Its just us here omnibus, p.78
It's Just Us Here Omnibus, page 78
part #1 of It's Just Us Here Series
“I'm not a virgin.”
“Okay?” He didn't believe me.
“I just don't want sex. I've never been motivated by that.”
He simply smiled at me, with full eyebrow action. “I picked up on that. You shot me down that first time. And every time after.”
I struggled to remember what he was referring to. Was he talking about that night he was on drugs?
“Don't you remember our first week together?”
“Yeah.” We had a good time.
“You running around in your shorts, throwing that cute butt in my face...”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dude, I was so into you. If I didn't need your help so bad, I would’ve screwed up big time and tried to... to get you in my bed.”
“I have been in your bed.”
He laughed deeply. “But not in the way I wanted you. There was something about you, cute little nerd that you are. I made a few passes and you didn't respond. Then at the gym you really put me in my place.”
“What?” I was honestly confused. When did all this happen?
“Don't you remember what happened in the shower?”
“Umm... we showered?”
“You were watching me, remember?”
“Oh yeah, because you wash like a dunce.” Who would ever wash themselves so sporadically and without a rhyme or reason?
“Yeah. Well. I thought you were wanting some of my cock, and man did you shoot me down big time.”
“What did I do?”
“You called me disgusting. And not even playfully. You were clinical about it.”
That ‘clinical’ label has always been a criticism that gets thrown my way—that I can be detached and impersonal. I can’t believe people see me that way because to me it feels like I'm the exact opposite and care about people too much, but I guess I don't care enough to lie about the truth. I can be a bit harsh sometimes.
“So that's when you decided not to make another pass at me?”
“Oh no,” he said cheerfully. “I never gave up. But I stopped thinking you would respond.”
Huh.
Somehow the conversation had turned away from me trying to get him out of my house to him calmly explaining how he had wanted to fuck me from the first time he saw me. Once again, this was not helping the situation.
I hardened my thoughts. He was putting up a good fight, but I needed to do the smart thing and consider my long-term happiness. I had to cut him off completely, he was giving me no choice.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Mark said, covering my mouth again. He must have seen the determination on my face. “You said you were embarrassed because everyone thought we were a couple except you. Is that the general complaint?”
There were dozens of extra layers to that particular complaint, but I decided to let them slide. There were only so many battles left in me at that point.
“What you are forgetting is that we were, in fact, a couple... and we were, in fact, dating.” He stated his argument like a prosecutor about to pulverize a guilty defendant.
“No we weren't.”
“Yes, we were.”
I shook my head. He grabbed my cheeks and forced my head to move up and down. I inexplicably felt like spitting on his face. When did I turn into a llama?
“Okay, who did you go out to dinner with the most over the past few months?”
I didn't answer.
“Me. And whose place do you sleep at the most?”
“My own!”
“Other than that!” He was back to being maniacally cheerful. “Mine! And who—”
“Okay, I get the picture.” I tried to shake him off the trail. “It's been a good run, but—”
“Wait!” He pushed me completely against the counter, forcefully so that I gasped from the suddenness of it. His face was inches away, our noses touched. “I'm making an Executive Decision.” He growled those two words like they were in capital letters. I didn't even have time to entertain what Mark meant by 'Executive Decision' because he plowed into what appeared to be a memorized speech.
“You might not want to believe me, but we have been dating for the past couple months.” His confidence made my heart flutter and masked some of my discomfort. Mark could be cute when he tried to be forceful. “And during the course of our relationship, you have gotten to make all the decisions—”
“That's not true!”
He narrowed his eyes. I felt like laughing out loud. He looked like an overgrown child with that pout. Damn it, he knew how to make me laugh.
Mark challenged me: “Name one time when I got to make an important decision? We always do what you want to do. Have we ever done something if you didn’t want to?”
I struggled to come up with an example off the top of my head. There's something about being put on the spot like that that can be unsettling. He smirked at me as I burned through my memories looking for anything to bludgeon his cocky attitude.
“Camping. If it weren't for you, I never would have gone on that crazy camping trip.”
“Oh, ho ho!” He looked at me incredulously, like I had just made a grave mistake. “That's actually a perfect example. I seem to remember me giving up on that trip, don't you? Wasn’t one of us mad and in a pissy mood that day? It wasn’t you, was it?”
Asked the prosecutor.
“Well...” I tried to buy myself time because, clearly, he had thought this through.
“And let's not pretend like you wanted to go to my brother's so we could hike. You wanted me to go to that hospital, so we went to the hospital. Just like you wanted.”
I may have been rendered momentarily speechless by his aggressiveness, but I absolutely had to defend myself against such a baseless accusation. What did I do that was so wrong? “Well, he's your brother! And she's your niece. And you needed to show your support!” Why was he being so mean about this?
“I know. But I was never that kind of person before I met you. I wouldn’t have rushed up to see them... only if it was serious. I hate hospitals.”
“You're a good guy.”
“When I’m around you, I am. But I still wouldn't have done that.”
“You're a good guy, but sometimes you need a push in the right direction.” I was miffed and crossed my arms in front of our chests. Which of us doesn’t want to believe in themselves, again? Why did he always have to do that to me... shove my examples back in my face, or twist my words against me? So what if I pushed him to go to that hospital? He needed to show his support for his family—that's what families do.
“You're right.” He looked at me seriously. “My brother did appreciate seeing me, and my niece loves you. And I like letting you give me those pushes. I trust you completely.”
Mark was really making this difficult—basically impossible. There was almost nothing I could say at that point because his words and his passion were so breathtaking.
“I know you have an aversion to gay sex,” he gripped my arms and locked me in place. “I will never force you to do anything you don't want. If you don't want to do something, we don't do it. Okay?”
I nodded my head, dumbly, not aware that by agreeing to that small detail I was opening the door to many, many other things.
“I won't ever hurt you. Never. I only want to support you and love you, and be your man. I will be so good to you. And what we do together, however much or little, it will be beautiful. I promise.”
I couldn't respond. My mind was wide open, recording as many details of this moment as possible. I focused on his soft lips, his perfectly symmetrical eyes. His arms and his tight polo shirt. All I could do was absorb—like I had become a human camera.
I had been completely blindsided.
But Mark wasn’t done yet. “So we've been dating for a few months, but now I want it to be official. I want to be able to hold your hand.” He held my hand. “And give you a kiss...”
I pulled back. My paralysis was gone. “Wait!” I sobbed. My body was wracked with giant heaves. I couldn't breathe. I had to lean against him for support, complaining into his neck. “I can't do this. It isn't going to work. It isn't going to work.”
“Yes it will!”
“NO!” I sobbed so much that my complaints turned into hiccups. “It won't! Why does—” Hiccup. “Anything.” Hiccup. “Have to change?” Hiccup. Sob. Hiccup.
He calmly stroked my back as I dissolved into a puddle of despair.
I pulled away from his neck and spoke with a pathetic half-whisper, half-whine. “We can stay friends. I promise, nothing has to change.” Hiccup. “I’ll be there for you. We can be best friends.” Hiccup. I’ll always be here for you...
“You already are my best friend,” he stated.
That wasn't the answer I was looking for. Mark was no longer smiling or full of energy. He looked sullen, like maybe he was about to give up on me. Apparently, I had pulled back far enough to make him regret that he came after me. Finally! This should have happened so much sooner!
“Then nothing has to change! We can be really good friends and you can—”
“I want to be able to do this.” He held my hand again. “Will we be the kind of friends that can hold hands?”
I nodded, then wrapped my arms around his back. Give him something small for a compromise. “We can have little touches.” I liked his little, attentive touches. And I definitely enjoyed cuddling.
“When I wake up, I want you to be there. Are we those kind of friends?” He stroked my cheek and I closed my eyes. I hiccuped again.
“Yes. We can be roommates.” It was another small concession. He had been pressuring me to move in with him for a while, and plus, he had a great apartment in a nice part of the city.
“What about kissing?”
I opened my eyes. He was hovering in front of me again. Waiting, wanting. “Yes,” I whispered. He leaned in so I turned my head. “But only on the cheek. Only a friendly hello.”
His mouth was at my ear—it was warm and made me shiver. “Only a hello or goodbye?”
“Yes.”
“Hello,” he said, then kissed me sweetly on my cheek. It lingered.
I practically collapsed.
I moaned and dug my hands into his thick back. Then I firmly planted three kisses on his neck in rapid succession. He moved, if it were possible, even closer into my space. His leg went between mine. Our bodies were touching as much as possible. He lifted me onto the counter so that I was looking down on him.
I watched him, both of us breathing heavily.
He locked eyes with me.
I was incapable of saying anything. All I could do was react to his moves. I was completely on the defense, waiting in suspense. Had I already submitted? Did it matter that he would break me, ruin me?
Mark went for the killshot. “I’ve been after you for months. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I can’t give you up. I won’t give you up. But I can’t do this forever. My heart can only be rejected so many times... you can push me away now, but it might be the last chance we get. You know what I’m here to do. Do you want me to keep trying?”
I swallowed and pulled on his neck so my mouth was by his ear. “Don’t let me go,” I whispered, pathetically.
We hugged. My legs hooked around his back, locking him in place against the counter. Mine. He didn’t resist. Mine, mine, mine.
“I'm not going anywhere,” he finally said. “You are my best friend. I think about you all the time. When we're together, I worry about when you're going to leave. I want you in my life. I want to be settled with you.”
“Mark...”
He placed his palm on my face and slowly wiped away my tears. I closed my eyes at his touch. When he pulled away, I collapsed onto his neck again.
“I love you,” I whispered, with tears rolling down my face.
“I know.” He rubbed my back firmly. “I love you, too.” We stayed like that until his little touches and sweet words got my emotions under control. Then he moved on to the last item on his agenda: making me his.
“You know what’s coming next. Are you ready? Are you going to let me?” he asked.
I nodded against his skin.
We gently parted—or rather, he gave me space while I sat on the counter. I wanted to wrap my legs around him forever and keep him close to my body, but I shouldn’t have worried because he didn't leave. Mark watched me closely and waited for me to meet his eyes. When I did, what he said took my breath away:
“Xester Sullivan. Christopher Cheese Sullivan. I love you. And you are my boyfriend.” He said his piece calmly and confidently. I was awed by his assured demeanor, even as I hated the juvenile word ‘boyfriend’. “That's my Executive Decision... you... are my boyfriend.” The last half of his speech was spoken softly and with vulnerability.
I stared at him and he didn’t look away. I wasn't crying anymore. I breathed deeply and tried to calm my pounding heart as Mark waited for me to process the moment. He looked like he wanted to run away, like I was about to break him instead of the other way around. This was the last straw. If I rejected him now, it would be over. For real.
I could feel it.
Could see it in his eyes.
From my perch on the counter, I reached out and touched his shoulders, so massive and strong. He relaxed. If I turned him away, we would be finished. I could end it. I could reject him for good.
I could be free.
“So...” my voice cracked. “So, I'm your boyfriend.” I moved my hands around his shoulders and outlined his chest. He nodded, but I wasn't looking at his face anymore. I felt his answer more than anything.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely.
“I'm your boyfriend,” I repeated to myself, letting the identity fit around my psyche like a new shirt. It was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. Was that the sweet allure of conformity?
I touched his neck, then his jawline. He let my knuckles graze his nose and then lazily trace his eyebrows. Then we were staring into each other's eyes again.
“Then what are you?” I whispered.
“I'm yours.” He didn't hesitate. “Completely. For as long as you want me. As much of me as you want. I'm yours.”
By this time, his hands were active again and exploring my body. I was still sitting on the counter so I wrapped my legs around his back again and drew him into my space. I wanted to merge with him, to become him, to become one person.
“So you're mine,” I said, smiling dumbly.
“And you're mine.” Mark leaned in closer, tentatively, and paused with his lips practically brushing mine. His face hovered in front of me. I stared at him, waiting for him to finish, to close the distance.
He gave me a brief, chaste kiss. I wouldn't even categorize it as a kiss, really. I'm only writing about it for the sake of accuracy. Yes, his lips did touch mine and I did kiss him back, but that wasn't our first kiss. (And for the astute reader who remembers that we kissed passionately on the night Mark was high, I don't count that night as our first kiss either because Mark wasn’t mentally present.)
He pulled back and we smiled shyly, then laughed.
He held me again and whispered in my ear. “That was a good start. You've made me so happy. You've made me a very happy man.” He kissed me on my cheek. “I love you,” he stated.
“I know.”
“You fucker! You're supposed to say it back.”
I buried my face in the crook of his neck again, kissing his skin. “You make me happy. I love you, Mark Wolff.”
“I love you, Cheese.”
“You gotta give up that nickname.”
“Never.”
Mark only stopped using that nickname after we adopted our son, when he started calling me 'Dad' and 'Daddy'. That's another uncomfortable story... who in their right mind wants to be called 'Daddy'?
Mark kissed me again, very lightly and on the mouth.
“I've been waiting a long time for that,” he said.
“To make me your boyfriend?”
“No. For our first kiss.”
“That was not our first kiss.”
For the first time in a long time, I was back to my bossy self. I guess, in hindsight, I was comparing our kiss to all the other first kisses that had ever happened in the history of mankind, and if our pathetic attempt from a few seconds ago was going to be our entry...
Hell. No.
So yes, you could say I'm a competitive person... and I wanted our first kiss to be the best first kiss in history, even more powerful than when the moon first kissed the Earth, shaping the chemical makeup of everything that came after...
I jumped off the counter and wrapped my arm around his shoulders so that my hand firmly grasped his neck. He was ready for my pounce.
I pulled his head down to mine and leaned up slightly to meet his lips.
Then I kissed him fiercely. I kissed him with the passion of a man who had tasted heaven a month ago and thought he might not get another kiss like that again. I smashed his lips with mine and stuck my tongue in his mouth. Our tongues dueled, but I was more determined. I wanted to put as much emotion and meaning into that kiss as possible. I wanted to show him that I had been waiting for someone to kiss like this for my entire life. I wanted to show him how passionate I was about him, and that even though I didn't want to do anything with his cock, I sure did love to kiss, and touch, and feel that my partner was really there. He really did exist. It wasn't a dream.
And Mark was happy—that was the essential thing.
Mark probably thought I was a psycho after that face mauling.
We came up for air. We went back at it. That might technically be considered two back-to-back kisses, but I categorized it as one continuous kiss. We broke apart again.
“Fuc—”
I kissed him again. He didn't get out a full word so I would say it was still all part of the same first kiss, just with some frenzied breaths in the middle.
We broke apart a third time. I realized his hands must have been moving up and down my body for the duration of the kiss, which surprised me because I had been so focused on his face.
“Fuck, dude!”
“Yeah.” I gave him about a dozen rapid fire kisses on his cheek and mouth.
