Chapter Seven
Families.
Wrecking Mark’s life since forever.
Because Jim and Mum had decided to drive all the way in from Bedford for some reason—Mark had missed the details, concentrating more on picking his jaw up from the floor when he’d opened the door to them—and now they were taking Mark out for an early dinner. With Jackson.
“More salsa?” Jackson asked. “You like it hot, right?”
Fucker. He knew exactly how much picante sauce Mark had swallowed in the basement confessional of the Alpha Delta house the other night. And exactly how it had all come up again straightaway while Bengal roared with laughter.
And the whole time, all Mark could think was, what the hell was he doing? Why was he letting Bengal do this to him? At what point did the hazing cross a line? Maybe it already had, and Mark was just too stubborn to realize it. They’re not humiliating me, right, if I agree to it? It’s all a joke still, right? I’m not a victim yet. Because if he’d complained about it, if he’d told, then it would be proof he was weak, proof he couldn’t handle it. So he handled it. He drank the fucking sauce, even though it burned. He drank it.
“Yeah, whatever,” Mark said, dragging his potato skins out of Jackson’s reach.
His mum shot him a look. It was her why-aren’t-you-even-trying-Mark? look. She’d been wearing it on and off since the turn of the millennium. Which wasn’t even fair, because he wasn’t being a dick to Jackson just because. There was context.
“So, Jackson,” she said, “it was good of you to come to dinner on such short notice. You must be busy.”
Whereas Mark had nothing better to do. He stuck his finger in his sour cream and tasted it.
Jackson smiled that charming smile that seemed to fool pretty much everyone. “It’s no problem, Clare. It’s actually great to catch up and get away from the books sometimes.”
The books, right. Because it was the books Jackson was spending all his time with. Not the chicks or the beer or all those pledges who wouldn’t bastardize themselves.
Jim chuckled. “And you’re keeping an eye out for Mark, aren’t you?”
“Of course, Uncle Jim,” Jackson said.
Uh-huh. Right. Sure. Of course.
Mark pushed his chair back. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”
Clare sighed. “Mark…?”
“I’m quitting,” he said and showed her his palms. “It’s on my to-do list.”
It was. Pennsylvania was way too fucking cold for him to keep going outside to smoke. He needed to quit by winter. If those early blizzard weeks had taught Mark anything, it was that trading death in the future from lung cancer for dying immediately of hypothermia was probably not a much better option.
Outside the restaurant, Mark leaned on a potted shrub and lit a cigarette. Through the window he could see Jim and Clare and Jackson all sitting around the table, talking and laughing. He watched Clare. She looked as at home here, with them, as with anyone. Mark was standing on the outside looking in, like a sad little matchstick girl. Except with cigarettes and a bad attitude.
But it felt good to resent Clare for excluding him, even though he’d been the one to walk away. When he tried to put his finger on what bothered him about this arrangement, he couldn’t. He wasn’t some sulky kid from a Disney movie, angry about the dissolution of the family he’d known. Jim wasn’t some evil stepfather, and Mark’s real father hadn’t exactly been a prize. So what was the problem?
Maybe it had something to do with how easily Clare had adapted. How little she spoke about her marriage to Mark’s father, as though this had all been scripted. She’d always known that she would get divorced, meet Jim in due time, and move to America. That she’d end up with chains on her tires in winter and a little fuckwad like Jackson for a stepnephew, and that she’d learn to root for Philadelphia even though she’d never given a shit about sports in her life.
A few times, though, Mark had caught her looking sad or lost or like she didn’t quite get Jim’s sense of humor or like she wanted to personally take a blowtorch to every snowflake in the state of Pennsylvania. But for the most part, she looked just like she did now. At home. And her seemingly placid acceptance of their new life turned it into a bit of a competition for Best Adjusted. If she didn’t need to complain about the snow or the cloud cover, neither did he. If she could make new friends, so could he. If she thought Jim was an acceptable replacement for her husband, Mark thought he was an acceptable replacement for his father.
Except he didn’t think that, and it was totally pointless to try and make new friends at a place like Prescott, and the weather here did pretty much fucking blow.
He did have friends, though. Didn’t he? Deacon, and Brandon, and… Okay, Deacon and Brandon. And Jim was a good stepdad. Just…
Didn’t it ever rattle Clare? That they were somewhere completely different? That she’d traded in their life to do what Jim wanted to do? What about feminism and all that? Clare had had a job back in Bundaberg, but as soon as Jim was transferred, it was, Okay, I’ll resign, and off to Pennsylvania.
What rankled the most about this whole situation was the fact that Mark had never been one of those kids. One of those date-my-mother-and-I’ll-make-your-life-hell kids. His dad had been out of the picture for so long that he was barely even a memory, so it wasn’t like Mark was on some weird Freudian quest to protect his territory or anything. He’d been nice to Jim, damn it. All, “Hi, nice to meet you” and “Yes, let’s do that small-talk thing.” He’d been grown-up all the way through—pointedly not thinking about his mother’s sex life with this American bloke, thanks very much—when suddenly he wasn’t allowed to be an adult anymore. Suddenly they were getting married, and he was moving halfway around the world with them, and nobody gave him a choice. Two years of good work down the drain; Mark had been turned instantly into a stereotypical whining teenager.
He smoked quickly and angrily, only making it through half the cigarette before he coughed, decided fuck this, and went back inside.
He took his seat across from Jackson again.
“And how are you enjoying Greek life?” Jim asked him.
Mark badly wanted to ask him if that was a euphemism, but Clare still looked disappointed in him. That rankled as well. They’d been on the same side once. “It’s…it’s different,” he said at last. That was certainly the truth.
Mark couldn’t resist looking at Jackson as Jim waxed lyrical about the benefits of fraternity life. Brotherhood. Honor. Some other stuff that Mark had tried to reflect on whilst swallowing picante sauce and half his throat lining. Jackson didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He just stared at Mark like he knew exactly what Mark was thinking, and thought Mark had brought it on himself.
Jim said something about brotherhood again.
“…and you boys,” he finished up.
What?
Jim smiled at him encouragingly. “You’re family now,” he said. “Not only cousins, but brothers, and I know you’ll look out for each other.”
Guilt stirred in Mark’s guts. Guilt that he wasn’t trying. God, it was impossible to hate Jim. Mark had tried to hate him, but sooner or later his earnest fucking goodwill just crept up on your anger and smothered it. Didn’t even give it a fighting chance.
So Mark smiled at Jim, promised his mother he was doing his best in his classes, and hit them up for money before they left.
“You can’t have gone through your allowance already,” Clare said, giving him a suspicious hug. The sort that might turn into a pat-down any second.
Allowance. She was calling it that now? Such an American word.
“I spent it all on drugs and prostitutes,” Mark told her. He’d been telling her the same thing since he was fourteen. He’d said it the first time to see if he could shock her.
“Fine,” she said. “As long as you’re not wasting it.”
Which had been her answer then as well. She had always been unshockable.
Jim laughed and pulled out his wallet.
Money for Mark, and a few bills for Jackson. Then more hugs, and an offer to drop them both back at Prescott.
“Nah, I’ll walk,” Mark said. After everything he’d eaten, it would do him good. Deacon was due back in a couple of hours, and Mark suddenly wanted to stay toned. And limber.
“I’ll walk with you,” Jackson said.
They waved Clare and Jim off.
“So,” Jackson said. “Your mom is kind of cool.”
“Fuck off,” Mark said. “You don’t need to pretend to be my friend now they’re gone. I can find my own way back to campus just fine, you know.”
“I wasn’t…” Jackson trailed off, then sneered. “Later, pledge bitch.”
Mark showed him his middle finger and made sure he picked another route back to campus.
* * * *
I have cash for a hotel.
Deacon looked at his phone and spent a moment wondering how he felt about Mark’s text. Being Mark’s fuck buddy…fair enough. Absolutely no argument there. But having some eighteen-year-old rich kid pay for a hotel so they could meet up and have sex in a bed like adults? It left Deacon feeling like one of them was taking advantage, but he wouldn’t be sure which one until he saw the Movie of the Week dramatization. Either Deacon was the older guy stringing along the pretty younger naive boy just because he had money, or Mark was slumming it, and Deacon was his good-hearted, rough-around-the-edges poor boy. Either way it would end in tears, melodrama, and running mascara.
Deacon dropped his bag on the floor of his room and read the text again.
I have cash for a hotel.
Fuck. On one hand, Mark might be everything Deacon wanted: fun, spontaneous, and with a sex drive that would put a bonobo to shame. On the other hand, there was a reason Deacon hadn’t made room for those things in his life. Because someone had to be reliable. Because when everything else fell through, when everyone else had abandoned her for Afghanistan or Michigan, someone had to stay for his mom. Someone had to be her one piece of solid ground when everything else was crumbling.
He needed Mark to understand that. And Mark might. Someone as spontaneous as Mark probably didn’t do boyfriends. And that would work out just fine for Deacon. Except for the part where he wanted Mark to stick around.
He texted back, Where are u?
Dorm.
Deacon glanced around. Matt was gone for the night, and James was in the basement playing table tennis.
Can you come to the Phi Sig house?
Might be unfair to ask Mark to do that. If the Alpha Delts found out, they’d be furious with Mark. Still, Deacon didn’t want to go to a hotel. He wanted Mark in his bed. He could always do the old tie on the door. God knew the Phi Sigs had plenty of ties.
Romeo, Mark texted back. Thou art as daring as thou art smoking hot.
Deacon grinned. Is that a yes?
Give me 15 min.
Come around the side away from Alpha Delt. I’ll let you in.
Do I look crazy enough to go in the front?
Deacon snorted. Yes.
Ok. Side door. See u soon.
James came upstairs while Deacon was waiting. Deacon almost groaned with disappointment.
“Hey, Deke,” James said as he entered the bedroom. “How was home?”
“Same as usual.”
“Your mom doing all right?”
“Yeah, she’s pretty good.” Just convinced we should go casket shopping for my perfectly healthy brother.
James grabbed a sweatshirt from his wardrobe. “Some of us are gonna go grab second dinner. You wanna come?”
“No, thanks. I ate. Um, and I hate to do this, but…would you be able to stay gone for a few hours?”
James looked at him curiously. “What’s up, Deke? You havin’ someone over?”
“Yeah. And, I mean, you don’t have to stay gone, but just, if I could have the room for, like, an hour or so…” Not nearly enough time with Mark. Maybe Deacon should have agreed to the hotel. He wouldn’t be able to invite Mark to stay over. Couldn’t even invite him to linger.
“Dude.” James shut the wardrobe. “Matt’s at A Phi for the night. And I can crash on the couch if you want the room.”
Deacon knew he ought to be polite and refuse, but fuck, he wanted to take James up on the offer. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I owe you one anyway,” James added. “You took the couch when I had Melissa over last month.”
“Seriously, James, thanks.”
“No problem. Just stay off my bed, okay?”
Last year Matt had fucked his then-girlfriend in James’s bed. James had yet to let it go.
“We’ll stick to my bed, I promise.”
“Sweet. Have fun, Deke. It’s been a while.”
Deacon almost protested that for all James knew, Deacon got laid all the time. But it wasn’t true, and Deacon kept his mouth shut.
Fifteen minutes later, Deacon let Mark in through the side door and ushered him past a group of guys watching TV in the common room. As soon as they were in Deacon’s room with the door locked, Deacon put his arms around Mark and kissed him awkwardly. It was only awkward for a second. Then Mark kissed back, and Deacon lost track of how long they made out.
When they parted, Mark said, “Is this gonna be some kind of five-door farce? Where you’re trying to sneak your mistress out a window as your roommate’s coming up the stairs?”
“We have the room all night, if we want it.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll make myself at home.” Mark shrugged off his hoodie.
“Thank you for coming,” Deacon said.
Mark grinned. “I haven’t come yet, mate. But I’d damn well better, after the weekend I’ve had.”
“What happened?”
“My mum and stepdad dropped by. Unexpectedly. Took me and cousin Jackson out to dinner. Jackson was an epic wanker; Jim was far too kind. And my mum was my mum.”
“Do you get along with your mum?”
Mark nodded. “And sometimes that’s the problem. I never really know what she’s thinking. She rarely says anything revealing around me, so I never say much about my life around her. We just…get along.”
“Oh.”
“It’s all right, though.”
“My mum—mom, I mean.” Deacon flushed at Mark’s grin. “She’s got OCD.”
“So she washes her hands a lot?”
“And thinks people are dead when they’re totally fine.”
“That’s rough.”
“She’s funny. And we’re really close. Just, she needs a little looking after sometimes.”
“Don’t we all?” Mark wasn’t grinning when he said it, but he drawled the way he did when he said something sarcastic.
“Anyway, we don’t have to talk about that,” Deacon said.
“Yes. Let’s forget our families and get down to this business of sucking, fucking, and, ah…arse spanking.”
Deacon felt a jumble of nerves in his stomach. They were actually gonna do this, then.
Mark looked around the room. “You’re cleaner than my possible future brothers.”
“It’s early in the year yet,” Deacon said. “Give us time. After all…” He wound his arms around Mark from behind and kissed his neck. “I can be pretty dirty.” He slid his hands down to Mark’s belly so he could feel the muscles move as Mark laughed and gave a low hum. Mark turned his head to brush his lips against Deacon’s cheek.
Deacon nudged Mark forward, and they both collapsed on the bed. Mark rolled onto his back and kissed Deacon hungrily. Deacon ran his hands up and down the front of Mark’s shirt, feeling Mark’s nipples harden under the fabric.
“That stuff you said on the phone,” Deacon whispered. “Were you really doing it?”
“Fuck, yeah, I was.” Mark gasped as Deacon brushed his left nipple again.
Deacon slipped his hand under Mark’s shirt, skimmed it over warm, damp skin, and pinched the nipple. Mark straightened his legs, lifting his hips off the bed. “You did this?” Deacon asked, tugging.
“Not quite that hard.” Mark’s voice was strained. “But yeah.”
Deacon pinched his other nipple and gave it a twist. Smiled. Then he pulled Mark’s shirt up as high as it would go and yanked it over his head. Took a moment to trace the grooves between and under Mark’s pecs. He sat back on his heels and pulled his own shirt off, then reached down and undid Mark’s pants, yanking them partway down his thighs. Mark’s cock was already pushing out the slit in his briefs. Deacon rubbed the bulge lightly with his palm. “When you came? That was real?”
“Yeah.” The word was barely more than a breath.
“You’re gonna come again,” Deacon promised, loving Mark’s groan as he trailed his fingertips down Mark’s inner thighs. “And this time, I’m gonna watch.” He peeled Mark’s underwear down and bent to take Mark in his mouth.
Mark gave a long sigh that seemed to fill the room, and every second it went on made it possible for Deacon to take Mark deeper. Deacon knew he wasn’t as skilled as Mark at this, but Mark didn’t seem to have any complaints. Mark fisted the sheets and grunted, twisting his hips in an effort to keep himself from thrusting into Deacon’s throat. Deacon laughed around his cock. Mark placed a hand on Deacon’s hair, petting him in quick strokes that matched the bobbing of Deacon’s head. “Oh God…shit… Okay, we have all night, remember, and I’m not…gonna…last…” Mark’s knees came up, his thighs tensed and quivered, but he somehow held off from coming.
Deacon released Mark’s cock. “Roll over,” he said.
Mark obliged. Deacon stared at his ass. This was the first time he’d actually seen it. It was pale with a little bit of gold hair, and slight dimples on the sides of his cheeks. He ran a hand over it, his cock hardening as he watched the muscles tighten and release in response to his touch. “Mark?” Deacon said softly.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got a nice arse.”
“Thanks. You gonna sit there talking about it, or are you gonna do something to it?”
Deacon took a deep breath. He was grown-up enough to say the words without blushing, wasn’t he? “Gonna spank it if you’re not careful.”
“Then why the hell would I ever want to be careful?”
Deacon grinned and raised his hand. There was a moment’s hesitation, a few seconds where Deacon wasn’t sure whether he could really do it. Then he brought his hand down, smacking the center of Mark’s ass. Mark’s breath hitched, but other than that, nothing much happened. The spot Deacon had slapped was barely pink. “Was that okay?” Deacon asked.
“Was what okay?” Mark asked, lifting his head.
“Uh, the way I did that?”
“Did you do something?”
“What do you mean?”
“I might be wrong, mate, but isn’t a spanking supposed to hurt a bit? You’ve got arm muscles; why don’t you use th—”
The crack of Deacon’s palm against Mark’s flesh made Deacon cringe—not out of sympathy for Mark so much as fear that the entire house had heard it. Mark bucked, and the pink patch that appeared on his right cheek was quite satisfying. “Better?” Deacon asked.
“God. Fuck. Yes. Better,” Mark said into the pillow.
Deacon spanked him again. Then again, fascinated by the way Mark’s ass quivered on each impact.
They heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, and the door to the room next to Deacon’s opened, then shut.
“We’re so loud,” Deacon said, rubbing Mark’s flushed skin. “You think they can hear?”
“Fuck ’em,” Mark said. “Keep going.”
Deacon swatted him again, but he couldn’t make himself do it very hard. He was worried about the noise. “Maybe if we get under the covers?” Deacon suggested, removing his pants. Mark kicked out of his jeans as well, and they climbed under the bedspread. “Maybe this’ll muffle it a little.”
“Not much swing room,” Mark replied.
Deacon tried spanking him again, but Mark was right—Deacon couldn’t raise his hand without it getting caught in the bedspread, and if he tried to hold the comforter up with this free hand, it was just awkward. Deacon called it quits after a couple of light swats and crawled on top of Mark, kissing across Mark’s shoulders. Deacon’s cock was hard, and he loved the sensation of rubbing it against the swell of Mark’s backside.
“Fuck yeah, that’s good,” Mark murmured.
Deacon repositioned himself so his cock was in Mark’s ass crack. Then he supported himself with his hands on either side of Mark’s shoulders and slid his dick up and down Mark’s crack.
“Yeahhhh.” Mark let out a long breath.
Deacon whimpered as Mark clenched his cheeks, creating hard mounds of muscle on either side of Deacon’s cock. Deacon licked the outline of Mark’s shoulder blade, then nipped the soft skin right above it. Mark began squirming, moving his hips in time with Deacon’s thrusts. They were both sweating, and finally Deacon threw the comforter off them, relieved to feel cool, fresh air. Mark wriggled onto his back under Deacon, and they continued rutting, rubbing their cocks together and panting in each other’s faces. Deacon felt his balls draw tight, and he leaned down so that he could be kissing Mark when he came.
Suddenly there was shouting outside. Deacon wanted to ignore it, wanted so badly to come, to watch Mark come too. But he recognized Matt’s voice, and Matt sounded furious. There was a loud thud. A couple of unfamiliar voices were shouting too. Deacon froze. Mark tensed under him.
“Shit,” Deacon said. “I don’t want to… But it’s Matt yelling.”
“Go see what it is,” Mark said. “Like I said, we’ve got all night.”
Deacon clambered off Mark and went to the window. In the front yard, Matt was facing off with two Alpha Delts. A small crowd had gathered, Alphas on one side, Phi Sigs on the other, along with random passersby strewn about. Riley, a sophomore Phi Sig, was trying to hold Matt back.
“Shit. Fuck. Balls. I gotta go down there.” Deacon yanked on his pants and stepped into his shoes. Mark was scrambling for his clothes as well. “I’ll be back, I promise.”
Deacon ran out the front door just as one of the Alpha Delts threw the first punch. It grazed Matt, who turned and nailed the second Alpha in the jaw. Then all Deacon saw was a blur of bodies, heard Riley yelling his name as he raced for the three fighters. The first Alpha Delt pulled Matt off his friend and threw him to the ground, but Matt was right back up, yelling, “Fuckers! You retarded, pansy-ass fuckers!”
“Matt!” Deacon shouted.
But it was too late. Matt drew back and punched the first Alpha full in the face. The guy staggered back, hands over his nose, blood pouring from between his fingers.
Deacon grabbed Matt and yanked him away. He could see that Matt’s cheekbone was bruised, and Matt was still screaming at the Alphas, who were screaming back at him. Moments later, a campus police car rolled up the Phi Sig driveway.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Matt. Calm down,” Deacon snapped.
“They started it!” Matt yelled at him. “Shoulda heard what they said.”
“Matt.” Deacon caught him by the shoulders. “Matt, it doesn’t matter what they said. You’re better than them!”
Jesus. Matt was easily the most volatile of the Phi Sigs. Too bad this shit had kicked off before he’d left for A Phi, because Matt was not the sort of guy who turned the other cheek. As he said before when things flared up with the Alpha Delts, he’d put up with asshole popular kids the whole way through high school. He wasn’t going to do it here as well.
“Fuckers.” Matt glared at the Alpha Delts. He raked a hand through his hair. “They put shit in our AC!” he yelled at the campus police officer.
“Shut up, Matt,” Deacon said. He turned his head as James came hurrying down the steps. “Let James sort it out.”
So much for his night in with Mark. Why, of all nights, did the Alpha Delts have to start their shit tonight when Mark was currently lying bare-ass naked between Deacon’s sheets? A bare ass that Deacon hadn’t had nearly enough time to explore. Deacon resisted the urge to look at his watch as the campus police began to ask questions.
He dug his phone out of his pocket and texted Mark: This could take a while.