No Regrets Ch. 07


"...Always," Mark replied, surprised.

"Seven?" Deacon suggested.

Mark nodded. "I'll bring pizza," he whispered as the lecture started.

"And I've got beer," Deacon grinned. Mark grinned back, his stomach fluttering as he turned his attention to the professor.

And the evening was okay. A bit strange at first, both boys silently remembering everything they had done on the couch they now sat on. Same with the patio by the pool, the short stairs leading to the hallway, the kitchen floor... Not to mention that it was a similar situation that had started it all the first time. But after a while, with a little persistence and a lot of restraint, things really did seem almost normal. They played Xbox, ate pizza and drank beer, talked about innocuous things and laughed over old jokes. And if there had been a whole lot of distracting thoughts by either of them about mouths, tongues, hands and various other body parts...well, neither of them mentioned it.


It was late on Saturday afternoon, and Sam and Deacon were leaving work after locking up.

"How about that beer, emo?" Sam asked, clapping Deacon on the back.

"Yeah. Alright," Deacon answered after a moment.

They walked to the bar across the street in silence. Sam ordered two beers and brought them over to the corner booth Deacon had settled in to. They finished the beers and were halfway through the second round, still in silence; Sam was about to give up when Deacon spoke.

"I didn't think it would be this hard," Deacon started, his voice quiet as he stared down at his drink. Deacon didn't say what he was referring to, but they both knew what was being talked about. "We still see each other just as much, but its...tense now. It's not supposed to be. We said things would go back to the way they were, but they haven't. Not for me, anyway."

"Did you really think it would? Go back to normal?" Sam asked. Deacon shrugged and looked at his work mate.


It was Sam's turn to shrug. "Then you're an idiot," he stated.

"Thanks," Deacon snarked, scowling at Sam.

"Oh come on," Sam replied with a look of disbelief on his face. "You really thought you and your straight best friend could have a summer long homosexual fling with no residual consequences?"

Deacon was quiet for a few moments. "...I guess not," he agreed quietly. Deacon rubbed a hand over his face and looked up at Sam. "Fuck. What do I do now?"

Sam took in the defeated and miserable look on Deacon's face. He had never liked giving advice, even when asked, but Deacon obviously couldn't see what was right in front of him, and there was no one else to point it out to him. Sam leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table.

"If it were me...I think you guys should talk. A bit more honestly than you have up till now," Sam suggested, his voice low.

"It's not that easy," Deacon said with a sigh. "I mean, what if...what if he doesn't see things the same?"

Sam shrugged. "At least you'll know. Things can't stay as they are, man. You need to make a move. For better or worse."

Deacon thought it over. Sam was probably right; knowing something for sure was better than constantly imaging worst case scenarios. But Deacon couldn't shake the idea that the truth might actually turn out to be the worst possibility. He shook his head.

"No," Deacon said emphatically. "No, this won't last forever. The way things'll pass."

"Don't be stupid," Sam snapped, his patience running out. "You can't just turn off how you feel about someone."

Deacon shoved his beer away and glared at Sam. "I don't feel any way about him!" Deacon grabbed his coat and yanked it on as he left the booth. "It's none of your fucking business anyway," Deacon spat before storming out of the bar.

Sam watched him leave, then signaled the bartender for another beer before slumping back into his seat. Jill was wrong, Sam decided. Gay guys were just as pig-headed and unreasonable as their straight counterparts.


Mark stirred as he felt a weight settle over him. A large hand pressed on his ribcage as lips bordered with stubble traced along his neck.

"I've missed this...missed you," Deacon's voice murmured into Mark's ear. Mark sighed and ran his hands up the smooth skin of Deacon's back.

"Me too. Couldn't stand it anymore, need to touch you," Mark mumbled into Deacon's hair.

"So touch me," Deacon growled, grabbing one of Mark's hands and placing it on his hard cock.

Mark squeezed Deacon's smooth shaft, his own cock aching as Deacon moaned. Mark turned his head, desperate to taste Deacon again, feel his tongue and swallow his sounds. Deacon lowered his lips to Mark's painfully slow, wetting them with his tongue...just a little closer...Mark could feel their heat...

Mark started awake and bolted upright. He was sweaty and disorientated, his dick rock hard and aching. Just a dream. He flopped back down onto the bed and let out a long sigh. Two weeks down, with variations of the same dream every night. 'How much longer until it lets up,' Mark wondered. If it ever did. If he even wanted it to...

To be continued...

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