We lay there holding each other while rain drummed outside. My bandaged arm throbbed between us. His cross hung heavy against his chest.
Every step brought us closer to death.
But Rafael's fingers tightened around mine, and I realized I'd rather die his than live another day pretendingto be someone I wasn't.
I woke up tosunlight and immediate regret.
Rafael was perfect, still asleep with one arm draped across my chest like he was afraid I'd disappear. The mistake was letting him fuck me like he was establishing a territorial claim that required maximum damage.
I sat up. Every muscle from my waist down staged a formal protest.
"Ow." The sound came out pathetic, barely more than a whimper. "Fuck."
Rafael's eyes opened, focusing on me. Concern crossed his face, though it might have been touching if I weren't currently experiencing what my body clearly interpreted as divine punishment. "You okay?"
"Define okay." My second attempt at standing went better. My legs cooperated… Mostly. I moved like someone who'd been thoroughly destroyed the night before, which was accurate.
He smiled.
"Don't," I warned.
"Don't what?"
"Don't look pleased with yourself."
Rafael sat up and stretched, the movement drawing attention to his chest, his shoulders, the lean muscle of his torso. The sheet pooled athis waist, and the outline beneath the fabric explained why walking was currently such a challenge.
"I'm not pleased with myself," he said, but his voice carried satisfaction, and he wasn't even trying to hide the smirk anymore.
Each step to the bathroom was a careful negotiation between pride and physics. My gait resembled something wounded and unsteady.
Behind me, Rafael made a sound. His fist pressed to his mouth, shoulders shaking.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No." The word came out strangled. He lost it completely then, and the sound of his laughter made me ache in a way that had nothing to do with the bite marks.
"I hate you," I said, but I was smiling too.
"No, you don’t."
He was right. I’d never hated him.
The bathroom mirror showed the full damage report. Bite marks on my neck, my shoulders, my chest… I looked like I’d lost a fight to something feral, which was technically accurate.
When I emerged, Rafael had pulled on his boxers and was making the bed. The domestic gesture was so normal, so couple-like, that it made my throat tight.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, not looking at me. "I didn't mean to hurt you that badly."
"Yes, you did." I crossed to him slowly, my body complaining with each step. "You meant every bit of it.” I touched the bandaged arm. The ache pulsed beneath the gauze. "Don't apologize for what we both wanted."
His hands stilled on the sheets. "Does it bother you? That I marked you permanently?"
"No, and that's what scares me."
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
We stood there for a moment, his hand on my face, mine still touching the bandaged arm. The morning light turned everything gold, softening the edges of what we'd done to each other. But the marks were still there. Still real. Still permanent.
