Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
When Phoebe wakes up the next day, Marc is gone.
She expected it, and overall doesn't care all that much. She was the first to consider it a one night stand, so why expect more from him, really? It's not his fault he's ruined men for her. Well, it is, but it's equal part blame. She rolls on her back, sighing. The express shower she took last night didn't ease any of the muscle tenderness that overtakes her now. On top of that, she wet the bandage Moon Knight kindly put on her foot, and the one on her arm. Marc didn't ask any questions about it. She figures there wasn't exactly time to, anyway.
"He seemed nice." Phoebe falls off the bed, covers going with her. "I mean, you have bruises everywhere–"
"Don't you ever knock?" she cries out, pointing an accusatory finger at Zagreus.
He stares at her from the doorframe he's leaning on. "I physically can't. Seriously, though, did that guy devour you, or–"
She huffs, and raises the covers on her pajama shorts, ready to disagree. Her thighs, waist, hips are littered with the half-crescents of Marc's fingers. She can feel a dark blush spread all the way to her cheeks. Dear Gods. She wishes she wasn't as drunk as she had been. And that Zagreus wasn't here to see this, because he is a gloating champion.
"Was it Marc?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I bet it was Marc, I saw you go to Kass' bar."
"It's not Kass' bar."
"Don't evade my questions." He looks way too damn proud of himself.
Phoebe groans, and climbs back in bed, flopping on her belly. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Why? Was it bad? It doesn't look bad. You don't want to know how it looks."
"You are here to spite me, I know this."
"Actually, I'm here to be pretty, spiting you is just a plus." He sits on the bed, the furniture not even moving from his non-existing weight. "So..."
"It wasn't bad," she admits through gritted teeth. This is the most embarrassed he's ever made her feel after a one night stand, and it's not even his fault. "Jesus, it really wasn't bad. I'm taking the day off."
