Present Day (Day 1)...
There is something that you do subconsciously when Martin treats you as if you are about to break. It is what you are doing now as he walks you back to the hotel you are staying at before he goes back to the conference for the conference's afternoon lectures. You act as if what happened at the restaurant and straight after didn't happen. Like you didn't just see him after six years of nothing. Like you didn't freak out afterwards.
Like. You. Are. Absolutely. Fine.
"So I was thinking we could go out tonight." You say conversationally. "Like proper out since we are away and that. Maybe we could catch a quick bite then go clubbing or summat."
Martin frowns at you.
"Ste, you don't have to act brave in front of me." He says as you enter your hotel room. "Talk to me. Tell me how you are feeling."
You should be glad that he is concerned about you instead you feel smothered and resentful because his worry blows the lid on your 'cool customer' act.
"Honestly. I feel fine." You making a point of looking him straight in the eye. "I feel embarrassed maybe about freaking out at the restaurant. I overreacted. That's all."
You don't want to appear weak as if all these years with Martin have seen no improvement to your state of mind. You want to prove to him that you can stand on your own two feet and don't need to rely on him for your emotional health.
"Okay fine. If you are sure." He says sceptically, completely unconvinced. He looks at his watch. "We'll talk later, yeah? Got to go."
"Okay."
It's little gestures like walking you 'home' that make you feel such warm thoughts towards him. Martin is a gentleman. You have never been treated so well in your life. He touches his lips to yours then turns to leave.
You exhale when he is gone. You feel empty.
You fill the time by tidying up. Then you call your kids and speak with Amy. You check on the bistro. It is still standing.
When you get off the phone the silence is overwhelming and you feel a black cloud pass over you. A deep depression and anxiety. Feelings you haven't felt for many years. Something has triggered them. You try to suppress them; beating them down with happy memories of you and Martin, your children.
Your happy place.
You jump into the shower and scrub your skin raw under the hot jet of water. You get out and stride back into the room naked to stare at your reflection in the mirror. You barely register the coolness on your wet skin.
Your scars are still there, of course. A constant reminder. You run your hands over yourself feeling the raised tissue on your arms. Then you run your hand over your unblemished skin; your face, neck, chest, stomach. Your hips. Your fingers trace the edges of your wingspan tattoo while your mind fights against a memory of him teasing it with his tongue. Drawing it into his mouth slightly through suction before worrying it again with wet lips.
'So fucking hot, Stephen.' He says. You groan and push his head down towards your rock hard cock to use the skills he demonstrated on the tattoo there.
'Please Brendan.' You groan and comb your fingers through his hair persuasively.
His short hair.
His head.
Wet.
No.
Not wet.
Bleeding with a massive gash at the back caused by a blunt blow to the skull. The worst headache in the world. The rapid fade of the world to black.
Only it is not his head.
It is yours and you can't do anything about it. The blow is inevitable while you exist in this inescapable room. You try to open your eyes. Only when you do, it is still pitch black or have you gone blind? You try to move and can't so you try to scream and can't so you try to open your eyes again or are they open already? Your heart beats fast and you struggle to catch your breath. Your heart squeezes and you think it is going to stop or explode.
You press a hand into your chest firmly.
You try to open your eyes again and this time you are back in the hotel room in Dublin.
You stare at your reflection in the mirror. You are safe but you are panting as your flashback dies down slowly leaving you with a dull sense of pure terror. Tears run unchecked and your body trembles from the surge of adrenaline in your system. The goose pimples have nothing to do with cold and everything to do with fear.
You slowly walk up to the mirror until your nose is practically touching it.
You try not to look down at scars that sometimes act as reminders of what happened...
"It is all behind me." You chant to yourself in the mirror unconvincingly.
Then you breakdown into tears that feel like they are wretched from your very soul.
XOXO
When you wake up the open curtains of the hotel room reveal darkening skies and night lights. You hadn't realised that you had fallen asleep.
You look at the time. It is just after six pm. Martin should be coming back soon. You assume that he wants a night out in Temple Bar so you get dressed quickly in case he wants to get going straight away.
He walks in a few minutes later and kicks the door shut with his foot before dropping his bag to the floor.
He has a determined face on. A man on a mission.
"Hiya." You say and smile as you walk up to him to give him a kiss. "How was the rest of your day?"
He wordlessly looks down at you when you are toe to toe. His hand comes up to cup your face and he drags a thumb across your lower lip.
"Okay. Miss me?" He whispers. There is doubt in his eyes. Why?
You nod.
"Good." He says and leans in to lightly bite your lower lip before pushing you back into the bed.
Good boy, Stephen.
You gasp in surprise. Martin looks at you intensely, travelling his eyes up and down your body in a manner that can only be described as predatory. You know his intent without him saying a word. You feel aroused as you lie sprawled on the bed fully clothed.
"No going out?" You whisper with a grin.
He shakes his head in response.
It is not normal for Martin to be sexually aggressive. Years of handling you and your tendency for skittishness have made him a gentle, considerate and tender lover. Amazing. Definitely. But certainly not ferocious, crude, dirty or wild.
Not that you mind this new edge. Far from it. It is nice not to be treated like an egg shell. He reminds you of...
"Don't touch yourself, Ste." You blush when you realise that you have pushed your legs apart, tucked your hand into your underwear and started jerking off. You ignore him and reach further back to that place where you know Martin will tease and tempt before eventually entering you; deliciously, decisively.
Satisfyingly.
"So that's how you want to play?" He growls.
Yeah.
You stare up expectantly at him while rubbing over your hole. You insert a finger into yourself slowly and groan. You want the real thing. Now.
You watch in fascination as he strips in front of you. Martin is not self-conscious. There is nothing to be self-conscious about. He is beautiful. His bronzed skin. His virtually hairless toned chest. His sculpted body. His blond head of hair. His deep chocolate eyes that probe right into your soul. His thick rock hard dick that proudly juts skyward ready for take-off.
He is good in bed. Achingly good. Distractingly good. You need that distraction from the intrusive flashbacks, thoughts and memories that you have experienced today, that you thought were all but gone. You need reassurance that seeing him at the Italian restaurant at lunchtime has not changed anything between you and Martin.
Martin pumps his cock, flicking it as if demonstrating its turgidity to you. You lick your lips as he climbs the bed to join you.
"Is this what's got you all excited?" He asks breathlessly as he jerks himself off; his dick tantalisingly close to your face.
"Yes." You sigh urgently as he lays on his back and rests his head on one arm in a pose that looks more relaxed than it is.
"Suck it then." He groans.
You feel a ripple of desire rush through you as you position yourself on your hands and knees still fully clothed. You give him a quick peck on the lips before running your tongue down his body, sucking and biting lightly until you get to his cock. His fingers comb through your hair as you grip the base of his dick with a hand and then lick its head paying particular attention to its underside where you know it causes Marty's toes to curl from the sensation. You spit on it, lubing it up and then take all of him into you, down your throat. You are good at this, giving head. You like doing it. It gives you a strange sense of power; something you learnt a while ago, in a different life. It makes you feel fucking hot and ready for more. Makes you want to get fucked.
Marty hisses when you bob you head up and down on him repeatedly, depriving yourself of air to get him off. After a while he moans loudly and pushes you off him suddenly. Your mouth is still wide open from deep-throating him and he feeds you three of his fingers while he takes deep calming breaths.
"Goddamn, Ste!" His light rumble of laughter is laced with surprise and disbelief. "Shit! Nearly came."
You feel a sense of satisfaction and wet his fingers using the same techniques you used on his dick. "Doesn't matter if you come. We have all night if we want."
He growls and pushes you away unceremoniously, then in one fluid motion he pulls your jeans and underwear off before tugging your shirt over your head. You are naked in no time.
You capture his face between your hands and kiss the hell out of him grabbing at him as if he is your lifeline. He is.
He manhandles you roughly until you end up straddling him and gazing down at him.
He digs his hands into your hips keeping you put. It is this possessive hold that make you think, for a brief second that maybe this unusual behaviour of Martin's is about more than the two of you. Maybe it is about your reaction at the restaurant and... him and... jealousy.
You wince slightly at the excessive pressure on your hip bones. You'll be bruised in the morning. Martin notices and immediately says, "Shit! You alright?"
Barely touched, ye, Stephen. Thought ye liked it a little rough.
"Yeah. Great. Really." Your hands pin his down and you delve to trap his mouth with yours. You give in to a battle of tongues and lips and spit and a little teeth.
You grin at him and start grinding down against his rigid cock feeling an urgency build up in you for him to penetrate you.
When you pull away you keep your face short inches from his and whisper,
"Fuck me."
Martin doesn't need persuading.
He throws you onto your back like some Neanderthal. His body and the effortless power it can harness should scare you but you feel nothing but turned on.
You trust him.
He is your rock. Your rock would never hurt you.
His lips and hands are everywhere making your skin tingle so that it feels hypersensitive. He bites at your jaw line before sucking at the grove in your neck. His hands tease your nipples forcing you to come off the bed. You pull him into another kiss as you wrap your legs around his waist exposing your crack to his dick, wanting to forego any more foreplay in favour of some hardcore, bed breaking fucking.
That is what you want right now. A hard fuck that is so frantic that it blurs the boundaries of pleasure and pain.
You gyrate against him and feel his cock rub against your hole. You make a desperate keening sound and groan,
"Please."
Martin suddenly moves down your body and pushes your legs further up holding them there with his hands. Your eyes home in on his left hand and the symbol of commitment that you both carry on your fourth fingers.
The glimmer of his gold band is enough to distract you for a split second before his mouth and tongue descend on your puckered entrance and you close your eyes against the delicious mixture of rough and smooth wetness. He laps away turning you into putty. Your head rolls to one side and you suspect that you are actually salivating. When you feel his tongue piercing into you, you cry out unashamedly and start to jerk off.
"Good boy." He says thickly in his Glaswegian accent only you could have sworn it is superimposed with a low smooth Dublin drawl.
Good boy, Stephen. Now relax.
Your eyes spring open but it is just Martin here with you.
You shake your head to clear it as he shuffles himself up closer to you between your spread-eagled legs. He grabs the bottle of lube and squirts some directly onto his dick. You subconsciously relax in response to him coating up, like a Pavlovian reaction; getting ready to receive him. You replace his hand with your own and stroke his cock a few times. You then use the lube that has transferred onto your fingers on your spit slicked hole while never taking your eyes off him.
You are ready.
Martin and you stopped using condoms during sex together two years ago. Some might say that it is always better safe than sorry but the reality is that you had been in a committed exclusive relationship for three years when you made the decision. For you, as a couple, it felt like the right thing to do after getting tested at the GUM clinic and laying down some ground rules of what you would do if either of you were to ever slip up and cheat so as not to endanger each other's health.
Your eyes remain open as he penetrates you slowly in one fluid move that ends with him buried to the hilt in you.
"Fuck." You drag out slack jawed as he pulls out almost totally only to plunge right back in again unhurriedly. "Yes, Marty!"
Like you said, Martin knows what he is doing with that dick of his. He starts off slowly, but then gradually picks up the pace, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he fills you up completely with each thrust. You claw at his back and pull him in at his buttocks encouraging him in deeper and faster still.
He switches it up; slowing down to make you go crazy with need then speeding up to make you see stars.
"You like that?" He asks frantically as his tongue whispers over your gasping open mouth.
You feel yourself let go and elevate to another dimension as he continues to fuck you.
You smooth your hands over him, feeling every contour and committing it to memory.
His dark chest hair tapering into a treasure trail which feels surprisingly soft against you. His strong arms with one marked by a large tattoo of a cross on his deltoid.
You open your eyes and tumble into a sea of blue; the bluest eyes you have ever seen. You reach up and open your mouth wide tangling your tongue with his, relishing the burn of his moustache against your cheeks and upper lip.
"Stephen." He groans as he grabs hold of your leaking dick that is suddenly this close to exploding. "I said, do you like that?"
"Yes." You pant knowing that it never gets better than when you do this with him. "I love it."
"Good boy." He says in his strong Dublin accent as he fists your cock in time with his steady deep pummelling.
You lick your lips and stare up at him trying to focus on his flushed face with pupils blown wide by lustful intent.
There is a hint of a smile on your face because you are about to say those three little words that used to make him lash out in anger and fear at first but gradually became words he grew to accept and maybe even look forward to.
You can't stop yourself from blurting them out because they are true and honest.
"I love you, Brendan."
There is silence and the second those words are out you recognise your mistake.
The fucking ceases; sex in stasis. The only sound comes from the night traffic several floors below.
You open your eyes and look at the person hovering over you, He remains deep in you; arms tense, eyes unwavering as they look at you in disbelief and hurt.
You have just experienced another flashback.
Sex with Martin superimposed over sex with him.
You are not in Chez Chez. There are no Al Green dulcet tones playing in the background. There are no blue eyes. There is no hairy chest or Irish twang. No tattoo of a cross. No moustache.
You are in a hotel room in Dublin and looking down at you is the pained, disappointed and devastated look of your Scottish-accented, tattoo-free, smooth-chested, blond haired, brown eyed...
Husband-to-be.