Chapter Text
Oh my god, it’s so late.
You pull into Marcus’ driveway, immediately cutting the engine, paranoid that the sound is too loud in the thick quiet of night covering the suburb.
It’s too late, really.
But he had said he wanted to see you, no matter how late you finished work. That a week was too long without seeing your beautiful smile.
So incredibly sweet - and so very Marcus.
Your gaze flicks to the illuminated clock on the car dash.
Still…
Okay, well, he had replied to your text not long ago, when you told him you were leaving work, reassuring you that he still wanted you to come over, stay for the weekend.
That had been the plan all week, you’d been looking forward to two whole days with him - the man who had rewritten your definition of romance.
No, not just romance - relationships in general. What it means to be with somebody.
To trust someone else implicitly.
To put your soul in their hands and know they’ll treat it like the greatest treasure.
And how that trust could lead to not only a depth of intimacy you’d never known possible, but also incredible, mind-blowing sex.
Last weekend, he’d shown you that. Took control, pulled you out of your own head, stripped away every worry and concern and anxiety and made you come so hard you’d fallen apart in his arms after.
Then, true to Marcus form, he didn’t push it. Didn’t force you to talk about it, just took care of you with his usual sweet gentleness.
But once the pleasure haze had faded and your thoughts came back together, anxiety had immediately started to gnaw at your throat.
What exactly had happened? How had he made you give up control like that, become so immersed in the desire to feel good and make him feel good that everything else fell away?
That was so unlike you, always present, always aware.
Though, it had felt incredible - it had been good for you.
A release that went deeper than an orgasm.
It wasn’t that you didn’t like it. Just that… it was…
Well, you never could stop analyzing every single thing that was brought to your attention. It’s not surprising that this was making you go around in circles trying to figure it out.
Your heavy sigh breaks the silence.
Some instinct tells you Marcus knows.
There had been moments, during that night, when you’d seen it in his warm brown gaze.
An understanding. A knowledge of what you were thinking, feeling, that surpassed even your own.
You need to talk to him.
So you’d been looking forward to this all week, to seeing him again. Struggling to fight back the anxiety that keeps trying to pull you into a spiral about that night, reminding yourself constantly that it’s okay, you can talk to Marcus about it, he’s safe.
You can trust him.
But all that was before you knew that your Friday was going to blow up in your face.
Before problem after problem was dumped on you and despite your every effort you couldn’t fix them all before they inevitably got worse.
And now you’re sitting here, long after you were supposed to be at his place.
The anxiety is gone, now, you’d caved to it hours ago, unable to keep it at bay. It had been replaced by something you can’t identify buzzing with an uncomfortable weight in the pit of your stomach.
You peer at his house through the windshield, chewing your thumbnail thoughtfully, teeth biting into the quick with a tiny jab of pain that distracts you enough to think through the situation.
The porch light is on, and so is the living room light, glowing through the curtains in the big picture window.
Okay, so he’s still up.
And his texts throughout the night were his usual, sweet and caring and light -
But what if you were misreading them?
What if he’s actually upset with you for being so late?
What if he’s playing it off like it’s fine but he’s actually pissed, frustrated that you strung him along all day, that you prioritized work over him, that you had the audacity to show up at this hour and expect him to drop everything to entertain you.
Your stomach turns, rolls, slow and sickly, emotion hot in the back of your throat.
I should just go home, there’s no point in bothering him at this -
A sudden burst of light startles you out of your spiral.
Your phone, in the cupholder, screen bright with a new text notification.
Marcus
Can’t wait to see you, beautiful
Tension bleeds from your shoulders, stomach righting itself with a little flip of anticipation.
Trust.
You trust Marcus. He’s never given you any reason to do otherwise.
And if he says he wants you to come over, despite it being so late, then he means it.
But -
No, this is too much, you can’t just sit here and think anymore -
The need to move shoves you into action, and you throw open the door and get out of the car, grabbing your bag from the backseat.
You’re only three steps to the front door when it swings open, light bathing the walkway.
Marcus meets you before you even reach the door, dimpled smile glowing in the dim light. “Hey. Heard the car pull in.”
Your own smile is an inherent reaction, heartbeat skipping just a bit as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, one hand slipping around your waist to smooth over the small of your back.
The exhaustion in your muscles leaches out, body swaying toward his, and he pulls back enough to look at you, concern in his warm brown gaze. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”
He’s already taking your bag, long fingers slipping through yours, hand on your back gently guiding you to the door and that unknown weight in the pit of your stomach shifts, edges sharp, bringing tears to your eyes.
What is it? Why does it hurt so much?
It’s a little unsettling, not knowing what you’re feeling, especially when it’s something so strong.
What’s wrong with you that you can’t even identify this emotion that feels like it’s boring a hole straight through you?
You’re moving automatically, only vaguely aware of the door shutting behind you, the pleasant smile pasted on your face. Going through the motions, taking off your shoes, jacket, straightening your clothes.
Suddenly, large hands cup your face and a jolt runs through you, so startling it pushes a gasp from your lungs.
Brown eyes fill your vision, blurred by the threat of tears.
Soft words seep through the buzzing in your head - when had that started?
“Are you okay?”
Shit -
You haven’t said anything, haven’t spoken to him since you pulled in. Frustration skips along your pulse. Get it together.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” The practiced phrase comes out as usual, light and dismissive.
Marcus steps closer, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. “Look at me.”
Oh -
It’s just a hint, a whisper of the command his voice can carry - that command that guided you to heights of pleasure you’d never experienced before him. It’s enough to snap through the buzz in your head.
Your vision clears and finally you can really see him. Really look at him.
He’s watching you, intent, frown forming between his brows. There’s only a pause, his expression unreadable - is he angry - no stop it shut up - then he’s sliding an arm around your shoulders and turning you toward the living room.
“Come on, come sit down.”
Relief washes cool down your back.
Yes, good, let him guide you.
A quiet reassurance coats your thoughts, muffling the noise.
Trust him.
He sits you down on the plush sofa, tucked into the corner, and settles in closely next to you. His hands never leave you, drifting down your arms to clasp yours gently, hold them in your lap. Your joined hands rest on your thighs, a counterweight to the one in your stomach.
Grounding. Centring.
Marcus.
He squeezes lightly, draws your gaze to his. “Are you comfortable talking to me right now?”
Embarrassment flushes hot on your skin - it’s so unnerving, how he can see everything about you - but you force yourself not to look away, to keep your gaze on his. Trust. “A lot happened today. Just. A lot.”
Fuck, that’s not very helpful, he asked you a question and you give him this vague -
“That’s okay.”
The buzz flickers, the soft tone of his words scattering.
“What?” You can hear the confusion in your own voice.
A dozen emotions flash across his expression, but the warmth in his eyes doesn’t change, persistent. “It’s okay that today was a lot. You can talk about it, all of it or parts of it, if you want. Or if you’d rather not, that’s fine, too.”
You glance away, unable to look at him, his ceaseless compassion too much to handle right now.
He lifts your clasped hands to his lips, brushes a kiss over your knuckles, that intent gaze still locked on yours. “I can reheat supper, if you’re hungry. Draw you a bath if you want to unwind. Take you to bed and hold you if you’re too tired for any of that. And during, after or in-between any of that, I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me about today.”
The weight in your stomach shifts again, presses up against your ribcage and it hurts to breathe but you manage to nod in acknowledgment.
His gaze tracks the shakiness of the movement, crease between his brows deepening, voice firm. “And if you don’t want to talk tonight, that’s fine. But it’s not healthy to keep things bottled up. Whatever happened, it seems like it’s really affecting you. So you will have to talk about it at some point, either with me or someone else. When you’re ready.”
You nod again - try to, but the movement is too awkward, it feels strange. As if it’s not you making it, it’s not your body, not your hands in his and not your lungs straining for air and not -
Suddenly you can’t see, everything is blurry, everything is gone nothing is real why -
Strong arms pull you against a broad chest and you crumple, limbs folding into yourself, weight in your stomach dragging you down down down -
Desperate, you grasp at the warmth that breaks your fall, hands clutching at fabric over solid strength, thoughts latching onto murmured words against your hair.
Your subconscious instinctively threading into the profound presence that surrounds you, holding fast.
It’s a lifeline. A linchpin that centres your focus, pulls you back into awareness.
Marcus is tucking you firmer into the crook of his arm, shifting your legs across his lap until you’re fully seated there. One large hand cups your head, holds your temple to his lips, while the other passes gentle strokes to your arm, your back, your thigh.
He’s talking, soft and muffled words but clear enough, a steady stream that brushes over your skin.
“Breathe for me, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay, let it out. I’m here.”
I’m here.
Marcus is always here. For you.
Trust.
The weight in your stomach bursts and everything pours out of you in tear-soaked words.
“I’m so sorry I’m so late, I’m sorry I disappointed you and I didn’t want to ever do that because you’re so amazing Marcus and it’s not fair for me to treat you like this - “ your voice hiccups and you have to push through it - “I should have cancelled tonight, I knew I was going to be late, but I was selfish and still wanted to see you and I made you wait around for me and that was wrong and I’m so so sorry -“
“Stop.”
His voice is quiet but firm, enough to silence the mess of thoughts pouring from your lips.
You wait, heart pounding, lungs tight, muscles tensed and ready for his judgement.
No, not judgement - this is Marcus, he cares about you, he’s here for you.
But it’s all still there, the buzzing in your head and the weight pulling you down and it’s too much, too confusing and conflicting and you can’t handle everything.
A whimper squeezes past your throat before you can stop it. Your eyes are closed so tight against it all that you see stars.
He gently eases you away, his arm supporting your back where it bands across your shoulders. “Open your eyes, baby. Please.”
Trust.
It takes everything you have to do so, blinking as his face comes into focus.
The concern that worried his brow is gone. Those warm, brown eyes are steady, but more serious than you’ve ever seen them.
He takes a deep breath, chest shifting where you’re pressed to him. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but you were hurting yourself and I couldn’t let that continue.”
“H-hurting myself?” Your voice catches on the well of confusion squeezing your throat.
A barely-there nod as his thumb swipes through the tear tracks on your cheek. “Listening to those negative thoughts. Letting them speak for you.”
You stare at him. Mind blank. Buzzing thoughts silent.
He cups your cheek, his broad palm soothing on your too-hot skin. “You have your own voice. No one, not even yourself, can take that away. It will always be there.”
There’s no epiphany or flash of understanding. Just a gentle swell, rising and pulling you in, the understanding of his words. They just seep into the fibre of your being and you know.
You know they’re true.
You understand what he’s saying. Those buzzing thoughts, sharp and intrusive, weaselling their way to the forefront until you couldn’t hear anything else.
That heavy weight in the pit of your stomach. A blend of guilt and shame and frustration.
At yourself.
For being weak, for being unable to stop the anxious turmoil from bleeding into this part of your life, your relationship with Marcus, the part that you wanted so badly to be clean of it.
Then there’s disappointment at your inability to control it.
No. Not just disappointment.
Anger.
Because despite trying, so hard, telling yourself that Marcus was good and right and you can trust him - it did nothing.
Those negative thoughts still won out and tainted your perception.
Then there’s despair. Cold and creeping into your bones.
You’re failing yourself.
So many times, you’ve been silent when you wanted to speak, or to shout or laugh or scream or sing.
You’d let others keep you quiet for so long, that even when they were no longer in your life, the habit apparently remained.
A habit you thought you’d already broken after countless therapy sessions, only for it to overtake and control you once again.
Well. At least now you know it’s not right, not fair to you.
Now you know you deserve to be happy.
It had taken a long time, but you’d come to acknowledge and accept that as a fact.
But that didn’t stop you from trying to self-sabotage, apparently.
No, stop. That’s the negative voice again.
Telling you you’re not enough.
That you’ll always fail.
Trust trust trust
Those words beat steadily within your own pulse.
Closing your eyes - not to shut things out, this time, but to let yourself look inward - you lean into the weight of his palm, breathe deep, and trust.
“I think that…” Your words are soft, cracked with hesitation as they come to you slowly. “I know that I do, have my own voice. I know those thoughts will only hurt me, and I have the ability to ignore them. But sometimes it…”
You look at Marcus then, some part of you needing to see him. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, to hear the difference between the good thoughts and the bad ones. Especially on days when everything else is so loud.”
He’s watching you, expression so soft it pricks tears in the corners of your eyes. There’s no pity, or uncertainty, or doubt, in his face. Just an overwhelming tender emotion, a comprehension that can only come from hearing that same buzzing noise blurring the good and bad.
One of your hands untangles from where your fingers are curled into his shirt, rises to rest over his on your cheek.
Of course he understands. A toxic marriage, a broken engagement, so many other wounds that cut deep and left scars.
Marcus has fought to break habits, too.
He leans in, kisses you softly, your lips then your forehead. “Will you…” he pulls back to look at you, tongue dipping against his lower lip. “Will you let me help you? With the noise?”
Your heart beats steadily.
You know what he means.
The memory of sinking deep into that haze of pleasure, letting go of your ceaseless thoughts. Allowing him to take control of the noise and silence it.
Giving yourself over to him, wholly and completely.
Trust trust trust
There’s no hesitation in your thoughts, in your voice.
“Yes.”