Textual Confusion

13. Im coming over.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I'M COMING OVER.

Asher had a problem.

Asher had a lot of problems, actually, most of them revolving around the unrequited feelings he had for a certain billionaire CEO, otherwise known as his sugar daddy/employer/pretend boyfriend. AKA Markus Kingston.

But this problem was different.

It’d been nearly a week since Asher had gone with Markus to meet his parents at their house (mansion) on Mercer Island. He’d had a wonderful time, and he’d been sleeping over at Markus’s apartment every night since then. (Not to mention the daily banter they engaged in via text.)

It was just… someone else was messaging him, too.

Not just any someone either. His ex, Trent, had been blowing up his phone day and night – similar to the way he’d initially responded when Asher had walked out on him all those months ago.

It was the reason he’d had to get a new phone number – which, in a roundabout way, meant Asher had his ex to thank for meeting Markus.

But Asher couldn’t bring himself to be grateful. Not when he was being called a “ pathetic whore ” and “ ungrateful bitch ” on the regular. The texts he received ranged from drunken, wrathful rants, wherein Trent called him every nasty name he could think of, to paragraphs professing his love, begging for another chance, saying how much he missed Asher – loved him, even.

It was bullshit, obviously. No one called anyone they loved a “ cum-guzzling gold digger ”.

The entire situation made Asher sick to his stomach if he thought about it too long, so he tried not to – think about it, that is. That morning, however, he’d made the mistake of forgetting to put his phone on silent, and it’d been pinging away in his bag for the past fifteen minutes.

Unfortunately, Asher was working with a temperamental chocolate ganache and wasn’t able to step away until all the miniature bundt cakes he’d baked were aptly covered in the sticky topping. Which is how Sasha – who’d decided to camp out in the kitchen on her break – heard the incessant buzzing.

Sasha eyed his phone, where it peeked out of the front pocket of his bag, hanging on a hook by the back door. “You know, I can’t decide if it’s cute or annoying how obsessed Big Daddy is with you.”

Of course, she assumed it was Markus texting him.

Asher shot her an unimpressed look. “He’s not obsessed with me.”

“What word do you prefer instead? Infatuated? Smitten? Thoroughly whipped?”

“Markus isn’t any of those things,” he continued to deny.

Sasha snorted. “Yeah, alright. Is that why you’re still wearing the man’s Rolex? Also, I’m pretty sure that’s a new sweater you’re rocking under that apron.” She reached across the counter and patted the fabric of his sleeve, making him spill a bit of the ganache.

“Sasha!”

“Sorry, it just looks so soft and fuzzy. Is it cashmere?”

Instead of answering, Asher continued to half-glare/half-pout at his friend. “I didn’t ask him to buy me it.”

“Yeah, I know, Asher. That’s the point. The poor man is utterly besotted. And to be clear, I’m not judging, I’m fucking impressed. What exactly do you do to Big Daddy in the bedroom that makes him shower you in gifts that probably cost more than either of us make in a month – combined ?”

Asher bit his lip. “Well… it’s not always contained to the bedroom,” he admitted against his better judgement.

“What?!” Sasha all but screeched. “Details,” she demanded, “now.”

An image of himself naked and spread eagle on Markus’s fancy granite countertops as the man slowly fucked into him while simultaneously feeding him strawberries and grapes popped into Asher’s head. He remembered the way Markus had eagerly licked away the excess juice that dripped from his lips whenever his cock hit that special spot inside him and he inevitably lost control of his motor functions.

Asher shook his head, his face beet red as he forced the erotic image away. “I’ll tell you later,” he promised in an effort to get his friend to drop the subject. The last thing he needed was to pop a raging boner at work. “Let’s talk about something else for now.”

Sasha narrowed her eyes, likely debating whether or not Asher would follow through on his promise. “Fine,” she agreed after a moment. “Have I told you that Avery broke up with her boyfriend?”

Asher blinked. “Again?” he asked. He could have sworn Sasha’s artist friend had broken up with a different man just last month. Her reasons for breaking their hearts were always ludicrous. Once Avery even cut a guy loose for cheating on her – in a dream . (She claimed it was a premonition.)

“What was it this time?” he asked. “Did she not like the way he buttered his toast?” (Yes, that had been yet another reason for one of her breakups.)

But Asher should have known better than to allow himself to be distracted. Because as soon as he opened his mouth, Sasha was darting across the room to where his bag hung by the door. “What-?” he asked, understanding dawning when she pulled out his phone. “Hey!” he protested, nearly dropping the bowl of ganache in his haste to get to her. “Give me back my phone!”

“I just want to see what sort of naughty things Big Daddy is texting you!” she retorted, sprinting away from him, making a beeline for the employee restroom. “It’s the least I deserve since you’re not spilling the beans on whatever freaky stuff you get up to in the sheets – and out of the sheets, apparently.”

Asher gave chase, but it was too late. Sasha offered a cheeky wink before slamming the door shut in his face. He heard the click of the lock, but grabbed the door knob and gave it a shake, anyway. “Sasha!”

She couldn’t look at his phone. Not because he cared about her seeing the messages he’d been exchanging with Markus. But because of the vulgar ones he’s been getting from Trent.

Messages he hadn’t told her about.

Asher pounded on the door, his heart racing in his chest. “Sasha! Please, just… don’t look.”

She didn’t answer.

Asher licked his lips. “Sasha?” he tried again.

Fuck. He never regretted sharing the passcode to his phone with his friends more than in this moment.

What was probably only a few minutes later, Sasha finally opened the door. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were hard, burning with a quiet kind of fury, and Asher felt his heart drop into his stomach.

She’d definitely seen the messages.

She thrust his phone into his face, screen side up. “What the fuck is this?”

Yep. She’d definitely seen them.

Asher had no idea how he was going to play this off, but the annoyance in his voice was real when he snatched the phone from Sasha’s hand. “It’s my phone,” he snapped, “the one you just blatantly stole from me.”

“Quit with the smartass bullshit,” she shot back. “How long has that fucker Trent been bothering you like this? I thought he stopped when you told him about Markus.”

Asher knew things were serious if she was referring to the man as Markus and not Big Daddy. “ You told him about Markus,” he pointed out, “not me. And he did stop for a bit. It just started up again a little while ago.”

“Do you know why?”

Asher shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it began a few days after I ran into his dad in the elevator at Kingston Enterprises.”

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Did something happen in the elevator?” Sasha pressed.

Asher winced. “His dad kept going on about how I ought to forgive Trent so we could get back together already – all the while implying it was my fault his son cheated on me, of course. I told him that would never happen.” A pause. “I might have also implied I was there to see Markus, and that his dick was much more impressive and satisfying than Trent’s limp noodle could ever be.”

Sasha’s eyebrows shot up. “First of all, I’m so fucking proud of you for standing up for yourself and setting the record straight for that senile old fool.” She frowned. “But why would that trigger Trent? Isn’t it just proof that you weren’t lying about seeing Markus?”

Asher shrugged. “I don’t know how his brain works.”

“That’s because you’re not a fucking sociopath.” She gestured at his phone, which Asher was still holding protectively to his chest. “You don’t believe any of that bullshit he’s spouting at you, right? You’re not a gold digger.”

“I mean, technically, I kind of am.”

“Asher!”

Asher winced. “Sorry.”

She huffed. “Anyway, what are you going to do about this?”

Asher shrugged. He already knew Sasha wasn’t going to like his answer. “Ignore it until it goes away?”

Sasha scoffed. “And what if it never goes away, Asher? What if he never goes away? Are you going to keep changing your number? What if he starts showing up at the café again? Or he finds out where you live?”

“He wouldn’t do anything to me,” Asher protested, but his denial lacked conviction, and he could tell that Sasha sensed it.

“Oh yeah? Look at your latest messages.”

Asher frowned, hesitantly looking at his phone.

Unknown

Ansswer my fuking messages bitch

When I fckin find u, Im gonna drag you bck to our aprtment by ur fuckin hair and tie u to the bed, your nevr leaving me ever aggain, fucking slut

Disregarding the obvious typos, which meant the man was probably on another bender, it was honestly a little terrifying.

Asher blinked rapidly in an attempt to banish the frustrated tears he could feel gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t hide the way his voice cracked when he looked back up at his friend, though. “W-why is he doing this? Can’t he just leave me alone? Is it my fault? Did I do something-?”

Asher wasn’t sure how he was about to finish that sentence. Did I do something to bring this on? Did I do something to deserve this?

Regardless, Sasha pulled him into a hug before he could say it aloud. “No,” she said sternly. “Trent is just an obsessive douchebag. It's not your fault, and nothing you did caused this, okay?”

Asher sniffled. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly when it became clear she expected an answer.

She pulled away enough to look him in the eyes. “It’s not fair that you have to deal with this,” she reiterated, “but it doesn’t change the fact that you do have to deal with it.” A pause. “That being said, you don’t have to do it alone. So let me rephrase my earlier question… what are we going to do about this?”

Asher chewed on his inner cheek. “I know you think I should get a restraining order-”

“Absolutely you should,” Sasha confirmed.

“-but I’m not sure if it would even do anything at this point. I mean, it’s a piece of paper. Do you really think Trent would even care enough to respect it?”

The way Sasha grimaced told Asher that she agreed with him. “You have a point,” she acknowledged. “Maybe… maybe you should tell Markus what’s going on.”

Asher frowned. “Why? What could he possibly do about it?”

“Sever his company’s business relationship with Trent’s father, for one.”

Asher shook his head. “I could never ask him to do something like that.”

Sasha snorted. “You wouldn’t have to ask him. If he knew about this, he’d do more than just drop Trent’s dad as a client, he’d have him blacklisted so that no one in Seattle would dare to do business with him. That’s if he doesn’t outright kill the man’s son when he learns the shit he’s been texting you.”

Asher rolled his eyes. “He’s a CEO, Sasha, not a mob boss.”

“As far as you know.”

“I think you’ve read too many dark mafia romances on that Kindle of yours lately.”

“Guilty,” Sasha easily agreed. “Anyway, even if he doesn’t kill Trent, everything else he’d do would hopefully piss his dad off enough to actually do something about his unhinged son.”

“I don’t know…” Asher waffled.

“Do you have a better idea?” she asked.

“No,” Asher grudgingly admitted. “It’s just… I don’t want to worry Markus about some dumb text messages.”

“It’s not dumb. And it’s not just messages. He’s threatening to fucking kidnap you, Asher. I guarantee you that Markus would want to know that. Either you tell him, or I will, got it?”

Asher pressed his lips together. His first instinct was to push back at Sasha, shout that he wasn’t a little kid that needed tending, and that he could make decisions for himself just fine, look after himself just fine.

But they were at work.

And Asher knew logically that Sasha was just reacting the way she was because she cared about him – loved him with her whole heart, even.

So, ultimately, Asher just reluctantly nodded his agreeance.

“Okay.”

Asher had fully intended on telling Markus about Trent and the text messages.

The man had invited him over to spend the weekend at his penthouse, and Asher figured he’d have plenty of time to bring it up then.

Except when he woke up on Friday morning, Asher felt like death warmed over.

In fact, he was pretty sure that even zombies felt better than he did at the moment. (After all, zombies were technically dead and couldn’t actually feel their gaping wounds and displaced organs.)

Asher, on the other hand, felt it all. The pounding headache. The dry, barking cough that made his throat hurt and his chest seize. The body aches. The way he couldn’t seem to get warm despite the fact he was literally sweating under a pile of blankets.

For the first time in years, he called out of work, and shortly after that, he sent a message to Markus, letting him know that he wouldn’t be able to spend the weekend with him, after all.

After that, Asher promptly fell into a disjointed sleep, only bothering to crack open his tired eyes when there was sudden, loud banging on his door what must have been hours later.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Asher, it’s Markus. Open up.”

Confused, and more than halfway convinced he was having some sort of fever dream, Asher took the time to wrap one of his blankets around his shoulders before stumbling to the door.

Bang! Bang!

“I swear to God, if you don’t open-”

Asher yanked open the door, blinking in confusion at the sight before him. “Markus?” he asked, voice more a croak than anything.

Markus’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” he demanded before barging in. After closing the door behind himself, he ushered Asher to the nearest seat, which ended up being the couch. Then he kneeled in front of him, hands hovering over him, like he wanted to touch, but he wasn’t sure he should. “Where does it hurt?” he asked.

Asher’s brain wasn’t quite operating at full capacity yet, and all he managed in return was a less than eloquent, “Huh?”

Markus frowned. He must have decided that talking was no use because his hands suddenly gained the conviction to touch him, and they were literally everywhere . Pressed against Asher’s forehead and cheeks. Carefully prodding the glands on the underside of his jaw. Running soothingly up and down his arms.

“You’re burning up,” the man accused. “And you look two seconds away from fainting.”

“‘M fine,” Asher assured – not very efficiently, judging by the skeptical look on Markus’s face.

“I take it that this is why you weren’t answering your phone.”

Asher blinked. “Were you trying to get ahold of me?”

“Yes,” Markus answered, voice clipped. “I called and texted. Multiple times.”

Markus flashed him his phone, showcasing the outgoing calls to Asher’s number, as well as the barrage of worried messages still sitting there – unread.

Sorry, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it over this weekend.

Markus

Why’s that?

Is Sasha dragging you out again? Because I can meet you if that’s the case.

Is everything alright?

1 missed call

Asher, baby, answer the phone.

2 missed calls

I’m coming over.

Asher winced. “I must have put my phone on silent before falling asleep,” he admitted sheepishly.

Markus was unmoved by the excuse. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me you were sick when you said you couldn’t make it this weekend,” he pointed out. “If I’d have known, I would have-”

“You would have what?” Asher asked, unable to stop a bit of incredulity from creeping into his voice. “Skipped work so you could come barging in here to fuss over me even earlier?”

Marks looked unimpressed as he carefully grasped Asher by the jaw. “First of all, don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking.”

If Asher wasn’t already flushed from his fever, he was sure his cheeks would have reddened. “Sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

Markus immediately softened. “It’s okay. I know you’re not feeling well.” He ran a thumb along the underside of his jaw. “But to answer your question, yes , I would have.”

Asher frowned. “But you can’t do that,” he denied. “You’re always swamped with work at the firm, and Kingston Enterprises is important to you-”

“Not as important as you,” Markus cut in.

Asher was going to ignore that little tidbit for his own sanity.

“And besides ,” he said, “I’m a grown man. I don’t need anyone to come take care of me just because I’m feeling a little under the weather.”

The “a little under the weather” part was a bit of an understatement, but the point stood.

Markus stared him down. “Oh yeah?” he challenged. “So if I ask if you’ve have anything to eat or drink today, what are you going to tell me?”

Dammit.

Asher sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Uh… I had a glass of water along with the Tylenol I took this morning?”

A muscle in Markus’s jaw twitched and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers in obvious frustration. He didn’t even bother saying “ I told you so ”, he merely took a moment to compose himself before standing. “Where’s your tea kettle?” he asked brusquely.

Asher blinked.

Not waiting for an answer, Markus marched over to his kitchen and began searching through the cupboards.

It wasn’t until that moment, as Asher sat stupefied on his couch watching the man dig through his kitchen drawers, that he actually comprehended the fact that Markus was in his apartment. Sure, he’d picked Asher up on the curb outside of the building on multiple occasions, but he’d never actually been inside before. The time the two spent together was done almost exclusively at the man’s penthouse.

And for good reason.

Dressed to impress in his expensive suit and shiny penny loafers, Markus couldn’t have looked more out of place in Asher’s rundown kitchen, with its outdated appliances and scuffed laminate flooring. If he wasn’t feeling so sick, Asher might have been embarrassed.

Sure, he did his best to keep his apartment tidy, but there wasn’t much Asher could do about the watermarks on the ceiling or the chipped paint on the walls. Then there was the fact that his studio-style apartment was a fraction of the size of Markus’s sprawling penthouse.

You work hard to afford this apartment, Asher reminded himself sternly . Who cares if your dining room consists of a card table pushed up against the wall, surrounded by several mismatched chairs? Who cares if instead of fancy white leather, your couch is puke green corduroy and only two full strides away from your bed? This apartment is yours , something you earned on your own and that no one can take away from you. That’s something to be proud of.

“Asher,” Markus snapped, abruptly yanking him from his internal pep talk. “The tea kettle?” he reminded him. “Where is it?”

Asher blinked out of his stupor, realizing abruptly what a horrible host he was being. “Sorry!” he blurted, shooting to his feet – and nearly falling for his efforts. “I keep the kettle above the stove, but I don’t have any tea bags on hand. If you’re thirsty, I’m sure I can find you something else to drink.”

He stumbled in the direction of the fridge.

Markus intercepted Asher before he could take more than a few steps. He took him by the shoulders, forcibly turning him around before half-walking/half-carrying him to his bed. “What you can do is lay your ass down. I was asking about the kettle so I could make something for you to drink. Lemon tea with a drizzle of honey always makes me feel better when I’m under the weather.”

Asher blinked. “Oh.”

That was actually really sweet.

“Yes, oh. Now lay down . You should be resting.”

“Sorry,” Asher offered, obliging the man. As he buried himself under the covers, he didn’t dare point out that he was only up because Markus had all but beat down his door with his incessant knocking.

It didn’t seem like a wise idea.

Markus sighed. “Don’t be sorry,” he said, tucking a sweat-soaked curl behind Asher’s ear. Gross. “Nigel’s downstairs, idling in front of the building. I’m going to head down and tell him to make a quick stop at the store to pick up some necessities. Tea bags, cold medicine, stuff like that. I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Will you be okay in the meanwhile?”

“Well, I have managed to keep myself alive for the past twenty-three years and some change, so…”

Judging by his raised eyebrows and unrelenting stare, Markus was unimpressed by his smart aleck answer.

Asher sighed. Truthfully, now that he was lying down and the excitement of Markus’s impromptu visit had faded, the lethargy that had swamped him for most of the day was making a return. Everything just felt heavy , and it took way more strength than it should have to untangle his arm from the blankets, reach out, and clumsily latch his pinky finger onto Markus’s. “I promise not to keel over in the next few minutes,” he said as seriously as he could manage. “Scout’s honor.”

Markus snorted. “Were you even a boy scout?”

“Why?” Asher asked, eyes already drifting shut as he snuggled back into the covers. He was barely cognizant of the words coming out of his mouth. “You got some weird fetish or somethin’?”

“Must not be that sick if you’re still cracking jokes,” Markus retorted. Asher wasn’t sure if the man was trying to sound annoyed, but if he was, he couldn’t help but think he was failing miserably at it. The affection in his voice was too prevalent.

It didn’t take long after that for Asher to drift back to sleep.

It was dark by the time he was gently shaken awake, one hand a comforting weight on his shoulder and another running careful fingers through his hair. “Time to wake up, sweetheart – at least for a little while. You need to eat something.”

Asher blearily blinked open his eyes.

Markus was holding a large plastic bowl he vaguely recognized as from his own kitchen. Steam curled lazily over the top of it, and even through his stuffy nose, Asher could smell something savory.

A quick glance inside the bowl confirmed it was chicken noodle soup.

It honestly smelled delicious. But Asher had seen Markus at work in the kitchen before, so he shook his head. “I can’t eat that.”

“Why not?” Markus demanded, sounding concerned. “Is it your throat? Does it hurt too much too eat? You should sip on the broth, regardless. You need something in your stomach.”

“I’m fine,” Asher assured.

Markus scowled.

“Well, mostly fine,” Asher amended. He actually did feel a little better after his second nap. At least, his brain no longer felt like it was trying to escape his cranium by launching itself at his skill. (Although the fatigue continued to cling stubbornly, making Asher a bit loose with his words.) “I just don’t think I could handle getting food poisoning on top of the flu or whatever it is I managed to catch.”

It took both men a few moments to compute what had just come out of his mouth.

Asher forced himself up on his elbows. “I mean, I don’t think you’d poison me on purpose or anything,” he hurried to amend – as if that made it any better.

Markus put a hand up, and Asher immediately snapped his mouth shut. “Before you work yourself up into a tizzy and make yourself even more sick, I should clarify that I didn’t make the soup.” He gestured at the bowl in question. “I had Nigel pick it up at a nearby restaurant when he went to grab groceries. All I did was warm it up on the stove.”

Asher’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. So, does that mean you’ll eat it?”

Asher nodded, allowing Markus to help him sit all the way up in his bed so that his back was propped against the wall. (He could neither afford nor fit something as frivolous as a headboard in his apartment.)

When Markus once again picked up the soup, Asher opened his mouth expectantly.

The man raised his eyebrows. “You really think I’m about to spoon feed you after you insinuated that my cooking is so terrible that I’d poison you?”

Asher stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, making his eyes as big as he could. “But I don’t feel good. Pretty please?”

It took about two seconds for Markus to cave. “If only I could find a way to monetize those puppy dog eyes of yours,” he grumbled to himself as he settled beside Asher on the bed.

“Aren’t you already, like, a billionaire?” Asher pointed out.

“That’s beside the point,” Markus said as he carefully spooned out some soup. He blew on it before offering it to Asher, holding it to his lips.

It was so frickin’ cute.

Asher obediently opened his mouth, the broth a warm balm against his throat as he swallowed.

“It’s good,” he said, licking his lips. “Thank you.”

“Spoiled brat,” Markus accused, even as he carefully spooned out more soup.

“ Your spoiled brat,” Asher corrected.

The corner of Markus’s mouth twitched in amusement. The man attempted to keep up the pretense of being annoyed as he continued to feed Asher, but the satisfaction practically poured off him as Asher slowly ate the soup.

Asher liked it, too.

Sure, he felt a bit like a baby bird being fed by its mother – except it was soup Markus was carefully spooning into Asher’s mouth instead of regurgitated worm – and maybe that should have been weird. But Asher couldn’t deny it felt good to be taken care of this way, and Markus had made it clear on more than one occasion that he enjoyed feeding Asher.

The man was practically preening when Asher managed to finish the entire bowl.

Asher offered to take the dirty dishes to the kitchen, but Markus only scowled at the suggestion, insisting that he would take care of it, and that Asher better keep his butt in bed.

Asher happily obliged.

At least, he was happy to oblige until Markus returned from the kitchen with a bottle of cold medicine in one hand and a tub of Vick’s VapoRub in the other.

“I’m not a baby,” he pouted as Markus helped him out of his shirt. “I can do it myself.”

Despite his words, Asher could acknowledge that he sounded a bit like a whiny child.

“Oh, really? So that’s why I just finished spoon-feeding you? Because you’re oh so capable of taking care of yourself? Lay down.”

Asher begrudgingly did as he was told.

As Markus rubbed the Vick’s on his chest, Asher couldn’t help but wish the man’s hands would wander lower . He gasped when a thumb inadvertently brushed against one of his nipples, causing it to pebble.

“What’s wrong?” Markus asked, but judging by his knowing smirk, he already knew.

“You’re mean,” Asher accused, pouting as Markus capped the Vick’s and wiped his hands on a washcloth.

“So mean,” the man agreed, sarcasm thick in voice. “Feeding you soup. Taking care of you when you’re sick. Now, open up, baby. You need to take your medicine.”

Asher watched as the man carefully poured out a teaspoon of cough syrup before bringing it to his mouth. He didn’t know if it was the fever making him brave, but he locked eyes with Markus before pressing his lips together and shaking his head.

Markus raised his eyebrows, pulling back the spoon. “Are you asking for Daddy to punish you?”

Asher’s eyes widened. “You’d punish me when I’m sick?”

Markus’s expression didn’t necessarily crack, but it did soften. “How about a reward instead?” he suggested. “If you take your medicine, I’ll give you anything you want.”

Asher’s heart clenched in his chest at the offer.

Sure, he knew logically that Markus probably meant for Asher to pick something monetary as a reward. He could ask for an extra ten grand or another Rolex to go along with the first one Markus had given him, and the man probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Anything?” Asher repeated.

“Whatever your heart desires,” Markus assured.

But Asher was a fool so, of course, his brain immediately went to that one unattainable thing. Something he wanted more than anything, but that Markus couldn’t give him.

“You can’t give it to me,” he mumbled, the words slipping out without thought.

Markus scowled at what he probably perceived as a challenge. “I’m a literal billionaire. I can give you anything. Just name it.”

Anything but your love.

The real kind – not the weird, NDA-protected, sugar daddy/sugar baby, contracted… thing they had going on.

Half-afraid that he’d say what he was thinking out loud and ruin everything, Asher spit out the next thing that popped into his brain. “Cuddles,” he blurted. “I want cuddles.”

Markus furrowed his brow in disbelief. “Cuddles?” he repeated, as if he thought he’d misheard.

Asher nodded. “But you can’t give me any because I’m sick. I’m probably contagious, and I don’t want you to catch whatever this is, too.”

Markus scoffed. “I’m not afraid of a few germs,” he said, as if he was immune to things as commonplace as fevers and upper respiratory viruses.

Five minutes of half-hearted protesting later, the cold medicine went down the hatch, a random movie was playing on TV, and the two of them were, in fact, cuddling in Asher’s bed.

Markus had taken everything but his underwear and undershirt off, and he radiated warmth behind Asher. Not that Asher minded. He buried his face into his pillow. “Thanks you for taking such good care of me,” he mumbled against the fabric.

“In case you somehow missed it, I like taking care of you.”

He did seem to enjoy it. But still. Asher knew it wasn’t why the man had hired him. He wasn’t being paid ten thousand dollars a week to act like a whiny brat, demanding to be spoon-fed and cuddled, just because he felt a little sick.

The warm feeling in Asher’s tummy faded away, leaving a lump of guilt to sit heavy in his stomach instead. “Still, I’m really sorry. I understand if, you know, you have to dock my pay.”

Asher didn’t think it was his imagination the way the man tensed behind him in reaction to his words. “Don’t be silly,” he said after a moment, voice oddly stiff, like he was forcing himself to speak between clenched teeth. “It’s not your fault you’re sick. Besides, we’re still spending time together.”

“Yeah, I guess, but you pay me for sex, not-”

“I said not to worry about it,” Markus cut Asher off coldly. Snapped at him, really.

It was Asher’s turn tense. Because, yeah, he had obviously witnessed the men’s temper before, but it’d rarely – if ever – been directed at him.

“Sorry,” he said, offering a hesitant apology.

For a long moment, nothing. Then Markus sighed, a rush of hot air hitting the back of Asher’s neck. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell when you’re sick.”

“You shouldn’t yell at all,” Asher pointed out lightly, testing the waters.

“Not at you,” Markus agreed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

The tension in the room seeped away after that, returning to the relaxed atmosphere of a few minutes prior. Well… as relaxed as Asher could be with a massive, half-hard cock snuggled perfectly between his butt cheeks.

Unfortunately, Markus had made it clear when he’d climbed into bed with him that there’d be no hanky-panky while Asher was still sick. It really was unfortunate, considering the man only had to touch Asher to awaken his libido. And it was getting harder and harder to will away his erection when Markus kept wiggling.

“Would you stop that?” Asher asked when he readjusted his position for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“How do you even sleep on this?” Markus grumbled in return. “It’s a fucking rock masquerading as a mattress. There’s no way you can get a proper rest on this thing. It’s no wonder you got sick.”

“It’s not that bad,” Asher disagreed. It may not have been the plush mattress and satin sheets the man was used to at his penthouse, but it had been listed for $50 on Craigslist and all Asher could afford when he’d moved in. As long as you laid still, the springs hardly poked into you at all.

“Liar,” Markus accused.

Asher wondered if he was about to be asked why he didn’t just buy himself a new bed. He certainly earned enough now, after all. Surprisingly, though, the man had never once asked Asher what he did with all the money he was giving him.

“You should just move in with me.”

Asher blinked.

He waited patiently for the next line to drop, the “ just kidding ” or the “ ha, got you! ”, but it became clear after a prolonged silence that it wasn’t coming. Asher forced himself to open his mouth and respond to the absolutely ludicrous suggestion. “You’re joking, right?”

“Why would I be joking?” Markus asked. “You’d get much better rest at my place than attempting to fall asleep on this . Plus, it’s in a safer neighborhood and closer to the café.”

He sounded shockingly serious. Which was crazy. They’d only known each other for a handful of months.

The real mind-blowing part, though, was that deep down, Asher wanted to say yes . Disregarding everything else Markus had said, getting to fall asleep next to the man every night and wake up next to him every morning was sorely tempting.

Have you lost your mind? A voice in his head demanded. Do you not remember what happened the last time you fell too fast and too hard for the wrong guy and moved in with him?

But the thing was, Asher didn’t think Markus was the wrong guy.

Still, the thought of moving in with the man only for him to inevitably grow tired of him was horrifying. Picturing himself showing up back at Danny and Sasha’s place with his tail tucked between his legs, begging them to take him in again , was enough to give him pause.

“Or, you know, you could just buy me a new mattress,” he suggested lightly in lieu of answering.

Markus made a considering hum. “True.”

Asher frowned, turning around so that he could face the man. Markus didn’t make it easy, refusing to relinquish the grip he had on him. “To be clear, I was just kidding. You obviously don’t have to buy me a new bed. Or anything, for that matter. ”

“I know,” Markus assured, gently maneuvering Asher so that his head was lying on his chest. “Now, rest.”

It was impossible to see the television in this position, but Asher didn’t mind. He wrapped his arm around Markus’s middle, and obediently closed his eyes.

It didn’t take long for the heartbeat against his ear to loll him to sleep.

An indeterminable amount of time later, the warm, fleshy pillow beneath Asher’s head shifted. Startled by the movement, but still half-asleep, Asher desperately clung to it – to Markus. “Stay,” he demanded, voice groggy with sleep, “…please?”

A beat passed.

“I’ll stay.”

Asher really shouldn’t have been surprised when the next Monday, a group of delivery men showed up at his apartment with not only a brand new mattress, but also approximately half a dozen feather-stuffed pillows and a set of bed sheets in tow. Satin, of course.

Markus, wtf?!?

I told you I was just kidding about you buying me a new bed!

What the hell am I supposed to do with this monstrous mattress, anyway? I don’t think it’ll even fit in my apartment.

Markus

Guess you’re going to have to move in with me, after all.

Thank you.