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Two hours later, after Royce became a member of the mile-high club, he chuckled as Marc slumped on top of him.
“You’re right,” Marc mumbled into his chest. “This is a good spot to sleep. I fit so well.”
“You do,” he said softly as he tightened his arms around Marc’s back. “Of course I’m all limp and unable to move after you sucked my brains out through my dick.”
Marc chuckled and slid one leg between Royce’s. He cupped one firm, perfect ass cheek in his hand. Fuck, the man felt fantastic against him.
Marc’s friend, the one who owned the plane, had surprised them with a nice, catered meal, and they’d only made it through half before Marc had lured him to the tiny bed. It didn’t take much. Not from him.
Smooth skin covered in a light sheen of sweat felt satiny under his palms as he ran them over Marc’s back.
“You ever been in love, Royce?” With Marc’s face buried in his neck, he missed Royce’s immediate frown, but not the tightening of his muscles. He lifted up to stare down at Royce. Long moments passed before his brows dipped together. “You have and from your response, it didn’t end well. I’m sorry.”
Royce didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. His heart missed a beat, then thumped hard against his ribs.
Marc bit his lip, and Royce could tell he was dying to ask more questions.
“It’s hard to talk about,” he said, voice gruff.
“Then don’t.” He laid his head back down, his breath brushing over Royce’s skin.
For a few moments, there was only the sound of their breaths over the quiet drone of the plane. He cupped the back of Marc’s head with his palm. “His name was Michael. He died.”
“Oh,” he said softly. “Sorry doesn’t really cut it for something like that. How long ago?”
“Five years.”
“How long were you together?”
“We only lived together a year, but we dated over a year before that. I’d used my savings to buy us this townhouse in Virginia. In Old Town, Alexandria.”
“I love it there. And wow, that’s an expensive area.”
Royce nodded. “He loved it there, too, so it was worth it. We met in a coffee shop in Old Town. The ultimate clichéd meeting.”
“Tell me about him.” He paused and toyed with the hair on Royce’s chest. “If you want.”
“He was…soft. Sweet. One of those guys who isn’t really built for the harsh realities of this world, you know? He wrote romance novels. Loved romance movies. Anything with a love story and Michael was in it. He was nothing like the men I was used to. None that I’d been with anyway. Ever. I spent most of my time in the underbelly of society then, so Michael was like, I don’t know how to explain it. Fresh.” He paused as the memories piled into his head in a painful rush. “I liked that he needed me.”
“In what way?”
“Every way. He would go off in his head and let so many things go.”
Marc chuckled.
Royce stroked his hand over his hair. “A lot of artists are like that, huh?”
“All the ones I know.” Marc kissed his chest. “Even I can get lost if I’m caught up in something. Is he the man in the picture in your bedroom? The one in the colorful scarf?”
Royce nodded. “He always wore those things. I thought it was a fashion thing—one I didn’t get.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No. He had some rough things in his past. Went looking for love in some bad places.” He cleared his throat. “They left scars.”
Marc tensed up. Then it seemed he forced himself to relax back against Royce. He was silent for long moments before he whispered, “That’s sad. It’s all so sad. I’m sorry you lost him.”
Royce just tightened his arms again. Something, some hint of a tone, told him Marc had secrets of his own.
They didn’t talk after that, the drone of the plane the only noise.
Surprise filled him as he thought about how easily he’d just talked about the man who’d once been everything to him. He’d never been able to before and here he was, while holding another man against his body. Luxuriating in having that man against his body.
Maybe he was finally, really, moving past it all.
Or maybe it was just this one man. He buried his nose in Marc’s soft hair and breathed him in. Marc grew heavier, and he thought maybe Marc was falling asleep. The drone of the plane did have a certain lull. Royce held up Marc’s arm so the small light they’d left on over the bed shone on the nearly healed wounds, and he felt a return of his earlier anger. Someone had put these scars onto Marc’s beautiful body. He laid his arm back down, only to see that Marc was awake and staring at him. He looked back, and a flood of warmth spilled into his chest. It expanded and seeped into his limbs and his brain. He’d started to care. A lot. His heart pounded.
