Chapter Fifteen
“I hear the hall looks really nice,” Deacon said.
Mark turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Are you making fun of me?”
“What are you talking about? James was over at the country club today, and he said it looked good.”
They were lying on Deacon’s bed. Mark was facedown, his arms folded under his head, and Deacon was on his side next to him, one leg slung over Mark’s, the fingers of one hand buried deep in Mark’s arse, his other hand rubbing Mark’s shoulders. Mark was naked, Deacon shirtless but wearing sweatpants. They did this a lot now—just lay together with Deacon’s fingers or a thick plug up Mark’s arse, talking occasionally. Every now and then, Deacon would spread his fingers inside Mark or, if they were using a plug, slowly work it in and out of Mark’s arse. It was a weird little ritual, but Mark liked it.
He’d never been fingered without the intention of getting off, and these long stretching sessions might have felt pointless if he hadn’t kept reminding himself that one day Deacon’s whole fucking hand was gonna be inside him. Well, that and the fact that he liked being near Deacon. Liked Deacon rubbing his back, liked that they could stay still for so long without any expectations or urgency. He didn’t tell Deacon that, since I wanna spoon with you all night while you whisper in my ear how incredible I am didn’t have the same effect in a dirty phone conversation as I want you to ram your fingers up my arse until I scream your name and flood your sheets with cum. But Deacon seemed to pick up on it anyway.
Mark liked the way their relationship progressed without them having to talk too much about it. Like when they’d gone to Midnight Fantasy to get the plugs and what looked to Mark like an unnecessarily large anal douche—but hey, it was the only one they had. The first time Mark had used the enema, he’d excused himself to the bathroom to do it himself. He’d been embarrassed to think Deacon could probably hear him expelling it; then he’d reminded himself he didn’t get embarrassed, and then he’d thought, no, that was stupid, of course he did.
The second time he’d opened up the kit, Deacon had calmly taken the bulb from Mark, filled it, and told Mark to lie down on the bed. Deacon had administered the enema, then stayed with Mark while Mark was on the toilet, stroking Mark’s neck and acting like there was nothing strange about this at all—the tension in his body the only indication that he was unsure of himself. Mark was so bizarrely grateful to him for staying—douching didn’t hurt; it was just uncomfortable as fuck—that instead of insisting he could take a shit by himself, he’d leaned into Deacon’s touch.
If they weren’t the weirdest couple at this school, Mark’s hat was off to whoever could claim that honor. If not him and Deacon, Mark would put in a vote for Chelsea and Blake, who had started dating right before Thanksgiving. Maybe Chelsea accompanied Blake to the bathroom as well, to prevent him getting locked in.
“You know it was all done with slave labor, don’t you?” Mark said now. “None of the brothers lifted a finger except to add to our misery.”
The committee had been so desperate for decorators—and not to have to do the work themselves—that Bengal had insisted on even Mark coming along to help decorate. And when Mark deliberately put all the glittery cardboard snowflakes in a straight line across the archway, instead of staggering them as he’d been instructed, then stapled white tulle in ugly clumps to the poles, it had been like the old days. Bengal had forced Mark to wear a makeshift tulle skirt, with two snowflakes stapled to his shirt right where his nipples would be, and then redo the decorations like that. Mark had slipped away and taken pics of the outfit on his phone to send to Deacon.
Deacon laughed and trailed his finger in a zigzag pattern between Mark’s shoulder blades. “I figured. Was it wrong for me to enjoy your snowflake pasties, then?” He scissored his fingers in Mark’s arse, and Mark gasped, then slowly exhaled.
“I wanted you to enjoy them.”
“I really hate Bengal,” Deacon said after a minute.
“You and everyone who knows him.”
“I mean, he’s not just a dick. I think he’s dangerous. What he did to you with the hot sauce, and now trying to humiliate you somewhere public…”
“Deke. I don’t need a white knight, okay? If I’d wanted to leave either of those times, I would have. I can take care of myself.”
“And what happened to Brandon,” Deacon said.
Mark winced. He knew he didn’t have any right to share Brandon’s history with Deacon. But he’d been so stressed in the weeks after he’d found Brandon in midbreakdown at Alpha Delt, and Deacon was good at knowing what to do, and Mark had already let it slip accidentally that there was something, that Mark had finally caved and told him what little he knew.
But Deacon was right. What Bengal had done to Brandon went way beyond just being an arsehole.
“Let’s drop it, okay?” Mark said. “I’ve had enough of this stretching shit.” He tried to grin. “Either stick your whole hand in there or use your cock.”
When Deacon didn’t respond, Mark shifted, twisting so Deacon’s fingers slid out of him.
“What are you waiting for?” Mark asked. He really didn’t want to lie here and have a conversation about Bengal. Aside from the topic being a major boner killer, Mark didn’t enjoy being reminded that Bengal had sexually assaulted Brandon and all Mark had done about it was take Brandon out afterward for chips. He was freaked out enough that in five days he was going to be officially initiated into the Alpha Delta brotherhood. No more pretending it wasn’t real. No more telling himself he was a pledge and could quit anytime. After Friday, he’d be stuck with these guys as his brothers. Including Bengal.
“Would you fuck me?” Deacon asked.
“Huh?” He hadn’t been expecting that. But Deacon was staring at him hungrily, a determination in his expression Mark recognized from when Deacon was hunched over a textbook.
“I want you to fuck me. But, like, dirtily.”
“Dirtily,” Mark repeated, not sure if that was even a word.
Deacon propped himself on his elbows. “I never feel very, um, adventurous. When I have sex.”
Mark wondered where this was coming from. “You dress me up in suspenders and lace. You let me blow you in an alley right behind where you work. You sneaked onto enemy territory to fuck me in the Kissin’ Shack. You took me down to your basement and paddled me. You’re learning how to fist me. Jesus, Deke, what do you have to do to feel adventurous, fuck me on top of Everest during an avalanche?”
Deacon flushed and smiled. “I guess you’re right. I just want to feel, like…used. I want you to fuck me like I’m…like I’m—”
“A cheap whore?” Mark supplied. He was familiar with the feeling.
“Yes!” Deacon looked relieved. Then nervous again. “Only don’t…”
Mark wound an arm around him and kissed his cheek. “Spit it out. If I can clean my bowels out in front of you, you can tell me how you want to be fucked.”
Deacon hesitated. “Just don’t be mean about it, okay? I want you to be dirty but not mean. Does that make sense?”
“Completely.”
“You’ve, um, you’ve topped before, right?”
“Absolutely,” Mark said and then wondered what it was about the word “absolutely” that made it sound like bullshit. “I have, promise. Not since you, though. You, like, turned me into your prison bitch.” He grinned at Deacon’s look of surprise and raised a hand to forestall what he suspected was an apology. “And I fucking loved it.”
Deacon opened his mouth to say something and closed it again.
Mark pushed him down onto the mattress and straddled his thighs. “And you’ll love it too, right? Being my bitch for a change?”
Too dirtily? Maybe. Deacon was wearing the same look he did when he cleaned out the lint filter on the dryer. Mark regrouped and attacked from a different angle.
“I want to fuck you so bad,” he said, running his fingers down Deacon’s chest.
Deacon frowned. “Wait. You want to fuck me so bad, as in so much, or you want to do a terrible job?”
“Shut up, nerd,” Mark said and leaned down to kiss him. It was his own fault for hooking up with someone who knew grammar and shit. “You know exactly what I mean.”
He reached down Deacon’s sweatpants, enjoying Deacon’s gasp as he wrapped his hand around Deacon’s cock. Mark stroked lightly, using his thumb to swipe precum off the head and rub it over the shaft. Deacon lifted his knees, arching his back.
“Fuck,” Deacon whispered, thrusting his hips in an effort to get more friction. Mark tugged on his balls, then yanked Deacon’s sweats down to his knees. Deacon had gone commando, which seemed to be happening more and more often lately. Mark kissed across Deacon’s chest, pausing to lick and suck each nipple to a hard peak. Deacon wrapped his legs around Mark, and Mark nudged his knee between Deacon’s thighs, giving Deacon something to hump against.
He licked the hollow of Deacon’s collarbone, moving his tongue in circles, then dragging it up Deacon’s throat to his chin, where he tapped it against the dimple there. Deacon laughed, placing his hands on either side of his head.
Mark grinned, grabbing Deacon’s wrists. “Something funny about being my bitch?”
Deacon just smiled, and Mark could see the tension leave him. Mark was pleased with himself. If Deacon had been nervous about bottoming, he wasn’t anymore. And Mark was gonna make him feel so fucking good.
He let go of Deacon’s wrists and kissed him slowly, giving Deacon time to open up for him. He ran his hands down Deacon’s sides, digging his thumbs into Deacon’s hip bones. Then he moved his hands to the backs of Deacon’s thighs, using his nails lightly on the creases of Deacon’s knees. Deacon tightened his legs around Mark, his stomach muscles fluttering.
“Get these off,” Mark whispered, tugging at Deacon’s sweats.
Deacon dropped his legs, and Mark pulled the pants the rest of the way off, then tossed them on the floor. Mark scooted down and blew on Deacon’s thick cock. He took it in his mouth, sucking until Deacon was begging. Then he released it and stretched over Deacon. Took a fistful of Deacon’s hair and twisted it—not quite hard enough to hurt. “We’re doing this at my pace,” he said, biting the side of Deacon’s neck until Deacon whimpered. “Roll over.”
Deacon obeyed eagerly, writhing under Mark until he was on his stomach. He shivered when Mark stroked his back. Mark reached between the mattress and the bed frame for a condom and put it on. Grabbed the lube and squirted some on his fingers, then prepped Deacon. His balls tightened at the sounds Deacon made as Mark thrust a coated finger into him. Small moans of what Mark was 98 percent convinced was pleasure, though he asked, “Good?” just to be sure. Deacon nodded into the pillow. Mark withdrew his finger and lowered himself to position his cock. Deacon raised his hips, pulling his knees under him.
Mark started to push in, heard Deacon’s breath catch. He bent and kissed Deacon’s spine. “Easy, Deke,” he whispered against the wet spot his lips had left on the skin. He waited for Deacon’s exhale and slid in deeper.
“Good,” Deacon whispered, voice strained. Mark wasn’t sure whether to believe him. He reached under Deacon and pumped his cock, and Deacon’s breathing evened out. Mark pushed the rest of the way in.
Deacon groaned at Mark’s first real thrust and jerked his head up. “Yeah,” Mark murmured. “That’s good. Gonna fuck you now.”
“Please,” Deacon agreed, fingers curling against the sheets.
Mark thrust faster. Massaged and squeezed the muscles of Deacon’s back until Deacon was moaning steadily.
“Now I want to try something,” Mark said quietly. He sat back on his heels and hooked his arms around Deacon’s thighs. “Straighten your legs.” Deacon hesitated, then obeyed, letting Mark’s arms take the weight of his legs. Mark slowly raised his ass off his heels, lifting Deacon with him. He held Deacon’s legs like the traces of a wheelbarrow and continued to fuck him.
Deacon dropped his head, his chest and forearms rubbing against the sheets with each thrust. He clenched around Mark’s cock, and Mark threw back his head and groaned. “Fuck, yes. Let me…fucking…plow you.”
Deacon made a sound that was half laugh, half moan. “Faster.”
Mark pounded into Deacon as fast as he could go, his arms straining as he held Deacon’s legs, sweat beading on his chest and gathering under his palms, making it harder to hold on to Deacon’s legs. The bed creaked, and Deacon bent his knees, his heels resting against Mark’s shoulders.
“Come on,” he murmured suddenly, bumping Mark with his heels. He sounded breathless, desperate. “Faster.”
Mark panted. “I don’t know…if I can go…any faster.”
Deacon started pushing back against Mark’s thrusts, and Mark would have prayed the guys had the TV on loud downstairs, except part of him liked the idea of everyone being able to hear what he was doing to Deacon.
Mark withdrew slightly, then yanked back on Deacon, pulling Deacon down the length of his shaft. He did that twice more, and then he came, accidentally dropping one of Deacon’s legs as he doubled over, Deacon’s ass milking him into the condom.
Mark gave himself a few seconds to recover, then flipped Deacon over and wanked him with one hand while fucking him with two fingers of the other hand. Deacon seized his lip with his teeth and came hard, streaking his chest. Mark tugged Deacon’s cock down so that some of it hit his own chest too. Then he collapsed onto Deacon, kissing him as their legs tangled, resting his head on Deacon’s chest when he didn’t have the energy to kiss anymore.
“Dirty enough for you?” he mumbled, lips damp with Deacon’s sweat.
Deacon wrapped his arms around him. “Hell, yeah.”
Mark fell asleep with his head on Deacon’s chest.
* * * *
Deacon checked his watch. Mark was taking an exam on American lit right now. He should have been about fifteen minutes into the hour-long exam, so Deacon was half expecting him to turn up at any moment now, claiming he’d finished the whole thing and the questions were stupid and he was stupid, and what the fuck did it matter anyway? Just like last time.
When someone sidled into the common room, Deacon sighed and looked up.
Huh. Not Mark. Kevin, the pledge who’d helped Deacon clean the air-conditioning unit. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Is, um, is James here?”
“He’s in class,” Deacon said, hoping Kevin’s expression didn’t mean what he thought it did. “Are you okay?”
Kevin started to nod, then shook his head.
“Sit down, Kevin.” Deacon made space on the couch. “What’s happened?”
“My dad,” Kevin said, his voice catching.
Shit.
“He’s, um, he’s not doing great,” Kevin said, and Deacon was so overwhelmed with relief that Kevin wasn’t telling him his dad was dead that he almost missed the rest. “I, um, I’ve got to go home for a while.”
“Home?”
Kevin put his shaking hands on his knees. “Yeah. My mom isn’t coping really well. Kind of falling apart, really, and there’s no money for school, so I’m going home. Maybe, um, maybe I’ll come back next year if I can save enough.”
“Shit,” Deacon said. “Have you looked into financial aid?”
Kevin jerked his head. “If it was just me, it’d be okay. But it’s my mom too, you know?”
Yeah, Deacon knew.
“And my little sisters,” Kevin said. “I’m gonna have to be the breadwinner for a while, I guess. Because Dad won’t be able to work for ages, even if he…if he…”
“Okay,” said Deacon. He squeezed Kevin’s shoulder. “But you’re deferring, right, not quitting?”
“Yeah,” Kevin said, and Deacon hoped he meant it. “So I needed to talk to James and tell him I won’t be in Phi Sig after all. And you guys have been great, really.”
“You’re deferring,” Deacon reminded him. “There will be a place here for you when you come back to Prescott.”
“Yeah?” Kevin looked almost hopeful.
“Yep,” Deacon assured him. “I told you before, Kevin. We like you. You’re a good fit for Phi Sig. Also, you helped me clean shit out of an air conditioner. You think we’ll let you go that easily?”
Kevin’s laugh sounded like a sob, and he stared fixedly at the floor. “Thanks, Deacon.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. I hope he gets better.”
“I just…wanted to tell you and James.” He stood. “I’d better go now, I guess.”
“Keep us posted if you can.” Deacon stood too and gave Kevin a hug. Kevin clung to him briefly, then let go and walked out of the house.
Deacon felt a pang of sympathy. He worried about his mom a lot, and about her quality of life, but he couldn’t imagine actually losing her. The thought made him panic for a second—that horrible things happened to people all the time, and there was nothing he could do about it. He made himself take a deep breath. Nothing he could do about it but keep living life and try to help other people when he could.
That was one of the things that had appealed to him about Phi Sig when he’d been rushing. Service to others. It seemed so stupid, so naive, to believe that crap. All fraternities had something like that in their mission statement, and while they might pay lip service to the idea of helping the community, they were mostly about socialization and status.
But when you felt as useless as Deacon had in the months after Ben left, watching his mother’s downward spiral, you didn’t laugh at the idea of joining a group that claimed to dedicate itself to being useful. You signed up and hoped it was true.
He checked his watch again. He wanted Mark to get here. No, he wanted Mark to take his time on his final. But he also wanted Mark to get here. He’d booked them a room for late next week at the Snow Trails Lodge in Tannersville. Mark wouldn’t be thrilled with the name, probably, but Deacon hoped he’d be excited about the trip. They’d stay Thursday through Sunday, and Deacon didn’t want to admit it, but he was a little nervous. He’d never had that much uninterrupted time with Mark.
What if they couldn’t stand each other after four days?
Unlikely.
Four days alone with Mark didn’t sound anything but perfect.
He leaned back. He really ought to do something productive while he waited for Mark. He hoped Mark didn’t bomb the exam. Mark definitely wasn’t stupid, but he was sort of unmotivated. Would that become a problem if he and Deacon tried to do this thing long-term? Mark was also eighteen. Maybe he’d buckle down next year.
And maybe that was the sort of condescending shit Deacon should be careful never to say aloud to Mark.
Deacon didn’t think Mark would fail the exam. Not after all the help Brandon had given him. Brandon. Deacon felt sick every time he thought about what had happened to Brandon. Fucking Alpha Delts and their fucking homophobic hazing rituals. Shit like that wasn’t a game.
And even sadder somehow was Brandon’s belief that you had to be in a fraternity to be someone. That was dumber and more naive than joining a fraternity for the community-service aspect. Still, Deacon didn’t blame him. He’d wanted to be part of a group too. Had wanted a label more specific and stabilizing than devoted son or honors student or faggot nerd. He was Phi Sig. What was wrong with wanting that?
He’d have to talk to James, but a plan was starting to take shape in his mind. They were now short a member, which meant they could take an extra person in the spring pledge class. Why not extend a bid to Brandon? He could pledge with the spring group, and by the end of the school year, he’d be in a fraternity. And maybe by that time he’d discover there was more to college life than being a brother, so he’d be able to relax a little during Phi Sig’s decidedly stress-free pledging process.
He felt better. He’d thought of something nice to do for Brandon. It wouldn’t make up for what Brandon had suffered, but might help him in some small way. He stretched out on the couch and watched a premium cable show Matt had DVRed last night. Spent most of the time thinking about the semiformal tomorrow and wondering if there was any chance Mark would dance with him. Probably not. Probably they’d spend the whole night pretending to be no more than acquaintances.
But who knew? Mark was being officially inducted into Alpha Delt tonight, and he’d be finished with the last of his finals in half an hour. Maybe he’d be feeling daring enough tomorrow to risk dancing with his Phi Sig boyfriend instead of a bunch of tanked sorority girls.
The door opened, and Deacon sat up. It was James. They talked for a while, and James said they’d have to check with some people to see if it was okay to let Brandon know they’d be extending him a bid, or if they had to wait and tell him at the end of spring rush.
“Well, we can tell him now and ask him to keep his mouth shut about it, then announce it at spring rush. Right?” Deacon said.
James said he guessed, and went upstairs to call Kevin and ask if there was anything Phi Sig could do to help. About twenty minutes later, the door opened again. “Mark!” Deacon called, peering over the back of the couch as Mark shut the door. Hard.
“How’d the test go?”
Mark turned around.
And that was when Deacon saw his face.