Dinner was an unqualified success. Marshall prided himself on his ability to grill any piece of meat to perfection. So rare, it practically mooed, just the way they liked it. But then he'd had a great teacher, hadn't he?
Everything he knew, he'd learned from Lee.
Afterward, Marshall cleaned the kitchen, rinsed the dishes and set them into the dishwasher, eyeballing everything to make sure it was clean before turning out the light. Lee was kicked back in the family room, a bottle of ale in hand. Marshall carried in his own and took a seat on the couch, but jumped up almost immediately and set the bottle on the end table. He paced into the bedroom. The bed was made, everything was straight. The lube sat out, on his side of the bed. Nothing to be done there.
He padded back into the family room and took his seat again. He crossed and uncrossed his legs before jumping back up to his feet.
"There's no reason to be nervous," Lee commented.
"Nervous? Who said I was nervous?" Marshall assumed an air of nonchalance he was far from feeling.
"I think I know better than that," Lee said softly. "Especially since you're playing with your hair, and that's a definite sign you're not sure of yourself. You shouldn't be. You'll do great."
Marshall guiltily removed the hand that had been twisting strands of his long hair. Yeah, that was a bad habit he had. And yes, he was nervous. Both on his account, and Lee's. He wanted everything to go right, and he didn't want to do anything to hurt Lee, despite Lee's protestations that he wouldn't and couldn't.
Lee set his ale aside and rose from the chair. He pulled Marshall toward him, wound his arms about his waist. "Don't overthink things," he said. "Just think about how good it's gonna feel when you're inside of me. For both of us."
