A Complicated Return
An icy mist hung over the grassy meadow that extended from the house down a long slope to a little river that meandered below. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground and the air was still. Michael heard ravens in the distance: jagged and rough.
He had slunk out of bed leaving John asleep. He could still taste him in his mouth, a taste that was exciting but pointed to a problem. A problem he had only let himself become aware of this morning. He found himself in the ridiculous position of having become entangled with two very different men and he must decide what to do about it.
The next term at St Andrews was to begin in a few days and with that a return to Marcus. From the vantage point of having spent many days and especially nights with John, it seemed a simple matter: he must release Marcus and move on. But he knew it would not be so simple.
There was a sheet of mist lying over the river that was like a spirit moving over the land, searching for something it had lost. He looked up into the trees with their bare branches. He took a few deep breath as if he was about to plunge into an airless pool. He turned and went back to the house.
John drove him back to St Andrews, the reverse of the journey that began whatever this now was between them. Neither one of them had made any declarations or promises. John seemed happy and certainly more than eager when their clothes were off, or not off, depending on the moment, including the moment before getting in the motorcar. John had pushed him against the wall and slid his pants open, taking his cock in and brought him to a massive and shuddering climax in minutes. They had stood, sharing the taste, kissing, leaning against the motor until John had pulled away, smiling.
“Just to send you off with...”
Michael had smiled, and said.“Thank you!”
John stopped the motor at his residence hall and Michael took his bag, giving John a long look, saying that he would see him in a few weeks, and made his way inside. A kind of sadness or longing washed over him. He had spent the strangest and most unexpected holiday with someone he least expected in his bed or in his body.
But here he was, back in the dark hallway, and now back in his rooms which felt small, confined and musty compared to the expanses of his home. And as soon as he began to unpack his bag, he wondered if Marcus was here, right next door, brooding. Or thinking of him at all. All he heard was silence.
His last letter had been typically light, full of stories of his family and Christmas in Inverness and that he would see him soon. Would it be now?
He realized he was getting restless, so he walked down Link St toward the library, hoping to become distracted by Roman philosophy or a friendly face. Almost empty, the library seemed grim and austere. He found one or two volumes he knew he had to read and sat at a table by a large stained glass window.
“You give the impression, Michael, that you will love the dreary books more than a nice pint.”
Michael looked up, startled, into the bright eyes of Stuart who was standing over him, laughing.
“Don't be daft. Do you think I actually like this?”
“You give, sir, every indication to the contrary. Come. We'll visit the pub.”
Michael sighed, defeated. He knew there would be no peace now that Stuart was here. As he packed up his things, he said, “Any sign of Marcus?”
“Oh, he's around somewhere. I saw him this morning. I'm sure he will be happy to see you.”
“To see me?” He said this as if he was surprised, trying to hide the pleasure that washed over him.
“Yes you. He doesn't get on very well with many people, but you seem to be one of them.”
They made their was to the usual pub and, to their surprise, found Marcus there, sitting in an old armchair by the fireplace. Stuart laughed, and said, “You wretch! You read our minds. Can we join?”
He proceeded to pull two more chairs closer, while Michael and he looked at each other for a moment. Michael wasn't at all sure if Marcus wanted to be joined. He looked down at his pint and Michael knew which version of Marcus they were meeting: the difficult one. The annoyed one. He sighed and went to the bar to find some strong bitter which seemed the only thing that would do.
They sipped their drinks and shared thoughts of their respective holidays, but Marcus told only vague stories about eating too much and sleeping too long. Michael noticed Stuart look at him with concern a few times which, he realized, was not surprising since Marcus seemed more bleak than usual, at least this version of him.
They walked back to their rooms through the chilly evening, a little too much drink in their heads. Marcus was silent and Stuart seemed to be compensating with a manic intensity. Stuart went to his rooms and waved a cheery good-night, and they walked to Marcus' door. He turned to Michael and mumbled, “Can I come to your rooms?”
“Of course.”
And they walked the few steps to his door. Michael turned and looked at him. “Is everything all right?”
Marcus didn't answer, so Michael opened the door and they went in. The little fireplace was cold and the room dark. He lit a lamp, and took Marcus' hand, leading him to the bed, pulling him down so they were on their backs.
“Your holiday was not very good I take it.”
“No, it was not bloody good at all.”
The force of his answer was startling. “Why?”
Marcus didn't reply and just started at the ceiling. “Marcus?”
With a bitter laugh, Marcus said, “It was awful. My mother was cold and disinterested and my gran was dotty, and the food was overcooked...what else do want to know?”
Michael thought for a moment. “What about your father?”
More silence. Michael put his hand on Marcus' chest, rubbing slowly, enjoying his warmth. “Was he beastly?”
Another laugh that was almost a choking sound. “My father. Well. He is a cruel man. My mother takes his anger and puts it somewhere, but he has a nasty streak. If he knew what I was, what we are...together...he would probably kill us.”
He said this savagely and Michael was at a loss to reply. Just as Michael was about to reply, Marcus turned and moved on top of him. He pushed Michael's arms back and looked down at him, his face stony. Then he began to kiss him and to Michael it felt both passionate and angry at the same time. He opened his mouth to receive Marcus' tongue, who had begun to thrust his hips into him. He pulled back and looked down at Michael again.
“Take off your things. I want you naked.”
At first Michael wanted to protest, wanted to counter this harsh request with a softer one of his own, but at the same time it was strangely exciting to hear this, to be ordered, to feel that his will was irrelevant. He knew it was in direct conflict with his experience of John that he had only just departed from, but the intensity of Marcus's eyes boring into him was oddly exciting.
He pulled off his shirt and his trousers, tossing them to the floor. Marcus reached forward and almost ripped his drawers from him leaving him cold and naked on the bed, but very excited.
Marcus unzipped his trousers and pulled out his rigid flesh, holding it in one hand. “Turn over. On your hands and knees.”
Michael complied, feeling his own cock engorge itself beyond what he would have expected from so harsh a moment. He looked behind him at Marcus who was spitting into his hands and felt cold, wet fingers invading him, stretching him. He moaned and took his own cock in his hand as if holding it so he wouldn't fall into darkness.
He looked down at the bed and then felt Marcus take hold of his hips, gripping him, then felt the sudden pain and pressure of Marcus as he began to work his cock into him. He heard Marcus spit again, then more wetness where his body met Marcus' thickness. More pushing forward until he felt the other man slide all the way in and Marcus' groin met his buttocks.
Michael shut his eyes, feeling that he knew what was coming. He head Marcus' voice:
“I'm going to take you and it won't be gentle and you will enjoy it.”
Michael wondered at this statement. He wasn't sure he want to be used like this, but also understood a part of him really did. At least here, now, with Marcus. It all seemed to make some kind of sense.
Before he could consider this any longer, he felt Marcus' first thrust which pushed him forward so his arms collapsed and his backside was in the air, filled with Marcus. He felt the other man's hands almost painfully gripping his thighs as he drove forward again, and again.
Michael found he was producing a low moan and then, suddenly, he felt Marcus pull him up and put a hand over his mouth, still jamming himself into Michael's deepest recesses. His ass felt enflamed, his mind a blaze of fire. He shut his eyes against the intensity as the force of Marcus' body on his grew each time the length of him dug deeper. Over and over the cock slid into him, slightly faster each time.
He tried to open his mouth more, but the Marcus' hand on it was too strong. He felt himself being pushed to the limit of what he could tolerate, but there was something about riding the crest of this wave that was overwhelmingly pleasurable. His whole body shook each time Marcus thrust forward. He began to be aware that Marcus was making sounds that were almost words, or parts of words as he fucked him harder, then harder still.
Just as he thought that Marcus couldn't sustain this, he heard his door open, and a voice, Stuart's voice saying,
“Michael, is everything...oh...oh, I see...right...”
He heard his door close quietly at the same time as Marcus froze.
“Oh god. I thought you locked the door. Damn, damn, damn...”
Marcus slid out of him and flung himself away from Michael's body, desperately doing up his pants. He stood in the room, his eyes shut, shaking his head. Michael said,
“It's all right...I'll go speak to him...”
“About what! What on earth could you say to Stuart that would make a bloody bit of difference?”
This was a good question and Michael realized he would need to think. Stuart was a lovely, warm, open person. Surely he would...but was that really likely? He realized he had no idea. He sighed, and said,
“But I will try. Please don't panic.”
“As if I have a choice.”
“Marcus, we're in this together. He saw both of us.”
“I don't care...” and he left the room, leaving the door open.
Michael lay still for a few minutes and they seemed like hours. He wasn't sure what to do. He pulled the blankets around him and tried to find warmth. He thought about lighting a fire but felt paralysed. He stared at the ceiling for some time, and then heard a quiet voice say,
“Michael? Are you decent? Can I come in.”
He looked up to see Stuart at the door again.
“I was about to come to you. Close the door.”
Stuart shut the door gingerly, and came and sat on the bed. He looked pale and worried.
Michael started to say, “Stuart, I know what you saw...”
“Yes. I did see. A wee surprise it was. How long have you two been...”
“Since November...not long.”
He nodded. “Well.” Stuart stopped for a moment. “You see...I...well, despite appearances to the contrary...I am...not unlike you.”
Michael's eyes widened. “You're like me.”
“Yes. I suppose I am. I know I give every impression otherwise and that is the point, after all, but yes.”
He looked at Stuart, marvelling that this could be true. “But you seem so convincing about girls and swooning over their hair...sorry, I don't mean to make light.”
“No, no, I deserve that. I do make a good show. But it's all rot.”
There was silence in the room and Michael could think of nothing to say. Finally Stuart spoke again but in a low voice.
“It was something to see you two like that.”
“Something?” There was a tone in Stuart's voice he did not recognize.
“You being taken like that. It was...exciting. Inspiring, if I'm being honest.”
His voice had dropped to almost a whisper. Michael looked into Stuart's face which was vulnerable but he also seemed almost proud to have said the words. Michael felt a wave of tenderness and he reached up and took Stuart's hand in his.
“Have you...?”
Stuart looked away for a moment as if trying to locate the answer in the room. “Oh, I've had my dalliances. Not for some time. Seeing you just now...I realize I want to again.” And he smiled, taking his hand back and running it through his hair.
Michael watched his face for a moment and asked, “Anyone here?” And in that moment wondered if it had been Marcus.
Stuart sighed and said, “Oh, no one you know. A few weeks ago. It's was nothing, just fumbling in the stairwell one night...not anything real.”
Just then, the door almost flew open and, glancing over Stuart's shoulder, Michael watched Marcus stride into the room. He seemed to hardly notice that Stuart was there.
“I'm so sorry Michael! I was a beast. It was cruel for me to take you as I did, then storm out when Stuart...”
He stopped and it was as if he finally noticed Stuart was sitting right there.
“Stuart. What are you doing here?”
Stuart stood up, smiling. “Oh just a wee visit, don't pay me any mind. We were discussing the weather.” And he looked at Michael a moment, and shrugged.
Marcus seemed nonplussed. “You two weren't...you aren't...well, you know.”
Laughing, Stuart said, “Oh I think not. But it was something to see you two. Inspiring.”
Marcus gave a look, and Michael watched as he blushed. Stuart walked over to him and leaned up and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You two go back to whatever it was you were doing. I'm going to my room to contemplate the stars.” He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Marcus walked over to the bed and sat down where Stuart had been. Michael said,
“You know, there was always a question in my mind about Stuart. But now I understand.”
Marcus seemed confused and he said, “You mean...oh! I see. I had no idea.”
“How could we? He has been so convincing about all the girls he moons over.” Michael thought a moment. “He wasn't offended, you know. He found it rather bracing to see us.” He took Marcus's hand, just as he had taken Stuart's, but this taking was completely different. Marcus smiled at him and said,
“I suppose it's good to know we aren't the only ones.” He extended his hand and ran it across Michael's brow, straightening a lock of his hair, then said, “I do apologize for my behaviour. It was unforgivable.”
“Your behaviour...Well, it was a bit rough, but truth to tell, I rather enjoyed it. Perhaps the last part wasn't so good. With Stuart, I mean.”
Marcus just gaped at him, clearly unable to speak. Michael felt he had to do something, so he flung the blankets off, revealing his body, and he realized he was becoming excited. He found himself saying,
“I don't know what you do to me, but you can see what you do to me,” and he inclined his head down to his growing length.
Opening his shirt, Marcus gave a soft laugh, then slid his pants off. He leaned down and put his head on Michael's stomach so that his mouth could suck the end of his now rigid penis. He began to softly lick the head, sucking the juices that had begun to run out the end, holding the base in his hand. Michael ran his hand through Marcus' hair, then explored his back, enjoying the lean muscles and smooth skin.
Marcus let his hard flesh out his mouth and said, “I want you from above.”
At first Michael wasn't sure what that meant, but when Marcus lay down, his mouth partly open, he understood. He straddled the other man's face, leaning forward and holding himself up on his forearms, his groin over Marcus' mouth, his cock rubbing his cheeks, leaving streaks of shiny liquid on his chin, then slid into his open mouth.
Michael understood the reversal of the dynamics suddenly: that Marcus was being taken by him, that the dominance was now his to express. He wasn't entirely sure he could, but he meant to try. He began thrusting his hips down, forcing his cock deep in Marcus, almost into his throat. He wondered if Marcus would choke, but he seemed to be able to take him. He watched his own flesh disappear past Marcus lips, felt his groin touch the other man's face, and as he raised up, sliding out of his mouth, became more excited at the sight of his own cock measuring Marcus, almost testing him.
He felt Marcus begin to moan and he knew that behind him, Marcus was finding his own pleasure. At first he felt tentative, but soon he lost his inhibitions and raised his hips higher and plunged a little deeper, feeling a kind of focused desperation. With each deeper plunge, Marcus seemed to let him in more, seemed to be drenched in as much pleasure as he was.
How long could he continue this? he wondered. But he wanted it continue since he was finding the feel of treating Marcus mouth as he had been treated by Marcus incredibly exciting. He slowed down a little, not wanting to crest this wave too quickly. He adjusted his position so he could be more direct with each thrust, as if he really was taking Marcus from behind, not in his mouth. Was this revenge or was he sharing the same pleasure he had had? Perhaps it was both.
Almost with surprise, he felt Marcus take hold of his buttocks in his hands, squeezing them, massaging them, then sliding a finger along the cleft of him, and forcing a finger inside, rotating it around, stretching, searching and Michael began to moan, this new sensation pushing him further toward a summation of the quasi-debate.
Sweat was dripping from his forehead, despite the cold, and he felt his body begin to tense, his muscles clench, his breathing becoming shallow. He was thrusting at such a rate he was afraid he might hurt Marcus, but he seemed to be able to manage, almost pushing him each time Michael jammed his hips forward, and again. Michael shut his eyes, aware of the feel of his tongue as he slid his cock along it and what seemed like a slight flash quickly became an explosion and his body became wild with energy and he thrust three more massive times and felt himself pouring into Marcus's mouth.
With a choking sound, Marcus arched his back and Michaels felt a few cold splashes on his back, on his legs, on his buttocks and then Marcus spat him out and rolled out from beneath him, not breathing until he swallowed, then taking a huge long breath and becoming still.
Michael slowly sat down, and leaned against the wall at the head of the bed, his legs out in front of him on either side of Marcus' head. They were quiet for a time, just breathing, then Marcus sat us and turned to him, bringing his face to his and their lips softly met with a few light touches before he turned to lean against the wall beside him. He looked at Michael and said,
“I like it when you take me like that. And it's only fair given how I was earlier...”
“You're not to apologize any more. Yes, you took me but at least in that moment, I wanted that. I wanted you to just have me, as I just had you.”
He slid away from the wall and lay down. Marcus joined him tentatively. He said, “You're not angry with me?”
“No, I'm not angry. And now I want to sleep. Will you stay?”
There was silence for a moment and Michael said again, “Will you?”
Finally Marcus, as if in answer, leaned to the little table by the bed and blew out the lamp. He lay back down and wrapped himself around Michael from behind, and Michael felt him nestle his back, his sex, his legs, into him, comfortable and warm.
Michael thought, before he fell into oblivion that he wasn't sure which Marcus he was sleeping with now. The angry one, or the gentle one, or both. He wanted to give this more thought, but he was too exhausted and sank into sleep.
He awoke in the half-light of dawn and realized he was alone in bed, and that Marcus had wrapped the quilt around him. There was something almost painfully tender about this, and he imagined Marcus in the dark, taking such pains to leave him warm, but still feeling he must banish himself to his cold bed. Pulling the quilt around him, he imagined John in his own bed at home with some yearning. What would he do with these two? One so intense, so mercurial and the other with his quiet passion and steady ways.
He wondered, suddenly, what Stuart would think of this situation. He listened as an early morning horse and buggy passed the residence on the street and he got out of bed, wanting to watch it. The street lay silent in the grey, wet from an overnight snow that was melting. A cat was making its quiet way in front of the building across the street, intent on something only cats understood. He watched it disappear behind the building into the morning.
