Markus and Sebastian’s first time (m/m)
*Author’s note: m/m, NSFW story with Markus and Sebastian from Fighting Addiction. This piece is set ten years before the novel starts, but it was the story they wanted me to share.
Sebastian looked across the postage stamp sized stage at the finest son of a bitch that had ever slinked out of West Texas and into Nashville.
Dark and tight, with eyes like buttons, Sebastian was into the man — up to his neck.
They tended to glomp together — songwriters and pickers, solo artists and bands, deep South boys and the Texans.
Fortunately for him, Sebastian was a fucking Cajun, and he’d just rub all up in anybody’s business.
Tonight he fully intended to find out all about Markus Kane’s business.
Markus Kane, who was sitting there, head bobbing a little with the music and foot tapping while he sucked back a beer. That mouth was like all the good sins.
Seb was sure that he desperately needed to be introduced to at least five or six sins, immediately if not sooner.
As soon as Bruce Walker finished his set, of course. Seb was seriously considering talking to the man about starting a band. Bruce sounded a little like a goose with a head cold when he sang, but damn, the man could pick, and it sure sounded like he could write a song.
When he glanced back at Markus, the man was staring at him, and there was interest there — not just friendly.He met that look head-on, making the clearest offer he could without getting his ass handed to him.
Come get me, gorilla man. I could use a nice, hard fuck. We could play alligator wrestlers.
Markus stood, those long, long legs moving, bringing the man to him. “You want another beer?”
“Nope. You want to take a walk?” He didn’t need to be fucked up to get what he wanted.
Dark eyes scanned the room, and he knew Markus was making sure no one was watching. It was a thing, and Sebastian understood it. “You know it,” Kane finally said, nodding toward the door.
He nodded to Bruce, to Seeley, and then took his Cajun ass out, whistling on the way.
Markus followed, warm and solid behind him, almost too close, but not close enough.
“I got a place. It’s tiny, but not foul.”
“I share with three other guys.” Those pretty lips twisted wryly. “Yours is a better bet, huh?”
“It’s a closet, but it’s my closet, and there’s a bed in it.” Thank god, Mamma sent money. Lots of money.
“I like beds.” One hand slid over his ass for a moment, almost like a promise.
“I like fucking. Sucking, too. I’m also not opposed to handjobs.”
A short chuckle came from behind him. “I am not opposed to any of that.”
“Excellent news.” He turned down an alleyway, leading Markus up a short flight of stairs.
“Oh.” When he turned around, Markus was still at the bottom, staring in the general direction of his ass.
He rolled his hips, nice and slow. “Come get it.”
Markus hit the stairs like a locomotive, charging up and reaching him just as he unlocked his little apartment. The big guy pushed him inside, and Seb’s back slapped against the wall, Markus kissing him hard.
He hooted, legs wrapping around Markus’ hips, heels digging in but good so he could rub. The man was like a giant jungle gym. Hard. Hot. Solid.
Markus tasted like hops and barley and pure heat, and Seb pushed into it, fucking Markus’ lips for all he was worth.
With a low moan, Markus lifted him higher, hands under his ass.
Oh, Jesus fuck. He loved that — the strength, the power, the need. “More, cowboy.”
“Uh-huh. Bed.” Markus took him right over to the bed, which was sort of central to the apartment, laying him down.
He pulled Markus’ shirt out of the second tightest pair of jeans in history, then sucked in his belly so Markus’ fingers could work on the fly of the tightest.
Markus had picker’s fingers, clever and quick. His jeans were open in no time.
His cock battered its way out of his fly, pushing right into that touch. “Touch me.”
“Hell, yes.” That big hand closed around his cock, pulling. There was nothing gentle about it.
“Fuck!” He rolled up, his eyes rolled back, and he thought seriously about giving praise.
“Hot as a firecracker, Cajun.”
“You know it. Don’t stop on me, now.”
“No.” Markus kissed him again, and it was like eating something too hot, burning his lips. They ate each other up, tongues duelling, and suddenly Markus’ prick was sliding alongside his, fat and heavy, and his hand joined Markus’.
The heat ramped up a thousand degrees, and they were both straining to get to the endgame, but he was sure enjoying the ride.
Markus grunted, and it was blisteringly hot, damn near musical, and he dug his thumb into the dripping slit.
“Fuck! Fuck, man. I need.” Marcus really got into it, humping and pulling at him.
“Got you. Got you, come on, and we’ll start over.”
“Okay.” Those eyes met his, like two holes burned in a blanket, and Marcus came like a ton of bricks, wet and good on his hand.
His balls drew up, and he curled up, humping in a random syncopation until he lost it, shooting his brains out the tip of his cock.
Markus stared at him, panting, his chest heaving. He was so beautiful that Sebastian knew he was utterly lost.
“Hey.” His smile grew, slow, from the pit of his belly.
“Hey. That was– I could write songs.”
“Yeah?” He reached for a pad of score paper, a pen. “I got a couple of guitars.”
Markus sat up, too, stretching a little before grinning. “Can we get naked to write?”
“Oh, hell yeah. I write best in the buff.” He made a show of looking Markus up and down. “You know, I’m all about inspiration.”
“Well, I’m happy to be inspiring.” Markus wiggled out of his clothes before grabbing a guitar.
He hooted, grabbed his baby acoustic, strumming an E flat. “So, what do you think of Beer-Soaked Heaven as a hook?”