Office Confrontations Ch. 04

"Stop that," Marshall choked out a whisper. He should have pushed Kyle away and covered up the start of a boner in his jeans but instead he clung to Kyle's hips and tilted his head to give Kyle more access. Kyle, being a good boy and an attentive body-language reader(not that it took a genius to figure out Marshall was aroused) sucked at the wet skin and hummed, stroking his shoulder blades.

Marshall gritted his teeth and dug his nails into Kyle's hips, unable to do anything but drag Kyle closer. When teeth sunk into tender skin, he had no choice. He pushed Kyle away and breathed heavily, slumping into the plastic seat cemented to the linoleum floor. He ignored the disapproving glance of the mother two lanes to their left. He ignored Kyle's satisfied smirk before it disappeared into an innocent, almost child-like glee for the game. He bowled a spare in Marshall's stead and got himself a pick-up as well. When he bounced to the seats Marshall managed to coax his lower region to calm its shit and leave the blood to his upper head where it was needed.

Kyle rested his head against Marshall's shoulder and sighed, eyes closed.

"This is nice." He admitted, though it was always hard to tell if he was playing a role or teasing. "I haven't done this in a long time." Marshall snorted.

"Didn't seem to effect your playing ability." He retorted, laying his temple on Kyle's hair. "I didn't know where else to go. This place seemed better than a trip to the mall or a club." Marshall hated dancing and didn't do well in crowds. Kyle, on the other hand, did everything with the same two hundred percent effort and intensity that he put into whatever he found himself doing. Marshall had yet to find a weakness.

He was funny, incredibly attractive, smart. He acted as a profession, drove only ten miles over the speed limit in any given lane, and sang like a damn angel.

Really, his only fault was wasting his time with Marshall.

"What are you thinking about?" Kyle asked, lacing their fingers together and resting them on Marshall's thigh. Startled, Marshall made a few incoherent grunts and shrugged, passing the motion off to Kyle's head, which rested comfortably against him.

"Nothing important." He replied, a little too sharply after the hesitation. Kyle's fingers gripped their prey and scraped their nails over the rough knuckles in their grasp.

"Didn't seem like it to me." Kyle spoke quietly, as if he didn't care about the answer. But he wouldn't have asked if he didn't have an ulterior motive―or just really wanted to know. Marshall groaned and lifted his head, looking toward the cacophony of the bowlers around them.

"How do you do that?" Marshall wondered aloud, then silently cursed himself for speaking.

"Do what?" Kyle twisted and curled against him, not indecent but still hooking a leg over Marshall's calves.

"Know what I'm thinking." Marshall tapped his free hand on the edge of the chair, keeping his eyes trained on the bowlers around them without really seeing any of them. "You always know when I'm feeling stupid or awkward or anxious or...you know." He shrugged, not wanting to admit how hard he got from menial glances and mostly innocent smiles. Kyle chuckled and lifted his head, aiming his gaze toward Marshall.

"I don't. You're just easy to read, especially when you think too hard." Kyle poked Marshall's earlobe and grinned. "Smoke puffs out of your ears when you look like you're about to keel over from the effort." Marshall glowered and poked him back at the chest, but Kyle laughed again.

"Plus you made a very dramatic sigh and mumbled, 'damn him'." Kyle added, tossing his mane of hair and accosting Marshall's senses with his full gaze. Blushing and hesitating, Marshall wondered if he could get away with lying. But no, Kyle was a better lie detector than most expensive government machines most days.

"So?" Kyle prompted with a squeeze to his fingers. Marshall groaned inwardly at the soon-to-be awkward conversation and bit his lip.

"I was thinking you're too damn perfect for your own good." Marshall finally replied. Kyle scoffed and rolled his eyes. If it wasn't for the fact that Kyle loved basking in his arrogance and never refuted a compliment, Marshall would have thought he was fishing for another. "You excel at everything," he continued fruitlessly, "you bowl and act, everyone absolutely adores you. I can't find any flaw anywhere." Kyle's poker face covered his feelings better than a full-faced mask would have.

"Why are you looking for flaws?" Kyle asked blandly. Only the unreadable emotion in his eyes belied the intensity with which he sought that answer. "Should I have pretended to suck at bowling to save your masculine pride?"

"No, I wasn't--" Marshall smacked his thumb to his forehead and squeezed his eyes, breathing sharply through his nose. "I wasn't looking for flaws and I'm not emasculated because I suck at all things hand-eye coordination related." He responded, and Kyle pried his fingers away from the death grip Marshall clung to him with.

"It's hard not to notice how great you are at everything." He ground out through clenched teeth. Kyle frustrated him beyond belief. Women were less temperamental. "It was an observation, alright? But I'll keep my opinions to myself if I'm bruising your tender ego."

Kyle's expression didn't change and Marshall stood up roughly, glaring at the "ball pit" thing that held their bowling balls. No one in his life had ever managed to rile him up so easily or often. Kyle had a gift, as irritating and endearing as it was.

"It wasn't a complaint or anything, so stop staring at me like I'm an ass. I was just thinking how rare it is for me to be good at anything even with constant effort while you can step in and master whatever it is in just a few breaths." Marshall jumped when Kyle wrapped his arms around his hips, low and parallel to his waistband. After a second to catch his breath from being startled, Marshall rubbed Kyle's forearms through his long-sleeved button up, a dusky rose hue today, and leaned into Kyle's touch.

"You're good at a lot of things." Kyle mumbled, nosing his way between Marshall's cheek and shoulder and blowing out an exhale. Marshall shivered and willed himself not to respond. Damn, he really was a hair-trigger. "Arguing. Pissing me off. Pretending to be tough then demanding cuddles with your arms crossed over your chest." Kyle whispered, tracing the curve of Marshall's ear with his tongue. "Blowjobs, too. And ruining my sheets. Not my fault I've got skills outside the bedroom, though let's be honest I dominate there too."

Marshall laughed at the pun and shook his head ruefully.

"Finally, a flaw." Kyle's arms, before gentle and reassuring, tensed into an iron bar of pressure. "You don't have the ability to be modest." Marshall elucidated before he lost feeling in his legs.

"Of course I do. I didn't brag about my spanking skills or how well versed my tongue is with your mouth, now did I? I praised you instead, that's the picture of modesty." Kyle bragged languidly, letting go of Marshall's torso to grip his hand instead.

"How humble of you." Marshall replied dryly, but his mouth upturned in a grin, ruining his sarcasm. Kyle very subtly ground into his backside – apparently the presence of children fifty feet away didn't cow him in the slightest. Or maybe it only felt perverse. Boners against ass cheeks usually gave him that impression, for some odd reason.

"How about we get out of here and I can praise you some more, about more private matters?" Kyle offered, shutting down the game with two frames left and grinning wickedly. Marshall smirked and followed behind, pausing with Kyle to kick off his shoes and slip into his sneakers.

"What's more private than blowjobs?" Marshall inquired, leaning close and keeping his voice low. Kyle tossed a casual look over his shoulder that by others could be brushed off as nothing. Marshall saw the heat in his gaze, the dodge of his tongue between those perfect pearly whites, and the rock of his hips Kyle sometimes moved with when he felt some growth in his loins and managed to hide it with extremely tight pants and a skillful hand at deception. There was something feral and heady about that look, and the way he walked carefully to rub his dick against the rough denim without drawing attention to the fact, that turned Marshall on more than he could handle.

He didn't notice the odd look of envy the long-haired cashier gave them when they dropped off their shoes and as Kyle got a copy of their scores to hold over him, and he didn't pay attention to anything but the faint hint of excitement in Kyle's jeans the entire drive home. But he remembered the long hours bent over the bed with Kyle's fingers exploring all the dips and curves of his body and the satisfaction of Kyle's arms around him and his head pressed against that smooth expanse of pectorals.

And lingering in the reminiscence of heated gazes and horny men with too much time on their hands, Marshall fell to the hold of the Sandman and slept fitfully, lustful and aching for Kyle's touch.