Morning arrived soft and grey, sunlight filtering through rain-spattered glass. Marcus woke to the familiar weight of Barry’s arm draped heavily across his waist, Barry’s broad chest pressed snugly against his back. The sheets smelled of sweat, sex, pine soap, and damp wool. Comfortable silence wrapped the room, thick and real.
Barry pressed a kiss to the knotted muscle between Marcus' shoulder blades, feeling the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing. Marcus stirred, a low hum vibrating his lips. He shifted, turning within Barry’s embrace until they faced each other. Sleep-soft eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. No ghosts crowded the space between them this morning. Only the shared warmth and the unspoken weight of the night’s confessions.
"Your radiator," Barry murmured, voice thick with sleep, breaking the quiet. He nudged a bare foot against Marcus’ calf. "Sounds like a dying badger trying to cough up a crowbar." A faint grin touched his lips. "Heard it all night."
Marcus chuckled, the sound rusty but warm. His fingers traced the line of Barry’s collarbone. "Occupational hazard. It's an old building. Bass and steam percussion." He paused, his gaze drifting past Barry’s shoulder, taking in the familiar worn patch on the carpet, the single window overlooking a brick wall, the cramped space barely holding the bed. "It’s … snug."
Barry followed his glance, taking in the room’s limitations. His own gaze was practical. "My place," he countered softly, "has got Brenda’s ghost in every damn corner. That glass coffee table she loved? I tripped over it twice last week. The damn place echoes." He paused, his hand settling on Marcus’ hip. "And it’s cold. Drafts whistle right through the damn drywall."
Silence stretched, thoughtful this time. Marcus’ thumb rubbed slow circles on Barry’s hipbone. His gaze drifted around the room again – the cracked plaster near the ceiling, the narrow closet door hanging slightly crooked. He remembered Barry’s sturdy workshop attached to his garage, glimpsed briefly during a rainy car repair months ago. Space. Potential.
"Your place," Marcus ventured slowly, his voice rough with sleep and possibility, "it's got that big garage. Solid bones. Could build anything in there." He met Barry’s eyes. "But Brenda’s ghost …"
"And your place," Barry countered, his own gaze sweeping the cramped bedroom walls, "it’s near the river. Good bones too, underneath the badger-radiator." He paused, his hand tightening slightly on Marcus’ skin. "But Claire … she chose every damn curtain rod in here, didn't she? Still feels like hers." The quiet admission hung heavy, acknowledging the lingering presence Barry sensed Marcus hadn’t fully named.
Marcus nodded, a flicker of pain followed by resolve crossing his face. He propped himself up on an elbow, the sheet falling to his waist. "Both places," he said, the words deliberate, "got chains. Good chains, maybe. Strong foundations. But chains all the same." He traced the faint scar on Barry’s knuckle. "We built ’em for other people. Other lives."
Barry mirrored him, sitting up. He ran a hand through his disheveled, gray-streaked hair. "So," he rumbled, the practical foreman surfacing, "what’s the fix? Patch the radiator? Exorcise Brenda?" A wry twist touched his lips. "Or …" He paused, letting the unspoken idea hover.
Marcus finished it, the words tentative yet gaining strength. "… Leave both places? Find some ground that’s just … ours?" He searched Barry’s face, looking for confirmation, for the leap of faith he’d taken last night. "Sell the house with the echoes. Terminate the lease with the ghosts. Buy fresh dirt. Build something new." He gestured vaguely towards the window, towards an unseen horizon. "No ghosts. Just … us." The idea, spoken aloud, felt exhilaratingly reckless. Necessary. Like stepping off a cliff trusting the fall wouldn't kill them.
Barry absorbed it. His gaze drifted past Marcus, through the bedroom door, down the narrow hall towards the tiny kitchen where bacon fat had sizzled earlier. He thought of Brenda’s impractical glass table gleaming coldly in his echoing living room. He thought of Marcus’ quiet grief woven into the very fabric of this small apartment. Then he looked back at Marcus, at the raw hope warring with vulnerability in his eyes. A slow, decisive nod settled Barry’s features, his hand finding Marcus’ and clasping it firmly. "New dirt," he agreed, his voice a low, resonant promise. "Our ground. A place to make new memories for just us."
The decision hung between them, electric and liberating. Marcus’ breath hitched. His free hand shot out, gripping Barry’s shoulder, pulling him roughly close. "Celebrate?" Marcus rasped, his voice thick with sudden, fierce need. The word wasn't a question; it was a command fueled by relief and burgeoning joy.
Barry met the challenge instantly. He surged forward, pinning Marcus back onto the rumpled sheets, his weight familiar and grounding. Their lips crashed together – not soft or searching, but hungry and claiming. Barry’s tongue plunged deep into Marcus’ mouth, tasting shared resolve and the lingering tang of coffee. His hand slid down Marcus’ flank, fingers digging possessively into the thick muscle of his hip, then lower, over the coarse hair dusting Marcus’ inner thigh.
Marcus groaned into the kiss, arching his hips upwards, already hardening against Barry’s belly. "Now," Marcus gasped, tearing his mouth away. "Harder, Barry. Claim our damn fresh start."
Barry didn’t hesitate. He pushed Marcus’ legs wide apart, kneeling between them. His own thick erection jutted angrily, glistening with pre-cum. He spat thickly into his palm, slicking himself once, twice, the sound obscene in the quiet room. Marcus watched, eyes dark with anticipation, spreading himself wider, presenting himself. Barry lined up his swollen cockhead against Marcus’ loosened, still-sensitive entrance from hours before. With a powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself in one brutal stroke, sheathing his entire length deep into Marcus’ molten heat.
Marcus cried out, a ragged shout of pleasure-pain, his back arching off the bed. His fingers scrabbled at Barry’s biceps, finding purchase on the dense muscle. Barry paused, buried to the hilt, letting Marcus adjust to the thick invasion, feeling the tight walls flutter around him. Then he withdrew slowly, almost completely, before slamming back in with piston force.
"Ours!" Barry growled, setting a relentless, pounding rhythm. Each deep drive slammed Marcus’ prostate, drawing choked gasps and deep, guttural moans. Marcus pushed back frantically, meeting every thrust, his own neglected cock bouncing thick and hard against his belly. He locked his legs high around Barry’s waist, heels digging into the small of Barry’s back, forcing him impossibly deeper. The bedframe protested rhythmically against the wall.
Barry leaned forward, blanketing Marcus’ back. One calloused hand slid beneath Marcus' arched body, wrapping tightly around Marcus’ straining cock. He pumped in perfect counterpoint to his brutal thrusts – long, firm pulls timed with every inward plunge. Marcus arched violently, trapped between the relentless invasion inside and the demanding grip outside. His cries fractured into wordless pleas.
Barry’s breath scorched Marcus’ neck. "Feel it?" he rasped, teeth grazing Marcus’ earlobe. "Our ground." He punctuated each word with a savage thrust that jolted Marcus up the mattress. Barry’s grip tightened on Marcus’ cock, his thumb smearing slick pre-cum over the swollen head. "Claimed!"
The dual assault – Barry splitting him open within and milking him from without – shattered Marcus’ control. He roared, body convulsing as thick jets of sperm erupted hotly over Barry’s fist and onto his own heaving stomach. His inner muscles clamped down viciously on Barry’s buried cock, triggering Barry’s own climax.
Barry buried himself to the root with a final, shuddering thrust, roaring Marcus’ name as he emptied his thick sperm deep inside, pulsing heat flooding Marcus’ core. Tremors wracked them both as they collapsed together, slick, panting, fused.
Marcus lay pinned beneath Barry’s weight, trembling with aftershocks, Barry’s softening cock still embedded deep. Barry slowly withdrew, eliciting a low groan. He rolled Marcus onto his back, his gaze raking over the sticky mess streaking Marcus’ belly and chest. Without a word, Barry lowered his head. His tongue swept a broad, possessive path up Marcus’ sternum, lapping at the cooling strands of sperm, the taste bitter-salty against his lips. Marcus gasped, fingers tangling in Barry’s sweat-damp hair as Barry cleaned him with slow, deliberate strokes – swirling around a nipple, tracing the trail of hair leading downwards, finally engulfing Marcus’ spent cockhead to suckle gently, drawing out a final, shuddering sigh.
Barry lifted his head, chin glistening. He climbed over Marcus, knees bracketing his hips, his own thick arousal already stirring again against Marcus’ thigh. He gripped Marcus’ wrists, pinning them above his head against the sweat-soaked pillow.
Leaning down, Barry claimed Marcus’ mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, sharing the taste of their mingled release. Marcus moaned into it, straining against Barry’s hold, his hips lifting instinctively. Barry broke the kiss, his breath hot against Marcus’ lips. "Your turn," he growled, a command not a request.
Barry released Marcus’ wrists and crawled slowly back until his powerful thighs straddled Marcus’ waist, kneading the dense muscle as he settled fully upright atop him. The moonlight caught the sweat sheening Barry’s broad chest, the silvered hair plastered to his skin. His gaze locked onto Marcus’ softening cock resting against his belly. Barry reached behind himself, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around Marcus’ shaft. He pumped slowly, deliberately, his calloused thumb swirling over the sensitive head.
Marcus gasped, hips jerking upwards into the rough grip. "Jesus, Barry …" he choked out, his cock responding instantly, thickening and swelling urgently back to full, rigid hardness beneath Barry’s demanding touch. Pre-cum glistened at the tip.
Barry shifted his hips higher, angling Marcus’ throbbing erection upward. Still gripping him firmly, he guided the slick, swollen head to press firmly against the tight pucker of his own entrance – still loose and slick from their earlier coupling, but taut again now. Marcus’ breath hitched, watching Barry’s face, the focused intensity hardening his features. Barry lowered himself slowly, agonizingly, the thick crown stretching him open anew. Marcus felt the impossible heat, the clinging resistance yielding to Barry’s deliberate descent. A low groan tore from Barry’s throat as Marcus’ cockhead breached him, the sensation a deep burn of re-entry.
Barry sank lower, inch by exquisite inch, Marcus’ shaft swallowed deeper into Barry’s tight channel. Barry’s head tipped back, tendons standing out in his neck, a guttural sound escaping him as Marcus’ entire length vanished inside him. He sat fully impaled, Marcus buried to the root. Barry’s internal muscles clenched rhythmically around the invading thickness, a pulsing vice grip.
Marcus cried out, his hands flying to Barry’s hips, fingers digging into the hard muscle. "Barry … fuck …" he gasped, overwhelmed by the tight heat, the raw sensation of Barry controlling the penetration completely – slow, deep, and utterly devastating.
Barry braced his hands on Marcus’ chest. He began to move, lifting himself with powerful thigh muscles until only Marcus’ cockhead remained seated inside, then grinding slowly back down, dragging every ridge and vein against his sensitized inner walls. "Feels like home," Barry rasped, his voice rough with strain and pleasure as he set a deliberate, grinding rhythm, milking Marcus deep within him, their eyes locked in the shared intensity. The room filled with the wet symphony of their joining.
Marcus’ hands slid up Barry’s sweat-slicked sides, thumbs brushing the coarse silver hair dusting his flanks. He watched, mesmerized, as Barry rode him — each downward plunge deliberate, each lift controlled agony. The friction built, relentless and deep, coiling pressure low in Marcus’ belly until sparks danced behind his eyelids. Barry’s rhythm faltered, his thighs trembling, his own cock heavy and stiff, dripping onto Marcus’ sternum.
"Now," Barry choked out, his voice breaking. "Marcus ... now!"
Marcus thrust upward sharply. Barry cried out, slamming down hard — a perfect counterpoint. Simultaneously, Marcus wrapped a calloused fist around Barry’s weeping erection, stroking fiercely in time with his upward surge. Barry arched violently, head thrown back. Marcus bucked wildly beneath him. Explosive release tore through them both — Barry erupting thick ropes across Marcus’ chest and neck, Marcus roaring as he emptied deep inside Barry’s clenching heat. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and consuming, leaving them shuddering, fused in the aftershock.
Barry collapsed forward, his weight grounding Marcus into the mattress. Their hearts hammered against each other's ribs — a frantic drumline slowly fading. Barry buried his face in Marcus’ neck, his breath wet and ragged against damp skin. Marcus wrapped his arms around Barry's trembling back, fingers tangling in the sweat-slicked hair at his nape. The air hung thick with the heavy scent of sex, musk, and satisfied exhaustion.
No words broke the silence. Barry shifted slightly, nestling his head under Marcus’ chin. Marcus pressed a kiss to Barry’s temple, his own eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Their limbs tangled naturally, seeking warmth, seeking anchor. Barry’s breathing deepened first, evening out into soft snores against Marcus’ collarbone. Marcus followed moments later, lulled by the weight, the warmth, the uncomplicated belonging. The radiator’s gurgle faded into white noise as sleep enveloped them, wrapped safely in the fortress of each other’s arms.
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