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His tone faltered, then Marcus flicked away the ashes angrily. "Wouldn't say no to him. Figured he was God in the house, so he had to be right, even if he was wrong. We were just a simple, fundamentalist family, Thomas. Not that well educated for all that.
A lot simpler than yours. Hardworking, though. Dad's idea of Friday night culture was picking up his beer and cigarettes at the local store and hanging out in the yard talking about how the fags, niggers and wetbacks had ruined America.
"We were the stereotype, what everyone thinks a dumb, white trash family is. I ran.
I doubt they even looked for me. I probably could have walked. Maybe even asked for a ride to the bus station. " His lips stretched in a humorless smile.
"I eventually got back in touch with my brother. He did okay. Clawed his way into college, runs a laundry business in the area. Watches over them. "
"You both do. " Thomas tapped Marcus' cell phone, sitting on the ledge with the planter.
"Yeah. Don't know why the fuck I do. Maybe some of that honor thy mother and father shit got so beat into me I can't shake it. I didn't care so much about him. Least I didn't want to. Don't want to. But it happens anyway, as if there's some stupid part of you that says you have to do it, even if your old man's a piece of shit. But Mom. . . " Marcus drew in a breath, his nostrils flaring as his chest expanded. He shifted his gaze to stare out at the night. Thomas suspected Marcus didn't realize that the city lights reflected a great deal of the emotions passing through the eyes. "She liked bluebells," Marcus said. "There was this china doll in the gift section of our local department store. She was holding a bunch of bluebells. She'd always stop and look at it.
"Sometimes, when I think of her like that, I think about when she was fourteen, or Dad was fourteen. Maybe they were something different then, wanted to be something different. . . I should hate her. " Marcus shook his head. "If you stop loving someone, it's easier to forgive them. So I guess I never stopped. " He visibly pushed it away, turning the story from that path. "I worked the streets here, hooked up with Toby and Emile. And Mike. Yeah, he was a pimp when you got down to it. He'd smack me around to convince himself he was boss, but we both knew I took care of him as much as he took care of me. It isn't as dramatic as you see on television. Angst is the indulgence of the middle class. " He shrugged. "When you're on the streets running, that's it. You're animals. You survive it, you move on to the next thing. If you dwell on it, you miss the next opportunity. Anyone who hurt me back then, this is my revenge. I'm here in a penthouse apartment with everything I could want. They're not. " Marcus put the cigarette out.
"Is that why you didn't come after me sooner?"
"What?" Marcus turned, a startled expression on his face.
Thomas lifted a shoulder. "When I walked out. You. . . you were my Master. Hell, you didn't ever let me get away with anything. I've never had the upper hand with you.
But that one time, you could have come after me, tried to haul my ass back, but you didn't. Was I like them? I hurt you, so that was the end of it? What made you come so much later, when you hadn't come before?"
Marcus stared at him a long moment. "Maybe it was pride, maybe something else," he admitted at last. "The sub has the upper hand in a true Master and sub relationship, Thomas. Always. I can possess you only as long as you want to belong to me. " Thomas swallowed, looked away. "I never stopped belonging to you. "
"Maybe it was just hard for me to see that. " Marcus cleared his throat. "What are you, some kind of romantic girl who walks out on her lover just to see if he'll give chase? Look. . . " He ran a hand over the back of his neck. "When you left, it was because you got a call your dad had a massive heart attack. Things spiraled from there. Then there was Rory. I wanted you back. Jesus, those first days without you in my bed, knowing you were somewhere grieving. . . hell yes, it hurt. " He surged up from the chair, paced. "I wanted to come after you, but I didn't because I knew you were dealing with your family, and I'd be a selfish bastard, entirely. "
"You thought you would be an intruder, in a place you didn't belong. " Thomas corrected him, made himself say the shameful words. "Because I made you feel that way. Marcus, I'm sorry. "
Marcus turned his head, looked at him. In the dim light, Thomas thought the two of them probably appeared terribly fragile, like figures from a dream where something could be lost if even a loud noise snapped them out of it.
"Okay," Marcus said. Nodded once. "Forgiven, pet. " He cleared his throat again, looked back over the city. "Thank you. "
"So how did you get all the way from working the streets to up here?" Thomas gestured, knowing they needed a different track, for now.
Marcus gave another one of those tight smiles. "Focus. It's working hard every day, giving up sleep, food, friends, everything else you might want for yourself, doing everything half-assed except that one goal. Those simple pleasures of relaxation we all take for granted, the half hour in front of the television, playing with the dog. . . hell, doing nothing. Every single moment has to be dedicated to that purpose, so everything else is scheduled around it.
"Surgeons know it, pilots, anyone who wants to be the frigging best at what they do. And then when they finally make it, knowing it was the most miraculous combination of luck, timing and working their asses off, when they have the time to take that moment of relaxation,
for those nine holes of golf on a Friday afternoon, someone assumes it really wasn't that hard. The privileged wealthy, my ass. "
Thomas half smiled. "I know better than to get into politics with you. " Or to let Marcus get him off track with the distraction of a spirited debate. "Owen said Mike died for you. "
The glint of humor in his green eyes died. Marcus went to the opposite railing, bracing his arms out to either side of him. He'd lit another cigarette and now it was trapped under his fore and middle fingers. The air filtering up between the buildings fluttered the hair across his forehead, but was unable to soften the harsh profile.
"It was that group of guys. Seven of them. Hardcore, into boys and pain. They were each willing to pay a grand, as much as you'd pay for high-priced tail in Vegas. Mike told them no. I caught up with them down the block, told them yes. Got the money, ran it back up to Mike and shoved it inside the door where he'd see it when he got out of the can. All I could think was forty percent of that was mine.
"Toby was my first discovery, I guess you could say. Graffiti artist capable of being way more. All of us were setting aside money to get him into the first year of an art school. The school said if we could get a certain percentage together, they'd take him.
That money would have cinched it, with a little left over for Emile. He'd had a rotting tooth and needed to get to the dentist. . .
"Wasn't Emile. . . a girl?"
"No. " Marcus said it emphatically. "What he was born didn't matter. In Emile's mind, in everything he was, he was male. I respected him that way. " Thomas was watching his face closely. "You were lovers. "
"As much as two street kids at that age can be. " The cigarette was burning down, the ashes untapped. Thomas rose and moved to his side. Sliding his fingers over Marcus', he removed the butt and stubbed it out. He wanted to grip the tense hand on the rail, but he didn't. He stayed close, though.
"It was a tough night," Marcus said briefly, another humorless smile crossing his mouth. "But they got what they paid for. "
