Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
MARCELLO
Getting a crush on a sexy silver fox had not been on Marcello’s to do list when he woke up that day, yet here he was as tongue-tied as he’d been the first time he asked a boy out. He had no idea what he wanted to say to Max, only that he hadn’t been about to let the man disappear into the anonymous masses of San Francisco without at least seeing him up close. That he’d told Cart he wanted to speak to Max in private had shocked the hell out of him. Pre-diagnosis Marcello would have done that without batting an eyelash. Hell, pre-diagnosis Marcello would have walked right up to the man and asked him out, never mind asking Cart to intercede.
Post-diagnosis Marcello was an entirely different person, though, and quietly sipped his coffee and toyed with his quiche hoping Max would lead the conversation. After a few minutes, Marcello realized that wasn’t going to happen, but strangely, the silence between them was comfortable. He chanced a glance at Max, and found the man watching him with a curious expression. When Max smiled at him, Marcello felt his insides flutter and heat rising into his cheeks. How often had he blushed in the past hour? He had no clue, but it seemed to be a regular occurrence when he was near Max.
“What did you want to talk about?” Max asked.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Marcello blurted, then felt his face flame with embarrassment. “I…sorry…I have no?—”
“It’s fine. And to answer your question, no, I’m not. I haven’t been in a relationship for several years.”
“Why not?” Marcello asked. “I mean, you’re really sexy, I can’t imagine guys aren’t interested.” Marcello stopped himself before he said anything more embarrassing. This was pre-diagnosis Marcello choosing to reappear at the most inopportune time.
Max laughed. “Thank you for the ego boost.”
“I mean it,” Marcello said, then buried his face in his hands. “Why can’t I stop myself from saying things like that?” Still laughing, Max took Marcello’s hands in his and pulled them away from his face so Marcello had to look at him. “This is so awkward.”
“Why?” Max asked.
“Can we…can we just start over and pretend I didn’t say any of that?”
“We could, but if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to hold on to the fact that a very attractive young man thinks I’m sexy.”
“You think I’m attractive?”
The smile Marcello was quickly becoming addicted to got even broader.
“I do,” Max said.
There was a pause as they both stared at each other, and Marcello wasn’t aware of anyone else existing at that moment except for the two of them. It felt as if so much was being communicated in their gaze, as if Max was whispering in Marcello’s ear but it wasn’t in words he could hear, it was more in an understanding, a feeling, a shared reality that went deeper than two people in the same place at the same time.
When Max let go of Marcello’s hands, he instantly regrated the loss of their warmth, but the connection he’d felt continued even without the contact.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Max asked.
It was Marcello’s turn to laugh. “Well…” He cocked an eyebrow at Max, which made Max laugh again. It was the best sound in the world.
“I am definitely not going to pretend this conversation never happened,” Max said.
They continued talking for hours, and Marcello found himself opening up about how he hadn’t been able to get into his drag persona since his diagnosis.
“Marisol is about fun and play, and I haven’t been able to get there,” Marcello said. “I miss her.” He raised the mug to his mouth to cover the vulnerability he felt at the admission, but he’d already finished the coffee, so he stood and asked if Max wanted another cup because he couldn’t think of anything else to do and he wanted this conversation to continue. Max was fascinating, funny, not to mention sexy as sin, and Marcello hadn’t been this attracted to anyone in his life.
Max looked at his watch, and Marcello’s heart sank anticipating that Max was going to say he needed to get going. But then Max handed him his empty mug and said he’d love another decaf Americano.
Heart beating double time, Marcello headed back inside to order their coffee drinks. He also asked for a couple of pastries—a square of coffee cake and a fruit tart—and returned to the table. Max had his phone out and was tapping out a message to someone, so Marcello took his seat and slid the plates onto the table noting how Max’s eyes lit up when he saw them. As if the man weren’t gorgeous enough, Marcello just about melted from the way he looked when he smiled. Thank God for the table because he was half-hard for the first time in months.
He scooted his chair closer, which not only gave him more cover from Max seeing, but also meant his thigh brushed against Max’s. Marcello froze, holding his leg rigid a hair’s breadth from Max’s, but then he felt Max close that distance with a tentative touch. Marcello ducked his head, but he also followed when Max moved his leg away until they were touching once again.
Their coffee’s arrived, both with steamed milk hearts on top, and Marcello felt his cheeks heat again. “I didn’t ask them to do that,” he said.
Max only smiled as he lifted the mug to his mouth and blew on the hot liquid before taking a sip. A thin line of foam clung to his top lip, and Marcello fought hard to keep himself from reaching over and wiping it clean with his thumb or, worse, his own lips. Max seemed to know what he was thinking because his tongue flicked out and licked away the foam.
“Shit,” Marcello sighed, and Max laughed.
“I can’t tell you how long it’s been since someone looked at me the way you are,” Max said. “It’s doing wonders for my ego.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t understand why.”
Canting his head to one side, Max looked at Marcello. In point of fact, “looked” was too passive a term. Marcello was scrutinized, examined, and seen in a way that had him squirming in his seat and biting his lip. Max’s thigh was back, pressing against Marcello’s, and the feeling was electric, zipping through his body like a bolt of lightning.
At that inopportune moment, Max’s phone chimed with a text, breaking the mood. Max glanced down at the screen and smiled at what he saw. Marcello expected that Max was going to make some excuse to leave and braced himself for the brush-off he knew was coming. Instead, Max put his phone back on the table and turned to face him.
“What else do you want to talk about?” Max asked.
Marcello shrugged. He didn’t really have any idea, and he had never mastered the art of small talk. Getting to know someone to whom he was attracted was difficult for him. Even before his diagnosis, he had a hard time figuring out what to say without blurting out something embarrassing. The other teens used to tease him for having no game whatsoever, and he’d hardly ever been in a position to dispute the truth of that statement. He wanted things to be different with Max.
“I wish I was better at this,” Marcello said.
Again, Max tilted his head to the side. “Better at what?” he asked.
With someone else, Marcello might think he was being made fun of, but Max had a way of looking at him with kind eyes and a gentle smile that said nothing was further from the truth. Max was interested, so Marcello decided to take a risk.
“Talking to someone I like,” he said.
“Someone you like.” Max’s tone was neutral, steady, as he repeated Marcello’s words, but his eyes sparkled and that gentle smile turned sly.
To buy time, Marcello sipped his coffee, carefully putting the cup back on its saucer before he turned to face Max more fully. “Someone I’d like to know better,” he said.
And there was that beautiful smile that made Marcello’s insides turn all bubbly.
“Well,” Max said. “I’m a bit rusty at this myself, but I think the best thing to do is to continue talking and see what happens.”
Marcello took a deep breath, and then licked his lips, thrilled when Max’s gaze dropped to his mouth, so he did it again.
“Stop it,” Max said, but he was laughing. And more than that, he reached out and put his hand over Marcello’s.
“Oh,” was the only sound that came from Marcello’s mouth.
“Is this okay?” Max asked.
“Yeah.” Marcello turned his hand so they were palm-to-palm, and Max interlaced their fingers. “Very okay.” And if his voice had turned somewhat breathless, Marcello found he was okay with that. “So, what should we talk about?”
Max considered the question. “How about if we start with the mundane stuff like where we grew up, and see where things go.”
Which is what they did, and the longer they’d talked, the more it began to feel like a date. Marcello was too worried about jinxing how well it was going to say anything or ask what Max thought, but he secretly hoped that he’d get to see Max again.
That night, Marcello lay in his bed replaying his conversation with Max and texting with Ess who was teasing him mercilessly about the sexy, silver fox.
Are you going to ask him out? Ess asked.
I don’t know.
Liar.
Probably.
Ess sent back a laughing emoji.
Marcello stared at his screen. He and Max had exchanged contact info, and he’d been hoping to get at least a “I had a good time talking to you” if not a “I’d like to see you again” message, but it was already evening, and so far, Ess was the only one reaching out to him.
You should ask him out , Ess typed.
I want to, but…what if he thinks I’m too young for him?
Did he say anything to you that made you think that?
No.
In fact, it had been quite the opposite. Once they’d gotten through the initial awkward small talk—awkward, Marcello hoped, because Max was as anxious to make a good impression as Marcello had been—they hadn’t stopped talking for more than two hours. Marcello had loved when Max asked about Marisol and said he’d like to see her in all her glory all while holding his hand, his thumb gently stroking Marcello’s wrist. That small bit of contact had sent shivers up and down Marcello’s spine and even made his dick perk up.
Then what’s the problem? Ess broke through Marcello’s reverie.
The problem had come as they were leaving and one of the servers made a comment about how nice it was to see fathers taking their sons out for coffee. They’d been walking toward the door, Max’s hand brushing against Marcello’s, and Marcello had been hoping they’d link up the way they had earlier. He wanted to walk out of the bakery hand-in-hand with Max, but that comment had been like an ice-cold bath that had made Max jerk his hand away and put distance between them. Then they’d been on the sidewalk, an awkward moment of shifting feet and averted gazes as they figured out how to say goodbye. No kiss, not even a peck on the cheek, or a question about seeing each other again. Just Max shrugging, thanking Marcello for a pleasant afternoon, and walking away into the twilight.
Do you think he’s too old for me? Marcello typed out.
What I think isn’t important.
Marcello silently cursed that Ess was studying to become a counselor.
But do you? I need friend Ess not therapist Ess.
A laughing emoji followed by the shrug one appeared on Marcello’s screen. Are you looking for reasons you shouldn’t ask him out?
Marcello considered that idea. Maybe.
It would make sense that you’d be nervous about seeing someone.
I guess so. Marcello waffled, unwilling to let himself hope for more.
But you shouldn’t. You’re amazing, and Max would be lucky to go out with you.
Staring at the screen, Marcello couldn’t get his fingers to move to dispute what Ess had said. He didn’t feel as if anyone would be lucky to go out with him let alone someone who had their life as together as Max.
You still there? Ess asked.
Yeaj , Marcello typed, then corrected it to, Yeah . Just thinking.
The three dots appeared, then disappeared and came back. Gotta go take care of something. brB
K
Marcello watched his screen for a bit, then scrolled through his social media accounts and ended up watching YouTube videos while waiting to see if Ess would come back. As a resident director on the shelter floors dealing with abused and abandoned teens, Ess sometimes had their hands full. Tempers flared easily, anger sometimes sparking into something more dangerous. Marcello didn’t take it personally when Ess didn’t come back to their conversation after more than half an hour though his mind was full of thoughts about Max and fantasies about what it would be like to be with the sexy silver fox.
For the first time since he’d gotten that life-changing test result, Marcello was aroused. Thoughts of Max were making his dick hard, and he found himself gently rocking and thrusting his hips up as he lay on his bed watching videos of drag queens.
At first, he tried to ignore the insistent throb as his cock thickened, but eventually, he gave in to the desire to touch himself. His hand slid under the waistband of his sweats and glided across his still flat belly. Marcello suppressed a pang of regret that his abs weren’t as defined as they’d been the year before. His motivation for working out had taken a hike at the same time as his libido, but at least one of them seemed to be rallying.
Taking hold of himself, Marcello gave his dick a long downward stroke, shivering at how good it felt. He moaned as he drew his hand back up, fingers tightening just under the glans before he slid his hand back down.
It felt amazing, but he needed lube. It had been too long since he’d jerked off, and what he had was dried out and gummy. Marcello headed to the kitchen, grateful his housemate wasn’t home to see him grab the bottle of olive oil and head back to his bedroom.
Once again behind a closed door, Marcello lay back on his bed and poured a small amount of oil into his hand. He pictured Max—the sexy smile, the beautiful blue eyes that twinkled when he laughed, the way their hands had looked entwined—and then thought about what the man would look like without clothes. Marcello had no problem imagining that he’d be built with a trim waist, flat stomach, but it was thinking about what Max’s cock would look like that got Marcello’s hand moving faster on his own.
The slick slide along his shaft sped up, and Marcello moaned at the way his balls drew up, tension building in them and climbing into his belly. He rolled onto his side, thrusting his cock into his tight fist, and thought about Max lying naked beside him, imagined it was Max’s hand on his dick, his hand on Max’s, mouths devouring each other. He gasped at the thought of Max coming, his imagination showing him Max falling apart, lips parted in a scream as searing hot cum bathed his hand.
Marcello rolled onto his back, breathing hard as he stared at his ceiling, then grinned to himself at how quickly he’d come. Too long, man, way too long , he thought, and then, I wish that had been real. I wish Max was here right now.
Almost in answer to his thought, Marcello’s phone buzzed. He turned his head to the side in time to catch the text preview and Max’s name before the screen went dark again.
Grabbing for the phone, Marcello didn’t care that his hands were still sticky with cum and slick from oil. Max had texted him. That had to be good news, right? And there was only one way to find out.
The text made Marcello’s heart stop, and then start to pound in his chest.
Can’t stop thinking about you. When can I take you on a real date?