Never be Mine
When Michael woke up in the morning, he didn't open his eyes. For a full 10 minutes, he lay there with his eyes closed. There was someone in his arms, someone's back pressed against his chest...he wanted to feel them like this for as long as possible.
He could feel him breathing. He thought if he pressed himself closer, he would be able to feel his heartbeat, too. That little thud thud thud that let him know he was alive. He existed. And in some small way, he was his.
His eyelids threatened open, obviously wanting to remind him that the person in his arms would never be his- not really. He couldn't be. Even if he liked him, and was with him now, he couldn't expect him to ever be his.
Still, it was easier to pretend with his eyes closed.
Marcel stirred in his arms, and made a sort of wet gasping sound. He started shaking again, and Michael's eyes snapped open. He'd been shaking and crying on and off during the night, but the difference now was he was awake. Michael opened his eyes and was met with a returning gaze, dark brown eyes filled up with tears and terror.
He considered brushing the tears away, but there didn't seem to be a point to that- instead he just lowered his head a bit, resting his forehead against Marcel's wet cheek, letting the tears fall against him as well. He squeezed him tighter. "What's wrong?" He asked.
"Nothing's wrong," Marcel said, wiping the tears off his face himself. "I always wake up crying."
"Why?"
"Because waking up means having to get through another day." He smiled as he said it, attempting to take some weight off his words but it didn't work.
He swallowed. "Really? You've got nothing to look forward to?" He asked. He felt nervous, sure that Marcel would look at him with cold eyes and say no, there was nothing. He hoped he didn't- he liked to think he was something, if only something small.
He lowered his head a bit, and put his lips against Marcel's neck, trying to imitate the wayMarcel had kissed him there before. Marcel closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "Maybe something..." He mumbled, and Michael looked up to see him wearing a small smile on his lips. He grinned, and this time kissed his lips. Marcel opened his eyes as he kissed him, and ran his fingers through his hair.
He tried to calculate how long they could do this for, before he would have a check- but before he could Marcel put a hand on his cheek, and pushed his head back slightly. "I have to tell you something."
He nodded, and sat up. Marcel did the same, and gave him the wide eyed look that meant he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. "Is this about why you came in here, last night?" He asked.
"Sort of...I came in here because I was upset, and I needed you..." He said quietly, placing his hand lightly against his cheek.
Suddenly his thoughts were quiet, and the storm that always raged around in his head was gone. He'd needed him. He'd been upset and he'd come to him...
He was something. He put his arm around Marcel's shoulder, because whatever he told him now it wouldn't matter. It was probably stupid, but somehow, as long as he meant something to him...fuck the rest.
"I didn't mean to- I just get so angry about it all sometimes..." Marcel said.
"Trust me when I say you're not alone in that." He reminded him. Marcel nodded, and leaned against him. He held him tightly, trying to reassure him that whatever he'd done, it didn't matter.
"I went to Finn." He said quietly, his whole body rigid.
He was wrong. The storm back, raging around in his head. He felt his fists clench.
If Finn had hurt him, he was dead. He was going to rip his face off.
He took a deep breath, and reminded himself he didn't even know what had happened yet. He counted to 10 in his head. He liked Finn...he owed it to him to make sure that if he was ripping his face off, there was a good reason. "And?" He asked.
Marcel's shoulder's began to shake, and tears fell down his cheeks again. "I- I- kind of- I tried to-" He shook his head, and shut his eyes tightly. "I tried to jerk him off, first, but then when he wasn't like responding I basically just tried to rip his dick off-" He grabbed his shirt, and gave him a desperate look. "I'm so sorry I swear I didn't mean to I just got so mad about Finn and his brother and everything I just-"
"Hey, hey it's alright." He reassured him, pulling him even closer and holding him tightly. "I don't care."
"W-what?"
"I'm just glad Finn didn't hurt you, because then I'd have to kill him." He said, kissing the top of his head. He felt relieved, actually. He really hadn't wanted to kill Finn.
"But- but I tried to-"
"I don't care." He repeated. And he didn't. "This," He said, squeezing his arms around to his shoulders, "Is what I care about. Stuff like holding you when you're upset, or talking to you for hours about stuff I didn't think anybody else thought about, or having you fall asleep in my arms- I mean, that's the kind of stuff I care about. That's what this is about for me so...I don't expect anything else from you." He ran his fingers through his hair, because he didn't think he was making sense. He wanted him to know that all he expected from this relationship was that Marcel would be Marcel, and he would be there for him. Even if Marcel couldn't ever be his...he would be Marcel's. And he would be grateful for whatever Marcel gave him in return.
Marcel smiled at him, sniffing back his tears. "I don't deserve you." He whispered, pressing his forehead against him.
He grinned at him. "It's really funny that you think that."
Marcel shook his head, and kissed him. It was a long, slow kiss and Michael's eyes drifted shut again, as he let himself get lost in it.
Marcel kept Michael's arms securely around his middle as he sat in his lap on the couch, torn between closing his eyes and going to sleep, and watching tv. On the one hand, he felt more relaxed then he had in a while, and he always felt so safe in Michael's arms. Even his back was hurting less, and all he wanted to do was curl up and nap, knowing that while Michael may not understand him or what he went through, he accepted him as he was. He wasn't sure anyone had ever done that before.
But then on another hand, both Michael's and Paige's reactions to the show he'd been put on were proving to be too hilarious to miss. Paige had been sitting in front of them with her sketch pad all morning, drawing them with an absolutely entranced look on her face, but she'd actually put the sketch down now, and was staring at the screen with her already large eyes open as wide as they could go.
"What are we watching, exactly?" Michael asked, sounding slightly uncomfortable.
"The best show ever..." Paige said, sounding dazed.
The screen showed two men in the shower, one pressing the other- a shorter, younger looking blond, against the steamy glass stall as he kissed the back of his neck and rolled his hips against him.
"Are you sure you didn't accidentally find porn?" Paige asked, edging closer to the screen.
"I'm sure," He said, laughing. "It's called Queer as Folk."
"It doesn't seem practical, to do it like that." Michael muttered. He tilted his head to the side. "Or possible."
"Oh, Brian and Justin are very good at what they do." He smiled. "And by that I mean each other."
"Paige, you're blocking the screen." Michael complained.
Paige had her face pressed almost right against the TV, and she looked like she was about to reach out and touch it. Marcel laughed, and shifted around a bit in Michael's lap. Michael groaned, and put a hand sharply on his shoulder. "Oh god, please don't do that-" He whined, tilting his head back.
"Do what?"
Michael looked at him, his face flushed. "Like, wiggle like that." He muttered, avoiding eye contact.
"I can't wiggle?" He questioned, biting down on his thumb innocently (although now he could feel what the problem was).
"No, you can't." Michael replied, his voice low. "Not when you're in my lap and we're watching this goddamned show..."
Marcel chuckled and moved one leg over so that he was straddling Michael's hips. "Sorry," He said, winding his arms around Michael's neck. "It's a free country. I can wiggle all I want to."
Before Michael could protest, his head snapped back again as Marcel began grinding his hips against him, with slow deliberation. He put his hand on the back of his head and pulled it back up so he could look at him. Michael's pupils where blown out, and his cheeks were still flushed a dark red. "Marcel-" he gasped, his lips quivering as he struggled to speak. "We can't-"
"Not true." He whispered, rolling his hips against him with greater intensity. Michael groaned. "We just shouldn't." And they really shouldn't- Paige was right near them, and anyone else in the main room could come over at any moment. But he couldn't make himself stop- he didn't want to stop. Not with Michael making those perfect little whimpering sounds underneath him- it was amazing. He'd forgotten what it was like to have this much control over someone else. To be wanted like this. Especially by Michael.
He knew it didn't make sense, and this was a incredibly inappropriate place for this...but it was like he could feel a little voice in his ear whispering that if he could just make Michael come, it would somehow prove his gayness. Prove that he liked him, and that this wasn't a phase.
Michael's mouth hung open a bit, his eyes were shut tight as he groaned beneath him. Marcel brushed his own lips lightly over Michael's. "Come on," He whispered, brushing his mouth against Michael's lower lip. "You're so close...just let go..."
Michael's response got trapped in his throat, and he stuttered wordlessly as-
"Sweet Mary Murphy what the heck are you doing?" Carly cried, appearing a foot away from them. Both boys jumped a foot in the air, and Marcel attempted to scramble out of Michael's lap, but Michael pulled him back. Marcel had a flashback of being yanked back down on a dirty old bed by Club or Ace, and he curled back up in Michael's lap, suddenly terrified.
"What if Sheila saw you two! Or what if someone's parent had been visiting?" Carly scolded.
"We're sorry, Casey." Michael said. "It won't happen again. We just got carried away."
She sighed, and walked away, and Michael looked down at him. "What happened? Are you alright?"
He shook his head. "No...no."
Michael sighed. "These panic attacks come so fucking quickly..." He murmured, rubbing his back.
He peaked his eyes open a bit and glared. "Unlike you."
"Sorry- but this was a bad idea."
"Sure, sure...bad idea..I feel awful about it," He mumbled, wrapping Michael's arms around him and reconsidering his nap idea. He felt Michael run his fingers through his hair, and his eyes popped open again. "Wait...her name is Casey?"
The next day, they sat across from each other on Michael's bed, their legs intertwined. Marcel was reading, and Michael was watching Marcel read, a small smile on his face. It would have been a completely wholesome scene, if not for the fact that Marcel wasn't actually reading anymore- he was staring at the pages, moving his eyes back and forth, but for the last 10 minutes he'd just been thinking. He was thinking about what Finn had said, about getting Michael to help him...and about the day before, on the couch. Maybe he'd been wrong...maybe it wasn't that Michael was unsure, or confused, maybe he was just insecure or shy. Maybe Michael wanted him just as much as he wanted him.
There was really only one way to find out.
He glanced up at Michael, who was still staring at him with a content look on his face. "You've got to be bored out of your skull by now," He said, closing his book.
Michael shook his head. "You look cute when you read."
He smiled, and looked at Michael from under his eye lashes. "Just when I read?" He asked softly.
"No," Michael said, glancing down. "Other times too."
Slowly, Marcel moved onto his knees and crawled into Michael's lap. "What about when I do this?" He asked, leaning in and brushing his lips over Michael's. He pushed his mouth harder against him, slipping his tongue inside, kissing him until they were both just short of breathless. He bit down gently on Michael's lip, and pulled away a bit, looking deep into his eyes. "Is that cute?"
Michael swallowed, his pupils beginning to grow large again. "I don't think cute's the right word..."
He grinned, and put his hands against Michael's chest. "How about 'hot.'" He asked, kissing him again. Michael moaned in response, and he slid further into his lap, straddling his hips like he had the day before. "Or maybe, 'horny'..."
He ground his hips against him, and Michael's head tilted back, his eyes closed in obvious delectation. His mouth opened and quivered as he struggled against himself. "Nnn- Marcel...we should- shouldn't do this, again." He mumbled. Marcel gave him another strong kiss, and Michael kissed him back, temporarily subdued. His eyes snapped back open, however, when Marcel let his fingers drift down to the zipper of his jeans.
He put his hand on his shoulder, pushing him back a bit. "I'm serious," He said, entirely out of breath. "We shouldn't."
"But I want you," Marcel whispered, going in for another kiss. At the last second, Michael put a hand on his chest, stopping him.
Marcel gave him a pained looked, and Michael moved his hand up to his cheek. "L-look, I want you too, Marcel...a lot, but we just can't."
"Why not?" He demanded, getting angry. He didn't see the problem. If the moved fast enough and timed it right, they could be done before Michael had a check. They liked each other, and they wanted each other and he fucking needed this. What was the goddamned problem?
"Because- you're not ok, right now. What happened to you- I mean, you know?" Michael said, obviously flustered.
Marcel set his jaw and slid out of his lap. "No, I don't." He muttered, pulling his knees up in front of his chest.
He put his hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but it's for the best and shit."
"That's such bullshit," He snapped. Michael looked hurt, and he glared at him. "I mean, what's the point of any of this if you won't fuck me?"
He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. Michael looked like he'd been slapped across the face, and he shrank away from him. "No, Michael I-" He tried, reaching out towards him. Michael yanked his arm away, his usually beautiful blue eyes looking almost black. The dark look in Michael's eye scared him a bit, and he stay rooted to the bed as Michael got up and went over to his dresser, leaning against it for support.
Marcel jumped, as Michael suddenly shoved everything on top of the dresser on the the ground, then resumed his death grip on the edges.
Slowly, feeling a bit frightened, he picked himself up off the bed and went over to Michael, putting his hand on his shoulder. He could feel it shaking violently under his grip, and before he could say anything Michael smacked his arm away and ran out of the room.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wrapped his arms around himself. What had he just done?
It was too much. Too much too fast. He hadn't felt this in months, the boiling anger that took over and destroyed him from the inside out. It's return, and the sheer strength of it, was a shock to his system. He could feel it in his veins, pulsing around his body in the tips of his fingers and making the ache to curl up into a fist and pulverize something.
He stumbled out into the main room, looking around desperately for someone- anyone. He couldn't stop it for much longer-
He spotted Sheila, and he rushed over to her, grabbing onto the front of her scrubs. "Sheila, you gotta put my in solitary fucking now!"
"What?" She asked. Another painful jolt burned threw him- she wasn't understanding. Now. He needed to get out of here now. He fell away from Sheila, tearing at his hair to try and relieve the tension- god it was too much-
He screamed in frustration. "YOU NEED TO PUT ME IN GODDAMNED SOLITARY, FUCKING NOW!" He shouted, smashing his fists into a small bookshelf and knocking it over. He pulled at his hair again and doubled over, trying to keep it in but it burned so bad...
Sheila grabbed him and began pulling him out of the room, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Finn watching. Somewhere in the back of his mind, in a much calmer place he couldn't really access at the moment, he realized that Marcel was probably going to go to him, if he was upset. "Finn, don't let him see me like this, okay?" He pleaded.
Finn nodded, and he let Sheila drag him the rest of the way out of the room, and down to solitary. She opened the door up and he rushed inside, falling against the white wall. His nails scraped against it as his hand balled itself into a fist.
Hot, angry tears formed in his eyes as his shoulders began to shake harder. There was no feeling in the world worst then this, this hot convulsing anger that he could feel- physically feel, all through out his body. It knotted up his stomach and turned his chest into an empty cavity of dead space, sucking in the rest of him like a vortex. He'd do anything to get rid of it, anything at all.
The anger pumped through out his arms, urging him to take action- make it stop, please make it stop. It had to stop, he couldn't take this anymore-
He pulled his arm back and smashed it into the white solitary wall. He could feel the plaster caving in around his fist, almost melting against him as he forced his hand through it. His fist connected with something hard and it felt like someone had taken a hammer to his knuckles but somehow it didn't register. He pulled his hand back, ignoring the blood and plaster smeared over it and fell away from the way, turning around dizzily to find something else to smash and destroy, something to channel the pain into before it killed him.
None of it helped- not tearing at the bed sheets or ripping the bed out from the bolts that held it to the wall. Not screaming or smashing his fists and tearing at his hair. None of it helped none of it- maybe if he smashed his head into the wall next. Smashed it until his brains turning the white walls grey or purple or red. That would make it stop that would-
He feel back against the wall, exhausted. He sunk down and put his head against his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. The pain was still there but the looseness in his limbs made it feel tolerable.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that, huddled on the floor with his head in his hands, trying to focus on the blank void of the room around him instead of the blank void in his chest.
After a while, he heard a creaking sound and looked up to find Marcel tentatively entering the room, a first aid kit clutched in his hands. He groaned, and shrank further into himself, burying his head back behind his knees. Marcel couldn't be here- couldn't see him like this. Shouldn't be near him now either- if he ever hurt him...
"Alright, I'm staying right here the entire time." He heard Sheila say, closing the door behind Marcel and speaking through the small window on it. "You just say when you want to come out, and Michael, if you feel like you're about to lose it again you tell me, and I'll pull him out."
He nodded numbly, still not looking up. "You did good before."
"'Well'." He mumbled under his breath, then cringed at himself. He hated when people corrected his grammar, which wasn't great...he hoped Sheila hadn't heard.
He could feel Marcel take a seat next to him on the floor, and he waited for him to say something. Was he going to apologize? Was he going to tell him they shouldn't be together anymore?
His stomach flipped at the thought- but if the only thing he wanted from was sex, and he wasn't going to get that...
His chest tightened and he willed those thoughts away.
He'd been such an idiot, thinking he could ever like him like that- it wasn't his fault, after what he'd been through of course but still...it hurt.
He felt Marcel lift up his hand and he held his breath. His hands were cold, and felt an overwhelming urge to take them in his own and warm them.
"This might sting a bit..." He whispered, taking out an antiseptic towelette and running it across his bleeding knuckles. The alcohol stung and burned, but once again he didn't really connect with it. Marcel looked surprised. "...Guess not."
"No, it stings like a bitch." He muttered.
Marcel remained silent as he cleaned up the wound and began winding gauze around it. Sitting in the silence, he couldn't help but be aware of how red Marcel's eyes were, or the way his t shirt was stretched out around the hem, as though he'd been pulling at it.
He'd been crying. About him. He hated that, he didn't want him to cry. He hated all of this- this silence, neither of them knowing what to say. He couldn't take it. He looked ahead, his head tilted down slightly. "Aren't you going to say something?"
"I want to," Marcel said quietly. "But nothing sounds good enough." He stuck a piece of tape down on the gauze, and rubbed his thumb over it to make it stay. "What should I say?"
He kept his eyes down. He didn't know why he felt afraid to look at him, but he did. "Say whatever you want."
"I don't know how." Marcel said, sounding pained.
He stiffened as he began fiddling with the collar of his shirt. The fear tightened in his chest. He sounded so sorry...but what if he looked, and there was nothing on his face, or in his eyes? What if it was an act...what if it had all been act...
"I mean, I don't know how to tell you what I want to say and make sure you believe it." He continued, and his hand dropped down to his knee. "I want to tell you that I didn't mean what I said, first I guess. I don't care about that stuff- no, I do...but that's not why I'm with you. Not at all."
He couldn't stop himself any more, and he looked up. Marcel's eyes were wide and glossy, and he looked just as sorry and desperate as he sounded.
He still couldn't relax.
"Then why are you with me?" He asked, voicing a concern that had been on his mind since they'd begun their relationship. "I mean, I don't really think I'm the kind of guy you'd go for..."
"You're not. At all." Marcel said quickly.
He raised an eyebrow- Marcel had an odd way of making him feel better, if that's what he was trying to do.
"You actually have nothing in common with any guy I've ever gone after...especially since I actually like you." He went on. Michael thought he felt his heartbeat speed up. "I guess that's the reason I'm with you. It seems kind of obvious, but it's pretty new for me. Liking someone for who they are. Liking someone for the way they make you feel when they look at you, like you're more than just a vehicle for getting off. You're the first guy I've ever met who's talked to me about the books and authors I like, like you actually care what I think."
"Of course I care what you think." He said instantly. "You're way fuckin' smart...and insightful. It's like you can tell exactly what the author was feeling when they wrote something, and you connect with it. It's amazing." He cast his eyes downward again. "I don't connect with anything."
"We're not connecting?" Marcel asked. He felt him put his hand against his cheek, and brush away piece of hair. He looked back up, his heart thumping painfully against his ribs.
"I thought we were." He said quietly. "I thought- thought you liked me."
"I do. We are." He insisted. He leaned in to kiss him, and his lips burned at his touch. The knots that had been twisting around in his bones loosened and broke, and he pulled Marcel closer to him. He was still getting used to that- that feeling of fire in his chest that made him want to touch and kiss him every where and never, ever stop.
They pulled away slowly, and he saw Marcel glance behind him at the mess he'd made. "Nice job on the wall there." He said quietly, his pinks lips curved into a small smile. "So you're real fucked up, huh?"
Michael felt his face turn red. "I guess so." He mumbled, shrugging self consciously.
Marcel stood up and he offered his hand to him. "It's ok, I'm kind of fucked up too."
He took it, and pulled himself up. There was airy feeling in his head, a relief that everything was alright. They were all right.
He looked Marcel over, and raised his eyebrows. "Only kind of?" He teased.
Marcel reached over and flicked him on the ear, and he grinned. He pulled him into his arms and kissed him again, harder then before.
Behind him, he heard Sheila sigh and unlock the door. "You two can come out when ever." She mumbled, walking away.
He leaned away and looked down into Marcel's eyes, running a finger along his cheekbone. "I'm sorry I freaked out at you," He said quietly.
Marcel shook his head. "No- I never should have said something so awful. And untrue."
He took in a deep breath. As long as it wasn't true, he didn't care. He kissed him again. "It's fine."
"It's not fine, I- I'm gonna talk to Pete about it, I promise." He said quietly, hugging his arms around him.
Michael felt his eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. "You hate talking to Pete."
"I hate what I said to you more."
He swallowed. "Marcel, I..." I just want you to be ok.
"Yeah?"
"I..." I'll never hurt you again.
Marcel raised his eyebrows.
"I..." I love you.
Shit. He couldn't say that- any of that. It would freak him out- fuck, he was freaking himself out. Feelings...having them for someone...it was weird.
"Michael?" He said, obviously wondering why he was being oddly quiet.
He smiled, and kissed him on his forehead. "I'm glad we're ok."