"Bite me. "
Marcus obliged, leaning in, his nose brushing Thomas' cheek, breath barely brushing the hair over his ear. He cupped the opposite side of Thomas' head in his palm and set his teeth to his jugular, staying that way, motionless, letting Thomas feel the restraint of it, the certain possession and reassurance he intended to convey in the one gesture.
At length, he felt Thomas' hand lift, grip his waist. Otherwise, Thomas was just as still, submitting to the hold with a mere quiver running through his muscles, as powerful a reaction in this moment as a climax. Marcus spoke, his voice rough.
"You think I wouldn't want to wipe your nose, your ass or any other part for you when you need it, Thomas? Now, or fifty years from now?" Thomas had closed his eyes, for his lashes brushed Marcus' cheek. "Don't," he said, low. "Just don't. "
Marcus stepped back, but he could tell he flustered Thomas when he opened the door and guided him in, hand lingering over his elbow, his hip. "Come on. I want to get you back home and into my bed as soon as possible. "
"You promised me food. Real cooking, where they use grease. "
""Whine, whine, whine. God, worse than a two-year-old. " When he got into his side of the car, he met Thomas' eyes, flashed teeth. Ran a hand along the side of his head, ruffled his hair and was rewarded with a tired but genuine smile. As much as he'd like to take his lover over and over again, he was pleased Thomas was hungry.
For the short time they had, Marcus realized he didn't care where he was or what they were doing, as long as Thomas was part of it. The sands of time would run out whether or not they watched the clock. For now, he'd just enjoy watching Thomas eat a cheeseburger.
* * * * *
They found one of the diners that met Thomas' specifications about halfway back to the cottage. A local hangout just off the highway where people tended to look up when you entered but then went back to their business. They were certainly used to Connecticut tourists on the way to the hills. The waitress told them to pick any table and before long she slid a cheeseburger, fries and tall Coke in front of Thomas. Marcus ordered a Chef's salad and a bottle of import.
"I'll probably pay for this later. " Thomas fished the roll of antacids out of his pocket and flicked out two, added them in with his next bite. "Maybe that will help. " Marcus suppressed a comment with effort, tried to eye Thomas with light amusement as he wolfed down the cheeseburger. "Keep that up and your ass will get as wide as that cow of yours. "
"First I'm too skinny, now I'm getting too fat. Shallow bastard. "
"You know it. " Marcus grinned, took the beer to his lips. "Seems like fucking your brains out at least once every twelve hours does good things for you. This is the first time since you've been here I've seen you eat with an appetite. "
"Jesus, Marcus. " Thomas glanced around. "Keep it down. " Marcus' lips tightened. "What, you think any one with sense would look at us and not realize we're together? We're in New England, not on the moon. " Thomas shook his head. "Not that. Language. There are mothers here
. Older people. "
When Marcus' gaze shifted, he saw that in addition to a cadre of men their age at the counter there were several groups of senior citizens and one family with a little girl, the latter obviously travelers who'd stopped for pie and a rest break. He turned his regard back to Thomas. "You're a piece of work, you know it? You live in New York City for what, over two years? And absolutely none of it rubs off on you. "
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Thomas teased. "Besides, that's not true. You did. "
Marcus eyed the senior citizens. "Why is it older people deserve respect just because they're old? Pedophiles and sleazy politicians have been known to live to ripe old ages, right along with Mahatma Gandhi. "
Thomas glanced at him, sat back. "Want a French fry?"
"What does that mean?"
Thomas crossed his arms on the table, rolled out two more antacids and took them down with a swig of Coke. "Are you ever going to tell me about you? Who you were before you became what you are now?"
"So I make a remark about old people, and automatically it's got to be some chip on my shoulder about my parents?"
"No. Not automatically. But it does connect, doesn't it?" Thomas cocked his head.
"There's like this hellmouth inside of you. Every once in awhile, I knock on the door and get a blast of heat from it, but you won't let me inside. "
"If I wanted to be psychoanalyzed every time I made a nasty comment, I'd go straight and find myself a girl. "
"Then stop acting like a shrewish bitch and don't curse in front of the old people, who we'll assume deserve manners until they prove otherwise. Society does have to have some basic standards of moral behavior to have a civilized structure. " Marcus shut his mouth with a snap. Thomas' eyes danced and Marcus could tell he was waiting to see if he'd act pissed or try to steal his fries. He went for the latter.
Thomas intercepted with a block.
"Am I going to have to separate you boys?" The waitress, an older woman with dangling rhinestone earrings that were a sparkling contrast to her clean jeans and embellished diner shirt, came to pour Thomas some more Coke.
"He started it," Marcus pointed out, making her chuckle.
Even as he watched Thomas banter with the waitress, Marcus knew his lover probably deserved an answer.