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"All mine," Marcus agreed, the voice of his soul.
Chapter Ten
"Tomorrow's your day," Marcus had said on the way home. "Wherever, however you want to paint. Wherever you lead, I'll follow. "
"Maybe hell will freeze over too," Thomas had responded with a snort.
They'd had pie and coffee at a late-night restaurant after they left the club, talked about other things. Art, New York. . . Hell, what they'd each been catching on television lately, but they'd stayed away from everything that happened at Detonation, both understanding that needed time to settle. When they got back to the cottage and Marcus finally went on to bed, with a mere reserved brush of lips and a steady, long look, Thomas had stayed in the living room, ostensibly to sketch.
In reality he was too wired.
He'd sat up a long time, thinking about everything that had happened. As he put together bits and pieces he'd barely been able to register while at the club, he'd come upon an unexpected revelation that turned him on his axis. Ironically, the twinge of hurt he'd felt at Marcus' reserve when they got home had been the key that opened the door. And what he'd seen in that new room had transformed the hurt into an altogether different reaction.
There at the end, Marcus hadn't been sure of himself. Of what was happening, where they were going. If he'd crossed the line, and he had, several times. It had taken Thomas back to the words of the first night, the ones he hadn't believed.
I love you. At one time he'd have given anything to hear those words from Marcus' mouth, when he'd been naive enough to believe them. When Marcus had said it that first day, he hadn't wanted to hear it, had really brushed it off with no consideration at all, because the idea was ludicrous. However, sitting on the couch into the early hours of morning, he had to accept that it was entirely possible the words might be true.
The conflict and apprehension that came with that idea made him reckless, restive.
He stayed awake, watching the sky start to light, and felt the desire build in him to sketch, create. Images crowded into his brain like rabid fans at a rock concert, vying for the lead singer's attention in a variety of provocative ways. He wanted to shout and rage and spin in circles, the way his mind was doing. He wanted to go. Needed to go and wanted to pull Marcus into flight right along with him. Have him beside him to tease and talk to, to share it all.
That was when he got up and made the coffee.
* * * * *
Someone was trying to wake him up, and it was barely light outside, a time no normal person would think of getting out of bed. Marcus cracked open an eye and saw the clock confirm the horrifying truth. "It's not even daytime yet. "
"It's seven a. m. " Thomas waved the coffee under his nose again, retracted it when Marcus narrowed his eyes to slits. "What, all that beauty will fall apart if you get less than twelve hours?"
"It might. My hair won't style right and my butt will drag the ground all day long. "
"Your ass couldn't sag if you tied weights to it. " Marcus closed his eyes again.
A gentle stroking started in his hair, a thumb passing along his temple. It was a soothing caress that perversely made him want to keep drifting, even as it brought him to a waking state. It was almost like the faraway memory of a mother's touch, where all was well and forgiven, even before the sin was committed. Safety and peace.
Since Thomas never came to bed, Marcus suspected he'd fallen asleep on the couch.
It wasn't what Marcus wanted, but he hadn't wanted to push. He knew he'd done way too much of that for one night. He still wasn't sure what had gotten into him.
Marcus opened his eyes once more to find ten minutes had passed during his half-doze, half-thought. Squatting by the edge of the bed, Thomas still held the coffee cup in one hand, keeping the aroma temptingly close while stroking Marcus' hair. When he saw Marcus' eyes open, Thomas gave it a tug. A smile grew on his face like lazy morning sunshine. "I almost wanted you to keep sleeping so I could keep looking at you. "
"So what's the plan today?" Marcus asked, forcing himself to shift and sit up, take the coffee. Closing his eyes, he let the steam curl up toward his face to wake him in that gentle narcotic fashion that only coffee beans could accomplish.
"I'd like to drive around the hills some. Just wander, see what looks inspiring, set up somewhere. I've made up a lunch, some snacks, a cooler of beer and wine. Packed some of your books. Hid your briefcase and cell phone where it will take you much too long to find them. "
"You know I run a very lucrative side career as a phone operator for Talk Dirty To Me. Someone might have an emergency. "
"I can tip that cup and take your voice up a couple octaves. Permanently. Your career as a sex operator would be over. "
Marcus smiled. "You sound in a different mood today. "
"I am. " When he opened his eyes, Thomas was regarding him with an odd expression. For some reason, Marcus didn't want to pursue what was going on behind the dark eyes studying him.
"I'll get dressed," he said.
* * * * *
They put the top down on the Maserati. It handled well on the small winding roads that took them deeper into the Berkshires, where leaves danced as they passed and wildflowers on the road side nodded. Marcus found there was a soothing greenness to it all, like the clasp of something familiar, important in its vitality in a way that couldn't be described, that he found vaguely disturbing.
