Page 42 of Dream a Little Dream

“Fuck off.”

“And all the fuck this, fuck that. Just let me know if you want to fuck.” Aaron took a step closer. He was a head shorter than Archie, so Aaron had to peer up to meet his gaze. “I’m not completely opposed to bending the straight.”

“Get the fuck away from me.” Archie pushed him with one finger, obviously believing that would be enough to deter him.

Unfortunately, Aaron was in a foul mood. He hadn’t eaten all day. Hardly much all week. He’d had to sit in a lecture watchingDr Kenneth Lyonsprattle on about the five different crimes in psychology. And he’d been so fuckinghotdoing it thatAaron had stared at him. The whole time. Because Kenny had scraped back his hair into some sort of messy knot, accentuating his cheekbones and the dark stubble that Aaron could still feel rasping his skin. And Aaron swore the doc dressed in the most tailored and figure hugging clothes he owned solely to mess with Aaron’s head.

Fuck, he was horny.

Aaron raked a hand through his hair. “Not until you say sorry.”

“What the fuck for?”

“One, you’re a grass. Snitches get stitches where I’m from.” Actually, stitches wouldn’t fix the wounds on those who made mistakes inhisworld. But he figured he owed Archie a chance. If he walked around the place in his boxers, he was eye candy at best. Aaron could jerk off to him. Switch his spank bank material from Dr Kenneth Lyons to this one. “Two, you hurt my feelings.”

Again, not really possible.

“You’re a fucking freak.” Archie jutted his chin. “Why don’t you go suck your boyfriend off? He’s had the right idea. Staying outta my way. Not stinking out the place with that slop he calls food.”

“Oh, shit, Arch, look.” Aaron pointed a finger at Archie’s groin. Archie looked down instinctively. “Your racism is showing.”

Archie bolted upright. “Fuck you, Nancy boy.”

“This flirting is making me very hot.” Aaron fanned himself. “Although we could work on the delivery.” He lowered his voice to seduction levels and inched in closer, warm breath wafting into Archie’s face. “Let’s try it this way: fuckme, Nancy boy.” He dipped away to look Archie up and down, lingering his gaze on his football shorts and biting his bottom lip in suggestion. “Now, I’m usually a bottom, but I could totes make an exception for you.”

Archie punched him. Clean in the face. He deserved that. And, fuck, it felt fantastic.

Aaron toppled back, arse hitting the round table. He smiled. Then pressed the back of his hand to his eye, already feeling the bruising. He’d wanted to go out tonight. His new crew from the pole dancing society were all in the SU. And now he’d have to go with a black eye. That just made him mad. So he gripped the jar of marmite, fingertips whitening around the glass.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Archie spat in his face. Not with the words, but with a globule of his rancid saliva.

Aaron wiped the spit from his cheek, savouring the few seconds he had to make a choice. He drifted his gaze to the marmite jar still in his hand. Not reading it. His mind was way too much of a whirlwind for that, meticulously planning, calculating and detailing.Creating. Heartbeat like a war drum, each thud stoking the fire within him, he twisted out of the placid expression that might have given Archie reason to believe he’d won this round, and with cold fury consuming him, he clenched his fingers around the jar. Then, in one brutal swing, he smashed it down on the table beside him.

Gooey, dark marmite oozed like tar, smearing across his cut fingers, crimson droplets mingling with the brown sticky paste. Archie had no time to react, and Aaron smirked, bolting forward. Archie stumbled, spine crashing against the counter behind, with a gasp of surprise emanating from his throat when Aaron brandished the jagged edges of the glass inches from his groin, tracing up inside his loose football shorts.

Aaron pressed his knuckle into Archie’s inside thigh. “Somewhere inside there is your femoral artery. Very important. Carries vital oxygen-rich blood to your lower half. Can cause quite a lot of damage if severed. And if left, can cause death.”

Archie might have pissed himself, and Aaron’s sadistic glee had him understanding a little more about himself. See, hedidn’t need therapy to know who he was. He just neededprovoking.

“You’re fucking mental!” Archie ground out between fierce pants of terror.

“Might be.” Aaron stepped away, removing the sharp edge of the broken jar from Archie’s leg. “Now, say sorry.”

“You’re actually fucking crazy!”

Aaron angled his head toward the corridor. “Number five would like an apology for what you said about his mum’s food.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Aaron snorted. “Wow.” He checked over the broken jar, his fingers congealed with blood and tar. “You really do love it or hate it.”

“I ain’t fucking living here anymore.” Archie bolted off, back to his own room, slamming his door and rattling the flat.

Aaron sighed, chucked the broken jar in the bin, then meandered out to the corridor and stood outside Rahul’s room waiting for movement. He knocked.

“Rahul, mate. One down.”

A door opposite opened, another lad poking his head out. Aaron wracked his brain for the name. Tom? “Archie’s a prick.”

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