Marc pulled his suitcase into the parlor of Waverton with his eyes firmly on the Turkish rugs. Unable to manage a glance up at the carved grand staircase he had been thinking about for two months, he shuffled across the carpets towards the front desk. He should've canceled the trip and eaten the five hundred dollar deposit.
"Reservation for Rosini," he grumbled, sliding his credit card across the desk.
"Certainly sir," the attendant said. A tablet was quietly slid back across the desk for Marc to sign, and was soon replaced by a pair of welcome envelops and a brochure, "So I have a reservation for two for the honeymoon sweet, congrat-"
Marc immediately snapped his head up, prepared to give the attendant a withering look. But his scowl died along with the attendant's congratulations. Finally looking forward, Marc found he was not face to face, but had only managed chest-level for the attendant had at least a foot on him. Craning his head up, Marc couldn't help but notice the attendant was built like linebacker. Broad shouldered with massive arms, the man's dark green henley practically strained against his chest. The sleeves were rolled up past thick forearms, and his shirt was unbuttoned. Marc tried not to stare at the patch of fuzz, and went to meet the man eye to eye.
Oh.
The attendant's eyes were a remarkable slate gray, and yet... they were warm. Marc didn't see pity, but sympathy and a little embarrassment. Marc wanted to say something, but every time he tried to pick out the words, they seemed to get fuzzy. Instead, he just stared, until he realized he was staring, they both were.
"Uh-um.. your room is three-uh ten. Up the stairs and down the hall to your right. Breakfast goes from six to ten. Welcome to Waverton." the attendant's voice was quiet as he pulled the second envelop off the desk.
"Thanks."
The suite was magnificent. Of course it was. Everything was carefully crafted and ornate, the perfect example of Gilded-Age splendor. The bedroom had a huge four-poster bed, raised up like an altar. It competed for space with the huge window, and writing desk. Pulling back the curtains, Marc could make out the shimmer of the lake in the evening light, as well as the tulip gardens laid out below.
Marc grabbed a pillow, unsure if he wanted to weep into it, or throw it across the room. He settled for slowly grinding a fist into it.
Fuck. For two months he had planned their three year anniversary weekend, then the week before, Jamie had decided to end it. Now he got to spend four days in a beautiful mansion in absolute misery, because it was too damn late to cancel.
Marc grabbed the remote, and flipped on the television. At least he had HBO.
Marc reclined easily on a grassy hill overlooking the lake. It was dark but the waters caught the moonlight and cast everything in silver. His eyelids heavy, Marc began to drift. Hands moved slowly over his shoulders and across his chest. He could feel their warmth against the cool night air. One hand slid down his stomach and tucked under his belt, tracing little circles on his skin.
Almost involuntarily Marc began to rock his hips,waiting as those fingers slid their way slowly to the buckle and button. Jamie was taking his damn sweet time wasn't he?
God, Marc needed this.
Lips touched him softly on the neck, and Marc sighed as kisses climbed up his cheek.
Eventually their lips met, but they were barely kisses. His lips were hesitant. There was a taught tension there Marc wasn't expecting, so he leaned forward for more. Expecting that tension to give way to hungry kisses. But instead he found only cold air.
It made no sense. Jamie liked to tease, certainly, but he was always so direct. More than a little forceful.
"Jamie?" Marc whispered. Letting his eyes open.
Marc lay sprawled across the massive bed, alone, and hard as a rock. Frowning at his morning wood, Marc reached for his phone and went searching for porn.
An hour later, Marc wandered down the stairs, still fixated on last night's dream. Despite never having had sex by the side of a lake, the whole moment felt familiar, a strange sense of deja vu. The parts fit together too well for it to be a collection of half-remembered moments jammed together. Some dream.
Marc smiled ruefully to himself. Better unconscious than not at all. It had been weeks since he and Jamie had sex, or much else for that matter. Just a few half-hearted pecks on the cheek. Not quite the same slow kisses...
Marc started getting hard again, and decided to go for a run.
Before it was sold in the thirties, Waverton had sprawling grounds that went out in thousands of acres in every direction. The Bed and Breakfast had managed to hold on to a sizeable chunk of land beyond the gardens, with a nice set of woods and walking paths.
Even though the day was barely started, it was going to be a hot one. After only a few minutes, Marc was wiping sweat through his dark curly hair. Even if it was difficult to pack weight on his slight build, he still felt painfully out of shape. As he huffed up the next hill, he promised himself that once he was over, and into the clearing he would stop and catch his breath.
Marc came to a dead stop at the hilltop.
"The fuck?" Marc stared out in disbelief. The hill gave way to a clearing, and that small lake he had seen from his window.
The same lake from his dream.
Marc stumbled down the hill, still breathing heavily. The tree and brushline looked a little different, but the shape of the landscape, the slow gentle curve of the water. It was uncanny. With little hesitation, Marc managed to find the exact spot from his dream, a little rise over to the left with a nice view of the water under the shade of an oak tree.
Collapsing into the soft grass, Marc stared out over the water, watching a heron make ripples reflect in the morning light. He must have seen the spot in the website or something. God knows, he spent enough time staring at the pictures dreaming of the long weekend with Jamie.
Though he never actually bought the ring, Marc had toyed with the idea of proposing this weekend. In retrospect, he was grateful for whatever subconscious urge told him not to waste money on a ring.
What a waste, the last three years. They had met through a mutual friend, started dating soon after, and moved in together after a year. They were planning to buy a dog. They had planned to buy a house. They had planned to get married. So many damn plans.
"No more plans." Marc grumbled, fingers digging in among the grass. For a brief moment as he crumpled grass in his fist, Marc felt that same misty memory at the edge of his mind. He had been here before. A wave of melancholy took him for a moment. Loss. His eyes started to feel wet.
"No." it was good to speak into the morning silence. Marc levered himself back up, and made his way back to Waverton, ignoring the little paths that went elsewhere and on to a quiet solitary evening.
It was dark. He could see flickering lights in the distance. Marc grasped a wood column as a hand gently grasped his hip. Another hand was on his cock, moving slowly. Marc bent forward, letting his hips push back. Before he shut his eyes, he saw the lights begin to dim. The air smelled of gasoline.
He could feel Jamie's erection against his ass, pressing in slowly. When reached back to guide it in, it felt different, thinner. But it was slick, and Marc was ready, so he positioned his hips and began to push further back. That familiar feeling of warmth and fullness. Marc's ass twitched, as Jamie slid in another inch. Marc exhaled, and as he pushed down, he felt Jamie's hand holding firm on cock. Still moving slowly. Every movement sending waves of pleasure through his body.
Jamie began to thrust. Slow at first. Achingly slow. Marc couldn't help but eagerly push back to meet him. He tried to widen his stance, but almost tore the pants around his ankles. Instead he gripped both hands on the square wood column, straining to find purchase.
It was faster now. The soft slapping sound as their bodies met grew louder. Every time they met, Marc's toes curled in ecstacy. Jamie sank to the hilt with each thrust and Marc could only moan softly. As he grew closer and closer to orgasm, his pleas to be fucked harder grew loud.
The hand on his dick leapt up and covered his mouth. Marc's eyes snapped open. Pale slender fingers rubbed against his lips. He could see a gold signet ring. There was a figure on the ring but it was hard to make out. But it wasn't Jamie's hand...
"Shhh." the man behind him whispered. Marc could hear the smile in his voice. Hand still over Marc's mouth, the man began to thrust harder and faster. Marc's erection began to slap against his stomach. He bit down on fingers. It was all too much.
Marc thrashed in the sheets as he came. He was awake, sweaty and covered in cum, ass still clenched. He looked around awkwardly. The bedroom was empty. He was alone. He could hear the sounds of people taking breakfast below. "Oh, shit. How loud was I?" Marc whispered, still breathing hard. Painfully aware of the thin walls, Marc flipped on the TV. It was a welcome distraction. He needed something. He still didn't want to think about Jamie, and focusing on that dream... No, he needed distraction.
Despite his almost clock-work need to check his phone every ten minutes, through a monumental act of will, he had managed to avoid social media. He hadn't told anyone about the break up, and wasn't looking forward to the whole thing.
He considered looking at porn again, but after waking up to a fairly epic orgasm, he didn't have the heart to go again just yet.
It was strange. He remembered having wet dreams as a teenager, but it was never so... vivid. It all felt so real. He could swear his ass still felt a little tender. The way he used to feel after one of those marathon morning sex sessions that took him to lunch.
Eventually the TV grew stale and the room a tad stifling. He was running out of options here, he had even missed breakfast. While he still had the option of going into town to shop or having an early lunch, Marc decided to go running again.
Jogging past the tulip garden, he broke into a full stride once he was back in the shade of the wooded paths. He half-remembered something about twenty miles of trails and paths on the website, so where he had turned left for the lake, he went right instead.
He fared a bit better this time. He was still a sweaty mess, but wasn't winded so easily. After a few miles, he even managed a smile. Soon he heard the distant tinny sounds of music up ahead, he must've forgotten his headphones in the room.
On a whim he jogged toward the sound, making his way back towards the road that ran beside the property. The path ran by a house tucked back into the woods. It was a dilapidated affair, in the same Gilded-Age style as Waverton, but an order of magnitude less ornate. A pickup was parked out front. Marc could see a ladder up the front and...
Oh.
The attendant was in the process of painting the windows frames and shutters. In the warm morning sun, he had removed his shirt. His muscles glistened. His skin, though tanned, had just a hint of pink at the shoulders. Just as Marc had imagined, his arms and chest were sculpted perfection. He hadn't pictured the generous spread of hair across the attendant's chest, or that his abs looked like something off a magazine cover. The attendant wore a pair of tattered paint-splattered jeans, pulled low from the tools on his belt. He hadn't seen a V-cut like that since his club days. Marc's breath caught.
"Anything I can help you with?" the attendant shouted down to him.
Shit. Marc had stopped dead in his tracks. He was staring.
"Mr. uh... Rosini?"
