He's Got a Love Like Woe - [Slash]

Chapter Eleven - Marking

 

*

Puck Cainly

 

Right. Okay.

     I rest my head against Theo's shoulder, trying to slow my breathing. He pecks my neck, affecionate for a rare moment.

      "Am I forgiven?" He asks after a moment, a smirk in his voice. I'm still a bit sticky, but the ice cream's practically gone.  

      "Shut up," I grumble against his shoulder. "We'd better go, before someone sees us."

     He stiffens, for a moment, then pulls away without a word. Before I can try and puzzle it out, though, he grins.

     He grins. Like, really, really grins.

     It's like a punch to the gut. The butterflies in my stomach start to tear viciously at my sides, almost painfully.

    His entire face is lit up, open without a blue gray shield to block everyone out. His hair is mussed, probably from recent...activites. (I blush at the thought.) His clothes are mussed an he looks so...human, with that huge smile on his face.

     I can't help but grin stupidly back.

      "You have hickeys all over your neck."  

     The grin falls from my face. "What!?"

       "Hickeys." His grin slowly becomes a smirk. "You have hickeys all over your neck. You do know what a hicky is...?"

       "Yes, I know what a hickey is!" I snap, shoving off the wall to button my shirt up properly. "I just can't believe that you did this! You know I have a sleepover with Caleb tonight--"

     That same, infuriating smirk stays in place. "Not my problem. If you had just stayed in the car..."

     I might punch him. I just, might, punch him. Like, straight in the face.

       "You...you..."

       "I have a meeting that I can't miss with my father. Let's go and get Jesse."   

     And he strolls off, leaving me staring at his back in disbelief.

As soon as we pull up to my house, I fling the door open and slam it as hard as possible, leaving Jesse behind. Without looking back, I stomp up the driveway and storm into my house.

     Because fate loves me so much, John is walking past, holding a sandwich and a drink. He looks up to say something, probably a greeting or a concerned inquiry. The words die a horrible death.

     And then, to my surprise, he starts to look absolutely livid.

       "Did he hurt you?" He demands, putting his plate on the steps and striding over to me. He's a good head taller than me, so he has to bend down to inspect the bruises. "Did that bastard put these bruises on you?"

     Realisation dawns. Oh.

        "Yes, but--"

       "I'll kill him. I knew he wasn't to be trusted, that fast driving--"

       "John--!"

       "Smooth talking, kiniving--you're definitly settling with Jesse after he's done--"