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Not to be confused with an alpha male, though he was that. Thomas had been naive, unaware of all those terms until he got direct experience in what they meant and what things it unlocked in himself.
Marcus' hand clamped down on his wrist, holding it to his chest. Catching Thomas by the back of the neck, he stepped forward aggressively. Riding on anger, Thomas was unbalanced and so Marcus was able to thrust him against the section of the barn wall that formed a corner with the fence.
Marcus immobilized his legs by thrusting one of his own between them, holding the hard pressure of his thigh against the base of Thomas' testicles, his forward weight making it uncomfortable. The slam against the barn wall also knocked the wind out of him, pissing him off further. He could beat Marcus in a fair fight, but nothing about this was fair, not with his head so fucked up, caught off guard by Marcus' presence in his world, a world Marcus had never been a part of. Could never be a part of.
"Settle down," Marcus said shortly. A short brusque command he emphasized with the pressure of his leg, the squeeze of his hand on his nape. "Settle," he repeated, and Thomas realized his clenched hands were gripping Marcus' shirt just above his waist under the coat. Ostensibly it was to thrust him away, straight-arm him, but Thomas found his hands were squeezed into tight fists, holding onto him as desperately as he was trying to push him away.
When Marcus shifted against that needy ache in his groin, Thomas did something he'd not done since he was thirteen years old. Without warning or plan, not even a frantic moment to try to stop it, he came, his cock spurting hard inside his jeans. His hips jerked, grinding him against the muscular steel of Marcus' thigh beneath the pressed slacks even as he wished for the grip of his hand, those clever fingers.
As if he knew Thomas' mind as well as his cock, Marcus slid his hand in between them, cupped him, took him through it, a desperate, over-too-quickly orgasm cut short by Thomas' own shame and fear of being seen. But they were screened by the barn wall, so for one minute his mind shoved that away and allowed him to savor the feel of Marcus' possessive touch on his cock, his intimate knowledge of it that helped him find the head unerringly and rub the ridge.
Marcus stroked his knuckles up Thomas' turgid length, then down to the balls to hold them in a firm grip, squeezing.
"Oh God. " Thomas shut his eyes. One of his hands had now moved to Marcus' shoulder, clutching it, seeking to steady himself because the ground was no longer stable.
"All right, then?" Marcus' voice. The anger remained, but there was something ragged and tender beneath it. He had his hand on Thomas' nape still, only now he was stroking him. "You didn't ask permission to come, but I think under the circumstances I'm flattered enough to overlook it. "
"You can't be here. You can't do this to me. "
"It appears I did, regardless. " Still, Marcus drew back, considered him as Thomas looked away over the field, trying to catch his breath, find a balance. Marcus didn't let him go, though. Nor did Thomas release his grip.
"I did buy one of your pieces. Just one. The one with the cow. "
"Nobody else wanted it. Like you said, right?" Because Marcus was always right. It didn't change anything, though. Being right didn't make things right. He wondered if Marcus had ever understood that in his whole life.
"No. I auctioned it as I promised. For ten thousand dollars. " It took Thomas' brain a moment to register it. When he did, his face went rigid with shock.
"I had to bid against seven other serious bidders. It created quite a bit of excitement, as well as the accusation that I was driving up the price for my gallery. Didn't matter.
They fought me all the way for it. "
"For ten thousand dollars. " Thomas couldn't even get his mind around it. He was weak enough to wonder what it would have been like to be there, see people wanting his work enough to compete against each other for it.
"But. . . why that one?"
"You know why. "
He did know.
* * * * *
They'd been in Marcus' bedroom, which Thomas had started to think of as "theirs", since he'd practically moved in by then. He'd been naked on his stomach in their bed and Marcus had been straddling his ass, working his hands down his shoulders, helping him work out one of the muscle kinks that came with a too-intense studio session.
"So. . . this cow picture? I might have an idea for you. "
"You're just trying to sabotage the bet. Get me to paint something that wouldn't be picked up at a yard sale. Cows playing Mahjong. "
"That would be picked up at a yard sale. " Marcus chuckled, his hands kneading, fing
ers tracing curves of muscles in ways that had Thomas aware of his every shift against his buttocks, the press of Marcus' thighs on either side of his hips, holding him down.
"I see you standing against a fence, farm boy. Leaning there like you've just finished a day of plowing. You're sweaty, streaked with dirt and you've taken off your shirt. "
"Of course. " Thomas grinned, but he let out a moan of sheer ecstasy as Marcus hit the kink in his shoulder. "Right there. "
Marcus obliged. "You're wearing those working jeans that have no style, but they're riding low on your hips. Because you're leaning against the fence, they're straining over that fine ass you've got. " His fingers trailed there, but he'd told Thomas not to move, so he didn't, though his balls drew up tight and hard from his Master's provocative touch. "Maybe a cowboy hat dangling from your hand. "
"Bill cap," Thomas said automatically.
