This work may not be sold or reproduced in any format without written permission from the author except for brief excerpts in reviews or quotes in articles.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 ...

 More Than Just a Good Book:
Part Three
 

Mark had no words. He just stared down at Scott. He couldn’t help himself. Never had he met anyone this smart and sexy, so utterly inspiring. “You’re pretty cool, you know that?”

Scott met his stare. “Me?”

“Hell yeah, you.”

“Oh.” Scott searched Mark’s eyes. “Have you…” He looked away and shifted his ass between Mark’s thighs.

“What?”

Scott stilled and met his gaze again. “Have you done this a lot?”

“Done what?” Mark moved to lie on his side beside Scott again, and Scott followed until they were face-to-face. The intimacy of being in bed with a guy long after the sex washed over him. This was crazy. He was usually the one coming on strong. Now it was Scott, with his curiosity and quiet, nervous charm, who was the one slamming into Mark’s resolve to take this slow, to keep his emotions in check, or else he’d push Scott too far too fast. He didn’t want to scare him off. He could come on strong, could be too intense for most guys.

Scott said, “Bring men home you barely know.”

“Sometimes.” None of them had been this interesting, this meaningful, not on a first date. He kept that to himself.

Scott’s brow furrowed, and then, in a swift move, he turned onto his back.

Shit. That look. Hurt? Confused? Mark didn’t want Scott to misunderstand. What they’d done at the library and again at his apartment was special—damn special. But yet again, he held back from saying too much. Not now. Not yet. He sat up and leaned against the headboard. “I’m not all about getting laid. It’s just sometimes I meet someone, and I bring him home.”

“Of course.” Scott sat up and turned away, his legs swinging off the side of the bed. “I get it. I mean, I know I’m weird. Not going out that much…not sleeping around…”

“That’s not weird.” He couldn’t hold back on all of it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone to stay in bed with me. Since I’ve wanted to talk with a guy.”

Scott turned and met Mark’s gaze. “But you’re talking to me.”

“Yeah. That’s the difference with you.”

Scott cocked his head to the side, not as animated as before, but he was still staring with an openness that called to Mark. “Difference?”

“I want to get to know you. I’d like to see you again.”

Scott pulled one leg onto the bed and turned toward him. “Yeah?”

Mark hesitated. This could be more than he’d let himself hope for with any man. More than he was ready to put himself on the line for. So far Scott was proving he was worth the chance. Even with only the possibility of four months. “Yeah.”

“That…that would be—” Scott stood. “I don’t know how to—I should go.” He glanced around the room, his head jerking side to side so quickly he’d give himself whiplash if he didn’t let up. “Where are my pants?”

Mark sat up. “Living room. Scott, what’s wrong?”

Scott rounded the foot of the bed and headed for the door. Mark reached out, needing to stop him. He missed Scott’s arm, almost falling off the bed with the stretch, and Scott kept on going into the hall.

“Wait. Scott.” He jumped out of the bed and dashed after him. How the hell had he managed to fuck this up already?

In the living room, Scott was putting on his pants. “My shirt?” Before Mark had a chance to say anything, Scott found his T-shirt. He slipped it over his head and grabbed his backpack. The shirt was still rolled up around his chest as he pulled the pack onto his shoulder.

“Scott.” There was a fine line between sounding like an ass and using a firm voice with a submissive man. Many of the guys who took the role of a sub in the bedroom didn’t want to do so anywhere else. Scott had responded so well to Mark’s instructions at the library before they’d even gotten their clothes off. Would he run from his requests now?

Scott stopped before he reached the apartment door. His body went still, and slowly, in an exaggerated move that was both unsure and tense, he faced Mark.

“Come here.”

He walked to Mark. Slow, uneasy, but still doing what Mark asked. “I’m sorry,” he said when he stood before him.

“What are you sorry for?”

He wouldn’t meet Mark’s gaze. His lower lip trembled. “I can’t do this.” He rushed to the apartment door and threw it open.

No way. This was not ending like this. With no explanation. Not when he wasn’t sure what he’d done to scare Scott. Or maybe to hurt him.

Mark lunged for the open door, but stopped one step into the hall when he spotted his neighbor and her four-year-old daughter at the far end. He couldn’t afford to get kicked out of his building for running down the hall naked. He headed back in and wrangled on his pants. When he made his way into the hall again, there was no sign of Scott. Mark took the stairs two at a time, his bare feet slipping on the worn, cheap carpet, sending him sliding down the last four steps. The rug burn on the soles of his feet didn’t stop him. He sprinted through the small entranceway and shoved open the glass door. A pebble jabbed into the bottom of his right foot, and the bare toes on his other foot scraped the concrete sidewalk as he tripped forward. He hobbled down the sidewalk to the corner of his street, looking one way, then the other.

Scott was nowhere in sight.

“Fuck.” He bent forward and clenched his knees in his hands as he caught his breath. So much for slowing things down and not freaking Scott out. “Fuck!” He’d royally screwed that up. And he wasn’t even sure how he’d done it.

* * *

Scott hit refresh on his email’s inbox.

Nothing.

He really needed to shut his laptop lid and quit checking every five minutes. It was only lunchtime. He was going to drive himself nuts at this rate. For all he knew, the announcement about the finalists wouldn’t come out until later that night.

He reached for the bottle of Mountain Dew sitting beside him on the small table in the back of the coffee shop and chugged down a series of long gulps as he tried to find his place in the book he’d been reading. The latest novel by Dean Koontz. He wanted to finish the other book from the night before but no way could he carry that around campus with him. He should have bought it as an e-book so he could read it on his laptop and not have to worry about comments from people who couldn’t figure out how to mind their own business. But he loved this author, and he always got the print version of her releases to add to his collection. He couldn’t afford to buy both formats, and it wasn’t like the university library carried that kind of book.

“How’s the cake?” a deep voice asked. Owen was walking toward him from the front of the coffee shop. Scott hadn’t even seen him come out of the kitchen. The place was crowded. Like usual. The small, round wooden tables, low lighting from floor and table lamps as opposed to the typical overhead fluorescent lighting in the school cafeteria, and the upholstered chairs scattered throughout the restaurant gave the place a relaxed, homey feel. It was that atmosphere that attracted students from the crowded dorms and shabby apartments all over campus and the surrounding city blocks. With a cappuccino and a laptop, most students could get lost for hours in Owen’s place. It also didn’t hurt that Owen let them plug in their devices and stay as long as they wanted, provided they ordered one thing off the menu. Even if that one thing was the cheapest coffee he served and included free refills.

Scott smiled at Owen and answered his question about the cake. “Good. Lots of frosting.” He grabbed his fork and took another bite to demonstrate the irresistible taste. Truth was, he’d forgotten he had the slice of chocolate cake sitting beside him.

“Just the way you like it,” the bulky, gray-haired man said with a laugh as he stopped to stand on the other side of Scott’s table. Owen was always teasing Scott about the amount of sugar he consumed. Which was fine by him. He liked Owen and considered the man a friend, probably his best friend—either on or off campus—who wasn’t someone he chatted with online in one of the comic book forums. Owen had been running Not Just Java long before Scott had first started coming in to the coffee shop his freshmen year. Owen spent his days serving hot drinks with complicated names that included more sugary syrups than coffee. Before that, he’d run three other establishments in the same location. He’d changed the restaurant’s business model each time he started to lose money, keeping up with the shift in the college-aged consumers’ interests.

That was another reason Scott liked him. Owen was smart. He also reminded Scott of his father, with the chef’s apron and wide smile. During Scott’s youth, his dad had always worn an apron in the kitchen as he’d made dinner, washed dishes, or baked a cake for Scott’s birthday or cookies for the annual bake sale at school or whenever he’d felt like making something sweet for Scott. His dad had done it all with a smile and not one complaint.

Hanging out in Not Just Java felt like being home.

It was almost as good as the library. In the coffee shop, most everyone sat at tables and the upholstered chairs, bent over their laptops or e-book readers. He could sit there, away from his loud roommates, and feel like he was hanging out, having the college experience. He could also disappear into his own world as he read or wrote or drew his latest sketches.

“Any news yet?” Owen asked.

“Not yet.” Scott glanced out the wall of windows at the front of the shop. The sign announcing the Breakout Writer Convention was stretched across the main street that headed through campus. The plastic sign flapped in the wind, and with no sound to go with the movement, it was like watching a muted TV. A surreal effect that matched how out of sorts he felt.

He just wasn’t sure if it was waiting to hear news about the writing competition that had him all messed up. Or the day before with Mark Lewis.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. Slept with a guy he’d just met. And not just once. Twice. And not just at the guy’s apartment. In the library.

When the last man he’d been with over two years ago had used him and dumped after only one week, he swore he’d never do casual sex again. No matter how horny he was. No matter how few and far between the offers came.

Owen patted his shoulder. “You’ll hear soon. And I have a feeling we’ll be celebrating this time tomorrow.”

Scott focused on Owen again. “Thanks. I know it’s a long shot.”

“Hey, I made the money to buy this place betting on long shots at the track. It only takes one win. Then you’ll have your foot in the door.”

True. But it would suck to get his hopes up. Or were they already? “Yeah.”

Owen gave another pat to his shoulder and returned to the kitchen through the doorway beside Scott’s table.

The front door to the coffee shop flew open and loud giggles poured in with the menagerie of girls who entered. Scott jumped with the explosion of high-pitched chatter, and his forearm smacked into the Mountain Dew bottle. It went sailing into the cake, smearing the chocolate frosting along one side of the soda bottle, the Dew spilling all over the table and splashing on the empty chair across from him.

He really needed to calm down. It was just one competition. It didn’t mean the end of his writing career.

He grabbed napkins and started cleaning up the mess. Then he stopped. It had been a couple of minutes since he’d last checked. With the napkins crumpled into a ball in his fist and his fingers still covered in frosting, he smeared the chocolate on his laptop’s touchpad as he hit the refresh button on his email.

Nothing.

Ignoring the frosting growing sticky on his computer, he clicked over to the competition’s website and hit refresh.

Nothing.

Resolved to another few minutes of not knowing, he returned to cleaning up the chocolate Dew concoction.

It was ridiculous to be so nervous. Even if he didn’t win, he had no intention of giving up on his writing or drawing.

Then why was he so anxious?

Because this was not some local competition. This was a national award that just happened to be hosted at the university this year. The winner received a meeting with one of the sponsoring publishers. This was a chance at a publishing contract.

He’d come a long way since that first comic he’d created in high school. The one his dad had found hidden under his bed.

The next morning after that discovery had been one of the hardest moments of his life. Without a word his dad had sat across from him at the kitchen table and slid over the comic with its gay superhero and equally gay sidekick who were falling for each other. Thank God he hadn’t even considered writing something as erotic as the comic he’d seen in the popular culture library the day before. Although, it didn’t matter that there was no sex in the one he’d created. The gay love story was obvious.

Turned out his dad had always suspected Scott was gay, and finding the comic poking out from under the mattress while collecting laundry in Scott’s room had given him the perfect opening. “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked, then quickly added, “I promise I won’t freak out.”

So Scott had told him everything. Well, almost everything. He’d told him about how he’d felt like he couldn’t fit in all through junior high school, knowing he was different than the other boys in his small, twenty-kids-per-grade, private school. About the boy he’d met his last year at band camp. The one who’d given him his first kiss. About the gay fiction he’d been secretly buying off the Internet for weeks before his dad found the comic. Scott had reassured his dad he wasn’t sleeping around. He wanted a boyfriend, a relationship. After twenty minutes of non-stop talking, Scott took a deep breath and sat back in the kitchen chair.

“Well, I want to meet him when you do,” his dad had said. Then he’d given him a smile. “I’m glad you could be honest with me. I love you, Scott. Not just because you’re my son. I love the person you are. Exactly as you are. Never doubt that.”

Then he’d proceeded to lecture Scott about safer sex, including a demonstration on how to put a condom on a banana. After the demo, he’d made Scott do it on his own. Three times. When Scott finally got up from the table to toss the condoms in the trash, he could feel the burn of embarrassment on his face.

Despite that, he’d never loved his dad more than in that moment.

His dad didn’t ask every time they talked, but he did ask from time to time if Scott had met someone. It wasn’t hard to miss the worry in the question. His dad had spent a lot of years alone since he’d lost his wife. He’d never remarried. Never talked about anyone special. Never even brought a date home.

And six years since his dad had found that gay comic hidden under his mattress, Scott still hadn’t brought anyone home to meet his dad.

He’d be disappointed to know that Scott had met a guy at the library and less than an hour later had been pressed face-first on a table with the guy’s dick plowing his ass. And even more disappointed to know Scott had considered spending more time with Mark, a man who would never be more than a four-month fuck.

Scott finished cleaning up the sticky mess on his laptop and the table, then returned to the book he’d been reading. On the third read of the same paragraph, he gave up. He really should head to the library and do some research for his History of Ancient Greece class.

He couldn’t avoid the library forever.

But he could avoid it on the day after he’d made a fool of himself with Mark Lewis.

If not longer than one day.

Maybe a week.

Or two.

Better to stick with online research for now.

He must have looked ridiculous and immature storming out of Mark’s apartment like that. Now, even the fantasies would be tainted by that embarrassment.

But the sex…oh man, he’d never felt so alive. So cared for. Mark was just the kind of guy he’d been dreaming about. A guy who was smart and confident. A guy who could fuck like no one Scott had ever been with. Or dreamed of being with. A guy who took the reins and didn’t make Scott feel weak for letting him—or for wanting him to.

A guy who was into sports and who was leaving to head across the country at the end of the semester.

Did they have anything in common besides books and sex? Why had Mark asked him to sleep over? Why had he told Scott he wanted to get to know him?

He had to stop this. He was done thinking about what he couldn’t have.

That’s why he’d spent the night engrossed in a stack of books. To keep from remembering the way Mark had touched him, the way he’d looked at him. The way he had bound him to the bookcase with the red rope and used the tie to blindfold him.

Scott had read until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Which was good because he could tell the last book he’d been reading was leading to a long, emotional sex scene. He would never have made it through that without thinking of Mark.

Maybe it was a good thing he’d left that book at home. He should keep reading the Koontz one he’d brought with him. Anything to make the waiting easier, to forget about the writing competition. And the day before. To forget about the chance of having everything he’d dreamed of for years and not having the choice of whether he got it or not.

He stared at the banner hanging across the street. So much for not thinking about Mark Lewis and what had happened the day before. Because there, walking across the street directly under the sign announcing the Breakout Writer Convention, was Gigantor, the guy Mark had kicked out the library.

Gigantor was talking with two other guys. Fellow football players by the look of them. They continued across the street and walked by the entrance of the coffee shop. Curiosity hit Scott. Like it always did. About everything. He pulled up the school’s website and browsed to the athletic pages. He scanned through the current photos of the football players. Under the section titled Team Captains was Gigantor, aka Bruce Kreger. Apparently Bruce played football well. Really well. He was on a four-year scholarship and was featured in over half the articles on the site about this year’s team.

Scott closed the school’s page and found himself staring at the contest’s webpage again.

It had to have been five minutes since he’d last checked. He hit refresh on the browser window, and his breath caught in his lungs.

There it was. The list of finalists.

He scrolled to the Graphic Novel category.

Holy shit. “Holy shit!”

He flung his hand over his mouth to shut himself up.

Owen popped out around the corner of the kitchen doorway, a towel in his wet hands. “Yeah?”

Laughter surged out of Scott. “Yeah.”

Owen was beside his table, patting his back, and checking out the list of finalists over Scott’s shoulder before he could stop laughing.

He couldn’t believe it. He flipped to his email and there it was. A message letting him know his novel, The Hawk in the Caverns, had been selected as a finalist. Included in the message was the list of instructions for the next phase of the competition. He’d have until the convention later that semester to make any revisions to the story or the art based on the first-round judges’ comments.

“This is wonderful,” Owen said. “Congratulations, Scott. You come by tomorrow and lunch is on me.”

“Thanks.”

Owen flipped the towel over his shoulder and backed away from the table. “I’ll let you call your dad. Don’t tell him I knew before him.” He winked and headed into the kitchen again.

Scott grabbed his phone and made the call. No answer. Which was weird. His dad always kept his phone with him wherever he went. Scott stared at the screen on his phone. There was no one else to call.

It was nice to be able to share this with Owen and eventually his dad, but it would be even better to have someone special to celebrate with. Someone like Mark. Someone he could share more than sex with. Someone he could share everything with, every day.

Now how ridiculous did he sound? That was more than almost anyone his age was looking for.

He returned to his email and read the list of comments from the judges. Most of them loved the story and the art, but almost all made comments about the ending. That it had fallen flat in comparison to the rest of the story. It needed something, only no one was specific in the comments about what it needed.

He couldn’t imagine how he could rework the ending. He’d have to give that some thought.

Later. He’d worry about it after the excitement wore off. Right now, he wanted to enjoy the success. He gave another look at the list of finalists. He couldn’t hold back the smile. Or the little dance. Right there in a chair at the back of the coffee shop, he celebrated on his own.

Eventually, when his cheeks were sore from the smile and he’d read the email four more times, he picked up the book he’d been reading and stuffed it and his laptop in his bag. He headed out the front of the coffee shop and almost missed the groans and the sharp slap of a fist slamming against flesh. Then he saw them. Two men at the far end of the alleyway between Not Just Java and the convenience store next door. One man was bent over the other, pummeling the one on the ground. Despite the dark alleyway, Scott could see it was Bruce Kreger slamming his fists into the other man’s face.

Scott turned to run back into the shop. He’d get Owen, they’d call the police, and—

“You regret it yet, asshole?” Bruce’s words sounded as if they were forced out through clenched teeth. Beyond anger. Furious.

“Never.”

That voice.

It was Mark.

Scott faced the two men again. Instinctively, without a thought on what he’d do when he reached them, he dropped his bag and sprinted down the alley.

As he got closer, the dark shadows of the two men gave way to more vivid details. Mark was lying on the ground, half his face covered in blood. He had an arm over his head, using his forearm to block the punches. With a flurry of jabs, Bruce was pounding on him, or trying to. It looked like he’d already given his best effort, and now more of his swings were missing their mark than were making contact.

Scott called out, “Leave him alone!” Almost there. With another couple pumps of his legs he’d reach Mark. And Gigantor. Football star Bruce Kreger. A guy who could break Scott’s face with one punch.

This was why he usually gave his actions more thought before jumping into something.

Bruce was no longer hammering on Mark but was facing Scott. “You want a piece of this?”

Scott pulled to a stop. “No. I want you to leave him alone.”

“Don’t,” Mark said. He had a hand pressed to his head above his left eye, trying to staunch the blood from a cut by the look of the streaks of red running down his cheek. He was working to a standing position, inching his way up the brick wall behind him. “Get out of here, Scott.” That must have been all he could manage right then. He teetered and fell back to his ass.

Bruce laughed, his gaze swinging from Scott to Mark and back to Scott again. “Leave it to a fag to need his weakling, sissy boyfriend to rescue him.” Bruce rubbed at his jaw with the back of his hand. He had a bruise forming. And a cut on his upper lip. There was another bruise over his eye in the same location where Mark had his hand above his eye. How long had they been out here fighting?

The stillness of the air in the narrow alley between brick buildings and the quietness of that same space faded in an instant when Bruce charged forward. Scott held his ground. He wouldn’t give this bully the satisfaction. Bruce grabbed him by the collar of his T-shirt with two hands and hauled him against the wall of the convenience store, his back hitting the brick hard and knocking the breath from his chest. The scratchy surface scraped along his skin through his shirt as he slid down the wall. His feet finally found the ground beneath him. Bruce still had a hold of his shirt, and Scott gripped Bruce’s forearm in both hands.

“The two of you are pathetic, you know that?” Bruce spat the words in an exaggerated, enraged tone. A spray of spit landed on Scott’s cheek. Without letting up on the grip of one hand, Bruce pointed toward the end of the alley where Scott had come from. “I saw you lookin’ at that sign. What’s it for? That writin’ competition? You think you can win something like that? What a joke. Even those book geeks are going to laugh at you.”

“You might as well let me go. I’m not going to fight you.”

“That’s not a surprise. Guys like you always take the chick’n shit way out.”

“I’m not going to run. I’m going to see if Mark’s okay.”

“Not if I stop you first.”

“By hitting me? You know, only people who aren’t smart enough to figure out something better, use their fists to get what they want.”

That did it. He really needed to think before he spoke because Bruce had a clenched fist raised in the air.

“Bruce!” A man stood at the end of the alley. Actually two men. His friends from earlier with plastic carryout bags in their hands. “Come on. We’re late,” the tallest one said. “Leave him alone. He’s just a little guy. We’ve got practice.”

“You should let me go,” Scott said. “You’re not even scoring points with your own buddies.”

Yep, Scott really needed to shut his mouth. Bruce’s grip tightened and both hands were back holding him against the wall.

Somehow he couldn’t shut himself up. “No matter what you do to me, you’re the ass here, not me. I can live with that.”

In a rush Bruce let go of Scott and took a step back. The corners of his mouth turned up. “Why you little shit, you’re tougher than you look.”

Maybe this was how you earned a guy like Bruce’s respect. Scott tugged his shirt down from where Bruce had balled it up at the collar in his fists.

“This is stupid,” his friend called out. “We’re leaving.” The man’s voice trailed off as he and the other guy walked out of view at the end of the alley.

“They’re just leaving you?” Scott asked. “Those are some great friends you’ve got.”

Bruce grabbed Scott’s shirt again and opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t get out a sound. Mark crashed into his side, detangling Bruce’s grip on Scott. Both Mark and Bruce slammed to the ground, Mark half on top. He scrambled to kneeling and straddled Bruce’s legs. He shoved the side of Bruce’s face against the dirt. Then Bruce did a gyration of his hips under Mark that would’ve made any gay man proud. They rolled on the dirt, over and over, one man gaining dominance for a moment, and then their positions reversed again.

Scott circled them, looking for a time and place to intervene. He should’ve done more fighting as a kid. Or paid attention when the other boys got into it. What kind of a grown man didn’t know how to jump into the battle, either to become a part of it or to pull them apart?

“What the hell is going on here?” Owen was jogging down the alleyway toward them. “You boys break it up.”

They either hadn’t heard Owen or had no plans to comply.

Owen stopped beside Scott, and without so much as a move toward the brawling men, he had a handle of the situation. “Break it up or I’m calling the cops.”

That got Bruce’s attention. He let up from where he had Mark on his stomach, eating dirt. Bruce stared up at Owen for a long, considering moment. Then he gave one last, good shove to the side of Mark’s face. “Don’t you fuckin’ come at me again.” He leaned forward and spat on him, the glob of saliva landing on Mark’s cheek and dripping between his nose and mouth. Bruce got off him and casually walked by Scott and Owen, as if he was heading to class and it didn’t matter that his clothes and face and hair were sweat-soaked, with dirt caked to the moisture, forming a paste on his pale skin.

Scott dropped beside Mark and carefully helped him roll onto his back. “Are you all right?” He reached forward to touch Mark’s face, then pulled back, too afraid he’d hurt him more than he already was.

“Do you know him?” Owen asked.

“We sort of had a date. I mean, I think it was a date. Well, maybe not.” He felt his cheeks flush, and he focused on Mark again. The blood on his face was now smeared with dirt and spit, making him look more like Bruce had than Scott cared to think about.

“It was a date.” Mark spoke the words through gritted teeth as he met Scott’s gaze. There was earnestness and compassion in those dark eyes visible amid the blood and grime covering his face.

“I see,” Owen said. “Let me get my keys, and we’ll drive him to the hospital.”

“No.” Mark sat up. He slowly eased his legs around and got onto his knees.

Scott wrapped an arm around his waist. “Let me help you.”

“I’m okay.” Despite his words Mark leaned his weight against Scott, and together they got him to a standing position. “I just need to get to my place.”

“You need to see a doctor.” Scott’s stomach churned at the thought of pushing Mark on anything, but he had to say something. “And you need to call the police about Bruce.”

“I can’t.” Mark met his gaze. With Scott’s arm around him and Mark’s height reduced by his inability to stand upright, their heads—and lips—were close. That had a shiver working its way down Scott’s body. So did Mark’s next words. “I’m the one who started the fight.”

* * *

Mark let his eyes fall shut and leaned his hip against the hall wall beside his apartment door. God he hurt. Everywhere.

“Mark, are you okay?”

He opened his eyes, and there was Scott, his brow furrowed and his gaze locked on Mark’s. He looked frustrated and worried. And maybe scared. Not a look Mark ever wanted to see in those eyes. Not after the desire and lust and passion he’d witnessed on Scott’s face the day before. He should tell him to leave. Scott was probably only there out of some twisted obligation because Mark had fucked him.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry you saw me like that. In the alley.” He must’ve looked out of control when he was battling Bruce. Like an asshole. A crazed, feral brute. Worse than that…he hated how Scott had looked at him after he’d confessed his part in starting the fight.

“I was scared he was going to hurt you. I mean, more than he did.” Scott kept a steadying hand on Mark’s arm as he unlocked the door. He looked good opening the door to Mark’s apartment. Just not for the reason they were there. He wanted Scott walking into his place again because of choice—and desire—not because Scott felt he had to.

Mark leaned his hip and shoulder harder against the wall, wishing he could slip right through the plaster and paint to get inside without Scott needing to give him one more hand with the simple task of walking. He ignored the disappointment when his body didn’t ooze through the wall. He said, “I forgot to thank Owen for the ride and the help up the stairs.” Owen had driven them to the hospital, then waited with Scott until he could drive them to Mark’s place. When they’d gotten up the stairs to his floor, Scott had insisted he could get them the rest of the way to the apartment. Mark wasn’t sure if it was out of embarrassment that Owen would see them together for a moment more or so they could be alone. He was hoping for the latter, even if he didn’t want to face telling Scott about what he’d done in that alley. Or why.

“It’s okay,” Scott said as he swung the apartment door in. “Owen was glad to help.”

“Tell him thanks for me later?”

“Of course.” Scott wrapped his arms around Mark’s waist and eased him away from the wall. “Easy. Let’s get you inside.”

“I just need to get to the bathroom, then rest for a bit. Now that I’m home, you don’t have to help me anymore.”

Scott didn’t let go of him. “I’m not leaving you alone like this.” He set his bag by the door, then moved them through the living room and down the short hall to the bathroom.

It took Mark’s eyes a moment to adjust to the glare of the overhead bathroom light fixture that somehow seemed brighter than even the hospital’s lights had. He shuffled to the sink and got a good look in the mirror. The dried blood and clumps of dirt he’d seen in the rearview mirror of Owen’s car on the drive to the hospital were gone. Now there was no missing the black eye, the stitched and bandaged cut above his other eye, or the bruising on the opposite cheek and all along his jawline. His hands were equally as bruised with bandages covering several of the knuckles. Not a pretty sight. Not how he pictured his next meeting with Scott.

“Here.” Scott slipped behind him and raised the lid and seat on the toilet.

He could manage taking a piss on his own. Too bad moving around, even in the small space of his bathroom, didn’t sound too good. He didn’t protest when Scott helped him to the toilet and proceeded to unbuckle his belt. Then it all sank in…what he was letting him do. “Scott.”

“Don’t.” Scott was shaking his head.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk like that. In that tone. Not now.” He moved away from Mark and looked through the medicine cabinet beside the mirror, taking out bandages, a roll of gauze, and a tube of antibiotic cream. Mark relieved himself and tucked his prick back into his briefs, leaving his jeans open.

Scott was setting the items he’d found on the counter. “Looks like you have enough supplies when it’s time to change the bandage.” He faced Mark again. He looked nervous. More nervous than Mark had seen yet. Even when he’d first walked up to the table where Scott had been sitting in the library reading the comic. “I’m staying,” Scott added. “And I’m going to help you.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. Or feel weak about someone wanting to help you.”

Sounded like something he would’ve said. Mark breathed deep, and his side hurt with the action. He held back the wince. “Okay.” Scott moved to stand in the doorway while he stepped to the sink. Before he could finish washing his hands, Scott spoke again.

“Why did you do it?” It was almost a whisper.

Mark faced him, but Scott wouldn’t meet his gaze. He didn’t want to talk about this, but he couldn’t avoid the question, didn’t want Scott to feel like he couldn’t talk if he needed to, that he couldn’t ask questions.

“It was a mistake. I reacted without thinking.”

“Because of what happened at the library yesterday?”

“No, because of what Bruce did today.”

Scott finally looked at him. “What did he do?”

Mark took a step closer. “He and his friends were watching you through the window of Not Just Java. He was talking shit about you.”

“Oh.”

“When his friends stepped into the carryout next door, I shoved him into the alley and gave him a piece of my mind. When he still wouldn’t shut up, I…”

“You hit him.”

“Yeah.”

Scott looked disappointed. Damn, that stung.

“Are you hurt anywhere other than your hands and face?”

“Don’t you want to know what he said?” Because he’d never forget it. Never forget Bruce’s words, or the sound of hatred aimed at Scott.

“Disgusting, faggot. He’s never met a real man. If he had a real piece of thick meat shoved up his ass, it’d split him open and he’d never beg for a guy to fuck him again. That’s what all fairies like him need. Someone to rape and beat the fag out of them.”

“I don’t want to know,” Scott said. “I don’t care what guys like him think of me. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Just sore.”

“Where?”

“My side.”

Scott came closer and gripped the bottom of Mark’s shirt. “Take this off. Let me see.”

Having Scott physically care for him had his stomach in knots. Had him feeling weak. But the knowledge that Scott wanted to do it almost worked away the unease. Mark pulled his shirt over his head and said, “I didn’t know you were so bossy.”

Scott chuckled. It was a good sound. “You don’t know that much about me.”

He knew a lot but definitely not enough.

Scott ran his warm fingers along Mark’s abs to his side. “There’s a few bruises. Did they check this out at the hospital?”

“Yes. It’s fine. The punches below the neck weren’t that bad. He mostly hit my face.”

“I can see that.” Scott reached up and ran his thumb just below the split skin on Mark’s lower lip.

That made it official. The unease was gone. At least about Scott taking care of him, touching him. Not about the reason they were alone in his apartment again. “Why did you leave last night?”

Scott stepped to the sink and lined up the medical supplies into a neat row near the back of the countertop, a slight shake in his hands as he worked. “I thought you were too good to be true.”

That had Mark laughing. “I’m just a guy. One who makes mistakes.”

Scott’s gaze landed on Mark’s split lip again. He gave a nod. “I get that. I thought I’d say or do something wrong.” His voice dropped lower, a stiffness to his words Mark hadn’t yet heard. “If we go out, spend time together, I might… I could fall for you.”

Mark moved in and pressed his body against Scott’s back and ass. “What makes you think I won’t fall right back.”

That had Scott shaking his head. “I’ve never really dated anyone. Not someone I liked this much.”

Mark watched him in the mirror over Scott’s shoulder. “You are now.”

The head tilt was back as Scott studied Mark’s reflection. Maybe he liked what he saw. He smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’d like to take you out for dinner. Maybe catch a movie.” Mark laughed again, the tension completely working its way from his body in a rush. “Not tonight, though.”

“No, not tonight.” Scott smiled again. He turned, slipped his arm around Mark’s waist, and helped him to the bedroom.

Standing before the bed, Scott shimmied Mark’s jeans down his legs, then kneeled before him as he worked the jeans lower. When he had them bunched around Mark’s calves, he looked up. This time he didn’t speak. He waited. Maybe it was their proximity to the bed. Maybe it was that Scott really didn’t like telling someone else—telling Mark—what to do, not even when he was taking care of him.

Mark cupped Scott’s cheek in his hand, then dropped the hand to his shoulder and held on as he lifted each foot out of his shoes and then his pants. His muscles were stiff, as if he’d spent a week doing hard labor. Or fucking like mad. He left his briefs on and got into the bed, the sheets cool and inviting against his battered body. Even if Bruce hadn’t hit him as hard as he could’ve below the neck, the blunt punches to his abs and side had left some damage in their wake.

“I’ll be right back.” Scott left the room and returned less than a minute later with a hardback chair from Mark’s living room. He placed the chair next to the bed and sat, a concerned look on his face again. Mark could only imagine how the slow, drawn-out movements of his slide into the bed must’ve looked. Especially after the contrast of how confident and assured he’d been during what they’d done the day before.

“What are you doing in that chair? Get in bed with me.” His instincts wanted to make it sound like a demand, but instead he forced a playfulness to his tone. They weren’t about to get into anything close to sex.

Scott stood and moved to the bed on the side opposite Mark. He pulled back the blankets and sheet and started to get in.

“Your shirt first.”

“Oh.” Scott straightened and tugged the shirt over his head. He dropped it to the floor.

“Now your shoes and socks.”

He bent and removed them, then stood straight again.

“Your pants.”

When he was down to only his underwear, he waited beside the bed, his breathing slow and even, relaxed. It was a beautiful sight. Both the man’s body and his desire—his need—to do what Mark wanted. Scott appeared more calm in this moment than he had since he’d found Mark in the alley. Maybe holding back on their instincts wasn’t a good idea. For either of them.

“Climb in,” Mark said, and Scott did, sliding under the sheet until they were both covered to their waists. They were facing each other, Mark lying on his least-bruised side, Scott’s hands folded together and tucked under his cheek on the pillow.

Everything shifted for Mark then. Scott looked innocent and lost. Like a boy who wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing. Maybe being this close to the bruises had him remembering what he’d seen in the alleyway.

Mark never wanted to be the kind of guy who had trouble keeping his anger in check, who could scare someone like Scott.

“Talk to me.” He needed a connection with Scott. Something that wasn’t about sex.

“About what?” Scott asked.

“About you. Tell me something…important to you. Something you’ve never shared with anyone else.”

Scott was quiet for several minutes. So long Mark feared he really had pushed too far too fast. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “I killed my mom.” He shook his head several times, then his eyes flew open. The sadness in those large, wide eyes hurt Mark worse than the beating from Bruce, worse than knowing his own anger and rash action had scared Scott. “I know I didn’t actually do it. I know it wasn’t my fault, but it feels like that sometimes.”

“What happened?” When Scott didn’t say anything, Mark added, “Tell me.”

“She died the night I was born. She was gone before I took my first breath. She never even saw me. And my dad’s been alone ever since.”

He’d never been so moved by anyone’s words.

Forget the sex. Scott needed him in ways that had nothing to do with sexual dominance or bondage or pleasure. Letting his instincts take over, he reached out and held Scott’s face in his hands. “He wasn’t alone. He had you.”

Scott nodded. The sadness lifting as he gave a slight smile. “Tell me something important to you. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

Read Part 4