I just stared at Marcus, finding everything about his demeanor perfectly serious. He remained as laidback as ever, not an ounce of anxiety in his body language; absolutely zero hesitation. Complete honesty. Brown eyes watched me intently, the outer corner of blushing lips turned up just a bit with amusement.

"How long's it been?"

I glanced down at my waistline awkwardly and winced internally, Alien long-since faded into the background considering whatever the hell was happening here. "Don't think that's really your business."

He tilted his head to the side like a cat watching a mouse squirm. "I'm sure you jerk yourself off like any other guy, but it's just not the same, is it?"

I scoffed. "Doesn't matter because we are not having this conversation. My dick is fine."

Marcus grinned like the cheshire cat. "I'm sure he's very fine, and I'm sure he's real big too."

What the hell? I threw back the rest of my bourbon like it would save me and tried to ignore my cock, cause for some reason, bro was perking up in my sweats like I hadn't just whacked off earlier this morning.

"Marcus- "

He raised a brow and cut me off. "-Gid."

My mind simply fumbled, the alcohol making my chest feel warm and fuzzy as it settled. What the hell was I supposed to say? What was he getting at?

Marcus shamelessly dropped his attention to my crotch and took a lazy drag. "I'd let you fuck my throat and I'd definitely swallow your load."

I looked around the living room and began to panic. Marcus Anderson was my son's best friend, our fucking neighbor, and a man to boot. And anyway, what if Drew heard Marcus say, well... that? What if some secret camera had been planted in one of the lamps and it captured everything? What if Drew was coming home right now? What if he was at the top of the stairs the whole time just listening? Drew would hate me even more, that was even possible, and-

"- come on Gid, you need it. All you do is mope around this damn house. You carry yourself as if there's nothing left of you to be craved, loved, or respected, but at the same time you're giving everything you have, yet it's still never enough, is it? Where's your self-respect? When's the last time you pumped your cock into a tight hole and let out all that aggression and turmoil out? In my professional opinion, I'd say you require a lil' reminder of how it feels to be wanted, in charge, and needed. Don't you think?"

I was stunned, speechless, embarrassed. Who does Marcus think he is to say such things about me?

"And just like that you're hard. See?" He smirked, eyes dancing with a filthiness that made my cock twitch, because yeah, apparently my dick was in agreement with this conversation.

No, this is wrong. Just leave the room. Don't encourage him.

"Marcus, stop." I hissed, covering my erection awkwardly. "Go back upstairs. Go to sleep. Go on Grindr and find your next hookup there. You're barking up the wrong tree."

His brown doe-eyes traveled over my face, their attention never wavering. The hunger, the need, the excitement was still there, and he looked anything but deterred. Marcus sighed heavily and popped up out of his seat next to me, but instead of leaving, threw his leg over my thighs and dropped his ass on my lap. I froze, hands hovering at his sides as if he were radioactive. I didn't know what to do with them; I didn't know what to do with him. All the same, the weight of his ass on my erection left me wanting, left me craving things I shouldn't. I hated to admit it, I hated to say that using my son's best friend's throat was beginning to sound reasonable with every passing millisecond, but he was correct. Contact like this... it fucking stoked a burning fire deep within me that I'd long forgotten how to feel, or how to feed. Perhaps it didn't have to matter that he had a cock, I could make do with a mouth like his, with lips like that. Marcus was beautifully confusing to me.

"This is so fucked." I huffed, but my hand found a way to his throat like I was on autopilot. I ran my forefinger over the soft skin of his neck until I came to his jaw, feeling a slight stubble there; I figured it must be what little facial hair Marcus was capable of growing. He started paying attention to my aching erection through my sweats and took a few more puffs off his smoke. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. All that bourbon had me thinking about shit that I shouldn't, but for the first time in a long time, I had to admit that I felt good.

"... Oh, come on Gid, that's what makes this so fun." Marcus put his cigarette out on his tongue, then flicked the butt over his shoulder like it was nothing, and that simple gesture just did something to me. Made me feral.

"Sorry to say, I don't think you're my type." I grumbled, trying to take back control of my thoughts. Thoughts of putting my cigarettes out on his pretty skin, thoughts of squeezing his neck until his eyes rolled back into his head while I fucked my load into his ass.

"I'm definitely your type." Marcus' purred, lips ghosting mine as he grinded his cock, hard and tented in his little shorts, against mine. "Besides, he seems to like me, doesn't he?"

Yeah, fine, those shorts were fucking hot on him. And yeah, he did. My cockhead felt like it was about to burst, breathing felt impossible, everything felt hot, his body, my body, the air in the room. Like someone fucked with my thermostat. Kinda like I was about to probably fuck him.

What the hell am I doing?

Marcus brought his lips to mine and pressed a single, hungry kiss to my mouth, rolling his hips greedily into mine. And then suddenly my hands were cupping his ass; so round, so firm... fuck. I drug his little shorts down to expose his firm, soft cheeks and dug my nails into his fair flesh. It was so fucking wrong, but all the same, I didn't want it to end, and the truth was that deep down, I wanted to be selfish. He was right.

"Get on with it, then." I huffed.

Marcus gave my cheek a peck and then licked his lips, dropping his attention to our cocks.
"... and just like that, daddy's finally bein' honest with himself. Just know you'll never have another throat like mine." He dug my aching hard-on out of my sweats and spit on the swollen head, his pale, pretty hand pumping my slick cock nice and slow-like. 

"Cocky little bitch..." I hissed, trying not to blow my load there and then. It'd been so long since someone had touched or looked at me this way. So, so fucking long.

"I'm just being real." Marcus smirked as he slipped off the couch and dropped to his knees. "I'm a pretty, pretty bitch. I know what I got. I know this tight boy pussy is life changing. It might even cure your depression. After you get a taste, you'll be begging to use me as your personal cum dumpster, and what's more, I'll let you."

The sound of my heart racing was all I could hear after that, I felt like I was suffocating but I chased the feeling as he swirled his tongue over my cockhead. Fucking hell. I shot up off the couch and grabbed a fistful of his beautiful hair, to which he responded with a pleasured groan.
And you know what? I couldn't wait to learn what he sounded like while getting choked and railed. I couldn't wait to find out what his fucking limit was, because I wanted him. I wanted him tied to my bed and begging for mercy. I wanted to breed that bitch 'till his pretty hole could take me no more. I wanted filthy, filthy things from Marcus Anderson; wanted him hard, wanted him rough. Wanted his pretty, spent mouth at my disposal. 

I'd just have to pretend that Marcus Anderson wasn't my son's best friend. That he wasn't the same damn age as my son. That fucking him might be the nail in my own coffin. But he knew what he wanted, he knew what I needed, and well, if he was offering...

Before I knew it, I'd slammed my cock down his throat, over, and over, and over again. And he took it so well- took it beautifully- to the point I thought he might smother himself on my dick, but he seemed to get off on being used, and it only made me crazier.

In and out it went, slipped between his swollen pink lips like a dream, bottomed out as deep as his throat would allow. He gagged around me and swallowed, eyes running from how harshly I fucked him, but the way he looked at me? Fuck. The way he looked, the way his chocolate brown eyes locked with mine, hazy and high on the lust, high on pleasure.

"We might just be a good fit after all," I growled.

He whimpered at my words, so I went ahead and fucked my cock into his mouth until I exploded down his throat. He gagged and tears poured from his eyes, but man was he the expert cum dumpster he claimed to be. Not a single drop was wasted. And we were going to hell for this, we had to be, but hell could wait. Til then, I just wouldn't think about it.

Don't think about the fact he used to be the neighbor kid. Don't fucking think about it. Ain't nothing remotely recognizable about the moaning man on his knees with his tear-stained cheeks, and cock leaking through his bitty little shorts. Ain't nothing familiar at all.

God, forgive me.