17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Marco
M y head was a God damn clusterfuck. Between the jumbled thoughts and feelings about my father and his uncharacteristic behavior, my longing for my mom, the fucked up jobs I was expected to handle, and the downright terrifying urges I felt toward Bran, I was three seconds away from a wholesale mental breakdown. The whole situation was made worse by the fact that I was still battling a depressive episode the likes of which I hadn't experienced in a long while. My days bled together, the passage of time marked by Bran and Jericho coming and going as they continued to carry out their duties to my father while I wasted away in their shithole apartment with a demon cat for company.
Neither of them asked me why I was there or if I had any intention of leaving anytime soon. I'd heard Bran talking about it to Jericho late one night when they assumed I was sleeping. Little did either of them know, I only managed to sleep when Bran was close by. I tried not to examine that fact too closely. I had enough bullshit to obsess over without adding those complicated details to the mix. I wasn't gay, but I'd at least gotten to a point where I stopped questioning the particulars and let myself experience the feelings without judgment. Fuck labels. I was okay with being a jumble of desire and want for a man who seemed to tick boxes I didn't know I had. I’d save the identity crisis for a day when I wasn't suffocating under the weight of depression whilst simultaneously dealing with my fucked up family and work situation.
Bran’s cat compelled me out of bed with a bestial yowling sometime in the afternoon. I was the only one in the apartment and the animal wouldn't fucking quit. Trudging into the living room with a muttered curse revealed the source of the beast's operatics—he was clinging to the window sill screeching bloody murder at a fucking pigeon on the other side of the glass. With a roll of my eyes, I stalked over to him and plucked him up by the scruff like I had seen Brandon do a hundred times. He yowled the entire time, writhing and spitting until I flopped him on his back in my arm.
“You're one fucked up cat, y'know that?” I gave his chest a scritch and huffed out a laugh as he wiggled and bit at my knuckles—not hard enough to break skin but forceful enough to sting a little. Weird love language but there was nothing normal about any of us. It didn't surprise me that the cat was just as fucked in the head. I sank into the beat-up couch with a grunt and settled the massive feline on my lap. He sprawled and stretched out on his back before hitching his hind legs up to play-gouge at my wrist.
“Jesus, you're a sadist.” Despite my bitching, I continued to scratch his chest and stomach, fighting back a smile as he alternated between purring and meowing with the occasional growl.
We lost a long time with these bizarre affectionate antics before the animal got bored and jumped from my lap. I rubbed my chest with my fingers to ease the ache. Leave it to me to get my feelings hurt by a damn cat. Maybe I was a lot lonelier than I'd thought. The thought was confirmed when the cat yowled from within Bran’s bedroom and I sprang to my feet to see what he wanted. Pathetic. I'd become absolutely fucking pathetic.
I discovered Lucy perched on top of a dresser with his front paws on the wall, reaching for a weird feather thing hanging higher up. As I approached, the object made more sense. It was one of those dumb sticks with a string and feathers on the end. A cat toy. I had shit I could be doing. I had responsibilities. Was I really about to reduce myself to playing with a freaking animal? Yes. Yes, I absolutely was.
I pulled the stupid thing from its hook on the wall and backed up till my knees hit the mattress, sitting with another grunt as my achy joints and the stiffness of inactivity coursed through my limbs. The cat was hot on my heels, launching off the dresser with a cute little chirpy purring sound. I flicked the stick left and right and up and down, marveling at the insane athletics of the massive fur ball. He was a huge cat, but damn if he couldn't leap higher than any cat I'd ever seen.
I flicked, he pounced. I jerked, he rolled. I swirled, and he spiraled. Around and around and around until I was unable to stop laughing and he was unable to stand up straight. I took pity on the poor creature and let him grab the feather, still laughing as he wobbled away in a crooked line with the wand dragging between his legs. As I tracked his retreat, I jumped and drew in a startled gasp upon finding myself with an audience.
Bran had his shoulder against the doorframe and his hands in the front pockets of his too-tight jeans, looking far more attractive than any man had the right to be. Embarrassed, I pushed to my feet and then hesitated, not having a way to escape his enigmatic smile and knowing gaze.
“Oh, no you don't.” He pushed off the door and took three swaying steps toward me. “Never have I ever wanted to suck a dick more than I want to suck yours right now.”
Too many conflicting thoughts raced through my head. Shame over being caught playing like a little kid. Nerves over being startled when I was usually so aware of everything around me. Arousal over his unexpected comment. Confused for the same reason.
“The fuck…?”
“Yeah, that was probably the sexiest thing I've seen. You, laughing and playing with my fur baby? Fuck me sideways, baby. You just keep getting hotter and hotter.” His hands landed on my chest as he smirked up at me. “How was your day?”
I blinked a few times as I parsed his words, my brain working in slow motion. “Uh… fine. Same shit.”
“Mhmm. We’re going out tonight.” Bran’s palms caressed over my chest, kneading my pecs before an unexpected shove had me tumbling back into the bed.
“Oof! What?” I propped myself up on my elbows but got no further than that. He moved too fast. Before I could sit upright, he placed his hand on my chest and moved to stand between my knees.
“We’re going out. Having fun. Doing something. I know you’ve heard of it before.” He sank to his knees, one by one, all the while grinning at me like a loon.
“I don't want to. I shouldn't drink—”
“No drinking. We’re done with that. Jer’s got a meet. He got the call earlier. We’re going. You need to get out of the house.” His nimble fingertips tickled over my torso before hooking onto the waistband of the ratty flannel pants he'd loaned me. “But first, I'm getting this dick in my mouth.”
A moan snuck up my throat and out of my mouth before I could stifle the sound. What the hell was happening? How could this man reduce me to a dysfunctional mess with just a few words and a sultry smile?
“Gimme something to work with here, Sad Panda. Yes to dick sucking?” He paused, the pants pulled dangerously low over my hips. So low, I could see my fucking pubes and the mound of my pelvis. Fuck, even the base of my embarrassingly hard dick.
I nodded—barely—and lifted my hips to accommodate his movements as he jerked the elastic lower. I should have been full of shame for how hard I was, but Bran had a way of making my brain short circuit. All I could do was huff softly as my cock sprang free with vigor.
“Good. This time, I'm in charge.” He leaned forward and flicked the bead of precum off the head of my dick with the tip of his tongue. “Not gonna stop till you're screaming my name, baby.”
I rolled my eyes and tried to feign irritation, even as my pulse jumped and my dick throbbed. Recollections of the last time he sucked my dick slammed into my head and dulled the arousal. I had to swallow three times before I could make words work.
“Look… uh… last time…” Another pause, another swallow. “If you don't want me to get rough—”
“Shut up, Marc.” He rose up on his knees and grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. They were mesmerizing. Sparkly and clear and dilated with lust above cheeks that were dusted rose petal pink. “I like it rough. I like it really rough. And if that's something you like too, then halle-fucking-lujah for me.”
My tongue snuck over my teeth and I pulled it back with a sucking sound, my jaw hanging lax as my breath quickened in my chest. I was already fucking panting and he had barely even touched my dick. “Y-yeah… I do, but—”
“What do you mean, but? There is no but. I like it. You like it. Let's fucking go.” He settled back on his haunches and slid his palms to my thighs.
“I don't want to hurt you!” The words blurted out of my mouth too fast and too loud.
“Baby… hey. Hey, look here.” He waited until I made reluctant eye contact before he continued. “Do you trust me to tell you when I've reached my limit? That's how this works. We talk. We communicate. We listen.”
If only it were that simple. But it was never that simple. Yeah, I liked to be rough. I hated that I liked it. I knew what it was like to be used, abused, tossed aside and degraded and I fucking hated it. The nightmares still haunted me. The things I did, the things that had been done to me… before I realized what I was doing, my body was moving backward over the bed and my dick was already deflating.
“Whoa, okay… hey, it's okay.” Bran lifted his hands in surrender, moving cautiously to climb to his feet and advance. “Easy, Marc. No dick sucking. We’re going to just talk. Hug a little. Can you breathe for me?”
I gasped at his command, the panting quickly taking over as the panic seeped into my bones with a shiver. Fuck me, I was so fucked up. So incredibly, horrifically fucked up.
“Coming in, baby. Are you ready?”
As soon as he was within range, my hands whipped toward him and grabbed him. My brain was in some primal state of shock and all I could think was that I needed him close. I needed him safe. I needed to keep him safe from me .
“What am I going to do with you, baby?” Bran came easily, effortlessly, shifting to straddle my lap as his arms coiled around my head and held it tight to his chest, his fingertips combing through my hair and easing my nerves just enough that I could breathe easier. “My Sad Panda.”
The only reply I could muster was a soft grunt as I cinched my arms tight around his waist. He smelled good. It was a weird observation that cut through the chaos of my mind. I never paid attention to how anyone smelled before, unless the odor was unpleasant. But for some reason, his scent was the most effective perfume, a sedative for my racing thoughts and pounding heart.
“What happened, baby?” His fingers continued to comb through my hair as we sat together in his shitty bed. I exhaled and nuzzled further into the warmth of his bare chest beneath the leather jacket. I liked this outfit. I liked the way his skin felt against my stubbled cheek.
“I… it's…” Nothing. It's nothing. I'm nothing. I had to give him a better answer. Not talking had gotten me fucked up seven ways to Sunday. Maybe it was time to take my expensive therapist's advice and start actually talking about the real shit.
I took a deep breath and tried again. “I don't like it rough. But I like to be rough. Hate myself for it.”
“One day, doesn't have to be today, but one day… you're gonna tell me who hurt you.” He shifted and pressed a kiss to the side of my head, right above my ear. “And then I'm going to rip that fucker’s heart out through his asshole and feed it to my cat.”
“One of the Corrections Officers. And a few inmates.” The fact that the words came out at all stunned me. I'd never said it out loud. Half the time, I refused to even let myself think of the experience as something real. Despite the ease with which I spoke about my living nightmare, the effects were still the same—my body ran cold and then hot, a mixture of rage and shame and pain sweeping through me like a tornado of destruction.
“Yup. Gonna kill’em.” He clung tighter, his embrace becoming an all-consuming thing. “You like to fuck rough, and that's okay. You can like a rough fuck and not want to be fucked rough.”
“I don't wanna be fucked at all!” Tension had my muscles seizing as I shouted the words against his heart beat… the steady thump-thump not changing pace at all despite my erratic behavior.
“Good thing I prefer to be fucked, Sad Panda.” He eased backward, straining against my iron-grip until I relented. He forced my chin up and winked once I begrudgingly made eye contact. “You can be my stone top and I'll be your slutty bottom. You can even say ‘no homo’ before you wreck my ass, if that's what you need.”
“Fuck you,” I mumbled through a stifled smile. It shouldn't be so easy for him to make me smile. Especially not when I was hanging on by a thread. Yet here he was, making jokes and putting me at ease enough to find a spark of happiness amongst the dancing shadows.
“Please? I keep on begging, baby.”
With a sigh, I tugged him back against my chest. “Yeah, yeah. The mood’s ruined, but I did get my results back.”
“Is that where you disappeared to the other day? You were gone and came back with a bag… I assumed you went to grab your shit since we're 'roommates’ now. No homo.”
That time, I laughed for real. Sure, my heart was still pounding and my nerves were completely fucked. My brain was off catastrophizing everything I'd disclosed, but fuck it all, he made me laugh. I pressed my forehead to his chest and exhaled a shaky breath.
“Not gay, not straight… Honestly, Bran, if you need a label, you're shit out of luck.” I nuzzled his chest and squeezed him tighter. “I'm just a fucked up piece of shit and I want your body. Does that work?”
“Baby, eyes up.” He waited again and I muttered under my breath as I reluctantly turned my face up to make eye contact. He smirked and leaned in to whisper the next words against my lips. “The only label I want you to wear is Henny’s Man. Got it?”
I searched his twinkling, smiling eyes as my nose crinkled. “Not Henny. That’s a dumb fuck name. I can compromise on Bran. Or Brandon.”
“So long as it boils down to ‘mine,’ you can call me whatever the fuck you want, baby.” His smile was oddly sweet and full of warmth. Like a blanket or a hug. I wanted to live forever in the serenity it gave me. Mine. His. Fuck, that sounded too good to be true.
“Mine.” I tested the word on my lips and my arms tightened compulsively around his waist. “Mine.”
“And you are all mine.” He nudged the side of my nose with his, his lips brushing over mine with barely a breath. “Now pretty please, fuck my face before we leave?”
And fuck his face I did. No shame, no second thoughts, and not a single fuck to give as he took it like a champ and left me feeling floaty and fulfilled and a little bit like I might have found my salvation once and for all. I'd been looking in all the wrong places—hope was evidently shaped like a six-foot tall tatted up bad boy with a penchant for hugging. And I wasn't even a little bit mad about it.