Seb’s Summer by K.C. Wells

Chapter Nine

 

Marcus glanced down at his soiled tee and jeans, and grimaced. “Now I’m glad I wore my oldest clothes. I must look nasty.”

Seb bit his lip. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He sniffed. “Jesus, I reek of fish guts. I’d better go home. I need a shower and some clean clothes before I sit down to eat.”

“You don’t need to do that. I can shove your clothes in the washer and by the time you leave tonight, they’ll be dry. You can have a shower here. I’ll find you a pair of sweats and a clean tee that should fit you.” He gestured to his own clothing. “Trust me, I’ll be doing the same.”

Seb looked at the remaining mackerel in the bucket at his feet. The bass was already filleted, cleaned and in the fridge. “How about I finish up here, while you grab a shower? It won’t take me long to prepare these.”

“Okay. And while you’re in the shower, I’ll go to Bradbury’s and get the sauce. Corn and clam chowder, I think you said? Plus whatever else we need for this salad you’re going to make. Think about it while I’m showering.” He got up and left the kitchen, heading for the bedroom. Once inside the bathroom, he stripped off his clothing. It felt as though his hair was full of salt. Marcus left his clothes in a soiled heap and stepped into the shower enclosure.

Not going to think about Seb. It was getting to be a habit, especially first thing in the morning. He deliberately pushed such delicious thoughts from his head, ignoring his rising cock, and concentrated on getting clean. By the time he’d rubbed his hair dry, put on clean clothes, and sauntered back into the kitchen, Seb had finished, and all the mackerel had been placed in the freezer.

Seb grinned. “That’s a lot of mackerel you got in there. Any idea how you’re gonna cook it? Grammy used to make this great dish. I’ll see if I can get the recipe.”

“I’ll take your clothes if you’re ready for a shower.”

Seb immediately stripped off his T-shirt. Marcus tried not to stare, but that was always going to be a losing battle. It was obvious Seb took care of himself. His stomach was toned and flat, and there was definition in his chest and upper arms. The hair on his pecs was light brown, and there was a definite treasure trail leading down into his jeans—and as Marcus gazed at it, Seb lowered the zip.

Christ.

“Oops. Guess I forgot I’d gone commando.”

The sight of that dark fuzz drew Marcus like a moth to a flame. Seb had gone low enough to reveal the base of his dick, and judging by the way he filled his jeans, it was a long, fat cock.

The effort it took to raise his head…

He looked Seb in the eye. “I’ll get you a towel.” And then he was out of there.

He really doesn’t do subtle, does he?

He went into the bathroom to the cabinet where he kept the towels. The first one he saw was a hand towel, and it drew a smirk. I could always give him that. It might just about cover him. But that was his libido talking. Marcus grabbed a bath towel and went back to the kitchen.

“Here.” He held it out. “I’ll put your clothes in the washer with mine. Just chuck them out of the bathroom.”

“Nah, you can have ’em now.” And before Marcus could protest that Seb really didn’t need to do that, he took the towel and placed it on the countertop, turned his back on Marcus, and lowered his jeans, revealing a firm bare ass.

Oh dear Lord, would you look at that?

Marcus’s dick responded, straining against his zipper. Seb bent over to shove his jeans down to his ankles, and Marcus’s face felt as if it was on fire. His fingers ached to reach out and touch, to stroke those firm, inviting cheeks covered in a soft down. Then Seb straightened, and Marcus held his breath.

Please don’t turn around. Please don’t turn around.

He was only capable of so much willpower.

Thankfully, Seb wrapped a towel around him, then scooped up the jeans and T-shirt from the floor. He handed them to Marcus, then inclined his head toward the countertop. “I made a list of what I’d need.”

“Hmm?” Marcus was mesmerized by the bulge in Seb’s towel.

Seb’s eyes twinkled. “For the salad? You asked me to think about what I’d need.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Salad was the last thing on his mind right then, except for maybe tossing it.

Do not go there. Stop it. Right now.

“Marcus?” He blinked. Seb was gazing at him with obvious amusement. “Wanna show me where the shower is? I smell like the Liza Jane after a long day.”

“Sure.” Marcus led him through the bedroom into the bathroom. He pointed through the glass door. “There’s shampoo and bodywash, and I put a fresh washcloth out for you.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve already got a towel. If you need anything else, tell me now because I’ll be going out to the store.”

Seb’s eyes gleamed. “You’re not gonna stay and wash my back?” He grinned. “Or any other parts that might need special attention?”

Marcus narrowed his gaze. “You don’t do subtle at all, do you?”

Seb laughed. “You’re learning.” He glanced into the shower. “I think I’ve got everything I need.” Then he did a slow up and down glance. “Well—almost everything.”

Marcus got out of there as fast as he could. He started the washing machine, then grabbed the tablet from the kitchen countertop and pulled up a simple recipe for cooking bass. He made a list, grabbed one of his mom’s plastic bags, and got out of the house.

As he drove to the store, his mind was not on the road.

Would it have been so bad to get in there with him? No one says we have to fuck. I could have washed his back. Except Marcus knew he was deluding himself. One glimpse at that ass and he didn’t want to help Seb wash it—he wanted to clean it with his tongue, and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going further.

Marcus forced himself to concentrate.

‘So what were you doing at the time of the accident, Mr. Gilbert?’

‘Well, officer, I was thinking about cleaning a hot guy’s hole with my dick.’

It was going to be a long evening.

 

 

Seb grabbed the avocados, cherry tomatoes, and cucumber. “I’ll get to work on these. What are you doing?”

“Combining the lemon rind, juice, olive oil, thyme, oregano, salt and pepper, to drizzle over the fish. It takes less than fifteen minutes to bake in the oven.” Marcus grated the lemon rind into a glass bowl.

Seb grinned. “Then I’d better get moving.” He sliced through the dark green-purple skin of the avocado. “How’s the writing going?”

“It’s okay.” Marcus’s non-committal tone made it clear he didn’t want to discuss it.

“How long have you been a copywriter?” Seb figured it was a safer topic.

“Fifteen years.”

“And you’re still doing it? You must be good.”

Marcus shrugged. “It’s a lot of pressure. More than there used to be. The job’s getting more difficult.”

Seb coughed. “There are always ways to relieve stress.”

Marcus arched his eyebrows. “And I can guess how you do that.”

“Hey, my weeks can be pretty stressful too. So I live for the weekend when I can go to Ogunquit. There are two bars where I hang out a lot. I dance my feet off, kiss as many guys as I can, and let it all hang out.” Okay, so he did a lot more than kiss, but he was trying to tone it down a little. His earlier attempts at flirtation had sent Marcus scuttling out of the bathroom like a cat with its tail on fire.

“I bet the guys line up for you,” Marcus commented, squeezing juice into the bowl.

“I don’t go without.” He snorted. “Except for now, of course.”

Marcus’s eyes sparkled. “Now I get the oh-look-Gee-I-went-commando routine. Would I be helping to relieve the stress of lobster hauling?”

Seb couldn’t hold back on his grin. “I thought that might be a possibility.” Okay, maybe the flirtation actually worked. He sliced the avocado into cubes. “You telling me you don’t do hookups, over in the Big Apple?”

“Not everyone is into hookups.”

Seb would have believed him, if he hadn’t seen a familiar bottle containing even more familiar blue pills in Marcus’s bathroom cabinet. He shouldn’t have peeked, but knowing Marcus was also on PrEP told him one thing—they were both active.

“So who is this Grammy you’ve mentioned a couple of times?”

Seb knew evasion when he heard it. “She’s a formidable lady. She raised Levi—her grandson—mostly on her own when her husband died. Levi is one of my closest friends, and I spent a lot of time with him when I was growing up. So did most of our friends. For some of us, Levi’s was our second home. For me, it was my family.” He cackled. “You don’t wanna get on the wrong side of Grammy. She looks like butter wouldn’t melt, but she’s got a wicked tongue, and she doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

“Sounds like she and my aunt Carol would get along,” Marcus observed.

“Is she coming next weekend?”

“No, she’s in a care home in Boston, but my cousins will be here. More victims of the Gilbert curse, or so Jess would have you believe.”

“What in the hell is the Gilbert Curse?”

Marcus laughed. “Apparently, we’re not fated to stay with anyone for too long.” He snorted. “Bullshit. Mom and Dad are doing just fine.”

“Have you survived it so far?”

“As Jess pointed out only a couple of weeks ago, I don’t count. You need to be in a relationship first.”

Seb put down his knife and stroked his chin. “What is this word of which you speak, ‘relationship’?” That raised a laugh. “Have you ever had one?”

“Two or three. Longest one lasted two years and no, it wasn’t the curse. The split was amicable.” Marcus glanced at him. “What about you?” He laid the fillets on a baking sheet, and drizzled the lemon and herbs over them.

Seb said nothing for a moment, slicing the cherry tomatoes in half. He was conscious of Marcus’s gaze. Finally, he sighed. “If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I’d have laughed and said ‘who needs a relationship?’”

“That implies you wouldn’t say it now. So what’s changed?”

“I think I decided to be honest with myself.” He paused. “I have kind of a reputation with my friends. When I was growing up, I knew a lot about sex before I ever got the chance to experience any of it. I guess a lot of that was retaliation. My mom told me I was a deviant, and that I was going straight to hell, so I basically said ‘Okay, point me in the right direction, because Hell has to be better than here.’ College was all about the sex.”

“She paid for your education?”

Seb snorted. “Yeah right. No, my grandparents did. They set up a trust fund to pay for my education. And believe me, I got an education.”

Marcus slid the tray into the oven. “I’m trying to marry up these two images in my head. Teacher—and sex fiend.” He grinned.

Seb laughed. “Sex fiend? Wow. Not sure if I should be insulted. But you’re right. They don’t go together. I have to be so careful. No photos online. No videos. I’m not even on Grindr. I don’t want an ex-student finding me on there and telling the school. Not that an ex-student is likely to be on Grindr—I haven’t been teaching that long. And not that I’d be interested in an ex-student. One, it would be weird. And two, I’m not into younger guys.”

Marcus coughed. “I take it you prefer older guys?”

Seb locked gazes with him. “Oh yeah. Have to tell you, I never imagined coming to Cape Porpoise and finding a guy who ticked all my boxes.”

Marcus leaned against the fridge. “Would I know this guy?”

“You might.” Come on, Marcus. Take the bait.

Marcus cleared his throat. “Do you enjoy teaching?” He poured wine into two glasses, and pushed one carefully toward Seb.

Damn it. He doesn’t wanna play. Seb shrugged. “It has its good days. But I’m getting a bit tired of entitled brats. Seems to be a growing number of them.”

“Did you always want to teach?”

Seb laughed. “I went through college with no clue as to what I would do after. Then I saw a couple of old movies that inspired me to become a teacher.” He took a sip. “Hey, this is nice.”

“I’m intrigued. Which movies?”

“Dead Poets Society. You ever see that one, with Robin Williams?”

Marcus almost choked on his wine. “I thought you said it was old? Christ, I was thirteen when that came out. I remember it.”

Seb waggled his eyebrows. “I rest my case.”

That earned him a mock glare. “What was the other movie? Although now I dread to ask.”

“The Ron Clark Story. I think I was just into my teens when I saw it. A sweet movie about a teacher who leaves a nice safe job to go teach disillusioned and difficult kids in New York. It was based on a true story. I’m not sure it’s that easy to get kids out of trouble and onto the right path. But any film that makes teaching look like fun? All credit to it.”

“And is it fun?”

“Sometimes, but I didn’t get into it for the shits and giggles. There was a line from The Green Mile that stuck in my head. Tom Hanks’s character explains he and Brutal went into Boys Correctional. ‘Get ’em young was our motto.’ Maybe if I do a good enough job in junior high, they won’t need steering onto the right path when they reach high school—they’ll already be on it.” Seb shook his head. “There are way too many distractions for kids these days.” He threw all the ingredients into a bowl, then combined the olive oil, lemon juice and cumin for the dressing.

“What distracted you when you were at school?”

Seb grinned, reaching for his glass. “Boys.” The wine was cold and delicious.

Marcus arched his eyebrows. “I’m sure you distracted a great many of them too.” He smiled. “You certainly distract me.”

“I do?” Seb put down his glass and took a step toward him. “I must be doing something right then.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes and took a step back. “Seb…”

Seb took another step. “Yes?” He was close enough to feel warmth radiating from Marcus’s body.

It wasn’t close enough, not for what he had in mind.

“Something you want?”

He bit his lip. “Can I be blunt?” Because being subtle sure as shit wasn’t working.

“I’d be surprised if you were anything else.”

Fuck it. “You, Marcus. I want you. Any way I can get you.”

Marcus stilled, appearing a little dazed. He took a deep breath. “Then I’m going to have to disappoint you. You’re a distraction that I don’t need right now.”

Seb wasn’t entirely surprised by the revelation, but he had allowed himself to hope.

“I came here to get into the right head-space to write my book. And sort out my life. I’m better than I was, but I’m not there yet. I need to be mindful of where my head is at, so I’m not going to jump into anything that would risk me backsliding.”

“And does that include jumping into bed with me?” As if he didn’t already know the answer to that.

Marcus regarded him with warm eyes. “I like you, Seb. I really do. And if we’d met a year or two ago, we wouldn’t be about to eat right now—I’d already be fucking you on the kitchen table, because I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.” His lips twitched. “I can do blunt too.”

“No shit.” Seb gave the table a wistful glance. “My timing apparently sucks.”

Marcus chuckled. “I’m not saying never, okay? I’m just saying not now.”

Seb let out a sigh. “Thank you for being honest.” Despite the letdown, he preferred to know.

“I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, you’re one of the hottest guys I’ve ever met. And if it had been any other time… What I really need right now is a friend.”

Something in Marcus’s voice touched him. “It’s okay. I’ll back off. I’m not gonna make this awkward for you. And I can be a friend.”

Marcus shuddered out a breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Reacting the way you did. You’re still here, for one thing.”

Seb grinned. “That’s because you’re feeding me, and I know what’s for dinner.”

Marcus laughed. He raised his wineglass. “Thank you for today too. I loved it, being out on the ocean again after such a long time. You made it an enjoyable experience.”

Seb clinked glasses with him. “You’re welcome—friend.”

He trusted his instincts, and right then they were telling him there was more to Marcus than met the eye. It didn’t matter that his hole tightened at the thought of Marcus bending him over the table and plowing into him.

It’s not gonna happen.

Well—not in real life, at any rate. Marcus couldn’t dictate what happened inside Seb’s head.