Rough Canvas (Nature of Desire 6)

"You nursemaiding me? Girl. "

"Yeah, fuck off. When, Thomas?"

Thomas rubbed his forehead, scanned the counter for his antacids, realized he'd taken the last of them an hour ago. "Last night. " There was a pause on the other end, significant enough that Thomas had to squelch the urge to fill in the pause with some type of verbal squirming.

"You want to really piss me off, you lie to me one more time. " Thomas licked the residual powder off the antacid paper. "Then don't ask questions you already know the answer to. Jesus. " His eyes watering, he gripped the phone harder. "I don't want to fight about this, okay? I've been staying up late to get the paintings done. It's what I wanted to do. I can't. . . talk. . . "

"Thomas. " Marcus' voice came through sharp and hard. "You're having one of those attacks again, aren't you?"

"It's okay, they happen. Marcus, I've got to go. . . "

"Lie down on your side, right now. If you're not going to let a doctor help you, you listen to me. Or I get off the phone and call 911 to send an ambulance to your house. " Alarm shot through him, increasing the fiery sensation. Thomas went to the floor, cursing and muttering, but doing it.

"Now take your hand, lay it over where it hurts. Don't press. Just lay it there. " Thomas complied, holding onto Marcus' voice, fairly sure this wasn't going to work, the pain too intense, but he knew Marcus would do what he said. Also, just holding onto his voice, fulfilling his instruction, was what he wanted above everything else. Just talk. . . It would pass. It always did. He'd had to have that extra strip of bacon this morning, like an idiot. He was hungry and he'd needed the coffee to wake up.

"Have you done it?"

"Yeah. Yes. I'm not a child. "

"You're acting like one. Shut up and listen. It's my hand there. Just move it, easy, slow circles. I'm sitting right behind you, leaning over you. I've got one hand on your head, stroking your hair. You feel my fingers there?" Thomas closed his eyes. Remembered them, felt them. "The way you do when I sleep, but I'm not all the way under. "

'That's right. " Another pause. "I'm going to talk to you, and while I do, I'm going to keep stroking your head and rubbing your stomach in slow circles. " He could feel it. Honest to God. And it was making it easier to breathe. Maybe it felt so real because he wanted it so much. Marcus' fingers. Strong, long fingers, no scars or blemishes.

"How's your face looking?"

"Sshh. . . Obey your Master. Be still and let me touch you. I just want to take care of you, pet. Just want you to let me take care of you. "

"But. . . who takes care of you?" There was a silence on the other end, but it was full of so many things it almost felt like Marcus was there, right behind him, his body close, curled up spooning with Thomas like that very first night, and many nights thereafter.

"I mean, other than the million guys who'd be willing to hold your hair out of your face when you throw up for the chance to sleep with you?"

"One more comment about my hair and I will get a crew cut. " A pause. "You take care of me, pet. Just by breathing and existing, you take care of me in ways you can't imagine. "

"You say things like that just to mess me up," Thomas said. "Mess with my head. I love your hair. Don't cut it. "

"Making demands?"

"Why not? You going to come punish me?"

"I might. Do you miss having your ass strapped by your Master? Serving me with your mouth?"

Something stirred other than the pain. You know I do. Thomas couldn't say it aloud, but knew he didn't need to do so. It was a part of the whole empty need in his burning gut that wanted Marcus.

"What are you wearing?"

It brought Thomas up short, it was so cliche. It should have called for a quip or a chuckle, but not when Marcus' voice was sending frissons of energy down Thomas' spine with that note of don't-refuse-me-or-I'll-fuck-you-up command. "I'm kidding," Marcus said before he could respond. "I don't give a shit. Take it all off. Now. " Thomas struggled out of the sweats and set down the phone to remove the T-shirt.

Rising, he went to the open top door to latch it. Kate raised her head to look at him. She was dozing beneath a cloud of moths surrounding the light just outside. "Sorry, Kate.

Private guy stuff. " He imagined Marcus laughing at them, but did it anyway.

He was already barefoot. Laying back down on the throw rug, Thomas felt the rough threads against his tense ass, the bracket of his shoulder blades.

"Keep touching your stomach, slow circles. My hand there. Just above your cock.

You're getting stiff, aren't you? Harder and longer, your dick trying to touch the side of my hand, begging for attention. "

"Yes. "