THREE WEEKS LATER:
𝗠averick sat down in the black visitor's chair off to the side of Eden's hospital bed. He slouched within it and gazed at the ceiling, counting the number of tiles it took up as he waited for her to come out of the bathroom and rejoin their conversation.
Ever since her overdose, she had been staying here. In turn, she suffered her weeks of withdrawals under the supervision of nurses and doctors – all wanting the best for her. After the desire to take more pills simmered, she was moved from the psychiatric holding rooms to a normal one.
He was admittedly very proud of how far she came, all things considered. When he found her scared out of her mind at thirteen, she had taken months to recover. As someone who was not unfamiliar with relapses during a job like his, he was amazed at how she bounced back. Everyone knows that the first round of addiction is the most thrilling, whereas the second round is impossible to back off from; there's that overwhelming idea that maybe one can't disconnect from the drugs.
Thankfully, his cousin wasn't like that.
At least, not so much that she was itching for a fix.
After another five minutes of sitting in this aimless position, he fixed his posture and sat properly, gazing at the thick wooden door of the personal bathroom. He wondered what the hell she could be doing in there, but she was a woman – maybe she had personal things to adhere to.
Letting his eyes lazily look over the room, he noticed a flower pot on the opposite side desk that had not been there earlier this morning. Pushing out of his seat, he rounded the bed and approached them. He thumbed a few of the petals lightly, understanding that they magically were Eden's favorite – Poppy's. There was only one person other than him that knew this information.
The bathroom door opened behind him as he found the card:
Feel better, D. I love you always – B.
"What are you doing?"
Maverick scoffed and flicked the card onto the table. If there was one thing Blaine was, it was persistent. He had tried numerous times over the last three weeks to come visit her – so much so that he made sure security didn't let him get past the front door. Call him overprotective or whatever, but wasn't about to let the same person who hid her addiction, console her and claim it love.
"Nothing," he turned, "Do you need any help?"
"No," she wrapped her hand around her IV pole and walked to the bed.
He tapped his fingers on the mattress as he repeated his steps and walked around it again, falling back into his original seat. He waited for Eden to snuggle back under her blankets and adjust herself before he started a conversation. Arguably, as she flicked her blonde curls over her shoulder, he acknowledged how much healthier she looked – and sounded.
Ever since healing properly and with medical care, her stutter has all but disappeared.
Sometimes she slipped up, though; probably a force of habit.
"How are you feeling?" he questioned, folding his hands in his lap.
"I feel good," she nodded, "So good – that I could go home."
He tutted, "Eden, y'know that's not going to happen."
"But why?" she crossed her arms, "I am fine."
"Yeah, you said that to me for weeks and I believed you – not a chance I will now."
"That's not fair."
"So be it," he shrugged, "I'd rather you hate me than be dead."
Eden mumbled something incoherent under her breath and fell back against the pillows, still holding up her guarded position. He felt bad for her, but the more he took in the lines sticking out of her veins and the oxygen tubes on standby, the less he did. She could whine all day every day about his need to go the extra mile and he would do nothing but listen.
Listen, but not react.
She was his only family; he wasn't going to let her slip away so easily.
"Eden," he sighed, moving to the bed, "I am only doing what's best for you."
Her light blue eyes stopped their act of defiance as they slid over to his face. Her fragile mouth dropped its look of betrayal and a breath slipped from it, signaling her giving up. She let her arms fall from her chest to the sheets of the bed; she picked at them.
"I know you are," she finally voiced, "I'm sorry."
"It's all okay," he confirmed.
"I know, but I really am," she claimed, "My addiction has gotten in the way of fighting with the team – I'm going away for in-patient recovery care, and the rest of you are going to attack the enemies without me. I can't help but feel like I let everyone down."
"You did nothing of the sort."
"But it feels like I did," she dragged, "I feel like a horrible person."
Maverick shook his head and grabbed her hand; he was careful to avoid hitting the tubes as he took it between both of his, wanting to warm it up and provide comfort at the same time.
"Understand this, cuz," he sighed, "Humans are bound to make mistakes – it's in our nature. It's how we learn. You are not defined by one bad thing that happened. You are so much more than that – all of the good things you've done to get to this point outweigh what you label as bad."
"I suppose."
He tapped her hand lightly and placed it back on the bed, standing up. At the same time, a vibration in his back pocket alerted him; he tugged his phone out and noticed a few messages from Mason. Frowning at a couple of them, he pushed it back into his jeans and faked a smile for Eden.
Supporting his body weight on his hands, he bowed and kissed her forehead swiftly, giving her the family backbone she needed in a time like this.
"I'll be here tomorrow to see you off if all goes well."
Over the course of the last three weeks, he's gotten insanely close to cracking the encryptions. And by close—he meant he was literally a step or two away from uncovering them. He wanted to be here to wish her a safe and happy recovery before she was moved to a three-week addiction program, but she knew the circumstances of their arrangement with the mafia.
Work unfortunately came first – especially so when Eden was physically healthy.
"Praying that you crack the codes instead of worrying about me," she punched his arm lightly.
"Yeah, yeah."
He went to back away when she grabbed his hand, stopping him. He lifted a brow at her in confusion, and the moment he saw her chest rise with breath inhalation, he already knew what she was going to say.
"No – don't ask."
"But Mav!" she whined, "It's already been three weeks!—you're really going to make me wait three more weeks before I can see him again?"
"No," he shook his head, "I'll make sure you never see him again."
"Yeah, good luck with that."
"A cousin can dream."
Eden deadpanned and tilted her head to the side, not at all amused with this game he was playing. Sighing and pulling his hand back, he let the question roll around the front of his brain.
Deep down he knew that Blaine never had the intention to hurt her or the rest of them. He knew that it was his first time dealing with addiction, and so listening to someone (Eden) who had dealt with it before, was likely his easier option, but it still stung.
As someone who studied to be a doctor before traveling to the United States, he expected more from him. As leader of their group – he expected him to take the initiative. To force her to go to rehab, rather than feed her Ginger Tea and hide the truth from the rest of them.
But – she loved him.
It wasn't his right to keep them apart forever.
"Fine. I'll tell him he can see you."
His mouth upturned as he watched Eden's face light up like a Christmas tree.
"Oh, really!?" she yelped, "You're the best!"
"Of course, I am," he boasted.
She rolled her eyes at him as he headed to the door. With a wave, he slipped out of her hospital room with full confidence that she was going to recover from this entirely. As he marched out of the building and into the hot, June air, he pulled his phone out again and drafted a message to Blaine, letting him know that his war-chief reign was over and he was safe to visit Eden.
As much as he led her to believe that he had a change of heart, that wasn't truly the case.
He just wanted the best for her, and going into recovery after having a last moment with her boyfriend under her belt was exactly what she needed. It wasn't about him, but he couldn't convince himself that he wasn't going to canvas and watch them once she was released.
****
Maverick threw open his bedroom door so hard, it clattered against the inside wall. He stood in the doorway with his head cocked ever-so-slightly as he looked at the boy in his bed. He did not move at all – he had been loud to make him do so, but it seemed like he planned for that.
Smart guy.
Grinning to himself, he closed the door and kicked off his sneakers, crossing the room to his bed. He stopped right in front of it; he reached down and ran his fingers through Mason's long black hair, loving how it flowed through his fingertips. He took note of the apple headphones that were jammed into his ears, playing music loud enough that he could hear it from his standing spot.
He was glad that he was here – he needed a distraction after the hospital trip.
"Mason," he said, shoving his shoulder gently.
There was no reaction.
Mav breathed a breath of annoyance; he grabbed the pillow that he was cuddling and yanked it from his grasp, watching as his headphones ripped out in the process. Mason's face twisted in faint pain. A few seconds later, he rolled to his back and opened his eyes – they looked anything but thrilled to see him. That, he was unfortunately used to.
"What?" he mumbled, groggy from sleep.
"Time to wake up."
"For what?"
"I'm bored," he shrugged.
Mason glared at him as much as a half-awake person could before shuffling over in the bed and taking the right side, instead of the left. Maverick took the open spot and plopped down, getting comfortable amongst the ruffled sheets; he couldn't help but wish they were messy from something else.
For a minute, the air was stiff and empty, but after that passed, it grew normal. Mason closed the small gap between them and rested his forehead on the back of his upper arm, his eyes closed. He listened to him breathe heavily as he ran his hands through his hair once again.
"What do you want to do?" he voiced after another pause.
"Sleep."
"All you do is sleep, Mason," he said, annoyed, "Let's do something else."
"Like what?—fuck?"
"I wouldn't be opposed."
"Of course you wouldn't," he replied, but his voice was too low for him to understand.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," he breathed, rolling to face the ceiling, "Forget it."
"Fine," he answered, "Let's move on."
Maverick placed his hand on his hip; he waited a second to see if he would move him away, and when he didn't, he slipped it underneath. The smoothness of his abs and the warmth of his skin felt like chocolate melting on the stove. He closed his eyes and happily explored his body without stopping.
When he opened them again, he acknowledged that Mason's eyes were closed too, but his head was tilted in his direction. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to his softly, willing a reaction.
Today must be a lucky day – because he didn't even hesitate to kiss back.
"Can we?—sleep together?" he tested.
"Dunno," he replied, "I'm not really in the mood."
"You're the one who suggested it."
"I was just saying what you were thinking."
Maverick angled his vision down to his hand; he slipped his pinky underneath the waistband of his boxers. All he did in reaction was move his legs a bit – his eyes did not open, and he did not force his touch away like he'd done in the past.
His body language was telling him that he wanted it.
"Are you going to stop me if I start?"
"Probably."
Ignoring that, and focusing on the physical instructions he was being given, he pushed off the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling him. Mason opened his eyes a crack and gazed up at him, not showing anything within them; Mav just leaned half of his body on him and supported the rest, nipping his parted lips with his own.
"I don't see you stopping," he mused.
"I'm really not in the mood, Mav," he blinked, "I mean it."
"I can get you in the mood."
"You say that a lot, yet every time you try, you fail."
"Give me another chance," he teased, kissing him, "Please."
There was a sliver of hesitation that crossed his eyes, but instead of acting on it, he shrugged his shoulders and relaxed his body. Maverick smiled like a kid at the candy store, happy that he was finally allowing them to go further than first base. He knew that he made his ex wait a while, but he didn't think he'd be so stingy about putting out.
He opened his legs with his knees, placing himself between him entirely. One of his hands moved from near the pillows, to his shoulders, down to his abdomen, sliding back underneath his shirt. He felt himself melting like a puddle in reaction to him again as he lowered his face and kissed him.
At first, it was light and airy.
Then, as the seconds calculated and Mason came to life, they grew harder. He spread his lips with his tongue, feeling the space in his jeans grow less and less the more their tongues slid against one another, desperate and needy.
Maverick pressed down on his hips as he pulled his mouth off and kissed across his jawline. He opened his eyes and watched the calm and ease on his face as he continued to tease him. He reached his ear – breathing through his nose, he latched his teeth around the edge of his lobe, tugging with just enough power that it stung him.
For the first time in weeks, Mason let out a breathy laugh; his hands moved onto his arms. He pushed against him, but not in the way that he wanted him to stop, but more as a reaction.
"Stop, haha," he squirmed, "C'mon, Kai, that tickles—"
Maverick froze at the same time Mason did; both of them listened to his words over again at the same time. Slowly, he backed away from the nook of his neck and lifted up to look at him. His face was three shades redder and his mouth was opening and closing like he had something to say, but he couldn't find the proper words.
"I-I—"
The more he struggled, the more he ran over the events.
Earnestly speaking, he didn't really care that he just said the wrong name. In fact, if he was thinking of that British tool while with him, it didn't matter, because it was still his mouth that had him squirming and laughing. It was his actions that had him wishing for more.
"Mav, I'm—"
"It's fine," he cut him off, "If you're into that, then I'm with it."
"What?—"
He interrupted again by placing his lips on his once more. He kissed him deeply, loving that he was kissing him back, albeit, the slight drawback in his head.
Hungry to not let this moment pass, he shifted in his spot and used his exploring hand to do exactly that; pushing his shirt up enough that he could feel without it being in the way, he let it cross each crater of his abs before he dipped it to his belt buckle.
"Maverick," he said sternly, "Stop it. I don't want to do this anymore."
"It's fine, Mason," he continued, "I don't care if you want to call me your ex's name—if that makes you get off, then I'm into it. There's no need to be embarrassed."
"That's not—"
"Shut up," he demanded, kissing him again.
Mason dipped his head even further into the pillow now, trying to move his mouth off of his with the sway of his head. He wasn't kissing back now, but he didn't care – that was the last thing on his mind.
Instead, all he focused on was the fingers wrapping around the leather straps of his belt, yanking it free. He focused on lowering his zipper and ripping the button from its placeholder.
"Did he touch you like this? Huh?" he said against his lips.
Maverick palmed his pelvis, lowering his fingers.
"—is this how he made you take it?—huh?"
"Get. Off," Mason growled.
He didn't listen.
He knew that he was just playing hard to get—that he was ashamed he couldn't get it up if he was lying in a bed that wasn't owned by his ex.
"C'mon!—I wanna see how he made you take it! I wanna see your slutty face as he shoved his cock up your ass—"
"Get the fuck off me!" he yelled.
Hands gripping his shirt, Mason tossed him so hard, that he lost his handling and fell off the bed with a smack. Groaning out loud, he sat up as he jumped off the bed and did his pants; he was shaking his head so fast, it was matching the rhythm in his fingers.
"What the hell is your problem?" Maverick glared at him.
That stopped him.
"My problem?!"
"Yeah," he pushed off the floor, "Yours."
"You're despicable!"
"I was just doing what you're into!"
"No," he shook his head and jabbed a finger into his chest, "You were thinking about you and only you. If you were thinking about me, you would have known that not for a second, would I be okay with you roleplaying as my ex!" Maverick watched as tears spilled down his cheeks, "You are so .. so .. fucked up!—for that."
Not wanting to talk anymore, he grabbed his phone and headphones and turned, heading toward the door of his room. He scoffed and crossed his arms, not bothering to follow him.
He could claim that he wasn't into it at all, but reality was, he was just feeling guilty. His tears weren't an act of altruism – they were plainly spilling because he refused to admit that he could think of the one he supposedly loved in such an unconventional way.
"I don't even know why I expected anything else," he shook his head in disbelief.
"Excuse me?" Mason looked over his shoulder, the door ajar.
"You always do this shit."
"Do what?"
He narrowed his eyes at the tone of his voice; why is acting so accusatory?
It's not like he did anything wrong.
"You come into my bed and then you leave me hanging dry when you think you've had enough. What about me? When are you gonna care about what I want?"
"I don't even know how to reply to something as sick as that."
"You lay in my bed, you put out," Maverick gestured with his hands, "Don't fucking sleep in it anymore if you're only going to fulfill half the agreement."
Mason's lip curled.
"Noted."
With that, he walked out, not hesitating to slam the door behind him.
Maverick ran his hands through his hair and let out a guttural sound, hating that this happened to him yet again—hating that he let it. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and turned, heading for his bathroom. He checked into Safari at the same time he closed the door, holing himself up inside of it until he got rid of the hard-on he left him with.
He walked over to the counter and threw his phone down, turning up the volume all the way. His eyes dulled as he scrolled to the porn account he'd been using for the last few months to get off; it was growing tiresome, the same old shit.
He preferred a storyline that teetered the lines of consent, and it seemed like this creator was one of the only few who actually did something like that. Their acting was decent enough and it was entertaining, but he was getting tired of looking at the same dicks fucking each other.
Still, he undid his pants and pulled his dick out, gripping the already hard organ with a closed fist. His eyes reflected the image he was watching as he stroked up and down, hand on the mirror, holding himself up.
He thought it may be enough, but when a minute passed and he felt his dick growing softer instead of harder and thicker, he slammed his palm against the glass and let out a yell.
It's not working!
It's not fucking working!
Mav slapped at his phone, watching as it tumbled into the sink without so much as a single care. All he wanted to do was get rid of his fucking erection, yet the more time passed, the more he felt like he was impotent—he was fucking twenty years old for crying out loud!
"Whatever," he whispered to himself.
Clutching his phone again, he knew that he just needed to find a new type of video to finish too. However, as he picked it up, he noticed that in his angry display, he had switched from the Safari app to Instagram.
His eyes lit up as Mason's username popped up in the line of stories posted.
Completely disregarding the bullshit quote he posted on it, he slid over to his profile and scrolled down. He was a rather private person, so he only had a few body pictures in his highlights, but that's not the picture he was wanting.
The only post he had on his actual feed was one he'd posted three months ago. Featured in it was none other than the infamous British ex; neither of their faces were showing, cut off at the jawline, but they were sitting on the ground, legs folded into each other, wearing nothing but shorts.
And suddenly, all of his problems were fixed.
This entire time, he thought he'd only been feigning for Mason, well, because he was a bottom and he was an easy target. But, realistically speaking, there has always been an appeal toward Kai as well. There was something that edged him in the way they shared sparing words that he didn't really acknowledge until right now, with his eyes pressed to his half-naked body.
Not wanting to waste this euphoric moment, he grabbed his dick and began to hand-fuck himself. He moved up and down fast, tight, and hard; he felt his stomach hollowing and his balls tightening as he kept his eyes glued to the picture. Desire ran its slick and needy hands over his body, swallowing him whole until his nerves reached their ends and his pleasure spilled out of his tip.
He watched the white cream cover the screen of his phone, splashing over their digital bodies.
A sly smile spread across his cheeks as he entered a floating state of happiness.
Mmm.
I found my new pleasure.