Pulp Friction: Atlanta

Starry Knight Chapter 3

Oh shit. We need to talk. Every man's worst nightmare.

Ben slowly zipped his backpack closed, and rose, moving off the side of the bed and pulling the dreaded blue chair of discomfort from its spot in the corner to the end of the bed. That way he could see Marcus but be far enough away when the ax fell he could grab his stuff and make a quick getaway.

He wondered what he'd done wrong. Maybe it was bringing the picture. It would remind Marcus one more time that he was trading down. Jeremy was a trauma surgeon, not a grad student cum prostitute. Or maybe it was the broken part, the poor rape victim who couldn't manage to open his heart enough to let this incredible man in. But the deal breaker was probably Ben's part in getting him shot.

His eyes started to burn. I don't want to lose him. The realization shouldn't have hit him that hard, but he was starting to have trouble breathing. His hands were shaking, and he clasped them together and put them in his lap so Marcus couldn't see. While his brain and body started to shut down, he fought his own reactions. Marcus deserved better than this. Better than him falling apart like some love-sick teenager mooning over her first crush, devastated when he looked right past her. He would take this like a man, letting Marcus go graciously, thanking him for keeping him safe and saving his life. He would—

"Whatever the hell you are thinking, Benjamin, stop it right now. Good God, man, I can smell the wires in that brain of yours frying from here. Now what the hell is going on with you?" Ben looked up, his thoughts crashing to a halt at the power and command of Marcus's voice.

The shiver that ran down his spine must have been obvious, because Marcus's intense stare softened and became something...more. Understanding. Gentle. Unable to stop himself, Ben blurted, "I don't want you to leave me. Marcus, please. I'm sorry. Don't send me away."

Marcus looked stunned. "Send you away? Why would I send you away? I love you, Benjamin. You are mine. Wait, did you think...I said we needed to talk and all you can think of is that I don't want you anymore?" He looked hurt, but then determined. "This just means I'm right. Goddammit, help me sit up. I can't figure out how to work this fucking bed." When Ben came over to help raise the head up, Marcus pulled him onto the bed, wincing a little at the impact. He forced Ben to lie beside him and wrapped an arm around him, holding him to his side.

"It's time you and I had a come to Jesus meeting, baby." He leaned his head against Ben's, maintaining contact but not looking at him. Ben was glad Marcus couldn't see the fear he was sure was written all over his face, and the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "Benjamin, I love you. I know you love me. Shh"—he patted his hand against Ben's chest when he tried to interrupt—"I'll listen when I'm finished. Fuck knows how long I'll be awake this time, and I don't want another pain shot just yet. So listen close. You're mine. I'm not letting you go anywhere. And that fucking job of yours? It's done too. And another thing, you're moving in with me. In fact, you can do that later today. I'll call Archer and he can get Zachary and that new kid they have, and Wick and, well, Chance can supervise. That leg of his...just let him think he's helping, okay?"

There was silence for a long moment. When it was clear Marcus was done speaking, Ben asked, "My turn?" At Marcus's nod, he spoke, not sure what he was going to say around all the emotions swirling in his heart. "Well, I love you too, you asshole. I mean, what else can I say to the man who jumped in front of me and took a bullet in his fucking chest for me? Really, I'd be kind of a dick if I didn't love a man who would do that for me, right?" Oh, anger, he could totally get behind that.

Opening the blast furnace in his chest, he let his fury and love and passion out to play. God, it had been years since he allowed himself to feel the beautiful darkness of grief and whatever the hell else was in there. He could almost taste it, it was so strong, like thick honey. "And then that same fucking hero, he lays there and almost dies," he wailed, the last word coming out like a bunch of thorny roses, sweet and cloying and ripping him into shreds. "Right there in my arms. It wasn't enough the love of his life died on him, no, he had to take it one step further and be my knight. Well, let me tell you something, Marcus fucking Prater, I love you and I won't give you away. You don't get to leave me like that, do you understand? You're mine. You promised. You told me I could count on you and that you were mine and I was yours and then you...no. No. No!"