Rough Canvas (Nature of Desire 6)

This was anything but simple. This was Marcus. Marcus whom he wanted so badly he had to remember to breathe.

One step, two steps. He put his knee on the bed, by the outside of Marcus' hip, and leaned over him. Reaching behind his head, he unsnapped the cuffs, slid the strap free from his neck and laid it to the side. Pulled one cuff free, then the other, running his fingers over the red marks on his wrists where Marcus had pulled so viciously against the restraints.

It was dark in the room, but there were lights from the city outside the bedroom window, enough light he could see the gray tones create a sculpture of Marcus' face, the way his cheeks sloped, the line of his jaw, his lips still moist from Thomas' mouth and his own ministrations on Thomas' skin. Those eyes.

"I've tried to paint your face. Did you know that?" Marcus shook his head, one slight movement. "No, pet. I didn't. "

Thomas remembered it as he ran his fingers over Marcus' upper body slowly, thoughtfully, semi-aware of Marcus' breath catching in his throat, his charged stillness.

Marcus wasn't restrained, but he lay there as if he was, his knuckles on the bed above his head. It only emphasized the mouthwatering line of elbow to armpit, deltoids, abdomen, pectorals. Down to elegant straight hips and a cock that begged for Thomas' touch, his mouth. He looked at him and he hurt. Because it was all his. His.

The same way he belonged to Marcus.

Thomas had never really understood it, had been incredulous of such an enormous gift. Yet here it was, the proof in how Marcus just lay here against all his dominant instincts. Needing him, waiting on him, though Thomas knew it was taking everything in him, tearing things inside, for him not to take control.

"You're a masterpiece, Marcus. You never imagine going to the Louvre and getting to take something home like that. Not a kid from a small rural town that doesn't even register on cosmic radar. "

"How do you think a kid from Iowa feels every time he looks at you?" Marcus said, his voice barely a sound emitting from the shadows.

Thomas' touch stilled on him, his eyes burning through the darkness, summoning an answering fire from Marcus'.

Marcus closed those green eyes then, turned his face to the mattress. "Thomas. . . I can't. Do this. God, just do it, or I'm going to break. Hold me together, pet. " Thomas pressed his lips together, nodded and moved to put the heat of his palm against Marcus' thigh. As he exerted pressure, Marcus began to turn. The one leg crossing over, taking him to one knee on the bed, his shoulders flexing as he pushed himself up. Thomas brought Marcus' feet back to the floor, pressed on him so his knees bent, supported by the slight shelf of the bed rail holding the box spring mattress.

Picking up lubricant from the nightstand, he applied it liberally to his own cock, then worked a stream between Marcus' buttocks. They tightened, the display drawing a growl of desire from Thomas as he rubbed more lubricant on himself. Marcus' head swung to look back at him,

his eyes coursing over Thomas' slick knuckles, the way he was fisting himself. "I could have done that. "

"If you had, this would have been all over. "

A flash of teeth, despite the intensity of the moment. It made Thomas want Marcus all the more.

Thomas set it aside and put his hands on Marcus' hips, the oill making his hands slick over the upper part of his buttocks. When Marcus began to look down, Thomas' hands clutched, dug in.

"Look at me, Master. I want you to look at me. "

Marcus swallowed, turned his head and met his gaze. Thomas held it as he guided himself in. Slow, easy. Marcus was tight, tight as a virgin. He hadn't been taken this way in a long, long time. Probably not since he'd been a street kid when his ass had been up for whoever had the money or power to take it.

It made Thomas' heart ache, even as his cock nearly spurted at the way it felt to be entering Marcus. He lifted his hips to Thomas, helping, his eyes going opaque, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as Thomas got past the sphincters and slid home. Slid deep.

"Jesus Christ. " Marcus was shaking again and now Thomas leaned over him, wrapping his arm around his wide chest and putting his other fist to the mattress alongside his, biceps to biceps, the line of their shoulders together. Thomas pressed his face into his neck, letting Marcus drop his head now.

"Hold on. " He lifted his hips, thrust, and Marcus groaned. Thomas could barely restrain himself at the excruciating feel of it, Marcus' ass muscles holding him, working him, his body rippling with power beneath the hold of his. The smell of his hair, the neck, his skin. His.

Reaching up, Marcus grabbed the hand Thomas had against his upper body. The connection became one knotted fist, their fingers holding together so tightly against Marcus' chest Thomas could feel the pulse of blood fighting through their fingers like the hammering of Marcus' heart and his own.

Their curved bodies were two parts of the same heart, and though he couldn't put this on canvas any more than he'd been able to capture Marcus' face there, he knew moments like this were imprinted on the universe, already rendered by a Master Artist far greater than he would ever be.

He thrust, thrust deeper, looking for the place that would send Marcus over, and then he could go. He knew it had to be that way. To be done right, all the way, Marcus had to surrender, to let go. Jesus, it wouldn't take more than a thought for Thomas to lose control. Marcus' back was slick with sweat, his breath coming harsh. Almost too fast, as if he were a winded horse. Thomas tightened his grip on Marcus' fingers, pressing his face hard into his neck.

"I'm here, Master. Let go. Come. God, you feel so fucking good. " Marcus' short nails bit into his hand, into the scars from working around the store.

His head dropped even lower, his back curved up high. He'd gone to one elbow, and Thomas leaned down with him, pressing the back of his thigh against his, half up on the bed with him. So slick and hot. God, Marcus had an ass worth dying for. He snaked his other hand under Marcus' waist and Marcus cried out when Thomas gripped his turgid cock, squeezed, began to work the broad head.

"Thomas. . . no. . . "

"Give me everything," Thomas demanded urgently. "Don't you hold back on me.

Past. . . time for that. " Lord, he was going to just erupt any second, but he couldn't go alone. Wouldn't. "Mine. You're mine. Forever. . . " His lips stretched back, almost a snarl.