No Regrets Ch. 02

"I wish you didn't ever have to let me go," Deacon said sadly. "I kinda like being with someone stronger than me. That must sound weird, huh?"

"No, I know what you mean," Mark said huskily. "I like being with someone strong...but not as strong as me." Deacon laughed softly. "And I wish I didn't have to let you go. It's strange, I feel more comfortable with you...like this, than I ever have with Marie." Mark ran his hand over Deacon's defined stomach, wishing he could open up to Deacon, but he shook his head and forced a grin instead.

"It's nice just standing here in the rain and all, but we do kinda need to clean up a little!" Mark said, and Deacon smiled distractedly, staring solemnly into Mark's eyes.

"Well, what're you waiting for?" Deacon said carefully. Deacon was hoping Mark's comment about being comfortable with him meant that Mark was ready to confide in him, about the scars, the accident, everything that Mark had obviously kept inside since December. "The soap's on that shelf. Right behind you."

Mark's smile faded as he realized Deacon's motive, and Deacon was immediately sorry he'd said anything. Feeling guilty and selfish, Deacon looked down at his feet and opened his mouth to apologize. But before he could say anything, Mark put his hand under Deacon's chin and lifted his head up to face Mark's. A nervous smile briefly danced across Mark's lips and he gave Deacon a sweet, tender kiss before reaching around to get the soap. As he turned around completely and deliberately, Mark fully revealed to Deacon, close-up, the one part of his body that Deacon had never been permitted to see since the accident - Mark's back.

When Mark turned around, he felt his stomach tighten up again. He was so afraid of how Deacon would react, what he would say; Mark wanted to look back to see the expression on his friend's face, but he resisted the urge. Deacon, on the other hand, was glad that Mark had turned his head away as well as his back, because the instant he saw the scars, Deacon couldn't disguise his shock. Deacon had been expecting some faded, jagged lines across Mark's upper back, but he hadn't expected what was actually there.

There were several very thin, faded white scars which were obviously surgical scars left from where the doctors had repaired Mark's critical spinal injuries. But scattered among the thin lines was the real evidence of the accident - unevenly distributed slashes and rough circles; the healed wounds were a deep, angry blend of reds, bordered with puckered white scar tissue. They still seemed raw and painful, even though Deacon knew Mark had full use of his muscles and back; but the sheer width and disfigured look of the wounds revealed how deep and critical the injuries had been.

Agonizingly slow seconds passed as Mark stood fixed in the most vulnerable position he could think of, and there was nothing but silence from behind him. Deacon felt tears stinging his eyes as he unsteadily reached out and touched the scars, releasing a small, anguished moan as Mark trembled beneath his fingers.

When Mark felt Deacon's fingertips gently probing his back and heard Deacon moan softly, Mark started to shudder and concentrated on keeping the flood of pain inside him from bursting free - all the pain and insecurities of the last six months that Mark hadn't been able to share, all the shame and anger and fear was threatening to break out and consume him. As Deacon stared, he knew at that moment that Mark should be dead; Deacon had never really, truly realized deep within his soul that it was by an utter miracle that his best friend was still alive.

Raising his head and breathing deeply until he had his emotions under control, Mark grasped the soap and turned around to face Deacon. Mark could see Deacon was trying his hardest to conceal how shaken he was, and Mark began to wash Deacon's stomach and chest in silence, waiting until Deacon was ready to talk. Mark impassively lathered up and rinsed down Deacon's body, and Deacon silently reciprocated the deed before putting the soap down and staring into Mark's dark eyes, the shower water beating down on them relentlessly.

"Why..." Deacon tried to suppress the anger in his voice. "Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you tell me?" Deacon's watery eyes were piercing, and Mark had to look away. "You didn't have to go through that alone, we..." Mark interrupted abruptly.

"Don't do that," Mark warned tensely. "Don't you fuckin' dare feel sorry for me..." Deacon shook his head and reached for Mark's hand.

"Why shouldn't I feel sorry for you?" Deacon asked forcefully as Mark pulled his hand away. "If you'd told us...told anyone! We could've helped you..." Mark snapped his head up and glared harshly at Deacon, his eyes flashing.

"I didn't need your help!" Mark spat out bitterly. Gritting his teeth, Mark turned the water off. "I don't want to talk about it right now, all right?"

Hesitating only slightly, Deacon nodded in agreement. They toweled off in silence and got dressed in silence. After several awkward moments standing together in the lounge, Deacon put his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat, his anger gone.

"I...I'm pretty tired, I might take a nap," Deacon said, not meeting Mark's eyes. Mark nodded wearily, sitting down on the couch. Deacon stood awkwardly before walking slowly to his room. Watching his friend walk dejectedly away, Mark sighed unhappily and lay down on the couch.

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An hour later, Mark was still awake. His mind was racing over and over what had been said in the shower, what hadn't been said, what could have been said, and Mark couldn't shut it up. Sighing deeply, Mark knew that Deacon was angry Mark hadn't confided in him, that he felt sorry for him....that he didn't want Mark anymore. That simple realization hurt more than the multiple operations he'd endured since the beginning of the year, and Mark couldn't undo it, no matter how hard he tried. A sound in the kitchen tore Mark out of his thoughts, and he turned his head quickly towards the kitchen to see what it was. Deacon was scuffling through the kitchen, wrapped in his duvet, a sheepish, anxious grin on his face.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" Deacon asked quietly. Mark shook his head and looked down at his hands, unable to meet his friend's eyes. Deacon stood indecisively, not sure of what to say. "Can I...can I come lie with you?" Deacon bit his lip anxiously, hoping Mark didn't hate him for what Deacon had said in the shower. Mark looked up sharply, trying to gauge Deacon's request. He slowly nodded and moved over. As Deacon lay down and hugged Mark close to him, a wave of relief flowed through both their bodies. Without words or eyes, both boys suddenly knew that everything was all right between them. Mark knew that Deacon wasn't revolted by him, didn't pity or hate him, that Deacon still wanted him; and Deacon knew that Mark wasn't angry about what Deacon had said in the shower.

They lay in perfect comfort for a long while before Deacon tentatively pushed his hands under Mark's shirt, pushing it over his chest. Mark silently adhered to the unspoken request, raising his arms as Deacon pushed the shirt over Mark's head. Mark rearranged himself, laying on his stomach with his head resting on his arms. Deacon leant over Mark's body, tracing his lips lightly over the scars while stroking Mark's lower back with his hand. Mark fell asleep with a small smile on his face as Deacon delicately explored his fading injuries. Deacon fell asleep not long after, his face nestled by Mark's.

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Again Mark was suddenly woken up by the phone. The shrill ringing ceased suddenly, and as he gradually woke up, still half in his subconscious, Mark smelt a delicious aroma waft towards him. Rubbing his eyes, Mark squinted at his watch and saw that it was just after seven in the evening. Putting his discarded shirt back on, Mark followed his nose towards the smell, and saw along the way that Deacon must have been up for a while - the bloody shirt that Mark had used on his head had been cleaned and was hanging up outside drying beside the towels they had used, and Mark's boxers and t-shirt that he had swam in that morning had been washed and dried, and were folded up neatly on his bag. Mark found Deacon by the pantry, talking into the phone. Mark quietly asked who was on the phone, and Deacon mouthed it was his parents. Mark nodded in understanding, and started putting dishes into the dishwasher.

As Deacon finished on the phone, Mark crept up behind him and wrapped his arms around Deacon's waist, placing his face into the crook of Deacon's neck.

"What smells so good?" Mark asked, his voice muffled by Deacon's skin. Mark inhaled deeply, feeling the clean scent of Deacon's skin invade

his nose. "Besides you, of course." Deacon laughed softly, shivering at the feel of Mark's warm breath on his flesh.

"I thought after all the...activity we've been up to recently," Deacon implied, "we should restock the energy stores with a good solid meal." Mark 'hmph'-ed in agreement and ran himself a glass of water.

"Oh, your parents called too, about an hour ago." Deacon told Mark. "They're all safe and sound in the hotel, I wrote the number down if you wanna call them back." Mark shrugged and peered over at the food. Deacon laughed, and after he had put huge servings of pasta and meatballs on each of their plates, they took their food to the sofa and ate in silence, engrossed by the television.

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Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Mark burped loudly and laughed as Deacon threw a cushion at him, frowning in mock distaste.

"What? In some cultures, burping is a compliment to the chef," Mark protested with a grin. Deacon raised an eyebrow and smirked. Standing up and walking to the sofa that Mark was sitting on, Deacon leant over his lover, placing his arms on the sofa cushions either side of Mark.

"I can think of a much better way for you to thank me," Deacon suggested, his eyes drifting to Mark's crotch. Mark playfully shoved Deacon's stomach and sniggered as Deacon lost his balance and feel to the floor, landing with a thud on his rump.

"Jeez, you're a machine!" Mark teased. "Don't you think of anything else?" Deacon scowled and punched Mark on the calf, causing Mark to yelp in pain through his laughter. Deacon couldn't keep the scowl on his face for long - it was good to see Mark laugh again - and his face broke into a wide, honest smile that made Mark's heart and stomach do somersaults.

"I'm..." Mark's cheeks colored with self-consciousness. "I'm glad I showed you." Deacon flopped down on the sofa beside Mark and took his hand.

"I'm glad you showed me too," Deacon started. "And I'm sorry about what I said in the shower, I had no right. I don't even have a shadow of an idea about how much you've been through..."

"No," Mark cut in, "you were right." Mark frowned, anticipating the rise of emotions that would come to the surface at any moment. "I should've told someone, it was pointless for me to feel like everyone would treat me differently..."

Mark's voice broke, and Deacon hugged his friend close as Mark told Deacon everything - the terrifying nights in the hospital, laying immobile and in agony; the constant pain and frustration of slowly rebuilding his muscles; the shame and embarrassment of the scars; and the inability to get over the whole thing, to just let it go - and all the while, Deacon held Mark's hand firmly and listened.

When Mark stopped talking, his throat was raw and dry, but for the first time in six months, Mark wasn't worried about a thing. Now Deacon knew everything there was to know about Mark, every shameful thought and experience....and yet he hadn't let go of Mark's hand. Mark looked patiently at Deacon, waiting for him to say something. Deacon opened his mouth to speak, but closed it slowly with a frown. Instead, he lifted Mark's hand up and kissed the palm delicately. Mark saw a single tear drop from Deacon's face, and felt it land on his hand.

"Thank you," Deacon said softly, and Mark expelled a deeply relieved breath. He leant towards Deacon and slowly kissed him, more gently and sensually than Mark had ever experienced. Mark broke the kiss and stood up, pulling Deacon up with him. He led Deacon to the bedroom and lovingly removed each bit of clothing from Deacon's body, kissing each part of skin as it was exposed.

Deacon stood with his eyes closed, trembling each time he felt Mark's lips or fingers touching his body, wishing he'd put on more clothes so this divine torture would last a little longer. When Deacon was naked, Mark quickly discarded his own clothes and gently pushed Deacon onto the bed, kissing and sucking at Deacon's lips. They lay kissing intimately for longer than either of them ever had, not feeling the need to rush things along. Mark shifted his fervid lips across Deacon's jaw, slowly moving his way to his lover's flushed neck, making Deacon moan deeply. Deacon felt a pulsing hardness grind against his thigh, and arched his back, pushing his own aching cock against Mark's stomach.

"I...I want..." Deacon fought with his tongue to make the words he desperately wanted to say come out, as Mark's lips continued to sear Deacon's neck. Deacon put his mouth by Mark's ear and whispered urgently. "I want you...inside me." Mark pulled away abruptly and searched Deacon's determined face.

"Are...are you sure?" Mark asked with a frown. "We don't have to..."

"No," Deacon said tenderly. "I know we don't have to, but I want to." Deacon kissed Mark's shoulder lightly. "I want you."

Deacon pushed Mark back onto his heels and sat up, reaching over to open the top drawer of his bedside table. He took out a tube of lubricant and handed it to Mark without a word and laid back down on the bed.

Mark crawled forward on his knees until he was between Deacon's legs. Hesitating, Mark frowned - what was the best way to go about this? Deacon answered the unspoken question by sliding his legs onto Mark's shoulder while pulling Mark down onto him at the same time. Mark tried to relax, kissing Deacon's neck while dribbling sufficient lube onto Deacon's crack. Deacon gasped at the icy temperature of the gel, and Mark laughed softly into Deacon's neck.

Tossing the lubricant to one side, Mark gently used his fingers to massage the lube around Deacon's asshole, and lifted his head to look into Deacon's eyes as Mark slowly slid a finger into his lover's tight opening. Deacon raised his eyebrows, surprised at the feeling that a single finger was invoking. Deacon's dick quivered as Mark pushed his finger in all the way up to the knuckle, putting a strange but incredibly arousing pressure on Deacon's prostate. Mark withdrew the finger and pushed back in forcefully but gently with two. Deacon winced faintly as the fingers stretched his anal cavity, and Mark stopped pushing.

"Do you want me to stop?" Mark whispered. Deacon shook his head, forcing a smile for Mark's benefit. Deacon wanted this to happen, but he was under no illusions about how painful this first time was going to be.

"It's gonna hurt a bit, I know that," Deacon reassured Mark. "I'll tell you if I want you to stop. But unless I tell you to stop, don't." Deacon said firmly.

Mark nodded and continued to slide his two fingers in and out of Deacon's asshole, trying to widen the canal enough so it would fit Mark's wide penis. Deacon let his hole get used to the invasion, then reached around and pulled Mark's fingers out. Mark raised his eyebrows, and Deacon nodded slowly. Reapplying lube to both his cock and Deacon's asshole, Mark steadied himself with one hand on the bed, and positioned the head of his dick up against the puckered ring of Deacon's anus. Mark looked uncertainly into Deacon's face, but his lover's eyes held nothing but trust and desire. Deacon could feel the bulbous head of Mark's penis against his hole, and although he knew it was going to hurt, Deacon wanted it, felt like he needed it inside him.

Very slowly and very gingerly, Mark began to push into Deacon, keeping his eyes on Deacon's face. Deacon squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as he felt the head enter him. It hurt like nothing he had ever experienced before, but he said nothing. Mark wanted to stop and ask Deacon if it hurt too much, but remembered what Deacon had said - don't stop unless I tell you. Mark pushed the entire length of his cock inside of Deacon as gently as he could, and paused when his shaft was buried to the hilt to let Deacon's ass adjust to it. Deacon was breathing heavily and still had his eyes shut. Mark frowned as a single tear of exertion emerged from Deacon's squeezed lids and rolled down his cheek, and Mark leant down, softly kissing the tear away. Deacon opened his eyes and forced a pained smile.

"Are you ok?" Mark had to ask. Deacon looked in so much pain that this didn't seem right. Deacon nodded resolutely.

"I'm...I'll be fine," Deacon's voice sounded strained. "Just...go slow, ok?" Mark nodded and tentatively began moving in and out of Deacon, using one hand to reach around to Deacon's dick and jerk him off.

Being inside of Deacon was not like being inside of Marie - the pressure that surrounded Mark's aching cock was tighter, and the walls of Deacon's ass felt hotter, seeming to pulse around his penis. Mark struggled to keep the pace slow and even, but hearing Deacon's groans turn from pain to pleasure, Mark couldn't help but thrust deeper, harder and faster. Deacon never said a word - he moaned, cried out, gasped; but he never told Mark to slow down, to stop and pull out.

As the minutes passed, the pain for Deacon was gradually evened out by an indescribable pleasure, deep inside where nothing had ever been stimulated before. To Deacon, it felt unfamiliar that he should be hungry for the feeling he was receiving, craving penetration rather than wanting to penetrate; but even though he winced at every thrust as it became more urgent and intense, when Mark pulled out to thrust again, Deacon felt an emptiness inside that he desperately wanted filled. But even as Deacon himself came in Mark's firm hand, a shuddering and exhausting release, even as Mark came inside of him, panting and flushed - there was still pain for Deacon. Mark lay on top of Deacon breathing heavily, and as he felt himself start to go limp, Mark gently pulled out of Deacon and lay down beside him.

"Are you all right?" Mark whispered, stroking Deacon's arm. Deacon carefully rolled over onto his stomach and tiredly draped his arm over Mark's body, feeling a warm sticky fluid slowly trickle from his ass. Nuzzling up to Mark's chest with a slight smile on his face, Deacon nodded, too drained to talk, and he gently kissed Mark's neck. As Deacon nestled his head in Mark's armpit, Mark smiled, happier than he had been in a long time.

Everything that he had been worried about for the past six months - his ambiguous feelings for Deacon, the scars, his illogical feelings about the accident; all resolved in one weekend, in a way that he wouldn't mind repeating. Mark squirmed down into Deacon as he drifted off to sleep, and within minutes was sleeping deeply in his lovers arms. Deacon sensed Mark's transition into sleep, and slowly began to follow. It wasn't easy - his ass was throbbing in pain and he had a feeling that the sticky stuff in his ass wasn't just cum. Stroking Mark's arms and body, Deacon breathed deeply until he felt sleep overtake him, wondering if it had hurt this much for Sarah. He'd never asked...

To be continued....