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Marcus watches as the young man exhales.
Smoke. White wisps that hang in the stale air of the room, stuck in the wedge of yellow light above the pool table. Fragile and fleeting. It caresses the sharply defined face before a hand motion sweeps through the cloud and destroys it. Marcus follows the same path with his green gaze, raises a dark brow.
The other man barely glances in his direction, bending over the table, pool stick held in tobacco and dirt stained fingers. A few select colors on the felt. White. Yellow. Black. Two stacks of dingy notes on opposite corners held down by half full beer bottles.
Marcus watches the cigarette in the man's hand as it perches on the felt, stick sliding smoothly through the hooked fingers. The ash never wavers as the white slams into the black, slams into the yellow stripe. Side pocket, nice and clean. Eight ball balancing on the edge. The other player glances at his pile of notes. Disappointment. Injured pride.
The young man pays no attention to his opponent, or the other patrons grumbling and prophesying around the perimeter. His focus is on the table, the felt, the stick, the last shot.
Another inhale. Exhale. Serious grey eyes flickering toward Marcus in the corner.
The side of Marcus' mouth quirks up at the smoke again filling the space about the other man. Smirks at the hint of uncertainty in the grey eyes. He's made the young man nervous, to doubt his skill. Even if just for a moment.
Turning his back to Marcus. The man pauses, body tense. He knows, he knows, he knows Marcus is watching him so intently. He bends over again, tilt of his hips as he lines up the shot. A tilt of Marcus' head as he eyes the line of the man's shoulder and arm beneath the snug t-shirt. The strong stance hiding under loose jeans.
The smooth sliding of the stick. Grip the wrap. Fingers splaying on the felt. Thumb up. Cigarette wedged perfectly secure between middle and ring, thin streams of smoke sailing up to join the hazy atmosphere.
Another pause.
Marcus almost laughs, but merely blows air through his nose as the crack reverberates through the low din of conversation and juke box filler.
And then the swift uproar of spectators. Congratulations. Cursing. Exchange of money and handshakes. The young man smiles. His eyes remain cold grey. Marcus waits for the money to be pocketed, the people to disperse. He waits for the other to approach his corner of the busy bar and order a pint in that distinctly accented voice.
He waits until those grey eyes are on him again.
He waits for his oversized bouncers to settle themselves just behind the young man.
Marcus only has to wait for one more thing. " What's your name?"
Hesitant defiance. A quick look over his shoulder at the muscle blocking his escape. " MacCunoval. " His beer arrives. A slow drink, gaze never leaving Marcus. He sets it down with a deliberateness. " Esca." The fag is stubbed out in the ashtray.
" You're very good, Esca." Marcus smiles, genuine and amused. He steps away from the bar, barely notices his guards slight shift to accompany him. " Come to my office. We're going to discuss the finer points of pool hustling in my establishment. "
Marcus smooths a hand down the front of his suit. Black. Armani. Perfect and perfectly relaxed as he moves to the back of the bar and the small hallway that leads to his office. He can sense Drusus and Cub following behind. Hulking shadows that block out the light as he reaches his door. Marcus turns the knob without any hurry, pushing the door wide open to admit the three men trailing after him.
Esca follows with more than a small amount of caution and what Marcus recognizes as determination. Life or death, to face either unflinchingly. Marcus admires that for a moment, then moves behind his desk to take his seat. A swift head jerk, left and right, to pop his neck. " Please, sit down." He gestures toward the chair in front of his desk, nods his head in thanks toward Drusus for closing the office door. The bodyguard makes no sign of acknowledgement and Marcus wonders if he should be so polite with the 'help' when they consider themselves above the common courtesies. Affectionate disregard, he knows; not true disrespect.
Esca sits, fidgets once with the cargo pocket below his knee. There is a bulge the size of a cigarette pack. Fingers resting protectively over the hidden pack.
Marcus settles back in his own chair. " Now, Esca, they tell me you've been here hustling nearly every night for the past two weeks. " Injured leg stretching out. Broad hand under the desk rubbing the aching muscles beneath the dress slacks. " Not very smart."
A petulant glare is the young man's only reply. Stubborn.
Marcus wants to return the childish expression, sighs instead. " You're very good, or someone other than Cub would have noticed sooner. You have incredible skill, I admit. " He leans back even more, almost slouching. Tapping a finger on the desk, thoughtful. " You could be useful. If you're willing, that is."
Stubborn expression gone. Incredulous. " Work? For you?" Offended. Esca begins to rise, hands moving in aggression. The grey eyes are a rainbow of disgust.
He is quickly shoved back into the chair by a heavy, dark hand on his shoulder. Drusus can move rather swift for a man of his great size. Marcus can see the tight hold curving into the thin t-shirt, bruising strength on flesh underneath. He can see the impulse to retaliate in Esca.
A few softly spoken words in Greek. Drusus raises a thick brow at his native tongue, but releases the young man. Dissatisfied grunts from them both. Esca snorts through his nose. " Nice Greek. Your accent's fer shit."
" Greek. Italian, Latin, Portuguese. And Gaelic. " A warning tone. Brawl averted for the time being, Marcus gains his own feet and slips his jacket off. It is carefully hung on the back of his desk chair. " Drusus. Cub. Step outside, please. I will handle this." Pure white cuffs flipped up with precise motions. Marcus slowly walks around his desk, easy smile and hard green eyes. Strong tanned forearms crossing over the white shirt front. Strong body lounging against the edge of the desk.
Drusus almost rolls his eyes. Cub appears confused, cocks his head and looks questioningly at his boss.
" Fuck th-" Esca breaks the quiet, attempts to rise again.
A step forward by Drusus, but Marcus has already swept a backhand across Esca's face hard enough he knows his own hand will bruise. Esca falls back into the chair. Drusus opens the office door. Cub follows him out.
The click of the lock is loud in the sound-proofed room.
Esca's breathing is loud. Harsh bursts through his nose. Bloodied mouth clenched shut. Marcus recognizes the harsh line of his lips, the tight set of his jaw. Rage. He straightens his posture and towers over Esca. " Why did you come here?" No reply. Fists loose at his sides. " Stand up."
Grey eyes hateful. Esca looks up, then away. He stands slowly, pushing the chair back to gain space. Motions in a slow, hazy atmosphere. Gaze back on Marcus. Cold and hard. He spits, blood and saliva hitting the floor at Marcus' feet. " Needed money."
Marcus shakes his head, reaches out. One hand gently brushing the reddened cheek, thumb brushing the busted lip. His father's ring a dull glint in the yellowish light. " There's money in your account. It's always in your account."
Esca jerks his head away. Smacks the caressing hand away.
" Esca," Marcus' voice softens. Leaning in, hand again smoothing the stubble rough cheek. " Why did you come here?" Closer, closer, close enough to press against the wiry body. Crisp white Armani. Soft blue cast-off. He presses a kiss to Esca's temple. Scent of smoke and sweat, cheap soap.
Esca gives in. Slightly. Turns his face into the touch. Holds onto the hateful glare and Marcus knows the man is looking at the wide gold band circling his left ring finger. Mark of betrayal. " To see you."
Marcus drops his chin, bridge of his nose a vertical line against Esca's temple. Right hand carding into the dark ash hair. Left hand- insult and injury blatantly displayed in gold- curves around the young man's slim waist. Hide the ring. The greater slap in the face. He sighs deeply. " I have the room booked for next Thursday. Like every month." One more soft touch, an apology for blood spilled, then pulling away to lean against his desk again. " You know that."
Nothing for a moment. Quiet. Esca raises his chin and meets Marcus' gaze. " I did need the money. Wasn't a lie." He won't be placated, not by simple excuses, at least. " And you didn't call me when you came back. I thought you were still abroad. "
" So you thought you would sneak into my places and hustle a bit and hope no one would notice?" Marcus throws a disbelieving expression back at him. " Or do you think the rules only apply when I'm around?" Rules. There are rules they have to follow, follow or lose what they have. Lose each other. " That's why I put money into your account, Esca. So you won't have to risk your neck in the pool halls. Especially the ones belonging to the family."
Rules to follow or Esca will die. Marcus won't be able to save him. Can't catch them. Can't.
Esca moves his hands at his sides, limp gesture of futility. " No one recognizes me here. Been nearly two years since I was in here last ..." Idly stares at the money counter sitting on the small table in the corner. Two sets of ledgers as neighbors. " Just thought... just thought I'd make some quick cash before rent was due. Maybe get something decent for dinner. A pint or two." His fingers twitch, curl to hold a phantom cigarette. Marcus doesn't allow smoking in his office.
" That's why the money is in your account!"
" I'm not your whore! I don't want your dirty fucking money!"
" Any dirtier than yours? Hustling isn't exactly a legitimate business either; no matter how hard you work for it. " Marcus's mouth thins out, tight jaw. The sudden outburst unbalances him. " And no, you're not a whore. But don't be a hypocrite, Esca. I've enough hypocrisy in my life." He shouldn't have made the offer to work for him. The insult was great. The implications numerous.
Grey eyes sweeping across the room. Random, unable to stay still until they find the photograph on the desk. Marcus watches as Esca's gaze lights on each face in the framed photo behind him. Marcus, his Uncle Aquila. Armani clad and proud.
Aware the younger man's mind rests most heavily on the last face. Elegantly coiled red hair surrounded by bridal white. " Did Cottia enjoy visiting the family estate?" Esca asks quietly. Not quite spite. More than curiosity. " Second honeymoon, wasn't it?"
Marcus closes his eyes, clenches his left hand, feeling the cold metal on his finger. " She seemed to enjoy it just as much as I did." Opens green and shoots a smart look at Esca. " I'm sure she missed her lover, as well. Italy is a long way from here and I doubt her East End Casanova could afford a weekend in the Tower, much less a month's vacation in Sicily."
He turns his own head away, stares unseeing at a stack of boxes near the office door. New plumbing fixtures for the restrooms, waiting to be inventoried before installation. " And you know it was primarily a business trip. To check in with Uncle and his arrogant accountants." Marcus drops his arms, hands gripping the edge of the desk. He wants to take off the wedding band. " Cottia spent most of her time hiking through the vineyards." Wants to take off the ring. " Doctor said walking is good for her. Considering how far along she is."
Esca nods, small movements of his head as his fingers continue to spasm. No smoking. " Glad you two enjoyed it, then. Nice to travel." Lost in the small space and the wide space between them that shouldn't be.
No thought, Marcus reaching out and taking the fidgeting hands. He holds carefully, gently. Tugging Esca closer. There's resistance, still; thin frame tense. Enforced distance. " Please." Marcus is begging. " Please, Esca." Closes his eyes, pushes his face into unruly hair.
Esca relents, finally. Moving so close and allowing Marcus to fold him into an embrace. He's always been so protective of Marcus. Strong, wiry arms circle the prim white shirt.
Marcus exhales. Relief so absolute and sincere. He tightens his hold and digs his fingers into the thin material of the t-shirt. " The organization. A wife arranged for me. An heir expected, demanded from me." Leans against the edge, right leg aching and weak. " I do those things because it is expected, it's part of who I am. Family and obligations. " Rambling, emotional. Vulnerable thoughts dragged into the light and thrown between them. Marcus hates how easy it is for Esca to do this to him. " I won't lie, though. I don't hate my life. I'm good at what I do. I don't mind being a husband. I... I look forward to being a father. " Doesn't want to. Wishes he could turn his back on it all and blame it for who he is. Take no responsibility. Be the good guy. " I chose you, however, because... hell, I don't even know why. " Marcus chuckles and squeezes. " Not obligation. Not expected. Just because I wanted you." Wanted like nothing else in his life. Before or since.
Needed, really.
Loved...
Feels the man in his arms tense and sag, leaning against his larger body. Esca presses his cheek against the broad shoulder. A deep breath before, " I understand."
Marcus wonders if the man really does. Knows it doesn't matter because Esca isn't angry like before and is actually holding him rather tightly now. He remains as he is, just hanging on. Taking and offering. A touch on the busted lip, soothing the sting. " We don't have long. Drusus will be knocking soon, reminding me of business matters. I have to go over the books tonight before tomorrow's board meeting."
His life will not change. He won't change it. Not presently, at least.
A small part of Marcus thinks of the distant future. Of retiring to the family estate in Sicily, like his Uncle. Or even here, outside the city. A small house in the north country. With Esca.
Esca can't wait that long, Marcus knows this. But he hopes. He hopes.
A kiss on his chin. The younger man tilts his face up and slides his mouth to Marcus' lips. Hands sliding. Smoothing over cotton wrinkles. Slipping down to untucked hems. Esca breathes in his ear, " Forget, for now."
Marcus leans forward. A touch, a kiss, a few moments for just them.
Esca knows he shouldn't have come here.
He noses forward, stubble rubbing against Marcus' smooth cheek. Warm. Safe. This is how it is supposed to be. Even though it isn't often enough. Never long enough in the hotel rooms and small offices and that one time in Dublin when Marcus rented a cottage in Killineny for a week. A completely brilliant week. He keeps the kiss going while his hands move to Marcus' buttons. Simple motion, button through the hole, white parting to reveal brown skin. Thin gold chain with its small golden eagle.
Marcus' hands stay on his lower back, working under his t-shirt. Warm, broad hands. Calluses. Cool metal. Esca doesn't hate Cottia. They've been friends far too long. He remembers chasing Marcus through the rain in Quantock Hills, holding Cottia's hand, urging her along with laughter and affection through the cold downpour.
The young man is jealous though, insanely jealous of that strip of a girl who barely spends any more time with Marcus than he does. Marcus is, after all, a very busy man.
Esca pushes the past aside. Pushes the fabric back but not off the wide shoulders. Touching. Hot smooth skin. Ragged scars on the left. Tattoo on the right. Military service. Whiff of expensive aftershave. Hands fall down the front, hard planes and then black fabric. Button and zip deftly undone.
He shouldn't have come here. It's dangerous. They don't know him here, not anymore, but Drusus and Cub are smarter than they look. Suspect a familiarity. They suspect and they can't know.
Marcus leans in for a hot press of lips to neck. Then backing away, t-shirt stripped over Esca's head. Rolls one shoulder, knows Marcus is staring at the swirls and knotted lines inked across his shoulders and chest. Tattoos. Marks of his heritage. Family. Marcus has always been fascinated.
The noisy bar is nonexistent. There but not felt beyond the locked door. Esca imagines he can still hear the thud of the bass, smell the beer and tobacco and piss. A hint of the harshness to taint the perfection of this moment. Make it more real. He grabs the t-shirt and drops it behind him on the chair. Lets the older man unbutton the fly of his jeans. Dark grey pants for Marcus' light grey ones. Soft cotton covering softer skin, swollen flesh. Curls his fingers. Heft. Solid weight and heat resting in his palm.
Esca knows he shouldn't have come here.
Push forward, big hand pulling his cock free. Stroking. Esca loses his breath for a moment, then gasps as tongue and teeth travel down his neck. Jeans and pants pushed down to thighs; scrape of brass against sensitive skin. He glances up, catches a flash of green. Marcus is moving quickly for him, senses the need in Esca for fast. Hard. Passionate and reassuring. Just as Esca senses the need in Marcus for slow. Gentle. Loving and comforting. The younger man gives it with a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. He'll give much more next Thursday in their usual hotel room. But for now...
Papers shoved to the side. Folders knocked onto the floor. Marcus swears under his breath at the destruction.
Esca moves with the other man, sharp turn, facing the desk. Hands grip the opposite edge. Thighs and cotton and denim pressing against the sharp edge. A hand on his hip, other hand reaching around him to rummage in the desk drawer. Esca raises a brow at the tube of lotion. Not lube. The big tan hand pauses, asking. Esca nods. It's better than nothing. And not scented. The urge to light up is strong. When it's over. When it's over and he's outside in the chill air, flame and smoke.
Fingers at his rear. Two. Messy lotion smeared between his cheeks and two thick fingers twisting inside him. Esca stares at the desk below him. Laptop pushed to the corner. Scattered pens and paperclips. Outdated telephone flipped over.
Shadows from the single overhead bulb. His own. Marcus' merging with his, pulling back, distinct outline. Merging again.
Breathing heavy, Esca panting and swallowing with his dry mouth. Fingers tighten on the desk edge. Fingers shoving inside him. Sparks and moan. He tries to rub his cock into the desk, body lengthening. Flatten out, lower to the hard wood surface. Soft words spoken in his ear. Fingers gone. More lotion.
Blunt. Piercing. Drag and slide of delicate flesh. Eagle clawing at his back.
Nothing in his vision but one shadow and the coiled phone cord brushing his wrist.
Nothing on his mind but Marcus and a cigarette.
Esca stretches his neck. Back arching. Thrust and push. Forward, back. Rocking in time to his heartbeat. Hot tongue tracing the lines of ink. A hand slips around front and palms the head of Esca's cock, pre-cum slick on the calluses. The younger man chews on his busted lower lip. Good. Thrust. So good. He bucks back. Drives him deep deep deeper. Not enough time for more.
Marcus is hunched over him again, whispering into the hair at the nape of his neck. Kissing inside the tattooed loops. Thursday, he will leave red-purple marks all over Esca's shoulders, back, chest. Roses on the blue-black vines. For now, Esca grunts as teeth barely scrape across a tendon. Thrust.
Command. Obey. Esca nods in reply and reaches for his own cock, fingers curl beneath Marcus' hand. Stroking in tandem. Slapping against the older man's palm on the upstroke. Slapping sound. Wet sounds. Thrust. Has to be quick.
The desk is moving. Feet scrape on the floor.
Thrust. Thrust. Esca jerks, knuckles scraping the desk. Marcus wraps an arm across his chest. Light tug on a pink nipple. Esca squeezes too hard. Thrust.
And everything freezes. Heat. Heat sweeping along his body, stealing his coordination and ability to breathe. Stare ahead. Filing cabinets behind the desk, littered in post-it notes and pizzeria magnets. Glare in the dark metal. Blur as the young man tenses and jerks. Heat exploding out. Into Marcus' caressing palm. Slick.
More thrusting and Esca bites his lip to keep quiet as the other man squeezes him much too tightly. Bloody lip. Bodies flush. Insides flooded. Clenching. Marcus breathes harshly against his back, between his shoulder blades. Hot on sweaty skin. Esca unclenches his hand from the desk. Releases his cock. Sticky fingers intertwining with sticky fingers.
A moment of sated quiet.
Marcus is the first to move. The younger man remains still as the arm leaves his chest, hand reaching back into the desk drawer for the hand wipes that Marcus is never without. Esca catches his breath and focuses on the antique subway schedule taped to a filing cabinet. He doesn't need to see to know that the wipe cleans up Marcus' hand. Folded in half. Swiped along Esca's crease. Remove the ticklish dribble. Soft rustle as it's tossed into the waste bin. Another wipe taken.
Esca straightens up, leaning away from the desk and the hard edge. The older man moves with him this time. Holding gently. Nosing in the hair behind his ear. Wipe easing over his wilted cock. Sticky cum gone. Tossed into the trash. He can still feel a naked groin pressed against his backside.
Marcus holds him for a few moments, then lets go. Pants and trousers pulled up. Buttons buttoned. Zip zipped. Esca turns and lounges on the desk, ignoring his own bare chest. The white shirt is sweat damp, but unwrinkled. He casually buttons it up. Green and grey. Light touches. Golden eagle hidden.
A thumb on his mouth. Blood. Esca shakes his head.
" Cottia won't be coming back." Marcus steps back and picks up the t-shirt. Hands it over. " Not until after the first year, at least. " He begins picking up the papers. " Tradition." One word explanation.
Esca nods, pulls the shirt over his head. Rubs the back of his neck. A shiver at the memory of lips. " When are you going back?" Casual. Nonchalant. Resigned.
" Month and a half, at the most. Most likely in a month. " Marcus drops the stack of items on the desk, fingers resting gently on top. " Won't be back in London for the first month or two. Unless there's urgent business." Anxious. Hopeful. Resigned. Esca watches the broad hand splay flat on the manila rectangles. " You could-"
" No," Esca interrupts with a simple, firm syllable. Watches Marcus, the tan face, lines around the expressive eyes. " I'll wait." Loaded words. Determined and heavy. Fingers twitching, reaching for the cargo pocket. Cellophane pack crinkles in the thick atmosphere. Metal lighter clicking.
Marcus takes a deep breath. Nods.
There is no other way. Esca knows. Marcus knows. This... is how it is.
White stick between his lips. Tobacco and copper on his tongue. He moves out of Marcus' way as the older man steps to the door. Turn of the lock. Turn of the knob. It swings open and the scents and sounds rush in. Drusus and Cub turn to look. Marcus waves a dismissive hand. " Escort our friend out, please. "
Esca says nothing. Merely ambles out of the office, gait slightly impeded. Cub sniffs and wrinkles his nose as he walks by. Drusus remains impassive.
Two steps, three steps. Marcus' voice cuts through the noise. " Don't come back here again." Dead serious. Desperate warning.
Esca raises a hand in acknowledgment. Keeps walking, looming presences close behind. He raises the lighter. Click and flash. Shaky exhale before he can suck the flame through the stick.
This is how it is.
end