It was 1:15 on a Wednesday morning, and Marcus was glaring at a steel-framing diagram like it had insulted his mother.
He sat hunched over his desk in gray sweatpants, one enormous forearm beside the laptop, the other hand clicking slowly through a PDF called Load and Resistance Factor Design. Every few pages he stopped, rubbed both hands down his face, and stared at the screen with the exhausted concentration of a man considering whether engineering standards could be defeated physically.
Toby watched from the doorway.
Black pleated tennis skirt. White ribbed thigh-highs. Oversized charcoal sweater sliding off one shoulder. Fresh eyeliner.
He had redone the eyeliner twice.
That detail was nobody’s business.
“You’ve been staring at the same beam for an hour,” Toby said. “It’s not going to fuck you back.”
Marcus clicked once.
“Go to bed, Toby.”
“No.”
“Midterm at eight.”
“Exactly. You’re stressed.”
Marcus finally turned his head.
His eyes moved down Toby slowly: sweater, skirt, bare strip of thigh above the socks.
Then back to his mouth.
Toby noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“And,” Toby continued, walking in, “I’m an excellent roommate. I provide amenities.”
Marcus leaned back in the chair.
“You’re wearing the skirt.”
“I own several.”
“The black one.”
Toby stopped between Marcus’s spread knees.
“Do you have a point?”
Marcus hooked one rough finger under the waistband and tugged him half a step closer.
“Don’t start something you’re only doing for attention.”
That landed harder than Toby expected.
His smile stayed up for maybe another second.
Then it disappeared.
Marcus noticed that too.
Toby dropped to his knees.
No flourish. No joke.
The carpet scraped beneath him as he settled between Marcus’s thighs and put both hands flat on the heavy muscles above his knees.
Marcus went still.
Toby looked up.
“I’m not doing it for attention.”
His voice had lost the performance completely.
“I’ve been in my room for two hours waiting for the apartment to get quiet because I wanted to come in here and do this.”
Marcus’s hand remained at Toby’s waist.
“What’s ‘this’?”
Toby swallowed.
He could announce almost anything as a joke.
Saying it plainly to one person was harder.
“I want to suck your cock.”
Marcus’s expression barely changed.
His breathing did.
Toby continued.
“I want to stay down here until you forget about the midterm. I want you to stop treating me like I’m teasing you and believe me when I tell you I actually want it.”
A long pause.
“Say it again.”
Toby’s pulse jumped.
Not because Marcus hadn’t heard him.
Because he had.
“I want to suck your cock, Marcus.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Marcus’s thumb brushed once over Toby’s hip.
“You sure?”
Toby gave him an offended look.
“I redid my eyeliner twice for this.”
For the first time all night, Marcus almost smiled.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes,” Toby said.
No joke now.
“I’m sure.”
Marcus exhaled slowly.
“Christ.”
He pushed his sweatpants down.
Toby’s mouth immediately watered.
Marcus was already hard, heavy against his stomach, precum shining at the tip.
Toby stared for half a second too long.
Marcus caught him.
“All that talking.”
“Shut up.”
“You came in here with a speech.”
“I did not have a speech.”
“You had an outfit.”
Toby leaned forward and dragged his tongue slowly along the underside.
Marcus stopped talking.
That was satisfying.
Toby took the head into his mouth, lips closing tightly around it, tongue working deliberately as Marcus sank deeper into the chair.
A rough sound came out of him.
Toby looked up.
There it was.
That was what he had wanted.
Marcus losing the composure he carried through everything else.
Toby took more.
The thickness stretched his jaw. His eyes watered when Marcus reached the back of his mouth, but he kept going until his throat refused the angle and forced a gag out of him.
Marcus’s hand immediately loosened in his hair.
“You good?”
Toby pulled back, breathing hard.
Spit connected his lip to the head before breaking across his chin.
He glared upward.
“Stop babying me.”
Marcus stared at him.
“I asked.”
“You did.”
“I’m still asking.”
Marcus’s fingers closed more firmly around Toby’s hair.
“Then open.”
Toby did.
Marcus guided him down again.
Slowly at first.
Then not slowly.
Toby’s hands tightened around Marcus’s thighs as the rhythm changed. Marcus used the grip in his hair to control the angle, giving Toby enough space to breathe before pulling him deeper again.
Wet sounds filled the otherwise silent bedroom.
Spit ran over Toby’s lower lip, down his chin, darkening the edge of his sweater.
Marcus watched everything.
That was almost worse than the physical intensity.
“Eyes up.”
Toby looked at him.
His mascara was already starting to smear.
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“Pretty.”
Toby made a muffled sound around him.
“You like that?”
Another sound.
Marcus eased him back just enough to speak.
“Use words.”
Toby sucked in air.
“Yes.”
“What do you like?”
“You looking at me.”
Marcus’s thumb brushed the corner of Toby’s mouth.
“Thought you came in here to take care of me.”
“I can multitask.”
“There he is.”
Toby rolled his eyes.
Marcus pushed back into his mouth before Toby could produce another line.
The next few minutes destroyed the argument anyway.
Marcus’s pace became rougher as Toby kept meeting it willingly, one hand still locked in his hair, the other occasionally cupping Toby’s jaw to keep his face angled upward.
Toby stayed greedy about it.
He wanted Marcus watching.
Wanted the praise.
Wanted the visible evidence that this giant, maddeningly calm man was coming apart specifically because Toby had decided to kneel between his knees.
Marcus’s breathing grew uneven.
“Toby.”
Toby looked up.
Marcus stopped.
Not for long.
Just long enough.
“You still want me taking over?”
Toby nodded.
Marcus’s grip tightened.
“Words.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Marcus. I want you taking over.”
Marcus’s eyes went darker.
“Good.”
That word hit Toby harder every time.
Marcus resumed with less restraint.
Toby’s eyes watered freely now. His lipstick was gone. His throat worked around the rhythm as Marcus guided him, and the only thing Toby cared about was the expression on Marcus’s face whenever Toby managed to take more.
“Look at you.”
Toby did.
“Came in here dressed like that because you wanted this.”
Toby hummed an affirmative.
“You waited for me.”
Another.
“You wanted to be down there.”
Toby pulled back just far enough to gasp:
“Yes.”
Then immediately took him again.
Marcus groaned.
The sound went straight through Toby.
He reached up, wrapped one hand around the base, and worked everything he couldn’t comfortably take while Marcus’s hand stayed buried in his hair.
“Fuck.”
Marcus’s voice had finally lost its usual flatness.
“Toby.”
That alone made Toby work harder.
Marcus noticed.
Naturally.
“You like hearing me lose it?”
Toby nodded.
“Little attention whore.”
Toby pulled off, panting.
“I told you this wasn’t about attention.”
Marcus looked down at him.
“No.”
His thumb wiped saliva from Toby’s lower lip.
“This is about being the reason.”
Toby froze.
Marcus had managed to find the exact center of it with nine words.
Toby looked away.
Marcus caught his chin.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Hide now.”
Toby’s face burned.
“I want to be the reason,” he admitted.
Marcus leaned forward.
“The reason what?”
“You stop thinking.”
Marcus’s expression changed.
Toby went on before courage failed him.
“The reason you lose control.”
Marcus sat back again.
“All right.”
Two words.
Heavy as a door locking.
“Then take it.”
Toby opened his mouth.
Marcus gave him exactly what he had asked for.
The rhythm turned blunt and demanding, controlled by Marcus’s grip and Toby’s repeated willingness to stay there. Toby’s hands clutched at Marcus’s thighs. His knees ached against the carpet. His eyes streamed.
He loved every second of it.
Whenever Marcus gave him room, Toby chased him again.
Whenever Toby needed air, Marcus gave it.
Then pulled him right back.
“Good boy.”
Toby shuddered.
Again.
“Good.”
Again.
“That’s it.”
Again.
Toby’s confidence had disappeared somewhere under the desk.
He didn’t miss it.
Marcus finally slowed, breathing ragged.
“Toby.”
Toby looked up.
“I’m close.”
Toby’s whole body tightened with anticipation.
“You want it?”
He nodded.
Marcus held him back.
“No.”
Toby understood.
He took a breath.
“Yes. I want it.”
“Where?”
Toby answered clearly.
“In my mouth.”
Marcus’s fingers tightened in his hair.
“And?”
Toby’s cheeks burned hotter.
“I want to swallow.”
Marcus’s control broke.
He pulled Toby back in and finished with a low, rough sound, holding him steady while Toby swallowed eagerly until Marcus’s grip finally softened.
For several seconds neither moved.
The computer fan hummed.
Something in the wall clicked.
Marcus slowly let go of Toby’s hair.
Toby sat back on his heels.
His mouth was swollen, eyes glassy, sweater damp at the collar. He wiped his chin with the back of one hand and looked up.
Marcus stared at him.
Toby attempted a smirk.
“Better?”
Marcus let out one exhausted laugh.
“You’re insane.”
“You seem calmer.”
“Shut up.”
“I provide amenities.”
Marcus stood.
Toby expected him to pull his pants up.
Instead Marcus bent, hooked both hands beneath Toby’s arms, and hauled him off the floor in one easy motion.
Toby squeaked.
“Marcus—”
His ass landed on the edge of the desk.
A stack of index cards scattered onto the carpet.
“Your notes.”
“Fuck the notes.”
“That attitude is why you need me.”
Marcus grabbed the tissue box and wiped Toby’s chin.
The same hands that had been rough in his hair two minutes earlier were now maddeningly careful around his mouth and eyes.
Toby watched him.
Marcus frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“So were you.”
“That was different.”
“Explain.”
Marcus ignored him.
He wiped the last smear of mascara from beneath Toby’s eye, then rested his thumb briefly against Toby’s cheek.
“Throat hurt?”
“A little.”
“Water.”
“I can get my own—”
Marcus had already crossed to the bathroom.
Toby rolled his eyes at the empty room.
Marcus returned with a glass.
Toby drank.
Then Marcus grabbed the heavy flannel hanging over the chair and wrapped it around Toby’s shoulders.
Toby looked down at it.
“This is aggressively heterosexual.”
“It’s warm.”
“I’m wearing thigh-highs and your flannel.”
“Yeah.”
“You hear how that sounds?”
Marcus stepped between Toby’s knees.
“Yeah.”
That shut him up.
Marcus adjusted the flannel around Toby and looked down at him with the same blunt seriousness he used for everything.
“You sleeping in here.”
Toby’s heart gave one humiliating thump.
“I have a room.”
“I know where your room is.”
“A very expensive mattress.”
“Mine’s better.”
“That is objectively false.”
Marcus waited.
Toby looked at him.
There it was again: no speech, no performance, no elaborate reassurance.
Just a man who wanted him to stay.
“Okay,” Toby said.
Marcus nodded.
“Okay.”
Toby slid off the desk.
His knees disagreed with standing.
Marcus caught his elbow immediately.
Toby glared.
“Do not comment.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Bed.”
“You are extremely bossy after midnight.”
“You like it.”
Toby opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Marcus raised one eyebrow.
“Bed.”
Toby climbed under the quilt wearing Marcus’s flannel and almost nothing else.
Marcus returned to the desk.
“For five minutes,” he said.
“You are not studying after that.”
“Have to.”
“You just had your brain reset.”
Marcus sat down.
Toby watched him reopen the framing manual.
“You’re impossible.”
Marcus clicked to the next page.
“Toby.”
“What?”
Marcus looked over.
Slowly.
“Thank you.”
That was worse than praise.
Toby pulled the quilt up to his nose.
“Study your stupid beams.”
Marcus smiled.
Five minutes later he shut the laptop anyway.
