“Seeing if I can remove that mask.”
Thomas adjusted his fingers, gently pressing them into Scott’s skin. “As I thought, it’s still not fully attached. I think maybe it’s slipping.”
Scott’s brow twitched, and the horrible, itchy feeling of the day before infected his eyes. He pushed Thomas’s hand away from his face.
“Fuck you,” Scott murmured. “I may wear a pretty mask, but I’m still human, and I still hurt. I’d try and remove your mask, but you’ve tattooed it to your face. You’ve modified all the human out of you.”
Thomas turned the other way. Scott didn’t look towards him until Thomas’s grunt.
“You’re right, I can’t remove my mask,” Thomas said. He cracked his neck. “But this is the best I can do…”
When Scott glanced his way, he was confronted with a piercing blue eye. The whites of it were tinged red, and Scott didn’t know whether Thomas was upset or whether the contact had scratched his eye when he took it out.
For the first year of being in Brixton, Thomas wasn’t allowed his lenses. That blue eye had been a part of his past he hadn’t managed to hide. Thomas had hated it.
“I’m sorry about yesterday…” Thomas’s shoulders sagged. “That one act…of paying you, it ripped that mask clean off your face. I hated what I’d done as soon as I’d done it.”
“Then why did you?” Scott asked. “Why did you want to hurt me like that?”
“Because I’m a bastard like you said.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Thomas stiffened his jaw. “I was… I was hoping I wouldn’t like it.”
Scott frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I was hoping it wouldn’t feel good, and I wouldn’t…”
“Come down my throat?”
Thomas winced. “Yeah, that.”
“Why would you hope for that?”
“Not getting aroused would be like a victory in my head.”
Scott recoiled. “A victory against me? I was unaware we were at war?”
“Not you exactly, but…” Thomas gestured to Scott.
“You’re gesturing tome…”
“Escorts.”
“You wanted to hate it to prove what exactly? That you’re better than us? Better than me? You’ve always been so judgemental about what I do as a profession, worn your disgust as clear as day on your face, but why Thomas? How does my job hurt you? What have I done to hurt you?”
“Not you,” Thomas hissed. “But an escort. A different one.”
“You’ve…you’ve hired an escort?”
“When I was twenty-two…when no one wanted me, and I was all alone with a shit load of money. When all I wanted was one night to feel whatever it is vanilla couples feel. I knew it would be a lie, a performance, but it didn’t matter. It was one night where I would feel human and experience something everyone else had.”
“What happened?”
“I…found a guy I liked the look of. He was pretty, far prettier than a man like me had the right to even look at, let alone touch. Clear, smooth skin, big blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, tousled hair, impeccable dress sense –”
“If you’re going to suggest it was me and I’ve forgotten –”
