It turns out that all Colt has to atone for is more kissing. He isn't going to complain about that. First, he'd expected more than just kissing and was pleasantly surprised when Marc didn't push for more. Second, there had been minimal drinking. Marc and he had lounged on his couch binging some super hero show on Netflix. Oh, Marc made sure that Colt had some beer, but nothing hard. Lastly, Colt can admit to himself, even if he can't admit it out loud, that he likes kissing Marc. There's nothing to complain about.
When it came time for church the next morning, Marc watched Colt get ready and then kissed him before they exited the house and went their separate ways.
There's no word from Marc the rest of Sunday. Radio silence on Monday. Nothing on Tuesday.
For these three days Colt has told himself that he won't initiate anything. He wants to wait and see if Marc loses interest now that he made the vanilla guy drunker than shit and kissed him. He wants to wait and see if he can shake Marc if just because there are parts of him that feel like it's wrong to want to kiss him even though it feels so good and right in the moment.
On the third day he starts to get worried about Marc although he resolutely sticks to his guns and does not call or text him.
Wednesday at work, the city library, he gets a text and he's relieved to see that it's from Marc.
Marc: Hey, Vanilla. Got busy with work. You mad?
Colt: Why would I be mad? Are you okay?
Marc: Kissing and disappearing. I'm fine. You look fine too.
Colt's brow furrows and then his gaze snaps up to see Marc standing over by a row of books with his phone in his hand. After some hesitation, Colt goes to him.
"What are you doin' here?"
"Looking at books. You wanna help me find one?"
Colt smirks and shakes his head. Marc's bruises are starting to fade into a gross yellowish color. Colt is glad. He still hates that someone hit Marc and that Marc won't tell him who it was, but he's glad the man is healing.
"So... did you pray me away at church?"
He knows what Marc is talking about, the whole 'pray the gay away' mentality that some Christians have. Colt doesn't believe in that concept. People are who and what they are.
His lips twist into a small smile and he jokes in response. "I'm workin' on it."
"You can't." Marc slides his tongue over his lips and bites on his bottom lip. Colt thinks he intentionally makes a show of it for Colt's benefit.
Kudos to Marc because Colt's gaze slips down to Marc's lips and lingers there, eliciting memories from their two nights together. "Oh, I can't? Why can't I?"
Marc begins to step backward away from Colt. "Cause you wanna kiss me right now. You want me to kiss you."
"What makes you think that? Maybe I'm done letting you be brave for me."
"Are you?"
When Marc disappears around the corner of a stack Colt tells himself to go back behind the desk at the front and stay there. His feet won't move in that direction though and after a moment he ends up moving to the end of the stack and looking around the corner where Marc had vanished from sight.
A hand grabs the sleeve of his shirt and pulls him behind the stack. Lips are on his and Colt is kissing in return before he frantically pulls his head back and looks around for other people whether coworkers or patrons.
"Not here." He whispers.
"Why not?" Marc still holds onto Colt's shirt and turns the both of them around so that Colt's back is pressed to shelving and a row of books. "Are you really done with me?"
"I... no. I don't know." Is he done? He can still feel the remnants of Marc's kiss on his lips. He likes those remnants. He liked the kiss.
Marc kisses him again, not like the soft and sweet kisses in Colt's living room. This kiss is hot and demanding and hungry. He feels the top button of his slacks loosen and his shirt is pulled out and un-tucked just enough that Marc's hand can get in beneath his boxer briefs.
"Marc..." Colt hisses the other's name against his lips and then he's kissed again as his cock is stroked. He's hard. He's so hard and wanting and not wanting and conflicted about it.
"Wait." He puts his hands on Marc's arms and pushes a little, but only a little because what Marc is doing feels so good with the added edge of it being at the wrong place and the wrong time.
"Do you want me to stop?" Marc asks, kissing Colt again before he can answer. "Are you done with me already? Do you want me to stop?"
Colt wants to answer yes. He wants to answer no. He has no real answer, so he stays quiet and lets his orgasm take him, burying his face into Marc's shoulder to keep himself as quiet and muffled as possible.
He feels the wet stickiness of his own jizz in his pants and embarrassment starts to creep in. He clings tightly to Marc's arms. "Don't move. Can they see it?"
"Shhhh, Vanilla... You're fine. I'll take care of you." Marc gets a handkerchief from his back pocket. The kerchief looks like it used to be red but has faded to a pink-orange-ish and is smeared with what looks like grease and smells like oil. Marc slips it down into Colt's pants and cleans him up... mostly.
The other man shoves the handkerchief back into his back pocket and brings his thumb up to Colt's lips to smear some of what's left of his own cum there as if it were lip balm. It dries quickly but Colt can smell his own spill as surely as if it were the cologne he spritzes on in the morning.
Colt is too stunned with what just happened to do or say much of anything. He stands still, breathing in his own spunk while Marc puts him back together.
He's kissed a man. Now that man has touched his cock and gotten him off in public. It felt good. He'd hated it, but he'd also liked it. He's never done anything like that.
Wrapping his mind around all of this is going to take some time.
He looks down to see that his shirt is tucked back in, slacks zipped and buttoned. There's no sign of what has just transpired. Anyone who comes by now won't be the wiser.
The death grip he's had on Marc's arms slowly eases until he quits holding onto him. Colt's green eyes look up into Marc's brown and they stare at one another for a long, tense moment.
"You're not done with me." It isn't a question. It's a statement of fact.
