40. Marcus

40

Marcus

So, it turns out the best way to get paparazzi to stake out your house is to use your Oscar speech to make a heartfelt declaration to the man you love.

My driveway has become ground zero for a media circus. Vans emblazoned with network logos line the street, their satellite dishes like metal sunflowers. Reporters in blazers stand before cameras, gesticulating wildly as they speculate about my love life to an unseen audience.

“They’ll give up eventually,” Erica says.

I know she’s trying to be reassuring, but I can’t help feeling that when the paparazzi give up, then everything, the story of Seb and me, will be over. And I don’t want that.

What am I waiting for? Has Seb seen the clip yet? Is he going to contact me?

I scrape my hand across my jaw.

Is that why I did it? In the moment on the stage, it seemed the most honest and authentic thing I could say. To let Seb know exactly how I was feeling, to share my realization that I would pick him above anyone or anything else.

But now, in hindsight, I can’t help second-guessing myself.

Did he see it as manipulative? As a sneaky way for me to get around my promise not to contact him?

He hasn’t called or messaged me. Surely, surely, he would have seen the clip by now? When I turn on the TV, it seems like every network is replaying it. In a world where there is war, famine, and climate disasters, it appears my love life has stolen the spotlight.

Maybe the world just wants some positive news for once.

Not that my love life has a guaranteed happy ending.

I pace around my room, steadfastly ignoring the incessant buzzing of my phone, notifications piling up faster than I can swipe them away.

The two people whose messages I’m interested in reading have a special notification sound, and they haven’t contacted me.

Should I contact Saskia? See if I can get an idea of whether Seb has watched the clip. The state of his head right now.

Should I fly out to New Zealand to see him?

Things have changed for me so much in the past year. I feel like I can be the man Seb deserves now. Love him like he deserves to be loved.

But that doesn’t mean he wants my love. It doesn’t mean he’s still in love with me.

As I pick up my phone, contemplating calling Saskia, the paparazzi suddenly erupt in a frenzy. Camera flashes explode like fireworks, voices rising in a cacophony of shouted questions and exclamations, like someone’s stirred up an angry hornet nest.

There’s a taxi pulled up outside my gate.

My mouth goes dry. Is it Seb? Surely… Surely it can’t be…

All the questions swirling in my mind are answered when a familiar figure climbs out of the taxi.

The paparazzi are all over Seb, snapping away furiously. He hunches his shoulders, his hand shielding his face.

“Get security out there, get him in,” I say quickly to Erica.

My palms are suddenly slick with sweat, and I consciously remind myself to breathe. Hope and fear wage war in my chest, leaving me dizzy and off-balance.

The gate opens for Seb, and my security team ushers him through while holding back the waiting throng of paparazzi. That only seems to embolden the paparazzi more, and they press forward to get photos of him.

It’s a complete circus.

But I don’t care about that now.

Seb came. Seb’s here.

It’s a good thing, right?

I’m elated he’s here but terrified of what he might say. What if he’s come to tell me he’s moved on? After my public declaration, does he feel like he owes it to me to respond in person?

“I’ll leave you two,” Erica says, gathering her handbag and slipping out the back door.

My legs numb, I go to the front door. My hand shakes as I open it.

He steps inside.

I close the door to shut out the cameras before I turn to him.

His curls are messy and he’s wearing a T-shirt that states May the Mass Times Acceleration Be With You. My chest inflates with so much affection that I can hardly breathe. It’s beyond belief how much I love this man.

For a few moments, we just stare at each other.

“You came,” I finally manage.

“I did.”

Seb sets his ratty canvas bag on the marble tiles of the entranceway of my house, where it looks as wonderfully out of place as its owner.

“I told you to ignore all messages from me. But I don’t think I said anything about what to do if I turned up in person,” he says.

“I promise I won’t ignore you,” I manage to rasp out.

He stares at me, his blue eyes intense.

“Did you mean it?” he asks.

“I meant every word. I swear on the life of a fairy tern.”

Seb smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out.

He moves into my space.

Seb.

And then he’s kissing me. It’s a sweet, soft kiss, his lips brushing mine. I kiss him back tentatively, ridiculously afraid he will somehow disappear. But then our kiss deepens, slowly becoming an exploration, a relearning of familiar territory.

My eyes prickle with tears because my epiphany on the Oscar stage was so, so right. This is everything.

Seb and I fit together perfectly.

We always have.

When he pulls away gently, he rests his forehead on mine, and for a few seconds, we just breathe each other in.

Despite the happiness racing inside me now, I need to be honest with him. I’m not completely healed, and I never will be. I will always be a work in progress.

I pull back so I can look at him properly.

“I’m never going to be an easy man to love,” I say softly.

Seb runs a hand through his hair, and that one stubborn tuft stays upright. He looks me in the eye.

“I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for real,” he says.

“I can give you real,” I promise.

Then we’re kissing again, and this time, it’s a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. It’s months and months of longing and missed opportunities poured into every touch, every caress.

This time, it’s me doing everything to show this man how much I love him, how I will cherish him forever if he wants me to.

I slide my hands under his T-shirt, and I’m touching Seb’s soft skin, and that fact has tears prickling my eyes again.

I’m overwhelmed by the need to touch him everywhere, to worship him with my hands and my lips. I map the ridges of his ribs, the dip of his spine, cataloging every shiver, every catch in his breath. When my thumb brushes the sensitive spot below his sternum, he arches into me like a bowstring pulled taut.

He’s touching me back, his hands mapping my body as if he’s rediscovering a long-lost treasure.

Then he stops suddenly and catches my wrist, pulling it closer to him so he can see my tattoo clearly.

His breathing changes as his fingers trace the delicate lines of the fairy tern.

He raises his gaze to meet mine, his blue eyes wide.

“I thought you were never going to mar a perfect canvas,” he finally says, his voice hoarse.

“I changed my mind,” I reply.

And then we’re kissing again as we stumble toward my bedroom, discarding clothes as we go.

His fingers fumble with my buttons, but mine aren’t any steadier. We laugh against each other’s mouths as fabric tangles between us. His T-shirt catches on his ears, messing his curls even further, and I have to stop to kiss the exposed skin of his shoulders, his collarbones, unable to resist touching each new inch revealed.

Seb’s body is so familiar, but there are subtle changes—a new scar on the back of his hand, a few freckles across the bridge of his nose—that remind me of the time we’ve lost.

I reach for the lube in my bedside table, my hand hesitating over the condoms.

“Do…do we need protection?” I ask.

Seb’s eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide as he shakes his head. “There’s been no one since you.”

I don’t deserve to feel the happiness that shoots through me.

“There’s been no one for me either.”

We just stare at each other for a few heartbeats.

“Looks like we’ve both got a whole lot of celibacy to make up for,” I say finally, reaching for him.

Seb’s laugh is breathless. “I’m sure you’ve got some suggestions on the best way to do that.”

I kiss his mouth, and then I kiss down his jawline to his neck, then across his collarbone.

I take my time, relearning every inch of him. My lips trail down his chest, pausing to lavish attention on each sensitive spot I remember. Seb’s fingers tangle in my hair, his breathing coming in pants.

I trace the curve of his hipbone with my tongue, feeling the muscle jump beneath his skin. His hands flex in my hair, not directing, just holding on as if he needs an anchor. When I nip gently at the tender skin of his inner thigh, his whole body jolts.

When I finally take him in my mouth, Seb’s gasp is like music. I look up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there nearly undoes me. There’s love in his eyes, raw and unguarded, and I pour every ounce of my feelings into my actions.

I’m worshiping his cock with my mouth while I prep him. I twist my fingers, remembering exactly how to make him fall apart. His body remembers too, clenching around me as his back bows off the bed. Sweat gleams on his chest, and I have to taste it, have to chase the salt on his skin with my tongue while he writhes beneath me.

“Fuck, Marcus, I won’t last long if you keep that up,” he moans as I curl my fingers to hit his prostate. “I need you inside me.”

“As my man commands,” I say.

I tug him onto his back because seeing his face is the most important thing to me.

Hovering over him, I take a moment to look down at the man I love.

His curls spill wildly over the pillow, his eyes glazed with want and need, lips red from our kissing, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants.

There is nothing more I want than to be inside him.

He hooks his legs around me as I slide in, feeling his heat and tightness. He surrounds me like a vice of heat, each inch forward drawing sounds from both of us that echo in the quiet room. His fingers find my biceps, grip tightening with each careful thrust until we’re fully joined. The pulse point in his throat jumps wildly, and I have to lean down to taste it, to feel his life beating against my tongue.

“Marcus,” he groans my name in a way that means I have to kiss him.

It feels the same but different.

Because there are no barriers between us now. This is it for both of us.

This is it forever, Seb and me, moving together.

I love seeing the pure bliss written across his features, his face open and unguarded.

I feel him getting close, his body tensing beneath me. I slow my pace, drawing out each thrust, savoring every sensation.

“Look at me,” I whisper, and when his perfect blue eyes meet mine, it’s like the world falls away. There’s just us, just this moment.

Every roll of his hips meets mine in a dance we’ve perfected yet feels brand new. When he throws his head back, exposing the column of his throat, I have to chase the flush spreading down his chest with my lips.

Seb’s hands roam my back, pulling me closer.

“Marcus.” My name is like a prayer on his lips.

I answer with a deep, languid thrust that has him arching off the bed. The sight of him, lost in pleasure, is what sends my orgasm rippling through me.

The world goes white at the edges, pleasure coursing through me in waves as I come deep inside Seb.

Holy fuck, I can’t believe I get to do this again.

Emotion threatens to overwhelm me, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as I bury my face in Seb’s neck.

I pull out gently, then reach out to take his cock in my hand.

Seb’s eyes are half-hooded with pleasure, and they don’t leave mine as I stroke him. And then he’s spilling, his release warm against my hand, his body shuddering beneath me.

We lie tangled together for a moment, catching our breath.

I reluctantly disentangle myself from Seb, kissing his forehead before padding to the bathroom.

The cool tile under my feet is a stark contrast to the warmth of Seb’s body. I dampen a washcloth, pausing to study my reflection in the mirror.

I remember once wishing my reflection would show the rot inside me.

Now, I wish it would accurately reflect how happy and whole I feel.

I take the washcloth back to Seb and climb back into bed next to him before gently cleaning him up.

“You take such good care of me,” he says drowsily.

“I always will.” The words spill so easily from me now.

I put the washcloth on my bedside table and snuggle next to him. His eyes have fluttered shut, and he looks completely at peace.

I need to touch him.

I reach over to run my finger along his cheekbones. “I love you.”

Seb’s eyes flutter open. He regards me for a few seconds.

“Somehow, it doesn’t have quite the impact when you’re not standing on the stage clutching an Oscar,” he says finally.

I can’t help but laugh. It’s a type of laughter that is reckless, that carries all the wild happiness I’ve been too afraid to feel until now.

“I have to say, you really set the bar very high for love declarations,” Seb continues. “I’m going to have to win a Nobel Prize or something in return.”

I have to clear my throat before I can reply. “Go big or go home, right?”

He stretches out lazily, then moves so his head is on my chest.

I stroke his curls. “I meant what I said in my speech. You are what is most important to me. I’ll walk away from Hollywood if that’s what needs to happen so we can be together.”

Seb pulls back to meet my gaze, his blue eyes soft. “You don’t need to walk away from everything. We can work out a compromise.”

I reach out to touch his face because I can’t handle not touching Seb right now. “We can talk about it. Look at the options.” I exhale a shaky breath but continue on. “But I don’t need Hollywood. I need you. And I want to be there for you at the end of the day. I want to wake up with you. I want you to know I’ll always be there for you when you need me.”

Seb swallows. There are a few heartbeats of silence between us, but unlike previous silences, it’s not heavy with things unsaid. Instead, this silence is full of possibility.

“Just two imperfect people loving each other,” he says softly.