No Regrets Ch. 07

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When Marie and Mark returned, no one acknowledged their interlude. Marie joined Sarah at the picnic table, and Deacon went to the kitchen to get another beer. When Mark came through to get the meat for the grill, Deacon opened a brew for him too, hoping that even though it was Mark's beer, he'd accept it as a peace offering. Deacon held the bottle out to him, and Mark warily accepted it.

"Cheers," Mark said, tilting the neck of the bottle towards his friend. Deacon raised his own in a mock salute. After a beat, Deacon cleared his throat.

"Hey, uh. What you said, about class..."

Mark made a face and shook his head quickly. "Forget it. You're right, we're not joined at the hip. I just over reacted."

"No, look, you were right. I guess I was avoiding you, but I didn't really realise it. It was just...I don't know..." Deacon bit his lip, trying to think of a way to explain what was going on in his head.

"Relax, dude, I get it," Mark assured him. "Awkwardness is awkward. Give it time, give it space, etcetera. Just..." Mark shrugged a shoulder. "Just tell me next time, okay?"

Deacon gave him a wry smile and nodded. So they both recognised that it was still a little weird. And they both agreed it would get better, easier. This should have put him at ease, lifted a weight from his shoulders. But as they both exited the kitchen, Deacon only felt a strange sense of loss in his gut, a horrible instinct that he was heading in the wrong direction.

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"Marie." Mark had handed the barbeque tongs to Deacon and followed his girlfriend into the kitchen when she went to fetch another drink. She turned at the sound of her name and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Hmm?"

Mark took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her palm. "I'm sorry about before. That it was...weird. I suddenly started thinking about how Sarah and Deac were out here, and that maybe they could hear us, and I just-"

Marie waved her free hand at him in an impatient gesture. "It's ok," she cut in. "Just one of those things, right?"

Mark shrugged. "Well, yeah, but-"

"But nothing." She pulled her hand from his and busied herself filling her glass from the open wine bottle in the fridge. "Another beer?"

"No, thanks," Mark replied slowly, uneasy about her insincere dismissal.

"Ok. " Marie swept up her now full glass, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and slipped past him out the kitchen. Unable and unwilling to decipher her behaviour, Mark rolled his eyes and went back outside to resume his grilling duties.

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The girls set the table and brought out the salads as the boys finished on the grill. The food was complimented then consumed in mostly silence, and after the table was cleared, Deacon and Sarah declined coffee, claimed fatigue and departed quickly. Marie and Mark did the dishes wordlessly then went to bed. Marie kissed him on the cheek again, rolled away from him; she fell asleep quickly, Mark could tell from her change in breathing.

He, on the other hand, lay awake for some time with his jumbled thoughts; thoughts of sex, love, longing, right, wrong...until he got sick of thinking and tried to remember all the verses of the twelve days of Christmas. Sleep crept up on him between lords a-leaping and pipers piping.

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Deacon pulled into Sarah's driveway and stopped the car. Without the hum of the engine and passing street noises, the silence inside the car was like a dark creature hulking in the backseat.

"I'd ask if you're coming inside," Sarah started, looking out the window, "but you're probably tired, right? Or you have an early start. Or my roommates might be up."

Deacon fought the urge to roll his eyes at the snark in her voice. "Sarah...come on. Someone else's house, someone else's bed, while we're there for dinner? I just didn't feel comfortable about it."

"You made me feel like an idiot," Sarah replied quietly. As she faced him, Deacon saw the hurt on her face, the confusion. Any false assurances or sugar coated lies he might have been about to say died on his tongue.

"I'm sorry," Deacon said, realising he was telling her truth for the first time in weeks.

"I just don't know what's up with you lately. I hardly hear from you all summer, and now it's like you'd rather be anywhere but with me."

"Sarah...that's not true," Deacon assured her, even though he knew she was right. "I've got some stuff on my mind, is all."

"Like what?" Sarah asked. Deacon bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing. Sarah reached across Deacon's lap to take his hand in hers. "Please Deac, talk to me. What's going on with you?" Deacon gazed down at their hands wound together loosely; he realised that if he didn't do something, say something, then it was over. He and Sarah would be finished. After too much time had passed for a truthful response to her question, Sarah let out a sound of disgust and jerked her hand away. He still said nothing. "You know what? Fine. I really can't be bothered trying to read your mind, okay?"

In the time it took Sarah to unclip her seat belt and open the car door, the wave of relief he had felt at the prospect of breaking up with her was overshadowed by icy fear; Deacon realised that after the initial shock of the break-up, their friends, his family, would all start asking questions. The sorts of questions he really didn't want to have to answer.

'I can't,' Deacon thought, the fear a palpable lump in his throat. 'They can't know.' Forcing himself to move through the fog of self-loathing in his head, Deacon grabbed Sarah's arm to stop her leaving the car.

"Sarah, wait. I'm sorry, I really am. I'm not meaning to be a jerk. It's just family stuff, and I really don't want to talk about it," Deacon said, almost tasting the sour lie on his tongue.

"Why didn't you just say that then?" Sarah asked, scepticism clear on her face. Deacon put on his most sincere look and took her hand.

"Because I'm an idiot."

"Yes..." Sarah closed the car door.

"An insensitive, self-centred idiot."

Sarah's face softened. "...Better."

Deacon ran his free hand up her jean-clad thigh. "Let me make it up to you?"

"Oh, you think you can give me some lame apology and expect me to jump straight into bed with you?" Sarah asked, a small grin tugged at one corner of her mouth. Deacon squeezed her thigh and grinned too.

"I'll make it up to you several times..." Sarah laughed and flashed a brilliant smile at him, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth. Something sunk in Deacon's stomach as he looked at her; she was beautiful, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in real life. She was gorgeous, she was smart and interesting, she was funny, sociable, and full of enthusiasm. She was the perfect woman. If he didn't want her...then something wasn't right.

Sarah frowned at Deacon's scrutiny. "...What?"

"I was just thinking..." Deacon leaned across to her and tucked some of her loose hair behind her ear. "...that you are so beautiful."

"Charmer."

"I mean it. I guess I take it for granted a lot, but you are an amazing woman."

Sarah flushed at his words. "Come on. Make me forgive you." Sarah opened the door again and got out of the car. Deacon took a long breath in and out, got out and locked his car before following her into the house.

Sarah led him straight to her bedroom and closed the door behind them. Deacon kissed Sarah softly, over and over, as he lowered her to the bed. He moved down her body and undid her jeans, then slid them along with her underwear down her long legs. With the lightest of touches, he rubbed her swollen cunt lips until she started trying to thrust up against his fingers. Deacon kissed her triangle of pubic hair, and Sarah instinctively moved her legs open for him. He worked his tongue into her moist opening and licked up and down in slow strokes, alternating with sucks to her clit and poking his rigid tongue in her hole.

Deacon knew her so well, knew the spots that got her writhing and sweating, the moves that made her clench muscles and cry out. He felt her body tense up and shudder as she came, her nails digging into his back, but he continued his ministrations. Deacon quickly pushed two of his fingers into her wet hole and twisted them upwards as he sucked hard on her clit. Her cries became higher and more desperate, her thighs clenching around his head as she came again. Sarah's hands scrambled on his shoulders as she wordlessly urged him up. Deacon complied and drew himself up her body; her hands grasped his neck as she pulled his head down to kiss him. As her breathing returned to normal, her hands drifted to his waist, her fingers working at the button of his jeans. Deacon rocked back on his knees and shifted her hands away.

"No, no. I've got the making up to do, remember?" Deacon reminded her, telling himself that it had nothing to do with the fact that he wasn't even slightly hard.

"You just did. Twice."

"Let's go for a record. My tongue isn't tired," Deacon protested, stalling for time while he willed his flaccid cock to wake up.

"Deacon, please," Sarah pleaded. "I want you inside me."

Deacon felt a bolt of white hot desire rip through him as he remembered saying those very words to Mark on their first time. Immediately he felt his cock stir in his pants. The self-hatred and guilt he felt at being so easily turned on by these memories was overwhelmed by the relief that he wouldn't have to explain his lack of erection to Sarah. As Sarah's fingers worked his fly open and she tugged his pants down his thighs, Deacon frowned and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

'Just close your eyes and think of...whatever you need to,' he told himself as he allowed Sarah to pull him down onto her. So he did. He and Sarah had sex; she came calling Deacon's name and then he came biting back Mark's. Deacon held Sarah afterwards until she fell asleep, but he lay awake for a long time staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was happening to him and what the hell he was going to do about it.

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"Hey emo," Sam greeted Deacon as he came through the back room. "Cut yourself today?" He asked as he dumped his bag in the corner; the question was met with silence. Sam grabbed his work shirt off the back of the door and shrugged it on, buttoning the front as he made his way over to the desk where Deacon was sitting, head down, tapping into a calculator and jotting figures into a notepad. "Burden shared, burden halved man."

Deacon shot a brief glare up at his co-worker. "It's none of your business, alright?"

Sam grabbed the chair in front of the desk and spun it around backwards, straddling it. "To quote the 40-year-old Virgin - your depression is making me depressed. So yeah, now it is my business. Spill."

"Fuck off, Sam," Deacon replied without looking up, his words low but firm. Sam pressed his lips together and tried to gauge from Deacon's face how far he could push this. Sam shoved his sleeves up and placed his forearms on the desk.

"...You can't shock me, y'know," Sam said. Deacon remained silent, but the pen in his hand stilled suddenly. "I'm very liberal."

Deacon raised his head slowly, his face conspicuously blank. "What?"

Sam shrugged and leant forward further onto the desk. "Well, if you're not telling me because you think I'll judge you or something, I won't."

Deacon exhaled sharply through his nose and pushed his chair back from the desk. "Just...just leave it alone, okay? Please." Deacon dropped his pen onto the desk and walked away.

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Mark picked his cell phone up for the eighth time that evening; he flipped it open and stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over Deacon's speed dial key. They would usually be playing Xbox, or watching a movie, maybe heading out for a beer, or even studying. But since their stilted acknowledgement of the situation at the barbeque, Deacon continued to sit by himself at the front of their lectures. Mark didn't feel as hurt by it, but he was still frustrated that things weren't back to normal. He didn't know how to get things back to normal except to leave Deacon alone and give him some time, so for the eighth time, he snapped the phone shut and tossed it back on the table. Trying to refocus on the book he was reading, Mark didn't see Marie watching him from her seat opposite, her forehead crinkled with a frown.

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Deacon tugged on the front doors of the store from inside, making sure they were locked. He flipped the switches under the counter to turn off the display lights and headed into the back room to tell Sam they could go. Sam was standing at the back door with his jacket already on, propping the door open with his foot. He held out Deacon's bag and jerked his head toward the parking lot.

"C'mon emo, let's split."

Deacon grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and accepted his bag from Sam. They stepped out through the back door and Deacon locked it behind them.

"Want to go for a brew or something? Shoot some pool?"

"No, thanks. 'Bye," Deacon mumbled and turned towards his car. Sam grabbed his arm before he could get far and didn't let go until Deacon turned back to face him. "What?" Sam shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and let out a sharp breath.

"Okay look, so I did the girly thing, trying to get you to talk about it yourself. And Jill can vouch for the fact that I can't do subtle. So I think I'll just put all the cards on the table."

Deacon sighed. "What are you talking about?"

"I know about you and Mark," Sam started; he paused, but Deacon said nothing. "And I guess whatever you guys were doing is over now, and you're moping."

Deacon suddenly couldn't hear anything but a shrill ringing in his ears. He felt his blood pulsing through his body, heavy and slow. "How...how do you..."

"I saw you two sucking face in the storage cupboard a couple of weeks back," Sam said; Deacon said nothing, his face stony. "Look, I told you I wouldn't judge, okay? I don't care if you're g-"

"I'm not," Deacon snapped before Sam could say anything more.

Sam shrugged. "Whatever. It doesn't matter though."

"I'm not!" Deacon repeated from between clenched teeth, his heart pounding. He spun around and stalked off into the darkness of the parking lot.

"Deac..." Sam called after him. "Deac, wait!"

"Leave me alone!" Deacon yelled as he kept walking toward his car at the far end of the lot. Sam sighed and kicked a discarded beer can as Deacon's car peeled out of the lot.

"Well, that could have gone better," Sam muttered to himself as he started towards the bus stop. He wasn't really surprised when, the next day, Deacon called in sick for his next two shifts.

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When Deacon turned up for his Thursday afternoon shift, Hale suggested maybe he should have stayed at home. Sam could see why; Deacon had dark circles under his eyes and a noticeable lack of energy. Deacon waved the concern away but didn't argue with being kept off the sales floor for the day. When the evening started to slow down and Hale had left, Sam went looking for Deacon. He found him sitting cross legged on the floor at the very back of the store room, checking serial numbers. Deacon glanced around as he heard Sam approach, but said nothing and went back to his work.

"Good to see you're feeling better," Sam started. Deacon didn't reply. Sam watched him for a few moments, trying to decide what to say next. "I know, alright? There's no point in pretending I don't." Deacon didn't speak for a long time. Eventually he lowered his pen and clipboard and twisted to face Sam.

"Why you didn't say anything?"

Sam shrugged. "You weren't being a moody bitch then, so none of my business. But you are now, so it is," Sam explained. Deacon nodded, but said nothing. "I told you, I don't care if you like cock."

"Jesus, Sam," Deacon choked out, his eyes darting to the door behind Sam.

Sam shrugged again. "Well, I don't. And if you want to do...that with your ass, then that's none of my..."

"Okay!" Deacon exclaimed, putting his hand up. "Alright. I get it. Just stop talking. Please."

Sam grinned. "Let's go for a beer after work. My shout." Deacon stared at Sam for a few moments before shaking his head.

"...Maybe another time." Deacon picked up the clipboard and turned back to the boxes. Sam rolled his eyes and went back to the front of the store.

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Sam let the two other store hands leave early as closing time loomed. When it came time to lock up, it was just him and Deacon.

"Yo emo, help me bring these displays in, wouldja?" Sam called into the back of the store. Deacon emerged a few moments later, grabbed the other side of the display case Sam was holding and together they carried it inside the store front. Sam leaned on the case and looked at Deacon for a few moments. "So...how long were you and Mark...?"

Deacon turned away and started to bring in the smaller stands. "About a month," he answered eventually. When all the stands were in, Sam closed and locked the front doors.

"So, what happened?" Sam asked. Deacon shot him a brief glance before focusing on his own feet.

"We got drunk...he kissed me and-" Deacon started, before Sam waved his hand and cut in.

"No, no, I mean why did you call it quits?"

Deacon shrugged. "Our girlfriends came home. Everything back to normal."

Sam gave Deacon an incredulous look. "Whose stupid idea was that?"

"It was a mutual decision," Deacon replied, his tone defensive. Sam snorted.

"Oh right. That's why you're walking around like a kicked puppy," Sam said. Deacon didn't reply; he flicked the store lights off and moved to the back room to collect his things. Sam followed, grabbing his jacket and opening the back door. Once they were both standing outside and Sam had locked the back door, Deacon turned to Sam and looked straight at him.

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Deacon asked. Sam shook his head.

"No, man, of course not. Except Jill," Sam added after a moment with an apologetic half-shrug.

"Yeah. Thanks," Deacon said in a quiet voice. "See ya." Deacon went to leave but stopped and turned back around when Sam called his name.

"Deac. Look...I'm assuming Mark is the only other person who knows about this," Sam started. Deacon nodded. "If you need to...I dunno, angst about it or talk or whatever, I swear I'm not going to tell anyone."

Deacon nodded and gave Sam a guarded smile. "...Thanks," he said again, then walked towards his car.

"See you Saturday," Sam called after Deacon's retreating figure. 'Talk about it? When did I turn into such a chick?' Sam asked himself. With a rueful chuckle, he walked towards the bus stop.

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Mark was sitting in his seat in the class room, his head resting on his desk. He was tired. He'd been up late with Marie, having sex. It had taken him a really long time to finish, which Marie thought was great; she probably wouldn't think it was so great if she knew why. Mark had decided he wasn't going to think about Deacon, only of Marie. And it had worked, in a way. The mere sensations were enough to make him come eventually, but there had been no...connection. He might as well have been jerking off.

"Hey."

Mark looked up as someone dropped down into the seat next to him. It was Deacon. Mark quickly sat up. "...Hey."

"It's okay if I sit here, right?" Deacon asked.

"Yeah. 'Course," Mark answered with a grin.

Deacon smiled, relieved. "Cool. Hey, lend me your notes for Thursday last week? I was totally out of it, missed the whole lecture."

Mark pushed his folder across to Deacon. "Here."

"Thanks," Deacon said as he shuffled through the paper. He found the right page and started to copy it into his own folder. As he wrote, he glanced sideways at Mark. "DOA at mine tonight. You game?"