Dylan found himself too tired to protest, too concerned to abandon Kaiden, and too curious not to spend the night in bed with Rus. Even in such a platonic setting.
“Just an FYI—I’m no fan of suffocating when I sleep,” Rus said, carefully lifting his shirt up.
Kaiden made his way to the bathroom and spent a few minutes locked away while Rus stripped down to his boxers. Dylan couldn’t help but glance at the skimpy, form-fitting boxer briefs.
“Oh, we’re just stripping down.” Dylan nodded approvingly, playfully—or at least he hoped it came across as such.
“We’re all grown-ups.” Rus gave a crooked smirk, then bit his bottom lip in the cutest way. “And honestly, I find it impossible to sleep fully clothed. Unless I’m like pass out drunk or some shit.”
“Too suffocating.” Dylan nodded.
“But you can totally sleep however you’re comfortable.”
Dylan noticed the reddish bruising with blue lining along Rus’ skin, mainly centered around his torso. It was a difficult sight to take in, the cluster of strikes.
“Does it hurt?” Dylan asked, immediately and perhaps instinctively stepping in closer. “It looks—”
“Worse than it feels,” Rus interrupted. “Trust me.”
“Was anything broken?” Dylan lightly traced his fingers along the bruising near Rus’ ribcage, almost grazing his skin, touching his battered flesh.
“Maybe my ego.” He snorted. “I figured five or six douchebags would be light work. Though that might’ve been the gin talking.”
“Or your fists,” Dylan teased. “You tend to talk with them a lot.”
It was an easy observation to make, considering Rus’ outburst over the summer landed him community service hours. However, if those pricks were half as foul as the men who attacked Kaiden tonight, then Dylan figured Rus made the right move. Even if it was the wrong reaction.
Dylan’s eyes wandered past the bruises, examining Rus’ exposed body. Rus’ pale skin made the vibrant tattoos pop all the more. For the first time since meeting Rus, Dylan had a clear view of all of them. There was so much more than the angry bi goose on his neck. Rus had a small pentagram on his chest with what looked like black flames around it. Then there was the sexy set of red lips right along the deep V-cut indent below his abdomen, barely visible above the elastic of his boxers. That one particularly drew Dylan’s attention, so he quickly averted his gaze to study the other tattoos. And yeah, Dylan had glimpsed the sleeve tattoos before but didn’t realize they ran all the way up his biceps, too.
“Wow, you really have a lot of tats.” Dylan eyed the half-naked woman on his right bicep who wielded a bloody knife and wore a skull mask as she lay sprawled out on top of a pile of bones, which stretched down to his forearm. Bright crimson blood splatter framed her black and white portrait.
Somehow, the right sleeve seemed much tamer than the left, which showed shadowy figures trapped in flames with a quote etched into Rus’ bicep. The letters looked carved, making Dylan shiver as he read the text. “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.”
“I’ve got a bit of an obsession.” Rus smirked, running his fingers over his ribcage, showing off the galactic star shower of a night sky tattoo. “This one hurt like a bitch, though.”
“I imagine they all hurt.” Dylan grimaced. He’d never cared much one way or the other for tattoos, but there was something cute about the way Rus seemed to paint his body with all the things he enjoyed.
“This one I barely felt.” Rus slapped his left thigh, revealing a brightly colored Harley Quinn tattoo. She held a bat and stood over a puddle of blood and green goop.
“What’s with the green…”
“She finally got fed up with the Joker,” Rus teased. “I need to add some flowers or plants or some shit to show she’s moved on and moved up from her previous relationship drama.”
Dylan snorted. “Wow. Okay. I liked the movie, I guess.”
“Noooo.” Rus shook his head. “I mean, they’re okay—whatever—but we gotta watch the show.”
“There’s a show?”
“Yes, hence why I got this version of Harley.”
“Oh, so a cartoon show.”
“Don’t be one of those basic, boring adults who are too good for animated shows.”
“No, no, they’re cool, I guess.” Dylan shrugged. He’d never really watched much television to begin with. Most shows he caught snippets of came from trending clips online.
“You got any tattoos?” Rus asked.
