Love Actually: Juliet, Peter & Mark

Please no. Please let him be seated on the lounge.

Heart pounding. Legs shaky. She opened the fridge door and leaned in and closed her eyes, desperate for the cool air to calm the inferno burning in her cheeks. She needed more time to gather herself but was scared to give it to herself in case Mark used the time to make his excuses and leave.

She reached in and grasped the platter she'd prepared earlier. It was overflowing with cheeses, pâtés, dips, and all manner of finger foods. Balancing it on one hand she grabbed the basket of crackers with the other and made for the lounge, an overly bright smile plastered on her face.

Mark was perched on the edge of the couch, as far into the corner as he could get. He turned at the sound of her approach.

"Can I help with anything?"

"No. All under control. I thought we'd start with snacks."

Juliet smiled at him as she leaned by him to place the platter on the coffee table. She made sure to linger a moment, closer than she needed to be in the hope he'd catch a glimpse of cleavage or at least a waft of her perfume. It was supposedly alluring, irresistible to men.

'Christ, what am I reduced to? An idiot who buys a perfume in the hope of seducing a man?'

She felt stupid. But she'd never had to be seductive before. Men had always chased her. Tried to impress her. Never the other way around.

"Um, it looks great. Better than the corn chips and salsa Pete usually serves up," Mark said with a nervous smile.

Juliet laughed. It was a little high and a little loud. She hoped Mark wouldn't notice. "Yes, if I left it up to Pete, we'd never eat a vegetable. Oh, I tell a lie. There'd be potato. He loves his shepherd's pie and bangers and mash."

Mark chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, I know. He orders one or the other every time we go to a pub to watch a game. Come to think of it, even when we were tykes at school those were his go-to meals."

Juliet nodded acknowledgement. She could hear the affection born of years of friendship in Mark's voice. She wanted to steer the conversation away from Peter. Talk of husbands being counterproductive to her aim. She adjusted the platters and sashayed back to the kitchen. With shaky hands she poured herself a wine and grabbled Mark a beer glass.

One look at the platters and she could see Mark hadn't touched a thing. "Eat up," she said handing him the glass.

She sat in the middle of the three-seater couch, close, but not touching and to cover her nerves reached for a cracker, smearing it with pâté.

Mark popped an olive in his mouth and Juliet nearly choked. How had she never noticed before what nice hands he had? Long fingered. They looked strong and capable. Hands you imagined on a surgeon or maybe a guitarist. He chewed while cutting a wedge of peppercorn laced cheese and placing it on a seed cracker. She tried not to stare.

Juliet twisted away and grabbed the remote, aiming it at the large TV screen. She didn't really want him to get into the game, but at the same time she was trembling so much she needed him distracted so he didn't notice.

Mark, his hands free again, opened one of the beers he'd brought. He poured it into the glass she'd provided, then lifted the glass to his lips.

"Here's to a good game!"

Juliet lifted her wine glass. "Cheers!"

Juliet watched as his Adam's apple bobbed as he took a generous sip. She swallowed. Already her sex was throbbing, aching to be filled.

The game progressed. Mark's attention on the game. Juliet's on Mark. It was like a long, drawn-out foreplay. And all with him oblivious and not having laid a finger on her. It was all visual, ambient - the sight of his thigh muscles moving as he leaned forward to help himself to something off the platter or urging a player on. His lips as he popped a cracker or olive into his mouth. His fingers as he clasped the knife and spread pâté. His profile. His smile. The sound of his voice.

At half-time, Juliet escaped to the kitchen to heat up their dinner and cool her cheeks. She'd made Beef Burgundy with mashed potato and green beans. Something easy to eat off their laps. It smelled fragrant and inviting and despite herself she was hungry. Hungry for so many things.

Mark turned his head when she entered with his meal on a tray.

"Wow. That looks and smells fantastic. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble."

Juliet blushed with pleasure. "It was no trouble."

Their fingers brushed as the tray passed from her hands to his. A zing of desire raced through her. She could barely wait for his hands to be on her in earnest. The anticipation made her feel giddy. She returned to the kitchen to retrieve her own meal and was pleased to see Mark had waited for her before tucking in to his. He was such a gentleman.

After complimenting her on the meal they made small talk - an upcoming exhibition at the gallery, Jamie's latest novel and Aurélia's pregnancy with their second child, the upcoming election. Juliet was amazed at herself that she'd been able to string together coherent sentences when what she'd really wanted to do was throw herself on the floor and pull Mark on top of her and have him make sweet, passionate love to her. He was so sensitive and creative; she was certain he'd be an accomplished lover.

Juliet shoved the last forkful into her mouth thinking she'd much prefer she was inhaling Mark's tongue, or his fingers, or, God help her, his cock. She prayed she wouldn't have to wait much longer; the suspense was killing her.

She gathered their plates and escaped again to the kitchen. She could hear Mark had unmuted the volume on the TV. A low groan escaped her. She bit her lip, hoping Mark hadn't heard her. She was so turned on, so wet, with nipples that ached as they pressed against the soft fabric of her top, that she didn't know how she was going to make it through the second half of the game. Another forty-five minutes. It would be torture. Sweet torture.

With shaking hands, she filled the waffle cones with icecream before carefully dipping them in melted chocolate. She gently swirled them one way and then the other until the chocolate ceased dripping. Resting them in a small rack she returned the icecream to the freezer and removed the chocolate from the warmer tray. A quick wipe of the benchtops and she was ready to return to the lounge.

"Choc-tops! That's great, Juliet. Thanks. I can never resist getting one when I go to the cinema. The movies aren't the movies without a choc-top."

Juliet laughed. "My thoughts exactly."

Mark attacked his with gusto and Juliet had to press her thighs together to stop from squirming when his tongue darted out to lick around the base to stop it dripping. Christ, how she wanted his tongue on her. On her nipples. Her needy clit.

With a final crunch of the cone, Mark turned to her with a boyish grin. "That was great, Juliet. Tell Pete he can go away more often if it means I get a meal like that."

Juliet stared at his mouth. A smear of icecream coated his top lip. Not thinking, she leaned forward and licked it off. Having had a tiny taste of him she wanted more. So much more. Her hunger, that she'd reined in all evening, broke free, obliterating rational thought.

Not quite knowing how she got there she found herself straddling him, her fingers knotting themselves in his hair, her lips on his, her tongue exploring his mouth. Tasting him. Caressing him. She undulated her pelvis, groaning into his mouth at the feel of the stiff denim of his jeans against her aching sex.

For a moment Mark was motionless, shocked, before he placed his hands on her waist.

And then firmly removed her.

Juliet found herself sprawled on the lounge, dazed, unsure how she'd ended up there. Mark was on his feet, looking at her in horror.

"What the hell was that? What were you thinking, Juliet?"

At any other time, his words would have been like a dousing of cold water, but Juliet was too far gone, too hot. The cold water of his words merely sizzled and steamed.

"That was me offering you what you've always wanted."

Mark ran a hand through his hair. "We can't. I can't. Pete's my best friend and your husband. It would be wrong."

Juliet noticed her skirt had ridden up to almost reveal her knickers. Her damp knickers. Under the guise of adjusting her position she "helped" her skirt ride higher. Internally, she smiled in triumph when she saw Mark's gaze slide up her bare thighs to her panties. She gloried in the pronounced swallow of his throat.

"You've waited a long time for me. And I must admit, I've fantasized about you for a long time too. Let's gift ourselves tonight. One night. Pete's away. He need never know."

"But I would know. And so would you. The guilt would kill me. What am I talking about? It's wrong. I would never do something like that. I'm not that type of man. I can't lie and stab Peter in the back."

"Don't think of it like that. Both of us have denied ourselves for years. You even more so than me. Tonight, we're just showing ourselves a little generosity. Nothing to feel guilty about. We both love Peter. We'll both make sure he isn't hurt by this one indulgence. What he doesn't know needn't hurt him."

"You're being naïve. Of course it will hurt him. He just won't know it. It will change everything between all of us. You will act a little bit differently. So will I. You'll treat him that little bit differently. So will I. We'll have a secret with each other, one we're not sharing with Pete. It may start out fine and sweet but eventually it will rot and fester and ruin everything."

Juliet let Mark's words slide off her. They weren't what she wanted to hear. She didn't want his truths. She wanted his love. His desire. His hands on her. His cock in her, filling her.

"I've been masturbating to thoughts of you for years while Pete lies asleep beside me. He's never suspected a thing. Nor has he missed out. He's happy and content. What's one step further in the fantasy? I've kept my secret for years with no harm done."

Mark moaned, roughly raking both hands through his hair. Juliet interpreted his response as a weakening in his stance, a step closer to succumbing to desire.

"No. No. No. Don't tell me things like that. Now, without my participation or bloody consent, you've made me a party to hurting my best mate. He loves you. Really loves you."

"So do you. He can have me any time he wants whereas you've never been able to. That hardly seems fair." Juliet pulled her top down to reveal her breasts. Her nipples were rosy and engorged. She cupped her breasts, offering them to Mark, brushing her thumbs over her nipples. She shivered as a shot of desire fired from each went straight to her sex, dampening her panties even more. "Come and make love to me. You know you want to. You've earned this. We both have."

"I do love you."

Juliet smiled and extended one hand to him.

"But not like Pete does. He loves you in the real world, warts and all. Who knows what bad habits you have? Using his razor to shave your legs, making it blunt. Squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube. Dirty knickers all over the bedroom and bathroom. Excessive spending. Leaving strands of hair all over the basin. Buying every new wonder product promising a miracle before finishing the last. Bitching about friends behind their backs. Greedy, always taking the biggest slice of pie. Who knows? I don't but he does, and he loves you anyway. Unreservedly. Who knows if my love would stand the test of marriage? To me you've always been an ideal. So, yes, I've loved you, but it's changed over the years. Where once you held my whole heart, now you have but a corner."

Some of Mark's words penetrated but Juliet wasn't ready to give up on her fantasy. Having come this far, she felt she had nothing to lose.

"I'll settle for that corner and your hard cock. Please. I've been dreaming of you and me for so long. I just know we'll be so good together. A perfect fit. It will be earth shattering. I just know it. We'll have this one night to last us a lifetime."

"Juliet, you're a beautiful and desirable woman and I'm immensely flattered, but I can't. Pete's my best friend and has been since the first day of high school. He was the cool athletic kid with charisma. Tall and well-developed for his age. Popular with both the girls and the guys. Everyone liked Pete. Me, I was shy and scrawny, the brainy art nerd. If it wasn't for his friendship I would have been bullied mercilessly. I'll never know why he wanted to be friends with me, but I have always been glad he did. I love him. Like a brother. He's never let me down and I won't repay his loyalty with disloyalty."

Finally, Mark's words broke through Juliet's shell. She didn't know what to say or do. She now felt stupid and foolish sprawled before him with her breasts bare and her skirt up around her waist, displaying her damp lacey knickers. Her face was on fire, not from desire but from embarrassment.

Mark averted his gaze. "So, um, thanks for dinner but I'll be on my way."

Juliet didn't move. His footsteps across the room sounded like a drum signalling the walk of a condemned man to the gallows. Not until she heard the rustle of him donning his coat followed by the opening and closing of the front door did she move.

Big fat tears spilled over as she adjusted her top and skirt. She rolled onto her stomach on the lounge and let herself cry. She cried for her foolishness. For his rejection of her. And for the loss of her fantasy.

XXXXX

THE NEXT WEEK for Mark was the worst in living memory. He agonised over what to do. Tell Peter or remain silent?

He felt he was damned if he did. Damned if he didn't.

Silence made him a party to Juliet's deceit.

Speaking to Pete was guaranteed to inflict pain.

Either way he lost.

More than ever, more even than the day Juliet had realised he loved her, he wished she'd never found out. He wished it was still his secret to carry alone. If Peter knew of her fantasies, knew the subject of them, would he blame him?

Would he want to shoot the messenger? End their friendship? They'd been friends for more than twenty years. The thought of never sharing a beer and having a laugh together ever again saddened him. Made him feel hollow and empty. He couldn't envisage a future where he didn't get to share life's moments, big and small, with his best mate.

Flashes of their shared past flitted through his mind. Hooning around on their bicycles, swapped in their late teens for cars, backpacking through Holland, Belgium, and Germany trying to pick up girls, both of them down to their undies that time they played strip poker with those two girls who'd hustled them, footy matches, making fools of themselves on the ice-skating rink in Hyde Park, late night drunken cab rides. So many memories.

Peter was a constant in his life. They were closer than many brothers. It was his love and respect for Pete that had kept his mouth shut when he'd fallen for Juliet at the same time as Peter.

Peter knew of Mark's love. After the placard thing with Juliet the guilt had been too much, and he'd confessed. He'd only done it to try and clear the air, end any awkwardness. Their friendship had survived, due in a large part to Peter realising Mark would never act on his love - he certainly hadn't for the three years Peter and Juliet had dated. In fact, both he and Juliet had always thought Mark didn't like her as he always treated her with such reserve. To the point of coolness.

But this was different.

This wasn't about Mark's feelings. Or Mark's actions. It was about Juliet's.

Anger flared in his belly. How could she? How dare she? Pete deserved better. He deserved all of her love and thoughts and desires. All of her touches and kisses.

And what if she developed a fantasy crush on someone else? Someone who didn't say no.

Mark opened a new beer. He felt bloated from having downed so many, but he was a beer man, not a spirit man.

His old man's words snuck into his mind. He might be long gone but Mark still missed him.

'Character, son. Character is what's important. Attitude. Heart. Being true to yourself. Standing up for what you believe in and for those you love. These are the things that matter These are the things that make a man a man.'

Spoken on his father's deathbed four years prior but Mark heard them as if his father was seated beside him.

But was this one of those times to speak up?

God, the temptation to remain silent and keep Juliet's secret was almost overwhelming. He could think of a couple of really compelling reasons to say nothing - silence meant he wouldn't be a part of breaking Pete's heart. He wouldn't be a party to inflicting a deep wound to his best friend.

Around and around the thoughts chased each other, colliding and ricocheting. He had to remove himself from the equation. He had to do the right thing for Pete, but which was it? Silence or to speak up?

Finally, at midnight Mark swallowed the last of his beer. He knew what he had to do.

XXXXX

MARK GROANED AT the feel of his stomach muscles clamped so rigidly. It was borderline painful. As if he'd overdone it at the gym or gone a few rounds with Mohammed Ali. He was more nervous, strung tighter than he'd ever been for any exam he'd sat for, or job interview he'd attended.

His head felt full to overflowing. He questioned his thinking. Was he doing the right thing? Would he do more harm than good? Did he really want to open this can of worms? Would Pete blame him? Around and around the questions went, tying his gut in knots. They were like vipers in his belly, writhing and pushing, seeking an escape.

The conflicting thoughts slowed his limbs. Made them heavy, like he was wading through waist deep water.

And yet he trudged on, head down and shoulders hunched. Muffled sounds of laughter told him he'd reached his destination and, with a glance to the left and then right, he crossed the road.

After a quick scan of the room, he spotted Peter, sipping on a beer at a small table toward the rear of the pub. Mark could see Pete had bought the first round as a pint was waiting for him.

Pete spotted him and waved. Mark nodded, taking a deep breath.

He made his way toward Peter, more aware than ever of the nest of vipers writhing in his belly. His throat felt thick. Blocked. The vipers, it seemed, couldn't decide if they were seeking their freedom via his belly button or his esophagus. His body was too small and too rigid to contain them. He wanted them gone. They made him feel ill. He knew the only way to rid himself of them was to tell Peter. Tell him everything.

Mark sat and immediately lifted the beer to his lips, taking a hefty slug and, before he could lose courage, launched into his confession.

Pete sat silent throughout, staring straight ahead, his hand clasping his glass of beer, but he didn't raise it to his lips. Mark could only describe his expression as stunned.

The last word out, Mark waited. Waited for the yelling. The questions. The accusations. The anger. The pain. But nothing. There was nothing. Only the sounds of the other pub patrons. He studied Pete's profile, anxious. Had his confession been too much? Was Pete in shock?

Peter kept his gaze averted. Mark was ashamed to feel relief. He knew if Pete was to turn his head and they made eye contact, even briefly, the transfer of pain would be brutal.

And then it began. It wasn't a shiver. It wasn't shaking. It was a deep tremble that went on and on. It was a vibration. It sucked the colour from Peter's face. Whitened his knuckles. Mark was scared Pete would shatter the glass and cut himself, so he gently removed the beer from his hand.

And still Peter looked everywhere but at Mark. Maybe to avoid drawing Mark into the hell his eyes would reveal. Maybe because Mark now revolted him.