Get What You Need (16 page)

He had to get out of there.

Pushing his bag aside, he made for the door and threw it open. The house was as quiet as it usually was in the late afternoon, and somehow that only made it more oppressive. He headed to the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. The cool air flowing out as he yanked it open was a shock against his skin, and thank fuck for that. He paused, sucking in air. His ribs didn’t feel quite so tight.

Everything was fine. The overdue tuition bill, it was all just a mistake, and if it wasn’t he’d deal with it. Get some loans. Or take it as the sign it was.

God, it was going to suck, missing the last season he was eligible to play.

Whatever. He reached into the fridge and sorted through the bottles and cans taking up the whole top shelf. Beer wasn’t a good idea right now, tempting as it was. Soda would be good. Something cold, just anything to help calm him down.

He’d just gotten his hand around the neck of a bottle of Sprite when noises at the front of the house made him startle. He grabbed his drink and shut the door, then retreated a few steps to the side until he could see around the corner and down the hall. The front door swung open, and strands of conversation wafted in.

“No, seriously, you saved my ass.”

“You would have figured it out eventually,” another voice said, and that was Greg. Of course it was Greg.

Marsh tugged at his shirt and ran a hand through his hair as Greg walked in, followed closely on his heels by Ronnie, the both of them embroiled in something way too technical for Marsh to comprehend. Greg lifted his gaze and swept it around the place as he took his jacket off, there in the entryway. He skipped right past Marsh, then stopped, swinging back. He trailed off. Ronnie looked up, too, and closed his mouth.

Marsh puffed his chest out and raised the hand still wrapped around his soda in greeting. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Greg echoed, and there was a gruffness to it. A quality of tone that reminded Marsh it had been
days
.

“Hey,” Ronnie said, but neither of them were looking at him. With a dismissive sigh, he pushed past Greg toward Marsh.

Marsh stepped aside as Ronnie headed to the fridge, all of his focus squarely on Greg. On the lines of his body. His shirt was tucked into his stupid khakis, and even that didn’t make him any less attractive.

The bags under his eyes, though… Well, even those didn’t make him less attractive, but they did give Marsh pause. He hesitated.

Greg looked away. He gestured at his bag, then pointed upstairs. “I’m heading up. Work to do.” He took a step toward the landing.

And Marsh wasn’t going to show his disappointment, he wasn’t. “Sure.”

Greg stopped short, twisting. A softness clung about the edges of his mouth. “Though, later. If you want. I’ll be around.”

“Oh.” It was embarrassing, how even that thin of an invitation set Marsh’s blood aflame. His throat went dry. “Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The silence carried on a second too long, and then Greg was making jerky movements to the stairs, turning. His ass flexed with every step as he climbed.

From behind Marsh, there was a pop and a hiss and then a curse. Marsh whipped around to see Ronnie darting toward the sink, overflowing soda in his hand. He pointed to Marsh. “Can you—?”

It took Marsh about a second too long to register that he was standing right next to the paper towels. He tore off a couple of sheets and stepped forward, holding them out. Ronnie grabbed them, then flipped the sink on, rinsing his hand and then swabbing the toweling over everything. He sucked at his thumb and twisted around to look at Marsh. “Thanks,” he said.

“No problem.”

Tossing the towels in the trash, Ronnie moved to stand with his back to the cabinets, ass resting against the countertop. He lifted his drink up to his mouth and tilted his head toward the other room. “He head up already?”

“Greg? Yeah. Guess he had stuff to do.” It came out sounding a lot less bitter than it felt.

Ronnie shook his head, chuckling as he took a sip. “So what else is new?”

“Tell me about it.”

“That guy’s going to work himself into an early grave if he doesn’t slow down.”

“Yeah.” Marsh frowned. “But what do you expect?”

Because in his world, that was how it was. Brains worked hard. That was what they did.

Ronnie scoffed. “For him not to have an aneurism before he’s thirty?”

Aneurism. Wasn’t that the thing with the blood vessel bursting in your head? Something about it struck a little too close to home, and Marsh furrowed his brow. “He have another migraine or something?”

“Not that he’s admitted to me.” Shrugging, Ronnie set his soda down. “No, it’s just this…thing. Symposium.” At Marsh’s blank stare, he waved his hand. “Whole bunch of academic types all working on the same kind of stuff we are, it’s like a conference, I guess. The university is hosting it this year, and they opened it up to some students from the department. Greg and me both, we’re presenting at it.”

Greg had said something about that, hadn’t he? Something about a big presentation. Only he hadn’t said how big it was. “That’s…cool.”

“It’s awesome, and it sucks, because it’s a whole bunch of extra work. Your boy there has it even worse. His parents are coming in and everything, and he’s pretending it’s not a big deal, but he always stresses out when they come into town. Thinks he has to prove something, I guess.”

Marsh didn’t even flinch when Ronnie called Greg Marsh’s boy, even if it set off a flare of warmth inside his chest. But he couldn’t stop his eyebrow from lifting at the idea of Greg thinking he had to…what, impress his parents or something?

“Because he’s clearly such a disappointment?”

“Right?” Ronnie said in response.

Marsh took a long gulp of his drink and turned his head to gaze back over at the stairs. He drummed his fingers against his leg. “When is this—what was it called again?”

“Symposium. And it’s in like two weeks.”

“Wow. That’s soon.”

Really soon. Really, really soon, considering Greg had yet to make more than a passing reference to it to Marsh.

Then again, why would he? Marsh gulped hard and ground his teeth together.

“Yeah.” Ronnie set his can down in the sink. “Speaking of which, I should probably go see if I can get some work done for it.”

Marsh blinked for a second, then recovered his composure. “Sure.”

“Catch you later.”

Nodding, Marsh let him walk by, but he didn’t watch his retreating form as he headed up the stairs.

It wasn’t a new impulse, not by any stretch, but all he wanted to do was storm on up there and crash down Greg’s door and…and… Shit, he didn’t even know. He just knew he wanted more. He wanted to
be
more.

He wanted to be worth Greg mentioning what was going on in his life to, and he wanted to graduate college, goddamn it. He wanted his folks to show up at his games, and he didn’t want to have to call them to beg them to pay what was left of his bill.

He wanted them to be proud.

With one too-quick motion, he drained the rest of his drink, slamming it back, then crushed it against the countertop. He tossed it into the recycling bin and turned on his heel.

He wanted Greg.

And he was hardly really seeing as he climbed the stairs. The coast was clear, the door to Ronnie’s room closed, and that was probably good, but he didn’t care. Everyone knew something was going on, even if Marsh himself didn’t know quite what.

God, what was he doing? Greg wasn’t his boyfriend. Greg didn’t owe him anything. Marsh hadn’t
asked
him for anything. And maybe that was the problem right there.

It was breaking all kinds of rules, but he didn’t even knock. He just shoved at Greg’s door, and it gave easily enough. Greg was sitting there at his desk, just like he always was, and Marsh’s heart ached as he gazed across the room at him. Greg had said he’d be around later, and sure, it had only been five minutes ago, but still.

Marsh’s throat felt choked as he closed the door behind him. “Is it later yet?”

Over the tops of his glasses, Greg glanced between the computer screen and Marsh and back and forth. There was uncertainty there, a hesitation that squeezed even tighter on all the tender, on-edge pieces of Marsh. But then he was looking right at Marsh and rolling his chair away from the desk, hand coming up to the button at the top of his shirt. “Hell, yes, it is.”

“Thank God.” Marsh wasn’t shaking at all as he flipped the lock and pulled his own shirt off.

It was a race, clothing flying. When Marsh was down to his boxers, he crossed the distance, tugging Greg up from where he was knelt over, working at his shoes. He caught his mouth, and it was teeth and harshness and miles of skin as their bare chests met.

Marsh let out a sound he could be embarrassed about later, because Greg tasted so good, the heat of his hands on Marsh’s spine a relief. One hot moment of kissing until Marsh could hardly breathe, and then he shoved Greg back. Greg bounced on the mattress, and Marsh dropped to the floor before him. He yanked at the one shoe Greg hadn’t managed to kick off in the rush of it all, tore at socks. Greg tugged at his fly, and the second it was open, Marsh was pulling those stupid khakis down, and yeah. That was so much better.

He took a long moment, palm flat on the tense plane of Greg’s thigh, to stare. Greg always looked good, but he looked best when he was half naked and sweating, all the repression and the tension torn from his skin, and he was just a man. Marsh kissed his way up, over the knob of Greg’s knee and along the muscle of his quadriceps. He nosed at the bulge in his underwear, wrapping his lips around the outline of his head through the fabric, then licked a stripe along his tight abs. Climbing onto the bed, he hovered over Greg.

He looked different, he looked perfect, glasses askew, hair all out of place. Unsteady, Marsh reached up and touched the black plastic frames, swallowing when Greg flinched. “Sorry,” Greg said, lifting a hand.

But Marsh didn’t let him. “Don’t.” He pinched the corners of the frames, fingers gentle as he eased them down Greg’s nose. He smiled as he held them up. “Can’t decide how I like you better. With them or without them.”

Greg scoffed, his shoulders heaving. He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Right. Nerdy or nerdier.”

Marsh furrowed his brow. “Try sexy or sexier.”

Greg laughed outright at that. He closed a hand around Marsh’s as he folded the glasses up. Taking them from him, Greg leaned over to set them on his nightstand, and then he was gripping at Marsh’s neck, pulling him onto the bed and into a kiss that curled Marsh’s toes. Marsh wasn’t quite done, though. Cupping Greg’s face, he edged forward to press pursed lips to the bridge of Greg’s nose. “I like the glasses,” he insisted.

“If you say so.”

“Just did.”

Before he could get anything else out, Greg hitched a leg over Marsh’s hip, yanking him down so their fronts met, hard cock dragging against hard cock. “Bet there are other things you like.”

And…okay. Letting himself be distracted, Marsh closed his eyes and ground down into Greg, recapturing his mouth and pressing forward with his tongue. With a scrape of teeth against his bottom lip, he agreed, “Damn right there are.”

There were so many things about Greg he liked. He liked his voice and his eyes and how
into it
he always got when they were like this. He liked his smarts and his hands. He liked his glasses and how he never seemed to want to wear them when Marsh was around. He just
liked
him. Entirely too much.

And he wanted…

He bit that train of thought off before it could go too far, refocusing on the friction, almost too good to be believed. But it could be better. Bracing himself with one arm, he got the other into the waistband of his boxers, shoving them down. He nudged Greg’s thigh, and Greg lifted up so they could push his underwear down, too. Their cocks lined up, sticky-slick with pre-come, and Marsh groaned as he let himself drop a little, pressing his mouth to the column of Greg’s throat. Greg tilted his head to the side, and Marsh couldn’t resist. He bit down, sucking hard, because he wanted to still be here after Greg kicked him out. He wanted to always be here.

He wanted to leave his mark. “Jesus,” he moaned into the warm flesh as Greg writhed and clutched him closer. Greg spread his legs, and Marsh didn’t waste any time. He settled himself between those open thighs and skidded along warm flesh. Christ, Greg was always so warm, the hollow of his hip smooth, his cock a blazing line of heat. Marsh rutted against him, skating his hand over ribs and flank, down to the inside of his knee and back up.

His touch stuttered when he hit the crease of Greg’s ass, because Greg arched and groaned, and it hurt, how much Marsh wanted him. He sucked in a deep breath and slipped his nose along damp skin, over stubble, to the tender place beside Greg’s ear. He pressed his fingers closer to the center, brushed them over Greg’s hole, and Marsh was so hard.

Everything inside of him constricted, and then he breathed, “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

Greg went still.

Greg’s eyes popped open, a broad palm on Marsh’s sternum, a light shove, and shit. Marsh pulled back, looking down into eyes that were wide, pupils dark, and there was want there. Hell, yes, there was. But there was more.