Just for Show

11. What Have We Done?

11. What Have We Done?

Mitch was sure he blacked out from the ecstasy of it all, as Scott's lips wrapped around him.

He should have been embarrassed of how quickly he finished, nearly screaming out Scott's name within no more than a few minutes as he finished deep in the blond's throat, his legs shaking.

But he didn't care. It was far too perfect to care.

Scott remained on his knees, eyeing Mitch with a combination of lust and something that Mitch couldn't quite read. Mitch had the perfect view of that handsome face, his tongue peeking out to run across his gorgeous, swollen lips.

"Take me to bed?" Mitch gasped, wanting nothing more than to take care of Scott's needs the way that Scott had just done so beautifully for him.

Scott nodded, standing slowly, and leading Mitch towards the bed. But he stopped short.

"You don't even know..." Scott began, his voice gravelly. Mitch's heart soared as he filled in those blanks with 'what you mean to me', 'how much I've wanted this,' and every other positive affirmation in the book.

"You don't know how much this costs..." Scott finished, scratching the back of his neck.

And now, Mitch wanted to die.

It was as though Scott had just slapped him across the face while simultaneously kicking him in the groin.

He buckled his pants, and disappeared into the closet, feeling like he might vomit. He returned a minute later, having retrieved his checkbook from the safe.

He scribbled on it, frantically, fighting tears, and held it out to the man who was frowning at him from the edge of the bed, his lips still beautiful and swollen, his eyes...

...blank.

Painfully blank.

"Here," Mitch croaked.

Scott stared at the check in his hand, his eyes still emotionless. He didn't reach for it.

"Take it!" Mitch cried out, his hand beginning to shake. "You want your money? Take it!"

Scott took it, maintaining eye contact with Mitch as he searched his face.

"You were here for four days. That's four grand. I gave you an extra two for the..." Mitch began to forget how to breathe, and gasped for air. "For what we just did. That has to be enough. I didn't know who the fuck to make it out to. You can fill that out."

Scott looked at the check in his hand before locking eyes with him again. "You're sure?" He asked, quietly.

"Yes I'm fucking sure, Scott. That's what you're here for, isn't it?"

He turned to grab pajamas from the drawer, turning back with a sneer. "I'm staying in Kirstie's room tonight. Goodnight."

And as soon as Kirstin opened her door with wide eyes, Mitch fell into her arms, letting himself fall apart there, as his best friend worried that he had officially lost his mind over this man.

And it was all her fault.

The next morning, Mitch felt like he had slept in a desert. His eyes were dry, and his throat felt like it was coated in sandpaper.

He found Kirstin perched on the edge of the couch, watching him with sad eyes.

"Thank you," Mitch muttered as she held out a glass of water. "Sorry to crash here. I couldn't... I couldn't face him. Not after he..."