(no subject)
Pairing: Mark Slaughter/Blas Elias [Slaughter]
Date Written: September 20, 2001
"Good show, huh?" Blas asks.
Before I can even answer, he's got his arms wrapped around my neck.
All I can do is breathe in his scent, sweat with a light floral
undertone, probably from his shampoo. His hair is just everywhere,
blondish-brown waves brushing my mouth, curling around my neck. I
awkwardly pat his sweat-slicked back, trying not to notice that I can
feel his heart beating a mile a minute against my chest.
"Yeah, good show," I manage to mumble after a long pause.
"It was, it was," he agrees.
Then he pulls back, one arm still looped around my neck. He chats
with various members of the crew that wander by while I sip from a
water bottle that was mysteriously handed to me at some point. I want
to slip away. I can't stand to see Blas flirt with anyone and
everyone. Especially since I wish I was the one that got all that
attention.
"Catch up to ya later, man," Blas says suddenly. "You're going to the
club, right?"
"Yeah," I call out.
But he's already at the end of the corridor, whooping as he pushes
open the doors to the shower room. I slowly trail after him,
finishing my water. Usually I wait until later to take my showers. I
learned my lesson on our first tour, when I walked in on Blas and
some girl. He was all nonchalant about it, but I was embarrassed as
hell. Not to mention just a little bit jealous.
This time Blas is alone. Well, except for Tim and Dana. I ignore
their horseplay and quickly shower, moving into the dressing room.
**
"What're you doing?" Blas shouts from the end of the table.
He's all sweaty from dancing, his hair hanging in his eyes. He
casually brushes it back, smiling at me, and I almost drop my beer.
"Drinking," I shout back to be heard over the noise of the club.
When he just blinks at me, I hold up my beer. He nods and slides into
the booth next to me. All the way next to me so our thighs are
touching. I'd move away, really, except I'm already against the wall.
"Why aren't you dancing or something?" he asks in my ear.
"Don't feel like it," I say, trying to ignore the fact that his lips
are brushing my ear.
He grabs my hand and tugs on it. I set down my beer and shake my
head. He smiles widely, showing a hint of dimples. His brown eyes
sparkle in laughter as he squeezes my hand. I let him tug me onto the
dance floor.
"Why do you want to dance with me?" I ask, leaning close to him. "Ran
out of girls?"
He flashes that smile again and wraps his arms around my neck. "I
like dancing with you better."
I'm frozen for a second, not sure I heard him correctly. Then he
starts moving to the beat and I snap out of it enough to dance with
him. He's got this natural rhythm and grace that I can never match,
so he dances circles around me, literally and figuratively. His hands
never stop touching me. My neck, my shoulders, my waist, my hips, and
I can't stop smiling, laughing when he touches some spot that tickles.
Somewhere near the end of the song, he stops spinning around me and
just rests his hands on my hips. He's still swaying to the music but
his eyes are locked on mine. I somehow keep dancing, even as I drown
under that stare. Right at the end of the song, he sticks his tongue
out at me, winks, and then slides down my body.
It would've been sexy as hell to see, I'm sure, if I hadn't squeezed
my eyes shut, trying to control myself. After all, Blas is just
teasing. He's just playing around. He'd never really want me.
Then the song is over and Blas is laughing, dragging me back to the
booth. We slide in opposite Dana and Tim and I immediately down the
rest of my beer.
"Nice display there, Mark," Dana laughs, reaching across the table to
slap my shoulder.
"Actually I think that was all Blas' idea," Tim says,
snickering, "maybe we should add that to the show."
Blas throws a balled up napkin at Tim's head. "How coordinated do you
think I am?"
"Who needs drums when you've got natural rhythm?" Tim asks, drawing
out the last word.
Blas shakes his head. "Whatever man."
He turns and rolls his eyes at me before picking up his drink. Dana
starts talking about some girl that kept flashing him during the show
and I tune him out, smiling every time Blas or Tim laughs at
something he says.
**
"You sounded like shit," Ozzy slurs at me as he walks past me to his
own hotel room.
"Sorry," I call out.
Ozzy waves his hand. "Take some bloody cough drops."
Then he disappears into his room. I sigh, my keycard halfway into the
lock and yank it out. Then I turn and walk to the elevators, punching
the down button. Fucking throat. It's been bothering me for weeks.
Blas had a cold last week. I probably caught it from him.
When the elevator door slide open, I wait patiently for Ozzy's
entourage to exit. I'm about to get into the elevator when the last
of them grabs my arm. Frowning, I look up to see Blas.
"Where're you going?" he asks, frowning back at me.
"To get--" I pause to cough. "Some cold stuff."
Blas lets go of my arm in favor of placing the back of his hand on my
forehead. "I've still got some stuff. Just go lay down and I'll be
right there."
"Blas," I protest weakly.
"Mark," he singsongs back, smiling. "Go."
I slump back down the hallway to my room and throw myself on the bed.
**
"You know," Blas pauses as I half cough and half wheeze, "you've had
this cold for way too long."
"It's just because we're touring and I can't get any rest," I
protest, flopping back onto the bed.
Blas hovers over me, eyes narrowed in concern at me. His forehead
wrinkles in concentration as he stares at my neck. I try really hard
to stay still and not squirm. But he just keeps on staring at my
neck, his fingers hovering over it.
"Blas?"
"Hmmmm?" he murmurs absently, his fingers just brushing my skin.
"What're you doing?"
"It's just that," he drops his fingers and straightens up, "I thought-
- Nothing."
"What?"
He brushes my hair off my forehead. "I think you should see a doctor,
Mark."
"It's just a cold," I say, the words burning my throat.
Blas shakes his head. "I don't think it is though, Mark."
I close my eyes against the pain. "How would you know?"
"I was pre-med, remember?"
"Taking a few biology courses doesn't make you an expert, Blas," I
mutter.
He sighs. "Just-- Whatever, Mark. I can't make you."
Then the door clicks shut and I'm alone with my pain again.
**
"Oh, fuck."
Just a little, tiny bump on the right side of my throat. It could be
anything. But I can't stop touching it. It's under my skin and I
never would've noticed it if I hadn't been rubbing my throat all the
time, wishing this cold would just go away.
Every time Blas catches my fingers straying to my throat, he frowns
at me, his eyes narrowing at me. I try not to touch my neck in his
presence. I try not to cough or wheeze or even look sick. I don't
think I'm fooling him though, even if he keeps his distance.
It's just that I can't be sick. Not in the middle of a tour with
Ozzy. How many bands get the opportunity to tour with Ozzy Osbourne
after all? Tim and Dana would be so disappointed.
"Mark," Blas says firmly as he crouches down in front of me. "That's
it, you're going to the doctor."
I shake my head, still loosening the laces on my boot so I can put it
on, trying to get dressed for the show tonight.
"Why's Mark got to go to the doctor?" Dana calls out from across the
room.
"I don't," I try to shout back but it only comes out as a whisper.
Blas stares pointedly at me. I glare at him. He sighs and rests his
hand on my upper thigh.
"Please, Mark?" he murmurs, looking up at me through his lashes. "For
me?"
I want to shove him away. I'm pissed at him for touching me, looking
at me like that when he doesn't mean it. But I can't even bring
myself to breathe under that stare.
**
"Well, Mr. Slaughter," the doctor says as he comes back into the
room, "I'm afraid you have a nodule on your right vocal chord."
"What?" I whisper, scooting further back on the examining table.
The doctor shuts off all the lights except for a bank of fluorescent
lights on the wall. He slaps a bunch of x-rays and other stuff on
them, pointing to things. Circling something with red crayon. His
lips move but I can't hear what he's saying.
Nodule? Fuck, isn't that cancer?
**
"You have what?" Tim asks, looking kind of pale.
"Is that really bad or what?" Dana leans forward, his eyes burning
into my skin.
Tim cuffs Dana upside the head. "Of course it's bad, idiot."
Dana shoves him away. "But is it *really* bad?"
Tim frowns at me. "It isn't, you know, like that, is it?"
Dana frowns too. "You're not gonna die, are you Mark?"
"I'm--"
"Because that would be awful, man," Dana cuts me off.
Tim sighs, yanking Dana back by his shirt. "Shut up."
"But it would," Dana protests.
Blas, who has sat in silence on the other side of Tim through my
whole announcement, clears his throat. "Hey, Tim? Dana? Maybe you
guys should go, I dunno, break the news to management?"
Tim glances between Blas and me. "Yeah, sure, of course."
Then he pulls Dana out the door by the back of his shirt. Dana
protests and kicks out at him until the door finally shuts in his
face.
I stare down at my shoes. "You gonna tell me 'I told you so' now?"
Blas picks up a grape off the coffee table between us and throws it
at my head. When I look up and scowl at him, he sticks out his
tongue. I try not to smile as I pick up a cherry tomato and lob it at
him.
He laughs as it hits him in the nose. "Idiot."
**
"Look what I brought," Blas singsongs as he enters my hospital room.
His face is obscured by a huge teddy bear. I know he has to be
grinning ear to ear behind it.
"That's a teddy bear, Blas," I say with emphasis, my voice sounding
hoarse.
Blas comes closer, laughing behind the bear. "Well, duh, Mark." He
makes the bear kiss my nose. "Cute, isn't it?"
"Adorable," I say dryly.
He wriggles the bear in my face. "And he's all yours."
"Oooh, just what I always wanted," I say sarcastically as I reach for
it.
Blas pulls it back and covers its ears. "Now you're hurting its
feelings."
I grab for Blas' arm, pulling it away from the bear's ear. I start to
say something biting and sarcastic but the words freeze in my throat
under Blas' stare. His skin is so warm and smooth beneath my fingers,
I find myself stroking his inner arm, just staring back at him.
"You scared me," Blas whispers, his eyes wide.
"I'm sorry," I find myself whispering back.
He suddenly leans down, his head crashing onto my chest as he wraps
his free arm around my waist. I let go of his other arm to awkwardly
pat his back.
"Don't apologize," he says. "I'm just, you know, happy you're okay."
I can feel his lips, his breath, through my hospital gown. I stop
patting his back and instead let my fingers trail up to tangle in his
hair. He murmurs incoherently, snuggling closer to me.
**
"So," Blas says slowly, "you're all settled in so I guess I should
go."
He stares at my bedspread, twisting his hands behind his back. I
brush an invisible speck of dirt off the bedspread, right in his line
of vision. He looks up, blinking at me and I smile.
"Who's going to bring me soup and force me to sleep with Zakk?" I
tease.
He laughs, holding his hand up to his mouth. "God, I think naming
that bear after Zakk Wylde was a bad idea."
"He doesn't seem like the cuddling type, does he?" I muse.
"No, but--" Blas pauses to laugh again. "Just that sentence, 'force
me to sleep with Zakk,' it make me sound like a pimp."
I smirk. "Does that make me your rent boy?"
"No." He steps closer, resting his hands on my hips. "Because I don't
want to share you with anyone else."
"Wha--"
I start to ask, but he cuts me off with a kiss. It's gentle and
probing and I'm so shocked the only thing I can think to do is kiss
him back. My hands tangle in his hair all on their own and he purrs
against my lips, kneading my hips lightly.
"Stay," I plead when he pulls back.
"Are you sure? Because I--"
This time I get to cut him off with a kiss.
**
"Chicken noodle or vegetarian vegetable?" Blas asks, waving two soup
cans at me.
"Steak," I answer, going back to reading the newspaper.
Blas sighs and nudges me with one of the cans. "Mark--"
"Vegetable," I interrupt, looking up to smile at him.
He leans down to kiss me. "You're impossible."
I nip at his nose. "You're adorable."
"I am not," he says as he sticks his tongue out.
I flick my own tongue against it and he drops the soup cans. Next
thing I know he's kissing me senseless then, somehow, we're in the
bedroom. Somewhere in there, between his tongue trailing down my
chest and the sweetest, most mind-numbing orgasm, I can't help but
wonder why he's here. With me, when he could be with anyone.
**
"You know," I try to say casually as Blas stirs something on the
stove, "I'm fine now, so you don't have to stay here."
He drops the spoon into the pot and I watch his hand shake as he
picks it up again. "Are you sure?"
"I just don't want to bother you," I mutter, confused by the
tightness in his voice.
"Bother you?" he repeats, the spoon clanking angrily against the
pot. "I don't get you, Mark. I really don't."
"Well, I don't get you," I cry out.
I lean defensively against the counter, crossing my arms over my
chest. He shuts off the stove and brushes past me with the pot,
slamming it down on the table.
"Do you want me to leave?" Blas asks.
I start, realizing that I had been staring at a splatter of sauce on
the table.
"I just don't want you to pity me," I answer quietly.
He blows out a frustrated breath. Then he scoops up the sauce off the
table with his fingers and flicks it at me.
"Fuck you for thinking that, Mark," he says, but there's no heat in
his voice.
"What else was I supposed to think?" I'm not beautiful like you, I
add silently.
He grabs a napkin and moves towards me. "You really think I'd stay if
I didn't want to?"
"Maybe you just wanted to pity me--"
He swipes at my cheek with the napkin. "I've been throwing myself at
you for months, Mark, how do I know that *you* aren't the one pitying
*me*?"
"W-what?" I stutter.
"Yeah," he says softly, dropping his eyes.
I tilt up his chin with one finger and smile at him. "I'm such an
idiot."
He smiles back, a genuine, happy smile that would break my heart if
it had been directed at anyone else but me. "I know." His eyes
crinkle before he winks at me. "But I happen to like that about you,
Mark. Dinner's getting cold though."
"Wanna have some pity sex instead?" I tease, kissing his cheek.
He laughs. "You really are impossible, you know that?" Before I can
reply he kisses me senseless. "You know, maybe just this once, dinner
can wait."
I laugh as he grabs my hand, oddly reassured by that idea.
**
End
Date Written: September 20, 2001
"Good show, huh?" Blas asks.
Before I can even answer, he's got his arms wrapped around my neck.
All I can do is breathe in his scent, sweat with a light floral
undertone, probably from his shampoo. His hair is just everywhere,
blondish-brown waves brushing my mouth, curling around my neck. I
awkwardly pat his sweat-slicked back, trying not to notice that I can
feel his heart beating a mile a minute against my chest.
"Yeah, good show," I manage to mumble after a long pause.
"It was, it was," he agrees.
Then he pulls back, one arm still looped around my neck. He chats
with various members of the crew that wander by while I sip from a
water bottle that was mysteriously handed to me at some point. I want
to slip away. I can't stand to see Blas flirt with anyone and
everyone. Especially since I wish I was the one that got all that
attention.
"Catch up to ya later, man," Blas says suddenly. "You're going to the
club, right?"
"Yeah," I call out.
But he's already at the end of the corridor, whooping as he pushes
open the doors to the shower room. I slowly trail after him,
finishing my water. Usually I wait until later to take my showers. I
learned my lesson on our first tour, when I walked in on Blas and
some girl. He was all nonchalant about it, but I was embarrassed as
hell. Not to mention just a little bit jealous.
This time Blas is alone. Well, except for Tim and Dana. I ignore
their horseplay and quickly shower, moving into the dressing room.
**
"What're you doing?" Blas shouts from the end of the table.
He's all sweaty from dancing, his hair hanging in his eyes. He
casually brushes it back, smiling at me, and I almost drop my beer.
"Drinking," I shout back to be heard over the noise of the club.
When he just blinks at me, I hold up my beer. He nods and slides into
the booth next to me. All the way next to me so our thighs are
touching. I'd move away, really, except I'm already against the wall.
"Why aren't you dancing or something?" he asks in my ear.
"Don't feel like it," I say, trying to ignore the fact that his lips
are brushing my ear.
He grabs my hand and tugs on it. I set down my beer and shake my
head. He smiles widely, showing a hint of dimples. His brown eyes
sparkle in laughter as he squeezes my hand. I let him tug me onto the
dance floor.
"Why do you want to dance with me?" I ask, leaning close to him. "Ran
out of girls?"
He flashes that smile again and wraps his arms around my neck. "I
like dancing with you better."
I'm frozen for a second, not sure I heard him correctly. Then he
starts moving to the beat and I snap out of it enough to dance with
him. He's got this natural rhythm and grace that I can never match,
so he dances circles around me, literally and figuratively. His hands
never stop touching me. My neck, my shoulders, my waist, my hips, and
I can't stop smiling, laughing when he touches some spot that tickles.
Somewhere near the end of the song, he stops spinning around me and
just rests his hands on my hips. He's still swaying to the music but
his eyes are locked on mine. I somehow keep dancing, even as I drown
under that stare. Right at the end of the song, he sticks his tongue
out at me, winks, and then slides down my body.
It would've been sexy as hell to see, I'm sure, if I hadn't squeezed
my eyes shut, trying to control myself. After all, Blas is just
teasing. He's just playing around. He'd never really want me.
Then the song is over and Blas is laughing, dragging me back to the
booth. We slide in opposite Dana and Tim and I immediately down the
rest of my beer.
"Nice display there, Mark," Dana laughs, reaching across the table to
slap my shoulder.
"Actually I think that was all Blas' idea," Tim says,
snickering, "maybe we should add that to the show."
Blas throws a balled up napkin at Tim's head. "How coordinated do you
think I am?"
"Who needs drums when you've got natural rhythm?" Tim asks, drawing
out the last word.
Blas shakes his head. "Whatever man."
He turns and rolls his eyes at me before picking up his drink. Dana
starts talking about some girl that kept flashing him during the show
and I tune him out, smiling every time Blas or Tim laughs at
something he says.
**
"You sounded like shit," Ozzy slurs at me as he walks past me to his
own hotel room.
"Sorry," I call out.
Ozzy waves his hand. "Take some bloody cough drops."
Then he disappears into his room. I sigh, my keycard halfway into the
lock and yank it out. Then I turn and walk to the elevators, punching
the down button. Fucking throat. It's been bothering me for weeks.
Blas had a cold last week. I probably caught it from him.
When the elevator door slide open, I wait patiently for Ozzy's
entourage to exit. I'm about to get into the elevator when the last
of them grabs my arm. Frowning, I look up to see Blas.
"Where're you going?" he asks, frowning back at me.
"To get--" I pause to cough. "Some cold stuff."
Blas lets go of my arm in favor of placing the back of his hand on my
forehead. "I've still got some stuff. Just go lay down and I'll be
right there."
"Blas," I protest weakly.
"Mark," he singsongs back, smiling. "Go."
I slump back down the hallway to my room and throw myself on the bed.
**
"You know," Blas pauses as I half cough and half wheeze, "you've had
this cold for way too long."
"It's just because we're touring and I can't get any rest," I
protest, flopping back onto the bed.
Blas hovers over me, eyes narrowed in concern at me. His forehead
wrinkles in concentration as he stares at my neck. I try really hard
to stay still and not squirm. But he just keeps on staring at my
neck, his fingers hovering over it.
"Blas?"
"Hmmmm?" he murmurs absently, his fingers just brushing my skin.
"What're you doing?"
"It's just that," he drops his fingers and straightens up, "I thought-
- Nothing."
"What?"
He brushes my hair off my forehead. "I think you should see a doctor,
Mark."
"It's just a cold," I say, the words burning my throat.
Blas shakes his head. "I don't think it is though, Mark."
I close my eyes against the pain. "How would you know?"
"I was pre-med, remember?"
"Taking a few biology courses doesn't make you an expert, Blas," I
mutter.
He sighs. "Just-- Whatever, Mark. I can't make you."
Then the door clicks shut and I'm alone with my pain again.
**
"Oh, fuck."
Just a little, tiny bump on the right side of my throat. It could be
anything. But I can't stop touching it. It's under my skin and I
never would've noticed it if I hadn't been rubbing my throat all the
time, wishing this cold would just go away.
Every time Blas catches my fingers straying to my throat, he frowns
at me, his eyes narrowing at me. I try not to touch my neck in his
presence. I try not to cough or wheeze or even look sick. I don't
think I'm fooling him though, even if he keeps his distance.
It's just that I can't be sick. Not in the middle of a tour with
Ozzy. How many bands get the opportunity to tour with Ozzy Osbourne
after all? Tim and Dana would be so disappointed.
"Mark," Blas says firmly as he crouches down in front of me. "That's
it, you're going to the doctor."
I shake my head, still loosening the laces on my boot so I can put it
on, trying to get dressed for the show tonight.
"Why's Mark got to go to the doctor?" Dana calls out from across the
room.
"I don't," I try to shout back but it only comes out as a whisper.
Blas stares pointedly at me. I glare at him. He sighs and rests his
hand on my upper thigh.
"Please, Mark?" he murmurs, looking up at me through his lashes. "For
me?"
I want to shove him away. I'm pissed at him for touching me, looking
at me like that when he doesn't mean it. But I can't even bring
myself to breathe under that stare.
**
"Well, Mr. Slaughter," the doctor says as he comes back into the
room, "I'm afraid you have a nodule on your right vocal chord."
"What?" I whisper, scooting further back on the examining table.
The doctor shuts off all the lights except for a bank of fluorescent
lights on the wall. He slaps a bunch of x-rays and other stuff on
them, pointing to things. Circling something with red crayon. His
lips move but I can't hear what he's saying.
Nodule? Fuck, isn't that cancer?
**
"You have what?" Tim asks, looking kind of pale.
"Is that really bad or what?" Dana leans forward, his eyes burning
into my skin.
Tim cuffs Dana upside the head. "Of course it's bad, idiot."
Dana shoves him away. "But is it *really* bad?"
Tim frowns at me. "It isn't, you know, like that, is it?"
Dana frowns too. "You're not gonna die, are you Mark?"
"I'm--"
"Because that would be awful, man," Dana cuts me off.
Tim sighs, yanking Dana back by his shirt. "Shut up."
"But it would," Dana protests.
Blas, who has sat in silence on the other side of Tim through my
whole announcement, clears his throat. "Hey, Tim? Dana? Maybe you
guys should go, I dunno, break the news to management?"
Tim glances between Blas and me. "Yeah, sure, of course."
Then he pulls Dana out the door by the back of his shirt. Dana
protests and kicks out at him until the door finally shuts in his
face.
I stare down at my shoes. "You gonna tell me 'I told you so' now?"
Blas picks up a grape off the coffee table between us and throws it
at my head. When I look up and scowl at him, he sticks out his
tongue. I try not to smile as I pick up a cherry tomato and lob it at
him.
He laughs as it hits him in the nose. "Idiot."
**
"Look what I brought," Blas singsongs as he enters my hospital room.
His face is obscured by a huge teddy bear. I know he has to be
grinning ear to ear behind it.
"That's a teddy bear, Blas," I say with emphasis, my voice sounding
hoarse.
Blas comes closer, laughing behind the bear. "Well, duh, Mark." He
makes the bear kiss my nose. "Cute, isn't it?"
"Adorable," I say dryly.
He wriggles the bear in my face. "And he's all yours."
"Oooh, just what I always wanted," I say sarcastically as I reach for
it.
Blas pulls it back and covers its ears. "Now you're hurting its
feelings."
I grab for Blas' arm, pulling it away from the bear's ear. I start to
say something biting and sarcastic but the words freeze in my throat
under Blas' stare. His skin is so warm and smooth beneath my fingers,
I find myself stroking his inner arm, just staring back at him.
"You scared me," Blas whispers, his eyes wide.
"I'm sorry," I find myself whispering back.
He suddenly leans down, his head crashing onto my chest as he wraps
his free arm around my waist. I let go of his other arm to awkwardly
pat his back.
"Don't apologize," he says. "I'm just, you know, happy you're okay."
I can feel his lips, his breath, through my hospital gown. I stop
patting his back and instead let my fingers trail up to tangle in his
hair. He murmurs incoherently, snuggling closer to me.
**
"So," Blas says slowly, "you're all settled in so I guess I should
go."
He stares at my bedspread, twisting his hands behind his back. I
brush an invisible speck of dirt off the bedspread, right in his line
of vision. He looks up, blinking at me and I smile.
"Who's going to bring me soup and force me to sleep with Zakk?" I
tease.
He laughs, holding his hand up to his mouth. "God, I think naming
that bear after Zakk Wylde was a bad idea."
"He doesn't seem like the cuddling type, does he?" I muse.
"No, but--" Blas pauses to laugh again. "Just that sentence, 'force
me to sleep with Zakk,' it make me sound like a pimp."
I smirk. "Does that make me your rent boy?"
"No." He steps closer, resting his hands on my hips. "Because I don't
want to share you with anyone else."
"Wha--"
I start to ask, but he cuts me off with a kiss. It's gentle and
probing and I'm so shocked the only thing I can think to do is kiss
him back. My hands tangle in his hair all on their own and he purrs
against my lips, kneading my hips lightly.
"Stay," I plead when he pulls back.
"Are you sure? Because I--"
This time I get to cut him off with a kiss.
**
"Chicken noodle or vegetarian vegetable?" Blas asks, waving two soup
cans at me.
"Steak," I answer, going back to reading the newspaper.
Blas sighs and nudges me with one of the cans. "Mark--"
"Vegetable," I interrupt, looking up to smile at him.
He leans down to kiss me. "You're impossible."
I nip at his nose. "You're adorable."
"I am not," he says as he sticks his tongue out.
I flick my own tongue against it and he drops the soup cans. Next
thing I know he's kissing me senseless then, somehow, we're in the
bedroom. Somewhere in there, between his tongue trailing down my
chest and the sweetest, most mind-numbing orgasm, I can't help but
wonder why he's here. With me, when he could be with anyone.
**
"You know," I try to say casually as Blas stirs something on the
stove, "I'm fine now, so you don't have to stay here."
He drops the spoon into the pot and I watch his hand shake as he
picks it up again. "Are you sure?"
"I just don't want to bother you," I mutter, confused by the
tightness in his voice.
"Bother you?" he repeats, the spoon clanking angrily against the
pot. "I don't get you, Mark. I really don't."
"Well, I don't get you," I cry out.
I lean defensively against the counter, crossing my arms over my
chest. He shuts off the stove and brushes past me with the pot,
slamming it down on the table.
"Do you want me to leave?" Blas asks.
I start, realizing that I had been staring at a splatter of sauce on
the table.
"I just don't want you to pity me," I answer quietly.
He blows out a frustrated breath. Then he scoops up the sauce off the
table with his fingers and flicks it at me.
"Fuck you for thinking that, Mark," he says, but there's no heat in
his voice.
"What else was I supposed to think?" I'm not beautiful like you, I
add silently.
He grabs a napkin and moves towards me. "You really think I'd stay if
I didn't want to?"
"Maybe you just wanted to pity me--"
He swipes at my cheek with the napkin. "I've been throwing myself at
you for months, Mark, how do I know that *you* aren't the one pitying
*me*?"
"W-what?" I stutter.
"Yeah," he says softly, dropping his eyes.
I tilt up his chin with one finger and smile at him. "I'm such an
idiot."
He smiles back, a genuine, happy smile that would break my heart if
it had been directed at anyone else but me. "I know." His eyes
crinkle before he winks at me. "But I happen to like that about you,
Mark. Dinner's getting cold though."
"Wanna have some pity sex instead?" I tease, kissing his cheek.
He laughs. "You really are impossible, you know that?" Before I can
reply he kisses me senseless. "You know, maybe just this once, dinner
can wait."
I laugh as he grabs my hand, oddly reassured by that idea.
**
End