Weak - 1. Weak

‘Hey, Jacob.’ Sami sits down next to him at the bar. She’s drinking JD and coke, and her short red hair is kept away from her face by several childish, colourful hair clips. ‘How’s tricks, then?’

‘Turning,’ Jacob replies with a wave of his whisky tumbler. ‘Like a hooker at a truck stop. What can I do you for?’

‘Just fancied a chat, really.’

Jacob examines her face with narrow eyes. Is she trying to flirt with him? No, she’s got that look, like a dog sniffing out a fox in its hole. She’s up to something. ‘No, you didn’t,’ says Jacob calmly. ‘Why don’t you get to the fucking point, Nancy Drew?’

Sami pretends she hasn’t heard him, and takes a sip of her drink before looking at him again. ‘So, you and Marcus,’ she says conversationally, ‘you’re fucking, aren’t you?’

Jacob blinks, and it takes him a second to fully realise what he just heard. Then he scoffs. ‘Where did you get that stupid idea?’

‘Oh, come off it, Jacob! It’s fucking obvious, isn’t it?’ Sami smiles. ‘And you know, being gay isn’t really a big deal in today’s climate. The LGBT Society here is huge, you know. I’m a support member.’

Jacob can’t help himself. ‘Just a support member, eh?’ He smirks.

‘Yeah, actually. Don’t get why you and Marcus don’t just come out. You would be a real power couple.’

‘Yeah, well, we’re not actually fucking, so, you know, fuck you.’

‘Yeah, you are. Anyone can see it. Sooner you admit it the better.’

‘Okay, listen to me, you vapid bitch!’ Jacob growls. ‘I’m gonna pretend this conversation never fucking happened, and if you tell anyone that it did, I will rip out your intestines and use them for a skipping rope, understood?’

‘Well, that was melodramatic,’ says Sami.

Jacob stands up, drains his glass and gives her a two fingered salute. ‘Fuck off, Sam.’

Sami smiles sweetly. ‘Likewise!’

Jacob turns his back on her and heads towards the exit.

‘The whole editorial team knows!’ she calls after him. ‘It’ll only be a matter of time before everyone else does too.’

* * *

Marcus stares at his computer screen. He’s been doing that for about half an hour now. His desk is piled high with books, binders full of notes, post-its and empty cans of Red Bull. He hasn’t written a fucking word. Now he takes off his reading glasses, tossing them unceremoniously onto his keyboard, and digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, exhaling heavily. He’s done the research, he knows what he’s writing, but it’s just not coming. It’s bad timing for writer’s block.

His mobile rings, and he stares at it where it lies buzzing on top of an intellectual property law textbook. Jacob’s name flashes on the screen. Marcus ignores it. He doesn’t have time for the little fuckwit right now. Putting his glasses back on, he turns back to his screen, thinking he should at least type in the title and come up with an eye-catching subtitle, and he continues to ignore Jacob’s incoming calls and no less than three texts. Then his phone falls silent, at last, and he believes for two whole minutes that he’s going to be left alone, but then someone starts pounding on his door.

‘I know you’re in there, Marcus! Your lights are on! Let me in, it’s important! I need to fucking talk to you, you washed out fucking loser!’

With an angry growl, Marcus stands up and stomps to the door, wrenching it open. Jacob pushes past him and sits down on his bed, fixing him with a glare. ‘Why don’t you fucking answer your fucking phone? I had to get that fucking Dutch exchange twat to let me in, can’t understand a word the bitch says!’

‘All right, what’s so fucking important?’ asks Marcus, crossing his arms. ‘What, did Glenn finally write a piece so bad that it actually fucking imploded the time-space continuum?’

Now that he’s actually in the room, Jacob looks uncharacteristically nervous, and he scratches the back of his hand absentmindedly, eyes cast down. ‘I, er . . . I was talking to Sami, down in the SU bar, and . . .’ He looks up at Marcus again. ‘She knows. About us. And she says the others do too and it’s only a matter of time before it gets out. I denied it, but . . .’

Marcus just stands there for a few seconds, staring. Then the full impact of this hits him, and for a moment everything hurts, because what he just heard Jacob say was, You’re not good enough and I don’t want people to know. And of course Marcus doesn’t want people to know either, he really doesn’t. He doesn’t want to fucking define this, give it a name, call Jacob his fucking boyfriend and hold hands in public. No fucking way.

So he says, with an air of having no fucks to give, ‘What do you mean, she knows about “us”? There’s no fucking “us”!’

Jacob frowns at him. ‘Well, what the fuck do you call what we’ve been doing for the past four months?’

But Marcus ignores him and presses on. ‘Just cause we fuck doesn’t mean we’re a shitting couple, does it? I mean, for fuck’s sake! It’s a fucking means to an end. We get off sometimes. End of fucking story.’

The look Jacob gives him then is enough to make a lesser man cringe, but Marcus doesn’t even blink. He keeps his face impassive, even as his heart is thundering in his ribcage. Betray nothing.

‘Well, fuck you then!’ Jacob explodes. ‘You stupid, fucking—you, what—what is your major fucking malfunction, you absolute fucking cunt?’ He stands up and advances on Marcus, fisting his hands in the front of his shirt, and for a moment Marcus thinks he’s going to punch him. ‘I knew you were fucking damaged, man, but this is just—Fuck you.’ He lets go, taking a step back, and stands there, in the middle of the room, gaze lowered to the floor and hands balled into fists, and he looks like he’s shaking. ‘Fuck you, Marcus.’ And he steps around him, opens the door and is gone.

Marcus means to say his name. To shout after him, make him come back. But he doesn’t. Jacob’s name dies on his lips and he’s left wondering what just happened and what the fuck he’s gone and done.

* * * 

Jacob lights a fag with shaking fingers and inhales deeply. Nicotine can fix this, he thinks. Nicotine and maybe some booze. He has a half bottle of cheap whisky at home. It’ll do. It’ll have to fucking do. He walks briskly towards the bus stop, trying not to think, trying not to see Marcus’s cold face swimming in front of his eyes.

He’s been happy not to put a label on it. Who needs labels? Who needs any of that baggage? But for over four months now they’ve been having fun, enjoying each other, looking out for each other, and for fear of sounding like a fucking girl, Jacob feels a very real and very deep sense of companionship with the skinny fucking twat. Companionship and affection. He feels it in his gut, whenever he sees him, whenever they talk, banter, shout at each other. They’ve fought, about stupid, little shit, and it’s always led to amazing sex and a new level of intimacy, none of which they’ve felt the need to define. They just are, as if they’ve always been.

Fucking Sami and her big mouth. Why’d she have to come along and spoil everything? And fucking Marcus, who’s so damaged and blind and fucking stupid. What’s he trying to do? Keep his masculinity intact? Preserving some relic from his Catholic upbringing?

Jacob has been out since college. He was never really one for relationships, but at some point he defined himself as gay, because it was required of him to do so, and that was fine. No one cared around here. But from what little Marcus has actually shared about himself, he probably didn’t have it so easy. Jacob is far from his first, that much is obvious, but Marcus has probably never been properly out.

He’s smoked his cigarette down to the filter (a comedian he used to love echoes in his brain, ‘The filter’s the best part, that’s where they keep the heroin!’), and drops it in a puddle. For the first time in a very fucking long time, Jacob wants to cry. Instead, he’ll go home, drink some whisky, and have a wank. A regular fucking Thursday night in. No one will be any the wiser.

* * *

Marcus does pick up when his mother calls. She does that more frequently now than she used to. Sometimes he feels horribly guilty that he doesn’t visit her more often. She must be so lonely now. It makes him even more determined to work hard at his degree. She’s going to need all the financial help she can get now.

‘How’s work coming on your dissertation?’ she asks.

‘Oh, you know . . . It’s coming.’ It’s a lie. Most of his weekend was spent staring at his screen and playing with smart putty, and he hates himself for it.

‘That’s wonderful!’ she tells him, and he can hear the swell of pride in her voice. ‘You are doing so well, dear! Just don’t work too hard. Don’t forget to take care of yourself! I hope you find a nice girl to look after you when you’ve finished your degree.’

‘Yeah . . .’ Marcus clenches and unclenches his fist. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, ma, editorial meeting’s starting soon.’

‘Oh, of course! Good luck, sweetheart!’

‘Ta. Bye!’ Marcus hangs up.

A nice girl . . . He has no idea how to tell his sweet, very Catholic mother—the mother who could never have any more children after him, and who always wanted a daughter, and who desperately longs for grandchildren—that he prefers men. He supposes he should count himself lucky that his father never passed that particular part of their last conversation onto her.

He sighs, scratching the back of his head. If push comes to shove, he could probably intimidate Fiona into marrying him and popping out a few babies.

Five minutes into the meeting, he scraps that idea, as the female in question has caused another fucktastrophe with the layout of this week’s edition. Graphic design student or no, this is the last time he lets her anywhere near the final book and she should count herself lucky that he doesn’t tear out her eyes and skullfuck her to death. He tells her as much, and she runs away in tears.

The last thing anyone expects is for Jacob to rise to her defence. He aims several choice phrases at Marcus, and then dashes after her. Marcus is left dumbstruck. He thought that he was going to be able to handle facing Jacob. He thought that he would be able to treat him the same as ever. But now he stands here, watching Jacob’s retreating back, and he hasn’t a single word to say.

‘What, aren’t you going to drag them back in here by the hair and make them lick the floor or something like that?’ asks Sami when Marcus simply turns to Glenn with the next point on his agenda.

‘What the fuck for?’ Marcus snaps at her. ‘They both know that either they come back in here and do their fucking jobs or they’re off the team.’

‘But . . .’ Sami seems to hesitate, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face and glancing in the direction Jacob and Fiona disappeared in. ‘But, it’s Jacob.’

Marcus only stares at her for a couple of seconds. Then he erupts like fucking Vesuvius. ‘Why the fuck should I give two shits about anything that psychotic fucking blood soaked cuntrag of a cockarse does or doesn’t do beyond his fucking job at this paper? Or that vapid fucking empty-headed imbecile of a whore you call a best friend? Fuck the both of them! In fact, fuck the fucking lot of you if you don’t start focusing on the task at fucking hand, okay? We’ve got a paper to fucking put out! Now focus, or I will fucking gut you and eat your livers! I’ll make Hannibal fucking Lecter look like a nursery school teacher when I’m fucking finished with you, you fucking fucks!’

Glenn has made himself as small as he can and is cowering in his chair, but during Marcus’s tirade Sami has folded her arms across her chest, leaned back and raised an immaculately plucked eyebrow at him, and now she stands up.

‘Listen, you,’ she says softly. ‘We put up with your shit because you are a fucking brilliant editor in chief, but I have just about had it with your bollocks. Whatever your issue is right now, sort it the fuck out or fuck the fuck off, because I am so done with your theatrics. Don’t think for a second that you can bully me, Marcus!’

Marcus blinks, and swallows. ‘Right.’ He picks up his jacket and his notes. ‘Fine. I have a dissertation to write anyway. Good luck putting out the paper without me.’ Then he turns his back and walks away.

When he reaches the stairwell, he slides down to the floor. He stares at his hands. They’re shaking. He hasn’t eaten all day. And now something seems to be pressing at his throat. Something hurts, somewhere, in some part of his body he can’t easily define. Everything’s fucking unravelling. He takes a few deep breaths and stands up. Copyright and the free web. Copyright and the free web. That’s what he should be focusing on. Copyright and the fucking free web. Everything else can wait. Everything else is fucking irrelevant.

Everything else is shit.

* * *

‘Thanks,’ says Fiona, wiping away her tears with her sleeve and tucking her dark hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t really get why you’re trying to comfort me, though . . . I thought you worshipped Marcus.’

They’re sitting on the floor of the accessibility toilet, and Jacob has an arm around her shoulders. It’s closer than he ever imagined himself being with Fiona, but then at the moment he’s further away from Marcus than he’d ever imagined he’d be, too, figuratively speaking.

He shakes his head, electing to ignore the last bit of her sentence. ‘He was totally out of order. So you made a mistake, big fucking deal. Doesn’t mean he has to threaten you like that.’

‘Yeah, but you’ve said worse things to me than that.’

Jacob is spared having to think up an explanation for that by Sami’s appearance in the doorway. ‘Marcus fucked off,’ she says. ‘God, he’s always been a bit . . . But I think he’s seriously unhinged.’ She glances at Jacob. ‘Did you two have a fight or what?’

‘Fuck off with that shit, Sami!’ Jacob spits. ‘Look, there’s nothing—I mean, we’re not—’

‘Not fucking. Fine. Whatever you say.’ Sami rolls her eyes. ‘Anyway, you should probably run the meeting, Jacob. With Marcus gone, you’re the one with the most experience.’

Jacob nods. ‘Yeah, okay. Come on, then, Fiona. Let’s go be fucking useful, eh?’

  * * *

Marcus writes, and he works, and he writes. He drinks Red Bull and coffee and pops caffeine tablets and seriously considers taking speed. He barely sleeps, and doesn’t really eat, and by May he’s exhausted and emaciated and pretty sure he can detect the early warning signs of paranoid fucking schizophrenia. He’s hardly seen people, let alone the sun shine, in weeks.

He hasn’t spoken to Jacob in a month. The annoying little arseleakage tried to call him a few times in the beginning, but seems to have given up. That’s just as well. Marcus doesn’t have time to think about him. Doesn’t have time to deal with any of this shit. The deadline for his dissertation is rapidly approaching, and he still has an exam to sit after that before he can finally walk out of this clusterfuck of a university with a Bachelor of Law.

When he has a moment, though, Marcus checks the campus paper website, and, upon discovering that it hasn’t gone completely to hell, feels a mixture of annoyance and pride.

It’s nine o’clock in the evening on a Wednesday. He’s been to Tesco for fresh supplies and is walking across the Circle towards Block C when he spots Jacob, outside the Student Union, smoking a fag and talking to Fiona, of all people. He says something and she laughs, taking his cigarette from him and putting it to her lips, taking a slow drag, before returning it.

Marcus couldn’t say why this angers him so much, but he stops and stares, unable to help himself. Now Jacob has his arm around Fiona’s shoulder and kisses her cheek, and she giggles. The gesture seems so very intimate. Then Jacob coughs, and Marcus is hit by a strange mixture of wanting to run over there to check that he’s okay, and of wanting to punch him in his smug face.

He is spared from having to make up his mind by Jacob suddenly looking up and spotting him, and he furiously spins on his heel and sets off towards Block C at a brisk pace. When he hears his name being called he walks faster. Thundering footsteps echo behind him, and he breaks into a run. He has longer legs and better lung capacity than Jacob, and soon he’s let himself in and is rushing up the stairs, the instinct to flee stronger than he’s ever felt before.

When he reaches his destination, he tosses the bag full of crisps, chocolate and Red Bull on the bed and sits down on the floor, shaking.

* * *

‘Marcus, you wanker!’ Jacob slams his fist against the door to Block C. He got there just as the door slammed shut, and now he leans his forehead against the glass, swearing softly under his breath. He’s a little drunk and a lot angry.

It’s been easy to ignore everything that’s happened as long as he hasn’t been forced to see Marcus, but enough is fucking enough. Seeing him standing there in the middle of the Circle, looking at him, seemed to tear a hole somewhere. He needs to fill it, and the only way he knows how is to get face to face with Marcus again. He doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s going to happen once he does. He hasn’t planned that far ahead.

‘Haven’t seen you in a while,’ says a voice behind him, and Jacob turns to find Daniel, Marcus’s flat mate, looking at him, arms crossed and head cocked to one side. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘You’ve got to let me in, mate!’ Jacob pleads. ‘I need to talk to Marcus.’

Daniel shakes his head. ‘Fuck, no. From what little I’ve seen of him, the bloke’s stressed out beyond belief. If I let you in to harass him he’ll tear out my fucking spine.’

‘And if you don’t, I’ll tear off your bollocks and use them as fucking maracas!’ Jacob shoots back. ‘Please. I’ve just, I’ve got to talk to him. It’s fucking important!’

Daniel rolls his eyes. ‘Fine,’ he says at last. ‘Just keep it down when you get to the fucking, yeah? He’s not the only one who’s got work to do.’

Jacob doesn’t even bother denying it and follows Daniel inside and up the stairs. Once he’s inside the corridor, he hesitates outside room 217. He feels like he should have a plan, something to say, some semblance of an idea, but then he realises that Marcus is in there and something clenches around his guts like a live squid and he raises his hand and starts knocking. No answer.

‘Marcus, let me in, you fucker!’ Jacob bellows, ignoring his earlier promise to Daniel about keeping it down. ‘I need to fucking talk to you, you fucking shit covered twatflap! Let me the fuck in before I knock your fucking door down!’

There’s a noise from within and the door is opened, slowly. Jacob is taken aback by the sight that meets him.

Marcus looks, somehow, much smaller. His green eyes have a dull sheen to them, and his hair is unwashed. He’s even skinnier than usual, which is quite a feat since the bastard was borderline anorexic before. Seeing him like this, looking so fucking defeated, breaks something inside Jacob’s chest into a million pieces and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he pushes Marcus inside and shuts the door and proceeds to stare at him for almost a full minute.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ asks Marcus at last, breaking the silence.

‘Marc, you look fucking terrible,’ is all Jacob manages to say.

‘Yes. Thank you. Now fuck off.’

Jacob stays where he is. ‘Are you—’

But Marcus interrupts him and says, ‘You and Fiona looked very fucking cosy out there.’

Jacob stares at him, incredulous. ‘Are you insinuating what it sounds like you’re fucking insinuating? Because if you are I might have to look into having you fucking sectioned! Are you fucking mental?’

Marcus clenches his fists, and there’s a moment of intense, tangible quiet before he explodes. ‘What the fuck are you even doing here, you psychotic fuck? I haven’t got time for your fucking bullshit, all right? I have a deadline to meet, and I have work tomorrow, and I can’t be fucking bothered with your fucking shit, all right? Get the fuck out and leave me the fuck alone!’ He advances on Jacob and pushes him back against the door, and fucked up though it may be, Jacob feels a stirring in the pit of his gut because this is the closest they’ve been in weeks and he just wants to kiss Marcus.

Marcus shakes him roughly. ‘What do you want? Huh? What do you fucking want from me?’

And now Jacob really does kiss Marcus, but Marcus, blinded by rage, pushes him back against the door again with his elbow at his throat. ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’

‘All right, then, just hit me!’ Jacob roars. ‘Get on with it, you twat, and fucking hit me!’

There’s a moment where they both just stare at one another, frozen in time.

‘You want me to fucking hit you?’ Marcus asks very softly.

‘Yes,’ says Jacob, equally softly. ‘If you won’t do anything else, just hit me. I can see you want to. So do it.’ He fists his hand in Marcus’s shirt and whispers, ‘Do it!’

And then Marcus does the cruelest thing he possibly could. He lets go of Jacob, takes a step back and says, ‘No.’

With a growl of frustration, Jacob throws himself at him and knocks him to the floor. They fall right on top of a multipack of Quavers, which bursts open sending several little yellow packets flying everywhere. There’s a struggle, of limbs and fists, and then Marcus is clutching at his cheek and wincing in pain because Jacob just punched him in the face. He retaliates, furiously and without mercy, landing two well-aimed punches in quick succession, one to Jacob’s gut, knocking the wind from his lungs, and one to his jaw.

Jacob’s lip has split open and is bleeding all over the carpet, and he’s doubled over and moaning in pain, feeling like an enormous ponce but deeply and terribly turned on. The scuffle has ended, and Marcus is sitting on the floor a few feet away, rubbing his cheek and muttering profanities. His shirt got torn in the fight.

Drawing a gasping breath, Jacob sits up and makes several rattling coughs. Getting the breath knocked out of him like that seems to have caused his asthma to flare up, and he pulls his inhaler from his pocket.

‘Fuck . . . Are you all right?’ Marcus asks sharply, and when Jacob doesn’t immediately answer he’s by his side in seconds, stroking his back as he coughs.

‘I’m . . . I’m okay,’ Jacob finally manages. Marcus doesn’t move away. Jacob takes another deep breath, and it comes easily enough now, so he dares to look up at the man sitting next to him. ‘What the fuck happened, Marcus?’

Marcus shakes his head, rubbing his stubbled chin with his palm. ‘I don’t fucking know . . .’ He sighs. ‘God, you’re such a fucking—do you know how annoying you are?’

Jacob almost laughs. ‘Yeah. I know.’ He tentatively rests his head on Marcus’s shoulder and is happier than he can express in any sort of language when Marcus doesn’t push him away. He licks his lips. They taste tangy and metallic, but the bleeding’s mostly stopped. Then, for lack of anything better to say, he says, ‘I’ll suck you off if you like.’

Now Marcus actually laughs, shaking his head, and looks down at him, and his expression is almost fond. ‘Yeah, go on, then.’

Jacob slides down so he’s lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, and undoes Marcus’s trousers. Marcus shifts a bit, pulling them down along with his pants, and Jacob takes a hold of his cock, which is half hard already, stroking it a couple of times before licking the length of it. He’s missed the taste of his lover. Marcus curls his fingers into Jacob’s hair and pulls, and Jacob moans softly.

Marcus, as usual, is utterly silent, but Jacob can tell from his movements and his breathing that he’s enjoying himself. He handles Jacob roughly, just the way he likes it, hand gripping the back of his neck. When he comes, it is without warning, and Jacob swallows it down and licks him clean. He sits up, wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve, and Marcus grabs the back of his neck and pulls him towards him, kissing him, hard. He doesn’t go easy on Jacob’s split lip, and the kiss feels delightfully sore. Marcus emits a soft groan that goes straight to Jacob’s cock. Then he latches onto Jacob’s throat like some kind of enormous fucking leech, and Jacob hisses softly.

Before Jacob even realises he’s said it, he’s murmured, ‘Fuck, I’ve missed you!’

Marcus stops at once, pulling back and glaring at him. Then he gets up, and pulls Jacob to his feet, throwing him face first down onto the bed. He traps Jacob’s hands behind his back and straddles his arse, leaning forward to bite the back of his neck possessively. Jacob can feel Marcus going hard again, the heaviness of his cock resting on the back of Jacob’s thigh. He feels Marcus’s hot breath in his ear as he hisses, ‘You little shit! Why’d you have to fuck everything up, eh?’

‘You—’ Jacob gasps, ‘you were the one who said you don’t give a fuck about me!’

‘Well, you’re the one who just left!’ Marcus snarls. ‘I fucking hate you!’

Through the pain in his wrists, Jacob manages to laugh softly. ‘Yeah. I fucking hate you too.’ He shifts a little. ‘Ow, you’re so bony! Someone needs to feed you . . .’

Marcus ignores him. He lets go of his wrists and now he’s pulling down Jacob’s trousers and his pants, and inserting a long, thin finger so far up Jacob’s arse that he can barely breathe. With his other hand, he grabs Jacob by the hair and pulls, hard, and Jacob fucking whimpers, like a little bitch.

‘You are a fucking useless little shit!’ Marcus tells him. ‘Right? This is all you’re good for, just a tight hole for me to fucking use! Right?’ He pulls harder at Jacob’s hair, and Jacob’s never been so hard in his life.

‘Yes!’ he gasps.

Marcus lets go of his hair and pulls his own trousers a bit further down. He lubes himself up and positions himself behind Jacob, lifting his hips up with his arm and pushing inside. Jacob shuts his eyes tightly, relishing the feel of Marcus’s hard cock in his arse once more. It’s almost like it’s the first time again, only this time Marcus leans down and whispers in his ear, ‘This is all you are. And you’re mine!’

Marcus is all the way in now, and he lies still on top of Jacob, while Jacob struggles to comprehend what it is Marcus actually just said. Then Marcus pulls out again, and Jacob turns over on his back and stares up at him. Marcus is thin and wiry and strong and full of fury and so ridiculously beautiful just then. Without another word, he leans down and kisses Jacob again, fucking his mouth with his tongue, and Jacob thinks he might come just from that, because it’s never felt so intense before, just being kissed. (His mind wanders briefly to a moment back when he was thirteen and he and another boy had been kissing for a really long time and the boy looked at him with wide eyes and said, ‘I think we just had oral sex!’)

Marcus removes the rest of Jacob’s clothing while he kisses him, and then his own, and then they’re both naked, and facing each other this time.

And while Marcus slowly inserts himself into Jacob once more, he murmurs through gritted teeth, ‘Don’t you ever fucking leave me again, you useless twat, because you are mine and if anyone else tries to have you I’ll smash his balls and yours! Whatever happens, you are fucking mine, and I—fuck!’ he groans, pulling out a bit and thrusting in again. ‘Fuck, Jacob, I fucking need you!’

Jacob doesn’t want to hear anymore, doesn’t know how he can take it in, and he reaches up and grabs Marcus by the back of the neck and pulls him down to kiss him. They work up a familiar rhythm, and there are fingers squeezing a bit too firmly and teeth biting a bit too hard, and Jacob’s body is awash with sensation. And just as he comes he thinks a couple of really stupid thoughts that shall never, ever be repeated.

* * *

Marcus has never felt quite so naked or quite so vulnerable as he does now. Not even when his dad died and Jacob came over and fucked him into oblivion. Now he’s lying with his head on Jacob’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing, and Jacob’s cum, smeared between their stomachs, is starting to get cold and sticky. He’s just told Jacob that he needs him. Marcus has never told anyone that he needs them before. Additionally, Jacob is unabashedly stroking his hair and his back and kissing the top of his head, and it feels unspeakably intimate. Marcus is terrified.

‘You okay?’ asks Jacob. Marcus nods, nuzzling at the dark, curly hairs of Jacob’s chest. Then he props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Jacob’s brown eyes, swollen lip and floppy dark hair. The boy is looking thoroughly debauched. Marcus frowns.

‘What happens now?’ he asks after a few moments.

Jacob shrugs. ‘I dunno.’

‘People know we’re fucking.’

Jacob smirks. ‘I think everybody knows we’re fucking. Including all your flat mates, by the way.’

Marcus tries not to panic at this news, though he supposes he should have already known. ‘So . . .’ He hesitates in asking his next question. ‘So, what are we then?’

‘Does it matter?’

For the first time in what feels like weeks, Marcus allows himself to actually smile. ‘No.’

‘Then who cares?’ Jacob puts both arms around him and pulls him down on top of him to deliver a kiss to his lips. It’s far gentler than it has any right to be, but this time it doesn’t bother him and it doesn’t seem to bother Jacob either.

When they break apart, slightly breathless, Jacob strokes Marcus’s cheek where he punched him earlier, and Marcus winces slightly.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Jacob, and Marcus doesn’t think he’s just talking about his cheek.

‘Me too.’ Marcus strokes Jacob’s swollen lower lip with his thumb, but he’s talking about more than their fisticuffs, too. He feels a strange urge to do something silly and cute, like kiss Jacob’s nose or something, but gets over it almost as soon as he’s thought it. Instead he kisses Jacob’s lips again before lying down with his forehead in the space between Jacob’s throat and shoulder.

‘Good work with the paper, by the way,’ he says after a little while. ‘I’ve been reading the web edition . . . You’re not fucking up completely without me.’

‘It’s not for lack of trying,’ Jacob murmurs. ‘Sami’s good, but she keeps trying to push some agenda or another. Fiona can’t really write for shit, as you know, and Glenn’s a fucking train wreck. And the new guy we got hold of, Frankie, from Music—actually, he’s quite promising,’ he finishes lamely. ‘But I suddenly get why you were such a miserable fuck all the time. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in coming back?’

Marcus scoffs. ‘Have you gone completely deranged? Between writing my dissertation, studying for my exam and fucking you senseless, where would I get the time?’

‘You don’t always have to be the one doing the fucking, you know.’

Marcus pauses, weighing his words. ‘No, but you love it when I do.’

‘This is true.’ Jacob chuckles. ‘Just . . . Try to eat every once in a while? Cause you’re looking even more like a human skeleton at the moment than usual, and you’re no good to anyone like that.’

‘Yes, mum. D’you wanna read me a bedtime story and fucking tuck me in as well?’

‘Once upon a time,’ says Jacob, ‘there was a really angry king who lived in a tower—’

‘Oh, shut up, Jacob!’

‘—and all he ever wanted to do was fuck one of his advisors, but he was too angry and too thick in the head to ask—’

‘Seriously, shut your fucking cake hole or I will glue it shut!’

‘—so the king’s advisor had to be the one to make the first fucking move. The king was such a stupid, maladjusted, anorexic cunt that when the advisor finally did make a move he lost his shit like some pissed off child and threw a fucking tantrum and—’

‘All right, that’s fucking enough!’ Marcus grabs Jacob’s arms and gathers both his wrists in one hand, holding them above his head. That’s as far as his plan goes, however, and he has to improvise. For lack of any better ideas, he kisses Jacob again to shut him up. Miraculously, it works. It works so well that they both start to get hard again.

Before getting started on round two, Marcus looks down at his lover and hesitantly says, ‘Jacob? You know, I—’

‘Fuck off, you twat.’ Jacob is smiling. Marcus smiles back.

He’s still angry and damaged and miserable. He knows that. They both are. But as Jacob reverses their positions and gives his nipple a nibble that’s just the right side of painful, Marcus thinks that maybe they don’t have to be angry and miserable all the time. Maybe, just maybe, this can be okay.