Finish Something

Finish Something 6

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I sat in the Mystique, the coffee shop where Marcel and I used to hang out and sipped my latte. It was a cold day even though spring was supposed to be coming and I watched the wind gust down the street carrying bits of newspaper and ragged leaves from last year. Part of me wondered what I was doing. After all this time I wanted to see if Marcel would want to start something again? Was that stupid? But seeing Sean and James together, seeing them realize their feelings for each other and want to make something work...it seemed to precipitate something in me.

I looked around the coffee shop at the hip couples in their tight jeans and nice scarves, speaking French at lightening speed. I suddenly felt old. I was staring down at my coffee when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up into Marcel's deep brown eyes.

"Salut, Tim." His voice was neutral, his face calm. I knew that might be a disguise. I stood up and kissed him on both cheeks and we sat down.

"Can we stick to English. I don't think my brain can handle French right now."

He laughed, his smile broad and he shook his head. "Naturellement, Tim. I know how hard it is for you to be Quebecois, as much as you try."

I felt slightly stung by his tone. I wasn't Quebecois, that wasn't the point...but I let it go.

"Do you want a coffee?"

He looked around the place. "It hasn't changed, has it? I haven't been here for a long time." He flagged down a server and ordered a coffee. I got the impression he didn't want me to do anything for him, even order coffee. I could understand that. I had hurt him and even though I had apologized more than once and over the years we had a cordial, if distant, connection, I could tell that a part of him wasn't entirely over it.

I watched him sip his coffee for a minute. "How are you, Marcel?"

He looked up and his face looked almost surprised. "I'm fine." He sipped his coffee, then looked to the side before turning back to me. "Why did you want to see me?"

I knew this was coming and it made sense to me that he was impatient and maybe even irritated. After all these years I wanted to sit and talk? I would be pissed if I was him. I thought back to the last time we were together. We were lying in bed after an especially athletic hour of sex. The taste of his cum was in my mouth and I lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling uncomfortable.

I had been feeling uncomfortable for a while with him. He seemed so eager and clear in what he wanted and I had begun to realize all he really wanted was to be with me. For reasons that eluded me then, it made me anxious. And I unceremoniously dumped him while putting my clothes on. I tried to be nice about it, but in retrospect, it must have sounded brutal and completely out of left field for him. I still remember the pain in his eyes when I finished my little monologue about wanting to explore myself, etc.

As I sat there looking at his kind, intelligent face, I knew it was all bullshit. "I want to apologize for how I treated you when we broke up..."

"When you broke up with me."

"Right. When I broke up with you. I was an ass. I'm sorry."

"Why are you telling me this now." His face looked pained.

"I guess I've learned some things recently that I should have learned a long time ago. That I should have learned if I had listened to you...or I guess understood you and what you were offering me. That I was scared of."

"Scared? You didn't seem scared when you dumped me."

"Well I guess that's the point. I was avoiding the fear and I realize now I should have...well...embraced it. Because I was afraid to risk trying to get what I really wanted..."

I felt myself close to crying so I took a sip of my coffee and pushed a packet of sugar around the table. He just sat there watching me.

"And...?" I could tell by the tone of his voice he wasn't going to make this easy for me.

I looked up, the brown of his eyes glinting with anger. "And I'm sorry."

There was silence. I knew I had said those words before, but they felt different this time. I think because I was allowing myself to really feel sorry.

"I accept your apology, Tim. What am I supposed to do with it?"

I sighed. This was the hard part. "Is there any way that...fuck...we could start again? Like would you be willing to try again with me. I know it sounds crazy after all this time, but I still love you, despite everything."

"Everything? What do you mean?"

I gulped more coffee. I wished it was a martini. "I mean despite the time that has passed...and you may not want to even consider this, I get that. But I thought if I don't say this then I'll always regret it."

"You're right...merde...I don't want to consider this...but..." He stopped and looked away. I could tell there was some kind of war going on in him. He looked back at me. "My friends say you are an ass and a fool. For a long time I agreed with them. But Tim...I knew you were not easy with the decision, even though you tried to be so cool. So I guess I always wondered if you'd change your mind. So you have. And I don't know what to do."

His response surprised me. I reached across the table and took his hand even though it felt like an enormous risk. "I get it. This is kind of fucked up and your friends may be right. So I'll just leave it with you. Just know that I'm here and that I still want to try again."

He just stared at me. I couldn't tell if he was angry or afraid. Probably both. He squeezed my hand really hard. "I need to think about all this. I think there is a part of me who still loves you...but the rest of me wants to smack you and never see you again. So I have to figure out what to do."

He gave a big sigh and pulled his hand away from mine. My hand felt empty. He picked up his coffee and finished it. His face was flushed and his eyes were big. I wanted to reach for his hand again, but I said, "Are you all right?"

As if I hadn't said anything, he said "Come back to my place. I want to fuck you and see how that feels."

Stunned, I could only gape at him for a moment. "Really? Is that a good idea?"

"I don't fucking know if it's a good idea or not. But you and I started with an amazing sexual thing so I want to see if that is still there at least. You remember?"

"I remember." How could I forget? I think we were in bed for three days. The memory always made me hard. "Are you sure?"

"I have no idea. Let's go before I change my mind." He got up and stood looking at me, almost impatiently.

I fumbled in my wallet for some money and threw it on the table and we left.

He had moved since the last time I had been to his apartment. Now it was in Pointe-Saint-Charles near the market which these days was becoming a trendy neighbourhood. But I didn't have time to think about that, because, just like the first time we got together, as soon as his door was closed, he was all over me.

He pushed me against the wall just inside the door and our mouths crashed together, our tongues battling. I could taste the coffee we had just had, but I could also taste him, a taste I realize I had missed. I grabbed the back of his neck and tried to pull his head even closer to me. Our noses were squishing together as our mouths worked.

I felt his hand sliding under my shirt and up my back and he pulled my body into his. I could feel his cock through his jeans grinding against mine. It was starting to feel like the first time. I pushed him back and looked into his eyes for a moment as if I wanted to say something, but no words came to me so I pushed his head back and kissed his neck, tasting his skin.

As my mouth worked lower, I felt him unzip his jeans and push them down, then he did the same for mine. We were standing there, our pants around our ankles, the jagged shape of our cocks through our underwear rubbing together. I had to moan into his neck as I felt his hands grab my ass and pull it closer to him.

I knelt down so my cheek was resting against the hardness pushing his briefs out. Then I looked up at him, I could feel the plea in the back of my throat. Not just a plea for his cock, but for everything. His face was passive as he looked down at me for a second, then his pushed my face back and slid his underwear down, releasing his cock which now rested on my face. I just sat there feeling the heat of it, smelling the light musk of him, that Marcel smell. He trimmed the hair, but otherwise left it and it felt itchy against my skin.

I turned my head and kissed the side of his cock a few times. He almost jumped when my lips came in contact with that soft flesh. I licked the sides of it, making my way down to the base, then back up the other side. I avoided the head so as to make this last. I imagined this hardness fucking me; a thought that made my own cock almost burst in my underwear. I reached down and slid it off so I could give myself a little stroke or two.

I felt his heads on the side of my head and I knew what he wanted. He aimed his cock at my mouth and said "This is what you want, right?"

"It's one of the things I want."

He laughed and drove himself into my mouth. I almost choked, but I remembered how we had done this so many times and my throat relaxed as he began to slide himself into me, then slide out. I could tell he felt urgent as his grip on the sides of my head increased, and each time his cock reached the back of my throat, he stopped and held himself there so that I couldn't breath. When it seemed like I couldn't take any more, he pulled out again. He repeated this a few times and it felt like a penance of some kind.

I looked up into his eyes and he had that same calm expression, although with a kind of intensity and concentration as he looked back. He turned his head to one side with a little smile at one corner of his mouth and drove himself into my mouth again. My knees were getting sore, but I didn't care because I realized how much I missed his completely uninhibited energy. And the taste of his cock.

He finally pulled out of my mouth, a stream of spit and precum following him. He reached down and pulled me up, then kissing me hungrily, our cocks sliding together between us. I pulled back and stepped out of my jeans and underwear and he did the same. He looked at me with a mock-serious expression.

"Are you ready to be fucked?"

"Oh yeah." I had forgotten how much I loved it when he took charge of me.

He took my hand and led me to his bedroom. His bed was big and unmade, as if he had just left it which, I suppose, might have been true. He was behind me and he pushed me down so I fell forward on the bed. I knew what he wanted. I closed my eyes and just waited. I could hear him walk to the other side of the bed and the sound of him lubing himself up. Then he was behind me and the lube was cold as he drove it inside me with his hand.

Without warning, he slid into me all at once. No prelude, no playing around. Once he was all the way in and his body was on top of me, he started jamming his hips forward, squishing me into the bed, mashing my cock into the sheets. All I could do was grunt every time he pushed. I could feel him kissing the back of my neck, sucking on my ear, licking my cheek. He seemed a man possessed. I heard his voice whisper, "I've missed this, Tim."

I couldn't find an answer. It was self-evident that I missed it too. My whole body was tingling, my cock -- mashed into the bed -- was almost painful it was so hard. The force of his body was getting stronger, but then he leaned back and out of me, grabbed me by the hips and pulled me so I was on all fours at which point he slid into me again with his hands holding my hips. The motion of his cock into me -- the full length all the way and then almost out -- felt so smooth, almost effortless but each time he drove himself deeper my whole body shook and I could feel my cock streaming. I grabbed it in one hand and jacked it a few times, but stopped because I could tell I would explode any second.

He surprised me again. He pulled out and pushed me over, then flipped me onto my back. He grabbed my legs and pushed them back, and kept pushing until my hips were off the bed and my ass was in the air. He drove his face in between my asscheek, his tongue sliding into me, exploring. He pulled his face back and squirted lube into my hole.

"You remember what we used to do?"

He didn't have to remind me because I could tell it was what he wanted. I just nodded. He pushed me a little farther back so my cock was above my face. He positioned himself above me and managed to slide his cock into me again, and one of his arms reached out and held himself steady against the wall behind the bed. Then he began to fuck me again. I knew it wasn't as easy for him in this position, but for him the point was about what I was supposed to do. I reach up to my cock and started to jerk it.

I made sure I was pointing down in this wild yoga posture and I just kept jerking as he fucked me. He was watching my face the whole time and my eyes met his. I moved faster and faster while his thrusts were regular but deep. It was almost too much sensation and out of nowhere my balls contracted and a rush of amazing intensity ran through my cock and out to the rest of my body. I kept sliding my dick in my hand and spurt after spurt of cum gushed out and into my open mouth. I kept swallowing and I kept coming. The taste was a shock and a pleasure which felt like it made me cum even more. Finally there was just a drop hanging from the end of my cock.

I looked into his eyes again and without words, he knew I was giving him permission. He pulled us back so my ass sank into the bed and he hooked my arms over his shoulders. He pulled himself forward and then let himself go, driving himself into me more than I'd ever felt him. He looked into my eyes the whole time. His face was damp and his hair was matted with sweat. One trickle coursed down his temple, onto his cheek and dripped off his jaw and onto my neck as I watched it, almost in a trance.

His breathing was getting heavier and I wondered if his hands would slip off my waits from the sweat. I put my hands on top of his as if we were both holding on in the face of a storm, which this felt like. His cock seemed -- if possible -- to be finding deeper places in me and with one last driving thrust, I could tell he was coming and he froze for a second and leaned down and kissed me then pulled back, his hips in motions again as he gasped, shutting his eyes. He began to slowly calm himself, and his cock quieted in me until he stopped moving and collapsed on top of me, his cock still hard, but calm, deep inside me.

We lay like that for a while: sweaty and breathing heavily. The air was full of the smell of us, of sweat and cum, of our bodies that had been working so hard. Finally, Marcel slowly slid his cock out of me. I felt the wetness and the empty feeling that made me want to pull him back in.

Once he had disentangled himself from me, he rolled to the side onto his back. He reached for my hand as I stretched my legs out. I licked my lips, still tasting my cum and lay with my eyes closed. I heard his voice.

"Well, that part hasn't changed."

I knew he was half joking, but I also knew he was serious. It was what had brought us together in the first place -- this sexual intensity -- so it made sense that for him that had to part of us trying again, as it was for me as well. If we couldn't do this, then maybe we couldn't go forward together. But we could.

I finally answered him. "Yeah, it certainly hasn't. That was...amazing. I've missed this so much and I wish I had told you a long time ago."

I could feel that he turned to look at me, but I kept my eyes closed. "Yes, you should have. You really should have. It makes me mad that you didn't."

He was right and it felt like a punch in the gut. "I know...I guess I didn't want it to be true. I guess I wanted it to be easier to let you go, so I chose not to notice. How fucked up is that?"

I could tell he was still looking at me. I felt his hand caress me cheek, then down to my neck. It felt so good for him to touch me. "You're so beautiful."

The words were simple but burst something open in me. I opened my eyes and turned to look at him. But I still knew that I had said what I could say and that whatever happened next was up to him. But I could say something. "So are you."

He smiled at me and leaned forward and kissed me very softly. He leaned back and looked at me for a moment, his eyes still. "You made some assumptions when you told me you wanted to try again."

"I know..."

"Like...that I was single. That I hadn't moved on. That I gave a fuck what you wanted after the way you dumped me."

I deserved it, but it still hurt. "Yeah. I know. It was all kinds of stupid."

"I didn't say that. In fact it impressed me more than anything else. I could have laughed in your face and said I had four children and a dog in Sherbrooke..."

"But..."

"Well, you fuck, I don't. And somehow you knew that, didn't you?"

I was surprised, but I also knew he was right. I somehow knew despite the fact we hadn't really talked about anything real for several years. "I suppose you're right. That must be annoying."

"It is kind of. But also it shows that you still know me and that counts for a lot."

His words felt warm, but I could also tell that part of him didn't want them to be true; that a part of him was still angry and hurt and how could he not be? I finally replied after staring at the ceiling for a minute. "You can tell me how angry you are. You should tell me how angry you are. I don't see how we can do this if you don't." I gripped his hand a little tighter.

He sighed. It didn't sound like defeat, but rather like two parts of himself had come to some agreement. "Ok. So I get to be angry when I'm angry, but the part of me that loves you will be along for the ride."

I laughed, then he did and I leaned over and kissed him a few times, brushing his sweaty hair off his face. He turned to me and put his arms around me and pulled me close. His cock was rigid against mine, which was halfway hard. I pushed him back and slid my way down so my head was resting on his hip, his cock throbbing right by my mouth. I stuck my tongue out and licked the head which was wet with his juice. I tasted him and myself which excited me. I slid a little closer and sucked the head into my mouth, my tongue working on the ridge below the end.

I pulled off him and turned to look into his face. He was smiling. I asked, "What do you want?"

He answered by slipping his cock back in my mouth, but he didn't let go. He started slowly pumping it while the end sat on my tongue which I used to tickled the head, trying to stick it in the slit, then moving down and massaging the cleft. I could taste the flow of precum as it drizzled into my mouth while his hand moved faster on his dick. He was trying not to hit me in the face as he worked, but as the intensity increased, the side of his hand hit my face which stimulated me even more. I reached down for my cock and began to jerk myself.

He was gasping and I remember how much he liked it when I sucked him and he would always cum quickly and today was no exception. With a last frenzied burst of movements in his hand his cock began to spurt into my mouth, right to the back of my throat and I swallowed hungrily. The last couple of spurts sat on my tongue. I decided to surprise him since I had been the one taking orders until then. I slid myself up and kissed him, sharing his cum between us. He moaned into my mouth as I came all over his leg.

He leaned back and looked at the pool of cum on him. "Last chore. Clean me off."

I complied with pleasure. Then we lay back again, hands clasped. I turned to him and fit my face into the his neck, my jaw against his shoulders. I said into the dark, damp space, "I do love you."

I felt rather than heard his voice above me. "I love you, too, you asshole." And we both burst out laughing. I was so surprised by how he said it, it was all I could do. It was true. Both things were true. He loved me and I was an asshole. But my hope was that one of those two things would change and preferable the latter.