Neither Marcel nor Ray say anything for a long time after, and they never listen to that record and its beautiful, heartbreaking love songs ever again.If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon. Like everyone, he’s heard the stories. Gay sex He stands.“An impressive display, no doubt. Marcel’s voice drops again into that gravely, hungry whisper. Ray can see the flush in his partner’s cheeks, the balled fists at his side.It’s my turn to save us, Ray thinks. She’s always been Ray’s favorite singer. Marcel’s voice drops again into that gravely, hungry whisper. Ray looks over to see the black-clad man wiping at one damp cheek. The open floor-to-ceiling windows admit heat and a casual breeze that shifts the flower arrangement sitting on a low coffee table.“Who was it?” asks a man in the kitchen, dancing at the stove, just through the cut-out separating the two rooms.“Marcel Wright,” the agent says.The second resident stops dancing in the kitchen, puts down the spoon he’s been singing into and turns around. He knows he shouldn’t be lying back, letting Marcel absorb the discomfort and the effort of being monitored while driving the thing happening between them on the couch.
