Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 92: Gardens All Wet With Rain

[justinedelarge]

Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 92: Gardens All Wet With Rain
Author: justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Reggie/Marcus
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,640
Summary: Reggie makes good on his promise to Marcus
Warning: None
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own. But I do own what I do own, such as my original characters and my plot.

Master post of all chapters here

Reggie sat cross-legged on the bed in his grey pajamas. He cleared his throat and dialed. Marcus answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Hope it's not too late to call."

A sleepy yawn. "Reggie?"

"Yep."

"What time is it?"

"Late. I'm sorry." Reggie took a drink of whiskey.

"It's ok."

"So…you busy tomorrow night?"

"Working."

Reggie's face fell. "What time do you get off?

Marcus gave a little laugh."Why? Are you going to come see me?"

"I, uh, I'd like to."

"Really? I'll get someone to take my shift."

Reggie ran his hand through his long hair. "You sure?"

"Not a problem. Not at all." Another yawn. "What do you… do you want to…"

"That offer of lasagna still stand?"

"Yeah. Yes. Absolutely."

Reggie wrote down the address and directions Marcus gave him. "You go back to sleep now. I'll see you tomorrow." He hung up the phone and lay back on the pillow, hands behind his head, a contented smile on his lips.

---

In the morning, after a breakfast of hot coffee and cold cereal, he helped Bobby crutch out to the garage where Dean was already elbow-deep in Bobby's damaged car, explaining to Sam what was what.

"Taking off?" Dean wiped his greasy hands on a shop rag.

Reggie nodded.

"But you'll be back by Wednesday, right?" Sam asked.

Dean cocked his head, confused at what was so special about Wednesday.

"Dude. Your 21st birthday?" Sam gave Dean a disbelieving look.

"Kinda been a lot going on." Dean tossed the rag into the open wastebasket.

"You forgot?"

Dean shrugged. "I forgot."

Reggie chuckled. "Don't blame you. I'd have forgot too." He clapped his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Don't worry. I wouldn't miss it."

He said goodbye to everyone. Bobby settled down on a shop stool, arranging his hurt leg, and Dean proceeded to list what he'd identified so far that needed repair, pointing them out to Sam, who beamed at finally being included in the mechanical side of things. Reggie watched them for a moment, then slipped away.

By the time he got to Denver, the ashtray was filled with gnawed toothpicks, ends fanned out and flattened. He stopped at a gas station to change his shirt into the nice blue one he'd ironed and hung up on a hanger hooked over the top of the back window. He brushed his teeth in the stained sink, combed his moustache and fussed with his hair, then drove to Marcus's place.

The apartment complex smelled of garlic and tomatoes all the way down in the lobby. He didn't even need to know the apartment number. He could have followed the scent right to his door.

Standing in front of #24, he closed his eyes for a moment. "You can do this," he whispered. He wiped his damp palms on the legs of his jeans and rang the bell.

The door opened. Marcus stood in the doorway, in black slacks and dress shoes, with a white tank top baring his arms and shoulders, and a black apron that read, "The trouble with eating Italian food is 3 days later you're hungry again."

His teeth were white against his full, red mouth, framed by his close-trimmed goatee. "You're a little early." He gestured to himself. "I'm not all the way dressed yet."

Reggie's eyes took in Marcus's bare skin, the powerful biceps and shoulders. "That's alright," he drawled.

A spot of color appeared on Marcus's cheeks. "Come in." He drew Reggie inside, and leaned in quickly, kissing him lightly, almost shyly, on his cheek. He slipped Reggie's long black duster off, hands lingering on his shoulders, and hung it up on a coat rack near the door.

Reggie swallowed hard.

"Wine?"

"Yes, please."

Marcus's teeth flashed white. "Such a gentleman."

"Yessir."

Now Marcus swallowed hard. Dark eyelashes fluttering, he hastened into the kitchen and pulled out two wine glasses. "I've got Cab if you like that, and a really nice Nebbiolo…"

"Whatever you want."

Marcus blinked. "Right." He hesitated. "Ok, the Nebbiolo." Reaching for the wine opener, he knocked a wine glass off the counter, where it shattered. "Fuck."

"Here. Let me help you." Reggie came into the kitchen.

"It's ok. I got it." Marcus picked up the larger pieces. "I…um. I'm a little nervous."

"Me too." Reggie pushed his hair back with one hand.

Marcus looked surprised. "You are?"

Reggie chuckled. "Shit yeah."

Marcus took a deep breath and exhaled, clearly relieved.

Reggie helped him clean up the broken glass, and Marcus poured him a glass of Nebbiolo, and invited him to sit down on the couch. On the coffee table, he had already set out a spread of green olives, a few types of salumi, bread and a shallow bowl of olive oil. Marcus finished the last layer of lasagna, ladling homemade meat sauce over noodles and raining down two huge handfuls of shredded mozzarella on top, then popped the lasagna into the preheated oven, washed his hands and stripped off the apron.

Reggie couldn't help but notice the lines of muscle beneath the white tank top, the thatch of dark hair on his chest.

Marcus grabbed the white dress shirt draped over the back of the couch.

"You don't have to…" Reggie gestured toward the shirt. "On my account. If you're comfortable."

Marcus blushed at the implied compliment. "We're on a proper date. I want to do this right." He slipped his left hand into the sleeve of the shirt, slowly drawing it up the length of his arm.

Reggie could not help but stare at the white fabric contrasting with his light brown skin, moving up, concealing it. It was like a reverse strip tease, every bit as erotic, conjuring up images in both their minds of the shirt coming off again later.

Marcus buttoned the shirt up, tucking it into his slacks and smoothing it flat. "There we go." He took his own glass and sat on the couch next to Reggie, a respectable but still intimate space between them, facing him. "So. Tell me about you."

Reggie took a deep drink of wine. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything." Marcus's green eyes focused on Reggie's hands on the wine glass, then back up to his face. "Like…what do you do for a living?"

Reggie chewed his lip, thinking.

"If you told me, you'd have to kill me?" Marcus teased. "You a spy?" His mouth curled into a mischievous smile. "A G-Man?"

"Is that what I look like?" Reggie rolled up a paper-thin slice of sopressata and popped it in his mouth.

Marcus surveyed him. "You look like…ex-military."

Reggie blinked at how easily Marcus read that.

Marcus smiled at having gotten it right. "And…yeah, like a cop."

"You got a thing for law enforcement?" Reggie flirted back.

"Don't we all?"

Reggie grinned.

Marcus continued to evaluate Reggie, enjoying the opportunity to look at him openly without having to steal a glance. "Actually…you look like a hunter."

Reggie coughed, ears turning red. "What?"

"I knew it." Marcus grinned. "You go for the really dangerous ones?"

Reggie's mouth opened, but no words came out.

Marcus reached across Reggie and dipped a piece of bread in the olive oil. "My dad was a hunter. Mostly deer and wild boar."

Reggie blew out a breath.

"What do you use—shotgun or crossbow?" Marcus chewed on the bit of bread.

"Um…" Reggie regained his composure. "I use the right weapon for whatever I'm hunting."

Marcus glanced at the knife in Reggie's belt. "Can I see?"

Reggie hesitated, eyes searching Marcus's face. All he saw was innocent curiosity. He pulled the knife out of its sheath and laid it out over his forearm.

The metal grip was shaped to fit Reggie's hand perfectly, inlaid with a blue gemstone with white marbling. The blade was not fussy, devoid of scalloped edges or a fancy upturned tip. It followed the classic dagger shape, but with subtle angles along the top separating its superb workmanship from that of even a good knife maker.

Marcus's green eyes went wide. He reached out his hand.

"Careful." Reggie's gaze was serious. "It's sharp."

Marcus traced his fingertip over the gemstone. "It's the color of your eyes."

Reggie blinked, surprised.

Marcus's gaze went from Reggie's eyes to the knife, and back again. "Beautiful."

Reggie's breath caught in his throat.

Marcus traced his finger over the symbols engraved along the base of the grip. "What are these?"

Reggie's moustache twitched. "I put those on for good luck."

Marcus inhaled softly. "You…you made this?" His face lit up.

Reggie nodded.

Marcus ran his finger gently down the center of the blade, and looked back up at Reggie in wonder. "My god. You're an artist."

---

They had finished the appetizers and the bottle of wine by the time the lasagna was ready to come out of the oven. Marcus left it to cool and set up on the stovetop, and returned to the couch with another bottle of wine. He laughed easily, touched Reggie's arm often, mirrored Reggie's body movements. Reggie resisted the urge to kiss him right there, determined to be, as Marcus had described him, a true gentleman. Marcus rather shyly showed Reggie his book of drawings, which Reggie quite truthfully declared to be excellent.

When he deemed enough time had passed, Marcus pulled a bowl of salad from the refrigerator and served them up heaping plates of lasagna and bowls of salad. He watched Reggie carefully as he took the first bite of lasagna.

Reggie's eyes closed.

"Yeah?"

"Oh my god."

"Good?"

Reggie looked for the words to describe it. The meat sauce was rich with a perfect balance of oregano and garlic, neither too sweet nor too acid. The ratio of each layer was perfect. The ricotta, flecked with minced basil, and mozzarella…

"Perfect."

Marcus beamed with pride.

Reggie took another bite, shaking his head in disbelief at how good it was. He lifted a bit of ricotta to his mouth that had fallen off his fork. He cocked his head, tasting it by itself. "Did you salt this?"

Marcus laughed with delight. "Yes! That's the secret. Well, one of them. Most people just slap the ricotta in with a little egg, and it's too bland. You have to season it, just like anything else." He looked at Reggie for a moment. "You noticed that."

"I pay attention." Reggie took another bite. "You should have your own restaurant."

Marcus took a sip of wine, color bright in his cheeks. "I wish."

Reggie devoured the contents of his plate and before he could even ask, Marcus gave him seconds. Reggie ate it with tremendous pleasure, scraping up every morsel on his plate. "I could go for thirds, but I think I'd bust."

Marcus cleared their plates to the kitchen. "It tastes even better the next day. You could have some for lunch." The invitation on Marcus's face was open and direct. "If you want to stay."

Reggie wiped his mouth carefully with his napkin."You want me to?" His voice was resonant and low.

Marcus met Reggie's gaze. "I really want you to."

Reggie rose to his feet and strode toward Marcus, a hunter claiming his prey.

"Reggie…" Marcus's voice was breathy. And Reggie was on him, pinning him against the refrigerator with the long lean line of his body, hands tangled in his thick black hair, kissing him hard and deep.

Marcus moaned. Reggie kissed him gently, teasing his mouth with the softness of his moustache, then hard again, until Marcus was gasping, fingers digging into Reggie's back.

"Been thinking of this since I first laid eyes on you." Reggie ghosted his moustache over Marcus's neck.

"Me too."

"Getting my hands on you."

Marcus tipped his head back, a moan rising from his lips. He took Reggie's hand, and tugged him into the bedroom. Once inside, he cleared his throat. "So you know, I'm versatile."

Reggie looked confused. "Sure. With the cooking and drawing and all."

Marcus smiled. "I meant, I top and bottom both. Or if you just like to frot, that's cool."

Reggie tried to figure out what Marcus meant by frot.

Marcus began to unbutton Reggie's shirt. "You know. Get naked and rub our dicks against each other. Make each other come that way. No penetration." Shirt fully open, he traced his fingertips over Reggie's bare chest. "If that's what you want." He removed Reggie's shirt, his silver hair spilling down over his bare shoulders. Marcus's green eyes met Reggie's blue ones. "I want to do whatever you want."

Reggie felt his breath move in and out of his body, exquisitely aware of every nerve ending. He undid Marcus's shirt. "Oh, I like penetration." Marcus's tongue peeked out from between his teeth. "But I guess I'm not…versatile."

"You're a top." Marcus breathed.

"Yep." Reggie dropped Marcus's shirt to the ground, finally getting his hands on those strong arms.

"You want to fuck me." Marcus preened under Reggie's attention.

"You have no idea," Reggie purred.

Marcus pulled himself away with great difficulty, and opened the bottom drawer of his dresser, bringing out a small wooden box. Inside was a range of different kinds and sizes of condoms. "I don't do this that often. But it's good to be ready." He set the box on the bedside table. "Take your pick."

Reggie shook his head, a huge grin on his face. "You're not shy, are you."

"Not about sex." Marcus's expression was honest and open. "I know what I like. I want to know what my partners like. And the best way to get what you want is to say what you want." He peeled off his undershirt, revealing a muscular chest with a dark mat of well-groomed chest hair, and a trail of dark hair running down his stomach.

Reggie eyed him appreciatively. "Ok. I'll bite. What do you want?"

Marcus kicked off his shoes and toed off his socks. "I like oral sex. Giving and receiving. I love rimming. Giving, especially. I like getting fucked really hard, but you have to start gentle." He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his slacks. "I already got myself ready for that, by the way."

"The way you talk," Reggie muttered, open admiration on his face.

A huge grin broke over Marcus's face. "If that means I'm not ladylike, then I guess I'm just not a lady."

Reggie's mouth fell open.

Marcus laughed. "It's one of my favorite movies." He eyed Reggie. "Anyone ever tell you you look a little like—"

"Once or twice." Reggie pulled Marcus down onto the bed and threw a long leg over him, pinning Marcus beneath him.

"Tell me what you like. What you want."

Reggie smoothed the hair back from Marcus's forehead. "Anyone ever tell you you talk a lot?"

Marcus wriggled beneath him. "Gonna shut me up?"

Reggie brought his mouth down, shut him up good and proper. Marcus made a soft little sound that undid something hard and guarded inside Reggie. Something he couldn't have named if you put a gun to his head. He tipped his head to the side, and confessed in a whisper, "It's been a while. For me."

Marcus stroked Reggie's hair. "You set the pace. Ok? Whatever you want." He kissed Reggie's neck. "You just want to lay here?"

"No, I want—I want to."

"Because I don't want to fuck this up." Marcus, so direct when talking about matters sexual, buried his face in Reggie's chest and whispered, "I really like you."

A lump formed in Reggie's throat. "Ditto."

He lay with Marcus in comfortable silence, learning the sounds of his breathing, the texture of his skin, familiarizing himself with his scent. And when he was finally ready, he showed Marcus exactly what he wanted.

(More to come)

Comments

[2blueshoes.livejournal.com]

Yeah, kinda like the old guy...

[justinedelarge.livejournal.com]

You and me both.