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The sky was so blue it almost hurt the eyes, so Thomas closed his, laying his head back on Marcus' shoulder again, turning his face so he could smell the saltwater on his chin, graze his lips on the beating pulse. Christ, you're so beautiful. What are you doing with me?
It wasn't until Marcus stilled Thomas realized he'd spoken his thoughts aloud.
"You know," Marcus said casually after a moment. "You used to do that. Wander around your studio, talking half to yourself, half to me or to some imaginary something. You'd look amazed when I spoke to you,
because you thought half of the words you'd said had been in your head. " He tightened his arm around Thomas.
"Artists are a lot like pilots, sailors, those who depend on powers they don't entirely understand for their intuition, their gifts. Their ability to get from Point A to Point B. You're a superstitious bunch. You think if your gift came to fruition when you were at a certain place in your psyche, you can't ever change, or you'll lose it. "
Thomas loved it and hated it when Marcus talked like this. His oracle voice, Thomas had always called it teasingly. Hearing the message might be difficult, but the delivery was like feeling the hand of God strike the earth. It soothed, the solid tone of the words, the way Marcus' arms were wrapped around him now.
"Thomas. " Marcus whispered, his breath teasing him. "I promise if you grow up, become a man sure of his own worth, it won't destroy your gift. If anything, it will expand to levels you never thought possible. "
Thomas hooked his hands on Marcus' arm. His grip curled in, his thumb sliding back and forth. A caress, but he knew Marcus also would recognize it for what it was, a nervous gesture.
"Do you trust me, Thomas?"
"I - "
"No, don't answer that. I know you don't. We're going to work on that. In the meantime, let this rattle around your mind. " Marcus ran his palm down Thomas' thigh, caressing his sac, his thumb passing over his cock before he changed direction to explore Thomas' stomach, following the dent of his navel, brushing his knuckles over the stomach muscles.
"What I have is surface. Grooming, good genetics, whatever. Whether you've rolled out of bed an hour ago without having had a shower for three days, or you're wearing a designer suit, there is a deep, perfect beauty to you that takes my breath away. You miss it because you're looking at some twisted image you've created in your head, full of faults and shortcomings. "
"Marcus - "
"Ssshh. . . See yourself the way I see you. Feel the way my hands touch you, think about the way I look at you. I see all of you, Thomas. You think I don't, but I do. Hide it, don't hide it, I know all of it, feel all of it. You're mine. Just let go. Let go and see it. I always have. "
There was a quiet between them then. A floating of the minds, like their bodies in the water. Thomas tried not to be overwhelmed by the emotions the words evoked, but Marcus wasn't done torturing him yet.
"I'm going to ask you the question I asked you earlier. How is Rory?" Thomas tensed. He felt Marcus' hold compensating, knew he wouldn't get away without a fight. Damn if the unshakable restraint on his arms and chest just aroused him more, even as his heart twisted at the question. The rock of the water and Marcus' mesmerizing words wrenched the honest words out of him.
"Broken inside, worse than the outside. And I'm to blame for it. "
"Maybe you are. " Marcus said after a silence. "If you'd been there, it might not have happened. If your mother had called him in to lunch an hour earlier, it might not have happened. If it had rained that day, it wouldn't have happened.
"So everyone's to blame, even God, for Rory turning over a tractor he didn't have a lot of experience handling. So how's all that guilt going to help him get on with his life, make something of it? Far as I can tell he's got his upper body. Does his cock still work?"
"Jesus, Marcus. " Thomas jabbed him with his elbow. "Yeah. Why?"
"I was figuring on hitting on him if his brother turned into too much of a pain in the ass. "
Thomas pushed off the bottom and shoved backward, twisting free and going after Marcus, doing his best to shove him under. Marcus, laughing, backpedaled, then they were both doused by the surf line. Thomas managed to duck back under and got lucky.
He caught the edge of Marcus' suit, the elastic at his leg, bringing his other hand into play to close it on his cock, which was still attractively turgid.
As they surfaced, he had a firm grip on Marcus. His nemesis moved into him, bringing them chest to chest. Thomas squeezed, stroked, enjoying the feel of the water mixed with the heat. Marcus kept his hands floating out to his sides, his green eyes fixed on Thomas' face.
Without encouragement, Thomas touched his face, threaded his fingers in the slick wet hair, his thumb following the bridge of Marcus' perfect nose as he rested a forearm on Marcus' shoulder. They were back in deep again, the water at mid-chest where a strong current could take them out. They were both good swimmers, so Thomas wasn't worried about that. He was more concerned about the depth of the feeling in himself, wondering if Marcus was barely treading water there as well.
"I don't want to let go. "
"I didn't tell you to. "
Thomas slid his grip up the velvet shaft and back down, his thumb playing with the throbbing vein on the underside. Marcus' eyes lost focus, lips parting, his chest expanding. He shifted, planting his feet, and Thomas moved with him.
"Come rub yourself against me, pet. I want to feel your cock. " Not daring to look toward the beach, Thomas took the extra step. Marcus' arm went around his neck and back. Thomas kept his hand pumping on Marcus' organ, but he put his leg up next to Marcus', foot aligned on the inside of his, hip bones brushing as he rubbed his cock alongside the grip of his hand, so the aching curve of his balls could brush Marcus'.
As he did, Marcus guided Thomas' face to him, took his lips in a mind-numbing, wet saline kiss. He growled into Thomas' mouth as Thomas squeezed harder in reaction, his own cock hardening, pushing more insistently against Marcus, rubbing, seeking friction. Marcus' thumb flicked his nipple. Thomas gasped into his mouth and Marcus' strong hands were on the small of his back, sliding into his waistband, taking a firm hold of his ass as Thomas tried to keep his rhythm consistent.
