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Ain't Nothing That I Need

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It isn’t what Marcus had wanted from Joan but he’s found, over the years, that he’s happy with this.

He’s happy with Joan in the bedroom next door, hitting the snooze three times before finally stumbling awake. He’s happy with Joan over breakfast and dinner passing the salt before Marcus asks, clearing the table as he’s bringing the last bite from his plate to his mouth. He’s happy with his grandma’s knit stockings packed next to Joan’s dad’s antique glass ornaments in the attic.

He’s happy with Joan seated in her chair next to his bed, watching as he undresses and lays down; Joan’s voice, cool and authoritative, directing his hand as he strokes himself to the edge; Joan’s fingers, strong and precise, tying him to the headboard.

He’s happy with Joan sinking down on his cock and riding him, wringing a brutal orgasm from him only after she’s satisfied with her own.

He’s happy with Joan’s gentleness after, soothing strokes down the long muscles of his back. It may be the care of a friend and Dom rather than that of a lover, but it’s care nonetheless. It’s love, still, if not the Hallmark sort. He’s happy with this.