended, leaving Marshall breathless and a little dizzy, but he was always a little dizzy whenever Simon got his hands on him. "What…What about your work?" He tangled his fingers in Simon's hair, tugging on the tie until it snapped and a curtain of black, silken hair covered Simon's shoulders and back. He loved long hair on men, had this little thing about it. And he had plans for this one, if Simon would let him.
"I'm taking a break." Simon pressed a kiss on Marshall's neck, then scraped his teeth against the long muscles, a little nibble at the collarbone, then he slid lower, over the folds of fabric, lower, his tongue lapped at the nipple.
Marshall moaned and arched his body into the touch, his pelvis moving against Simon's groin, wanting some of that wonderful, wonderful friction. No, scratch that, he wanted Simon's wonderful dick thrusting deep inside him. "Simon, please."
"What is it, angel?" Simon caressed Marshall's sides and bit onto Marshall's nipple.
"Lube." Marshall tugged on Simon's hair.
Simon lifted his head, his face so close to Marshall's, that Marshall could see greenish diamond dots in Simon's eyes. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Yeah." Marshall shoved his hand between them, his fingers opening the buttons of Simon's shirt.
"How bad?" Simon pushed his hand under Marshall's ass, lifted it and pulled Marshall's sweat pants and boxers down to Marshall's thigh.
"Really bad." Marshall pushed the now-opened shirt over Simon's shoulders.
"Good." Simon pushed Marshall back down on the desk, then unwound Marshall's legs from his waist and pulled Marshall's pants and underwear down.
Marshall pulled himself a little higher on the desk and put his heels at the edge of the table.
Simon opened the drawer on his left and after a quick rumble through the contents, he pulled out a jar of lube and condoms and put them on the table. He opened the jar and dipped his fingers into it.
"Simon." Marshall reached out, coiled Simon's hair around his hand and tugged on it. "Kiss me."
"Of course, angel." Simon leaned over Marshall, put his left forearm above Marshall's head and pressed his lips on Marshall, a soft touch, then when Marshall opened his mouth and darted out with his tongue, he smiled, shifting away.
"Simon." Marshall narrowed his eyes at Simon, hooked his arm around his neck and pulled him down. He pressed his mouth against Simon's and before Simon could move away again, he trapped Simon's lower lip between his teeth and sucked on it.
Simon hummed into Marshall's mouth, his greased fingers reaching down between them, as he pressed his mouth fully on Marshall's, his tongue wiggling its way in between Marshall's teeth. He pushed one finger into Marshall.
Marshall moaned into Simon's mouth and spread his knees wider.
Simon pushed the second finger into Marshall, slicking him and stretching him, his mouth devouring Marshall, seducing him, dominating him. He shifted his fingers inside Marshall, pressed them against the spongy tissues, once, twice. Then he added the third finger and slid them in and out of Marshall's clenching hole, aiming for that special spot.
Marshall's back arched. He ended the kiss. "Simon." his breath was hot against Simon's cheek, drops of sweat at his temples. "If you don't get to the good part… right now… I will… I will…"
Simon lifted up and pulled his fingers out of Marshall, smirking. "You will what?" He pushed his pants lower, tore the condom's wrapper, put the condom on and greased himself. "You will do what?"
Marshall pulled Simon down by the edges of his shirt. "I'll scream."
"You'll scream anyway." Simon resumed his former position, with his left arm above Marshall's head, and in one slow thrust, he pushed into Marshall.
Marshall groaned, his eyes wide open and staring into Simon's. He liked the slight burn, loved the way Simon's face grimaced in sweet agony as he was sheltered to the root in him and waited for him to adjust. And the way Simon's lips hovered over his, not quite touching, like he was waiting for Marshall to tilt his head and close that little gap, was driving him crazy. Marshall squeezed his muscles around Simon's dick, his way of saying, it's time to move.
Simon started to rock his hips, pulling partly out and pushing back in, slowly building up the rhythm and the power of his thrusts. He closed that little gap between their lips, entangled them in a warm, sinful kiss.
Marshall wrapped his arms around Simon's shoulders, pressing their chests together. He would have preferred to reach down between them and fist his erection that just begged for touch, but Simon might then punish him by slowing down his lovely, wonderful, amazing hard thrusts.
Soft cries were swallowed by Simon's mouth as Simon changed the angle of his plunges, the head of his cock now slamming against Marshall's sweet spot every time he shoved into Marshall's tight hole.
And Marshall's toes curled, his nails digging into Simon's shoulder. He wanted, god, he wanted…"More," and "harder." He wanted for this feeling of hot delight to last forever.
An intercom rang.
"Don't… don't you dare…" Marshall wrapped his arms tightly around Simon's neck, gluing their torsos together.
Simon increased the power of his thrusts, fucking Marshall so hard that the heavy oak desk shook underneath them.
Just a little more, just a little more, the words ran around Marshall's mind like a hamster on speed. He arched his body and pushed up his pelvis, the heels of his feet digging into the desk. He needed to cum so badly, his body tensed like a bowstring, his muscles clenching around Simon's thrusting dick creating sizzling friction.
Simon reached between them, his fingers touched-- just touched -- Marshall's dick and Marshall came so hard that he thought he was going to faint. A few more thrusts and Simon joined him with a hushed cry.
The intercom still rang.
Simon pressed a sloppy kiss on Marshall's lips, his arm above Marshall's head carrying most of his weight, his chest still moving in quick succession. He took a couple of deep breaths, then put his forefinger over his lips and pressed the "on" button of the intercom. "Yeah?"
"Boss, the Germans called, they are not satisfied with the representative, they want you in person."
"Deal with them!"
"I did, boss. They are threatening to walk."
Simon rolled his eyes. "I'll be down in fifteen." He pressed the intercom's "off" button. Another sloppy kiss on Marshall's lips, then he pulled out of Marshall.
A soft moan escaped Marshall. He pushed himself higher on the desk.
Simon tied the condom and tossed it into a bin. He pulled his pants up. Then he slid his hand down Marshall's leg and caressed Marshall's feet. "How are your feet?"
"Fine. They were fine last week when you asked, and the week before that too." Marshall stretched.
"That's good." Simon leaned over the table, hooked one arm around Marshall's waist, pulled him up and hooked his other arm under Marshall's knees. "Let's take a quick shower." He carried Marshall into the bathroom where they really had a quick shower. Then he dressed and went into the study, where he gathered the papers, closed and unplugged his laptop, and put everything in to his very executive-looking laptop bag.
Marshall followed him, wrapped in a big towel.
"I'll try to be back as soon as possible." Simon straightened the knot of his tie, then leaned down and pressed a kiss on Marshall's lips, and groped Marshall's ass in passing, then he was off. Out of the study and out of the apartment.
Xxx
The cell phone started to vibrate on the low table, then soft sounds of the song "Foolish Game" floated to Marshall.
Marshall closed The Secret Techniques of Bonsai that he was reading and jumped up. It was Simon. About time, it was already nine o'clock in the evening. He grabbed the phone from the table and opened it. "Hi. Where are you?"
"Still in the meeting."
"When are you coming back?
"We are going to dinner later and then out to celebrate. I won't be home until morning."
"Oh." Marshall's gaze travelled over the manuals, the only books Simon owned, scattered around the floor. "Can I stay here?"
"You do know that I'm not going to pay you if I'm not there."
"What?" Marshall wrinkled his forehead. What did money have to do with it?
"Unless- Do you need money, Marshall?"
"What? No."
"Why else would you stay?"
"To wait for you," you stupid ass.
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Why?" Marshall frowned.
"Yes, why if not for the money?"
"Because I care for you, you self-centred jerk."
"You care?"
Marshall narrowed his eyes. How dares he sound so doubtful? He clenched his hand into a fist. "Not that you care, I'm just an object to you, somebody for a quick fuck. You know what? Forget it, just forget it. I quit. Find somebody else to jump at your every beck and call."
"Marshall-"
"Fuck you." Marshall threw his phone against the wall. Bastard. Damn bastard. And he had thought how well it was going when Simon stopped popping up out of nowhere and tossing him into a car and taking him into the apartment, and instead started calling him and inviting him to come over. He stomped toward where the phone lay and thought about jumping once or twice on it, but the thing started to vibrate and "Foolish Games" again sounded through the speaker. "Damn bastard," he yelled into the phone, cancelled the call, set the phone on silent and pocketed it.
He went into Simon's closet. He kicked into the door, then grabbed his jeans and his light jacket he had stored inside. And on second thought, he also grabbed one of Simon's cashmere sweaters, the white one, because it was so soft and because ...because it was Simon's. He put it on, he rolled the long sleeves up, and smoothed his palm over the soft fabric. It was too big for him, but he wanted it, he deserved a souvenir to warm him on cold nights. Oh, god, he hadn't even left the apartment and he was already all pathetic and in need of ice cream.
He shook his head, exchanged Simon's sweat pants he was wearing for his jeans, put on his sneakers, threw his jeans and Simon's sweat pants -- another souvenir -- over his arm and went out of the apartment. As he came out of the building into the street, he only took a few steps before he found a taxi that drove him to the Geb and Robin's place.
And as Geb and Robin saw the heap of misfortune on their doorstep they took him in with open arms and sat him on the stool behind the counter in Geb's kitchen.
Marshall soon changed his stool for the comfort of Robin's lap while Geb pulled out the ice cream. He told them everything, gulping down ice cream like it was water.
"He paid you for sex? Marshall, of all the stupid things you've involved yourself in, this is one of the stupidest," was the first thing that came out of Geb's mouth.
"But, but..." Marshall's lower lip started to tremble. "If I'd said that that he shouldn't pay, he might have stopped kidnapping me and I wouldn't have seen him anymore. And I wanted to keep seeing him, I wanted to be with him."
Robin wrapped his arms tighter around Marshall, sending Geb an ugly look. "There, there. I know. I know."
"It's still stupid." Geb ran his fingers through his short, black hair.
"It's Marshall." Robin leaned Marshall's head on his shoulder and combed his fingers through Marshall's curls.
"Yeah," Geb nodded.
"What was that supposed to mean?" Marshall pouted and snuggled deeper into Robin's warmth. "And stop talking like I'm not here." He yawned.
"That means that we know about your weird logic." Robin ruffled Marshall's hair and pushed him out of his lap. "Now, let's get you into the bed. You are tired."
Marshall agreed and after he changed into Simon's sweat pants and that wonderfully soft sweater, even as Geb objected that it wasn't an item to be used as sleeping attire, he was set into Geb and Robin's bed, between the two of them. He soon dozed off, his face buried in Robin's chest and his legs entangled with Geb's, getting all the comfort that he needed. And so he didn't hear when, a hour or so later, Geb's doorbell started to ring. Its annoying sound forced Geb, swearing under his breath, to get up. Marshall also didn't hear the sounds of arguing in the hallway, or how it suddenly stopped, a few soft words and then Geb, with Simon on his heels, appeared in the bedroom.
Simon sat down on the bed and gently shook Marshall's shoulders.
Marshall's eyelids fluttered, he opened his eyes for a moment, then he closed them and nuzzled Robin's neck.
"Angel." Simon's voice didn't sounded too happy. He grabbed Marshall's shoulders, slightly turned him and pulled him up, away from Robin.
"You don't have to be jealous." Geb crossed his arms.
"I'm not, not of your boyfriend." Simon removed the sheet from Marshall and pulled Marshall sideways into his lap.
"What was that suppose to mean?"
"He's still loves you." Simon combed blonde curls away from Marshall's face.
"Of course, he does. And he is in love with you." Geb stepped closer to the bed. "That's the only reason why I let you into my apartment. Well, that and the fact that you are in love with him, too."
"I am? He is?"
"Why else would you have rushed here, threatening me and making a ruckus? I've heard a lot about you and I don't think you are a man who acts on impulses, but now you obviously did." Geb caressed Marshall's face, smirking at the way Simon looked like he would have liked to bite his fingers off. He pinched Marshall's nose. "Marshall, darling, wake up."
"Ummm" Marshall swatted Geb's hand away, his eyelids opened, then fluttered close. "Just five more minutes."
"You said that he is in love with me?" Simon hooked one arm under Marshall's armpits and the other one under Marshall's knees. He stood up.
"That what he said." Geb moved out of the way. "Where are you taking him?"
"Home."
"What's happening?" Robin pulled himself up, he blinked a couple of times.
"Simon came to take Marshall home." Geb took the blanket off the bed. He wrapped it around Marshall. He escorted Simon to the entrance door, taking Marshall's phone and wallet from the cabinet in the anteroom and putting them into Simon's jacket pocket. "You better take good care of him or I will hunt you down and break every bone in your body."
"I will." Simon nodded. He carried Marshall out of the apartment to the street and into the car that was waiting on him. He sat down on the seat and cradled Marshall's sleeping form. He pressed a kiss on Marshall's lips.
Marshall opened his eyes. He blinked and, at the sight of Simon's face, his mouth spread into a big smile that lighted his face. "Hi." He reached out to wrap his arms around Simon's neck, but found the blanket in the way.
"Hey." Simon smiled back and pressed another quick, soft kiss on Marshall's lips. "I'm glad you are not angry anymore."
A smile disappeared from Marshall's face. "Angry?" He frowned and glanced around his surroundings -- what was he doing in Simon's car, when the last thing that he remembered was -- "You ass." He started to thrash in Simon's hold, trying to get his arms out of the blanket. "And those traitors. Let me go. Let me go. You good for nothing mother-"
Simon put his hand over Marshall's mouth. "Behave and listen to me."
Marshall bit into the hand. He managed to get his arms free.
"Marshall, damn it." Simon grabbed Marshall's hands. "Listen to me."
"I don't want to. Now let me go, you stupid... stupid… noodle. This time I'm turning you in to the police. And I'm going to press charges. And get a restraining order."
"I love you."
All the fight drained out of Marshall at those words. He stared up at Simon's face. "What?"
"I love you."
Marshall blinked, tilting his head. Simon loved him. He narrowed his eyes at him. Was this some kind of trick? "Liar. You are such a liar." He felt moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. "How can you be so cruel and lie about a thing like that?"
"Angel." Simon cupped Marshall's face. "Have I ever lied to you?"
Marshall thought about it. "No, but-" His eyes searched Simon's face. "You do? Really? You really love me?"
"Yes." A soft, genuine smile decorated Simon's face.
"That's good." A smile split Marshall's lips. "Because I love you, too."
"I know." At Marshall's raised brows, Simon explained. "Geb told me."
"That bastard." Marshall wrapped his arms around Simon's neck, his fingers playing with the strands of black hair. "I'll thank him later." He leaned his cheeks against Simon's shoulder. "So where are we going?"
"Home."
"In Canterbury?" Marshall frowned, from Google he knew that Simon had a big mansion on the outskirts of Canterbury, but wasn't that a little too far away?
"No, the apartment."
"Oh, but I thought... you said home."
"Since I met you, that apartment has became more of a home than that house will ever be."
"But didn't you spend your childhood there?"
"Yes."
"Oh." Marshall snuggled closer. "So, to the apartment then?"
"Yeah." Simon caressed Marshall's back. "And as a punishment for running away I'm going to love you all night long, so hard that you are not going to be able to sit tomorrow."
Marshall raised his brows. "I'm very resilient."
Simon smirked. "And I'm very determined."
Marshall flashed a naughty smile. "I'm counting on it." He tugged on Simon's hair and pressed his lips to Simon's, entangling them in a deep, very deep passionate kiss, dominating for a few seconds, until Simon took over. And as Marshall surrendered to him and to his touch, he though how Simon was what he always needed, but never believed he would find.
The end