The Corruption of Colt Jackson Ch. 05

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College

Colt doesn’t sleep well that night. After dinner and a few more drinks, Marc and he had watched more Netflix. Eventually they had kissed and Colt can’t say that he didn’t enjoy it. They wound up in his bed this time instead of on the couch. With everything unresolved, his body drowning in the aftereffects of whiskey and his thoughts and feelings still in flux, his mind never fully shuts off.

When he’s asleep he dreams about his childhood, the horrors of it; his mom’s constant crying and his dad’s ever present anger. How his mom could love anyone like his dad, Colt has no idea. He dreams of fists and hard objects slamming into his body. He dreams of all the lies he had to tell social workers and EMT’s out of fear of more retaliation from his father and how no one ever saw through them to the truth.

When he’s awake, he thinks about the man in his bed with him, holding him tightly even in his sleep as if he’s afraid Colt might slip away from him.

There’s a man in bed with him. No matter who it is, even that simple truth is something shocking to Colt. The couch had seemed innocent enough. Even if nothing has happened beyond kissing, the bed is different. It’s more personal. It’s more intimate.

He thinks about their conversation the night before.

Colt isn’t stupid. He gets the implication that whatever business Marc’s uncle is involved in isn’t on the up and up. He gets that Marc’s dad was involved in that business and that Marc has now taken his place. He gets that it’s dangerous. Colt wonders if he can convince Marc that being a mechanic with his dad is better than getting himself beat up or worse.

Three months. Marc had been watching him for two months before Colt had ever seen him, before they ever said a word to each other. That’s weird, isn’t it? It isn’t normal. Then again, none of this is normal for Colt. Maybe he’s reading too much into it.

There’s no denying that it felt good to be held on the couch, to have someone there to hang out with. There’s no denying that he likes kissing Marc or that it feels good and warm to be held while laying here. What happened at the library scared him. Anything more than that scares him.

Is he attracted to Marc? Marc is attractive. He’s charismatic with a confident swagger about him that’s hard to ignore. But is Colt attracted to him? He thinks about that crooked grin and he has to admit that yes, on some level Colt is attracted to Marc. It’s a strange feeling to acknowledge that, even in the privacy of his own mind. He has no idea what to do with that attraction.

With Marc comes an added edge of danger, unpredictability and pushiness, an intensity that diminishes Colt in some ways. Colt would be stupid to ignore all of that.

Marc’s arm shifts around his waist, pulling him even closer, holding him even tighter, as if Marc can read Colt’s thoughts and knows he’s thinking about him.

Colt lies very still, waiting to make sure that Marc will go back to sleep. However, after a full canlı bahis şirketaleri minute’s worth, Marc stirs even more.

“I can tell you’re awake, Vanilla.”

“I think I’m still drunk.” Colt glances at the clock on his bedside table. “And I have to get up to get ready for work in less than an hour.”

Marc yawns, speaking through the act. “I’ve always heard that the best solution for that is to get re-drunk.”

Colt smirks. “Re-drunk? Really?”

“Really.”

Colt feels Marc’s lips nuzzle at his neck and shoulder. It’s a warm, intimate touch and Colt’s skin prickles to life. It’s over too soon as Marc leaves the bed and the bedroom. When he returns, Colt can barely make out a bottle in his hand.

“You can’t be serious, Marc.”

“Serious as fuck. We’re gonna get you ready for work.”

Marc crawls back onto the bed, slips partially back beneath the bed sheets before straddling Colt.

Colt looks up at the dark shadow of the man on top of him. “I don’t think there’s science to back up this method of yours. Also, I don’t wanna be drunk at work.”

“You wanna be hungover at work?”

Colt thinks about that a moment before shaking his head. “No.”

“Trust me. It’s science.” Marc leans down over Colt and puts the opening of the bottle to his lips, slowly starting to tilt it at the right angle. “Drink, Vanilla.”

Colt’s lips part just in time to catch the amber liquid before it spills. He drinks until Marc quits pouring, just a half a shot’s worth. Then Marc tilts the bottle again and Colt quickly drinks again. This happens a few more times, Colt letting Marc feed him whiskey, until Colt puts a hand on Marc’s wrist to stop him. Marc takes a drink from the bottle and then sets the bottle on the nightstand.

“Give it a minute.” Marc says, remaining on top of Colt, his fingertip runs along the bridge of Colt’s nose. “It’s dark as fuck in here so I can’t see it, but I can imagine that stupid face you make after drinking whiskey. You’re so damn vanilla.”

Colt laughs a bit, a sleepy and still drunk sort of laugh. “I want you to say my name. You always call me Vanilla. Say my name, Marc.”

Marc shifts his hips once over Colt’s groin. The sudden movement and friction there makes Colt gasp in a breath of air. Marc leans down over him and kisses him. Colt kisses Marc back.

“Colt Jackson.” Marc says, rocking his hips again, this time pressing his cock against Colt’s, only the thin cotton layers of their clothes separating them.

Colt grips Marc’s arms. “Marc. Not yet… please. I’m not ready.”

Marc grinds against him again. “I already touched your cock, Colt.”

“I know.” Colt whispers, memories of the library incident suddenly vivid in his mind.

Again, there’s that press and grind and Colt’s body instinctively pushes up toward it.

“We’re not even touching now. No skin on skin.”

“I know.” Colt whispers again, the words more breathy this time.

Marc kisses him again and Colt’s canlı kaçak iddaa lips part to kiss the other man in return. He feels Marc grinding against him again, and again, and again. He hears himself make some kind of sound into Marc’s mouth as they kiss. He sounds wanting and needy even to himself. His entire body is screaming yes while his mind is still on the fence.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Colt can’t say that it doesn’t feel good. It feels amazing. He’s so close to completion that he doesn’t want it to stop. He also wants it to stop. He isn’t ready.

Marc’s tongue slides up the side of his neck and Colt finds that that drives him wild. He emits another wanton sound as Marc whispers into his ear and continues to dry hump them together.

“Admit it, Colt. It feels good.”

“Yes.” He hears himself breathe the word out as the world thins to nothing but this space and this act and the man on top of him.

“Come on, Vanilla. Let go. Let yourself feel it.” Marc says softly.

Colt can feel Marc tense and shudder, can smell the scent of sex. Marc’s movements become momentarily stiff, but he never stops, never lets up, and eventually his hips move languidly again.

Colt lets go. His hands slip down to Marc’s waist as his hips press up against the other man, matching his movements until he reaches his own orgasm, spilling in his sweat pants.

Marc is kissing him again. Colt kisses him in return, surprised and slightly embarrassed about what just happened no matter how good it felt. Then he feels the bottle at his lips again and he doesn’t even think twice about drinking more as Marc slowly pours whiskey into his mouth. His nose still wrinkles afterward and Marc kisses the tip of his nose in the dark.

* * * * *

Colt is re-drunk at work. He has no idea if there’s really any science behind it, but what he does know is that he feels good, a lot better than he thought he would before Marc had poured more whiskey down his throat. He worries about whether his co-workers can tell that he’s drunk, but none of them have said anything yet and it’s almost lunch time.

All morning he’s been nursing water, trying to slowly sober up and hydrate himself. This is the smart move, he thinks.

Today is a half-day. He’s supposed to leave at lunch and go coach his little league team in the tournament. Colt isn’t sure he’s up to it. He loves coaching those kids. Today he’s… off his game. At least that’s how he feels.

Today all he can think about is Marc Fiarri.

He thinks about what they’d done this morning. It wasn’t bad. All clothes were on the entire time. He isn’t in so deep that he can’t get out if he really wants to… right? He can’t quit thinking about how it had felt to be with Marc like that. It makes him hard to think about it. He’s been hard all morning.

Colt chews on a pen cap and tries to focus on entering book returns into a computer.

He thinks about how after his shower and getting dressed, canlı kaçak bahis Marc had been waiting in the living room for him. He thinks about how Marc had kissed him and kissed him, fed him another shot of whiskey and kissed him again. He thinks about how Marc’s hand lingered at his back as they’d said goodbye. Colt had left Marc at his house. It’s the first time Marc has been there without him.

Colt checks his phone for messages. There are none. He tries to focus on work again, shifting the pen cap to the other side of his mouth.

He thinks about how rock hard Marc’s abs had felt through his shirt when Colt had let himself touch him this morning. Just how built is Marc? For all their messing around, they’ve never seen each other naked. They’ve never been naked together. Colt is surprised that he wants to know what Marc’s abs look like. He’d felt them. He wants to see them.

He drops the pen cap in the trash and takes another sip of water, briefly thinking he wished it was whiskey. Is it possible for him to stay drunk until he has time to sleep it off?

No, water is the responsible choice right now. Colt is responsible. Colt needs to be responsible.

He drinks more water and then gets back to work.

* * * * *

It’s nothing short of a miracle when Colt makes it through the game and the celebratory ice cream run after their win. He finds that it’s not that much different than putting on a personality during one of the Drunk Wizard’s shows. It gets him through it. No one seems to get that he’s faking it and Colt feels like he’s dodged a bullet.

The problem with running on a fake high for other people’s benefit is that the drop afterward is severe.

The blue sports car is nowhere in sight when he pulls onto his street. Marc isn’t here. He’s both relieved and disappointed at his absence.

Colt pulls into his drive and shuts off his bike and just sits there for awhile. There’s a few birds chirping. He can hear Emmitt barking in the back yard, the Dane having heard the motor of his bike. The sound of traffic not too far away is a constant hum.

Otherwise, Colt just lets himself sit there for a long time in the relative stillness and quiet.

When he finally makes his way inside he instantly notices a few differences. There are several bottles of alcohol on the kitchen counter. His shabby kitchen table has been replaced with a newer, sleeker table and chairs. His old TV has been updated to a newer and bigger television.

Marc.

After feeding Emmitt and petting/playing with him for awhile, Colt goes to the kitchen and finds a new, bigger fridge. There’s a note on the fridge: dinner, 2nd shelf. Colt stares at it for a long moment before opening it and finding the entire top shelf taken up with various beers. The other shelves and drawers are full of fresh food.

Dinner turns out to be a steak that he has to reheat and some veggies. Colt doesn’t have the energy to overthink it. He reheats the food and sits on his couch to eat it.

Emmitt is laying on his pillowed bed gnawing at a fresh bacon chew bone. Tied around the chew bone is a bandanna that used to be red, faded to a strange orange pink color, covered in grease and oil stains, and Colt suspects, his own cum.

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