Chapter Seven

The two of them follow me into the apartment. Mark made a few attempts to dissuade Tommy and failed all of them. I listened with interest because when I've been on the receiving end, Mark has managed to convince me to do what he wants. I'm weak-willed when it comes to him.

Mark walks me to the couch. "I'll heat up one of your prepped meals so you can take those pills," he says.

Tommy looks around as Mark strides to the fridge.

"Any preference?" Mark calls.

"Anything's good."

Tommy goes to the window and looks out at the city. "You weren't lying," he says after a careful inspection.

I cast him a quizzical look.

"You always said Louis was the one who made the mess in your house," Tommy says.

"I always cleaned up after myself," I reply.

"Yet the house was just a pig short of being a pigsty all year," Tommy says. He approaches and sets my bag down next to me. "You live alone now?"

I nod.

"Like it?"

I nod again. "I miss the guys, too, though."

Tommy grins. "Not as much as you appreciate the peace and quiet."

"I wouldn't be able to study in the house if I was still living with everyone."

"Does that matter?" Tommy eyes the books on the coffee table. "Bethany said you're in the library till closing every night. Unless you were just saying that to turn down her night-out invitations?"

"I wasn't lying."

"Here." Mark hands me a plate of warmed-up lasagne. He walks in front of me, forcing Tommy to take a step back, and then he sits—as he always does—at my left, next to my bad leg. He places his hand on my thigh and fixes his gaze on Tommy.

Tommy looks from that hand to Mark's face—and I can see in his expression that he's irritated.

I'm not irritated. I'm not sure what I am. It's just the way Mark has his hand anchored on my thigh, and the way he's looking at Tommy feels…protective. My mouth dries and I forget momentarily about the pain in my leg as I become preoccupied with interpreting the dynamic.

"I can look up the bus times for you," Mark tells Tommy.

Oh wow . I bite my cheek so I don't laugh. That was far from a subtle "get lost". When I see the expression on Mark's face, it's clear to me he wasn't going for subtle.

Tommy might really hit him.

"Mark…" I say.

Mark glances at me, and he looks irritated, too, despite being the one picking a fight. His daze darts down to my leg, and back up to my face. His fingers flex, squeezing my thigh. Ah— I get it . Mark's not being a dick to Tommy for the sake of it. He's vexed because he wants to take off my prosthetic but can't do it with Tommy here.

"I'll take it off after the stronger painkillers," I say softly so only he will hear. "It'll hurt less, then."

Mark nods his understanding.

Tommy sits in the soft sofa chair next to the couch. He sends a few messages on his phone while I take a few bits of lasagne.

"Are either of you hungry?" I ask, feeling awkward that they're both just sitting here waiting for me to eat. "You can have anything out of the fridge if you'd like." It's lunch, after all.

They both turn me down.

"There's tea and coffee, too," I add.

I'm turned down by both again.

"You have accounting with Louis for a double, right?" Tommy asks, typing on his phone. "I'll tell him to record the lecture for you. I don't know anyone in your economics class, but Bethany is friends with people in your business law module. I'll have her message them."

I eye him. I've been studiously ignored, but apparently studiously studied, too. "Who told you my classes?" I ask.

Tommy doesn't even glance at me.

I snort. "Bethany, right?"

"Eddie is in your economics class," Mark says. "I'll have him send me his notes for the lecture. His older brother teaches in primary schools so he—"

"Don't," I say, my voice coming out shrill. Tommy pauses typing to look at me, and Mark stares right at my face. I work my jaw over several times, trying to get an apology out for snapping but I'm unsuccessful. My heart is racing. Mark's brows pinch together, confusion filling his eyes.

"Alright," Mark says calmly.

Regret bubbles up.

Mark glances at my plate. "Are you done eating?" It's an obvious diversion, but one I'm grateful for.

I have eaten about a third of the food. I nod.

"Is that enough to take the painkillers?" Mark asks, directing the question solely at me.

"It is," I answer. I reach for the bag. Mark intervenes, swapping my plate with the bag as he stands. He puts the plate into the kitchen and then quickly sits next to me again. I swallow two pills and lean back as I wait for them to kick in. I haven't had to resort to them very often, thankfully. The most painful part of all of this were those first few weeks; and the hospital kept me heavily medicated for most of it. Drugged, and totally alone, it had been difficult to think about anything beyond my missing limb.

Mark eyes up Tommy. Tommy notices and looks up from his phone. They stare off for a long few seconds. I'm about to say something when Tommy stands up.

He meets my gaze. "I'm going to head out, unless you'd like me to stay longer?"

"I'm good," I answer. "Thanks for coming."

He shakes off my thanks. "That was for me. I'll see you at college, right?" He pats my shoulder lightly on the way out, and you'd swear Mark didn't even exist for all the acknowledgement he got.

The second the door shuts, Mark is on his knees in front of me. "Okay, let me—"

"Whoa, whoa," I catch his hands.

Mark keeps folding up my trousers as he gives me a questioning look. "Yes?"

"The pills haven't kicked in yet."

Mark pauses. "You weren't just saying that because Tommy was here?"

I shake my head. "No. It's going to hurt when I take it off, so I want to wait."

Mark grimaces. "You don't have anything to knock you out, do you?" He rolls the trousers back down.

"Like, a bat?"

Mark chokes. " No, not like a bat."

"A rolling pin?"

"A pill, Kyle. Medication of some description," Mark says emphatically, clearly unimpressed with my joke.

I smile faintly. "No."

"What about getting into the bath?"

"What about it?"

"The warm water can help relax your muscles and work out some of the tension. And it might help with the pain."

"Honestly, the painkillers I just took will have me knocked out in thirty minutes."

"Really?" Mark looks at me hopefully.

"Are you going to rob me?"

"I'll treat you without you griping about it," Mark answers.

"I don't think I was complaining about it yesterday…"

Mark grunts.

"I wasn't complaining."

"You were griping about lying on the couch," Mark says.

"I was griping about you pushing me down without asking!"

"I haven't even started and you're complaining."

"Mark!"

Mark's eyes glitter up at me.

"Don't be an asshole," I grumble. "Or I'll kick you out."

Mark raises an eyebrow. "You'll kick me out?" He moves, so instead of sitting back on his heels, he's up on his knees, bringing him an inch shy of being my height. He leans in, pushing my knees apart to make room, and meets my eyes. His spicy cologne washes over me and I am reacting so strongly to him there's no way I can let him take my trousers off. "Kick me out," he challenges.

I lean back. He grasps my jaw firmly and keeps me in place, halting my retreat.

The words get out barely even formulate in my brain, never mind materialise on my tongue. His thumb's against the corner of my mouth, and his palm is pressed to my jaw.

"Well?" Mark asks. His eyes are pitch black. I lose focus on them as he leans in, his forehead pushing against mine. Our noses touch and I'm shaking.

His breath is warm against my mouth. "Are you kicking me out or not?"

He leans into me more, and I nudge back a little, but mainly I'm putty in his hands.

"Kyle?"

"Mhm," I find my voice. "No." It's the voice of someone who's very turned on. Except…the turned on breaths aren't me alone. Mark is breathing hard. I'm hot all over—he's bearing down on me, pushing me into the cushions, and, close as he is, I can feel that he's hard.

It takes everything in me—will-power and mental-power—not to roll my hips up. God imagine—what if I do it? What if we get off just rubbing against each other?

"Does being a domineering asshole do it for you?" I ask. My shyness emerges, and my voice comes out all mean.

Mark shivers. He pulls back enough for our eyes to meet. His are jet black; the pupils expanded to engulf all but the smallest ring of dark-brown. "You're rubbing against my cock," he says, his voice all husky.

" You rubbed against me," I accuse. At the same time, I realise my hands are on his hips. And oh my god there is a definite guiding motion going on.

Mark grunts. He slips the grip on my jaw to an open-palmed hold on my throat. He leans back in, his nose nudging against mine, his forehead touching mine, his breaths against my mouth. He flexes his hips as I clutch at him. "Do you want to keep going?" he asks.

I'm breathing heavily. Mark is resisting the grinding motion my hands are trying to lead him in ( who is controlling these hands?!), and my face is pretty much on fire.

"Do you mean, keep going, and get off?" I ask, my voice thready.

"Yes."

One thrust and I'm going to cream my pants. I'm suddenly shaking my head. "No."

The limited grinding I've been able to pull Mark into stops. Even as he withdraws, my misbehaving hands are trying to pull him on top of me. He makes no comment on my mixed signals but continues his retreat until our hard cocks aren't pushed together, separated only by stupid fabric.

I whine in frustration.

"Me too," Mark murmurs, squeezing my thigh. He blinks a few times, staring at me—I'm prone on the couch, unable to move—and his eyes are half-lidded as he regards me. "Want me to get you off?" he asks.

I'm, for some insane reason, shaking my head again. Why am I saying no again? Am I insane?

"Okay," Mark says.

After another second, I'm talking, "The painkillers make me spacey. I don't want to, you know, when I'm—if they kick in in the middle, that would suck."

Mark nods his understanding.

My gaze sinks downward to the bulge in Mark's trousers. "I can help you out, though. If you want?"

Mark huffs. "Do I want a hand job after you've told me you'll be out of it on pills?"

"I can try a blow job, if you prefer." I blink up at Mark, who stares down at me in silence for long seconds.

Mark rubs my thigh as he sinks back onto his heels. "Those pills have kicked in already, haven't they? You're too shy to suggest that sober."

"What does that mean?" I object. I start to sit up, but Mark pulls my good leg up, knocking me back.

"Stay lying back," Mark instructs. "I'm taking this off."

I do as I'm told, watching as Mark expertly peels back the sleeve of my prosthetic. Just before he pops it off, he stops.

"Come here," Mark tells me.

I lean up as he pulls his black scarf off. Mark fastens the scarf around my eyes, and it's a thousand times softer than the one from yesterday. Not to mention it's warm from Mark's body heat and smells like him.

Mark guides me back down into the cushions. I grunt in pain as he removes the prosthetic.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," I say with a hard exhale.

I hold still as Mark massages my thigh and rubs the cream onto my stump.

"Okay, come back to me again."

I do so, and Mark guides my arms over his shoulders. They're broad, firm, and I enjoy sliding my hands over his muscles. "Hold on to me," Mark instructs. He slips one hand under my behind and stands, lifting me with him. I yelp, grabbing him, but my fear of falling is completely unfounded. I can feel the ease that Mark has in lifting me.

Still. I can complain about it.

" Mark. "

"I've got you," he reassures me.

I don't doubt that.

"What are you doing?"

"Bringing you into bed. Ready? Lowering you down." Mark carefully sets me onto my back, and I like how he's leaning over me to do it.

"Would you be up for a bath?" Mark asks as he straightens up.

My eyes are still covered. "Okay."

Mark sighs. "Yeah. No bath."

"I said okay?"

"You didn't want to earlier. Before the pills. Okay, I'm going to ice you down while you're under the blankets, so you can pass out whenever you feel like. I'm taking off your trousers to do it. I swear I'm not doing anything sexual, okay?"

"Okay."

I lie still, not pushed to do anything more than breathe. "Mark?" I prompt when nothing happens.

"You're wearing underwear, right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Yeah, of course you are. Of course, just making sure," Mark mutters to himself.

"Now that you've asked, I'm not sure."

Mark is silent.

I reach down, undo my top button, and slip my fingers into my trousers. "Yeah, there's underwear."

Mark remains silent, but I can feel his presence at the end of the bed. "Did you like that?" I ask. "Want me to do a strip tease?" I glide a hand up my stomach, dragging my t-shirt up. I stuff the hem into my mouth, freeing up both hands to unzip my trousers.

Mark's suddenly above me, and both my hands are pinned on either side of my head. My surprised cry is muted by the t-shirt in my mouth.

"Spit that out," Mark says gruffly.

I do so.

"I'm glad you warned me about the pills," Mark says. His body is warm, hovering above me. "Otherwise, you'd have seduced me into this bed in two seconds flat."

"Mhm," I hum. "Warning or not, you're in the bed. And you have me blindfolded. Is this a kink of yours?"

"The blindfold is so you don't have to see your leg."

"Do you want to come on my stomach?"

Mark squeezes my wrists. "What?" he asks, voice all strangled.

"My shirt is riding up, isn't it?"

"It is, but—"

"I can give you a hand job," I say. "Although the idea of you keeping my hands pinned and doing it yourself turns me on, too."

"Jesus Christ, Kyle," Mark curses. "Nothing's going to happen with those pills in your system, so spare me the verbal porn, please."

"What about when they're out of my system?"

"When they're out of your system, you're going to get shy and tell me to fuck off," Mark replies.

I shake my head in protest.

"Okay, here's what we'll do." Mark releases me and gets off the bed. "You lie there, take in deep breaths, and just relax."

I can hear him retreating. "What are you going to do?"

"Wait out here until you pass out."

"Why would you—"

"For my sanity, Kyle," Mark says seriously.